Since Solovyov did not know which university city Leeza might have gone to, he decided to try his luck in Moscow, too. To some extent, using postal communication methods also disposed him favorably toward Moscow. Considering his challenging experience with the search, the postal method struck the young historian as the safest way to go.
Solovyov wrote a long letter to the rector of Moscow State University, asking that his request be treated sympathetically. He composed the letter with an informal air, even telling of his childhood friendship with a person he had (regretably, largely due to his own fault!) lost. To sound more convincing, Solovyov also referred to the readers’ triangle consisting of himself, Nadezhda Nikiforovna, and Yelizaveta, the person being sought. Not wishing to create the impression he was a simpleminded person, Solovyov did not let slip a single word about his designs on Nadezhda Nikiforovna.
For some reason, Solovyov was counting a great deal on his appeal to MSU so waited impatiently for a response. He did not know exactly how long it took for letters to travel from Petersburg to Moscow but figured they should not take very long. He still remembered, from a university course on Russian literature, that Dostoevsky’s letters from Germany took four or five days. Considering that fact—as well as the technological revolution that had taken place—Solovyov allocated about two days for letters to travel from Petersburg to Moscow. He assumed the same for the return journey. Solovyov allotted about three or four days for the Moscow rector to check into his question.
To his surprise, no answer had arrived ten days later. Nor did one arrive twenty days or even a month later. Solovyov wanted to send another letter to Moscow but feared being pushy. So as not to lose time, he decided to look for Leeza in other Petersburg educational institutions. Solovyov was flabbergasted when he opened a directory for college applicants. The number of educational institutions was beyond the bounds of reason.
Solovyov appealed first to the Herzen State Pedagogical University, which had still been called an institute not long before. This establishment—where opportunities had broadened after the renaming—not only found a Yelizaveta Larionova among its ranks but also allowed Solovyov to take a look at her personal records.
Solovyov heard his heart beating as he entered the dean’s office at the philology department. It reverberated out from under the ceiling, where two workers nailing up a cable seemed to be echoing his heart. Solovyov was asked to wait a little. In case they checked biographical data, he had the years Leeza had started and graduated from high school. They were the same as his years. What else could be in the document? He crossed his arms over his chest to muffle his heartbeats. The sad-faced workers slowed their pace, too, as they drew a green cable along a pink wall. A woman from the dean’s office brought a thin folder and extended it to Solovyov.
‘Is this her?’
There was a photograph glued to a left-hand corner of the form so Solovyov did not need the biographical data. The photo was not very large, but nothing larger was required for full clarity.
‘No.’
Solovyov did not give up. He appealed to all institutions, even the very unlikeliest. Sometimes they gave him information over the telephone, sometimes they required a visit. They hung up rather frequently, suggesting he not pester them. In those cases, Solovyov beseeched. Insisted. Several times he bought candy for female employees in rectors’ offices. One of them jokingly asked Solovyov how much she might be able to replace Leeza for him. It felt as if the list of educational institutions would never end.
Another two weeks later, a student named Yelizaveta Larionova turned up at the Lesgaft Institute of Physical Education. When Solovyov learned of this by telephone, he caught a taxi and went to the institute. He simply had no time to consider Leeza’s association with sports.
An older, broad-shouldered woman, obviously a former athlete, greeted him in the administrative offices. She sized up Solovyov and asked his height.
‘One meter, seventy-nine,’ said Solovyov.
During his time searching for Leeza, he had grown out of the habit of being surprised.
‘Our Yelizaveta is two meters, four,’ said the woman.
After a silence, she added, ‘So you’re not an athlete?’
Solovyov could tell from her face that she was not making fun of him.
‘I’m a historian,’ he said. ‘Peter the Great was two meters, four. Yelizaveta has a promising future.’
‘She’s a nice girl. She’s on the city basketball team.’
She straightened a lamp on the desk. Her face was serious, as before.
Notification of a registered letter from Moscow arrived at the very end of October. Solovyov discovered it in his mailbox when he returned from the library. He was invited to bring his passport to the post office to receive the letter. As he closed the box, Solovyov thought this kind of solemnity must mean something in and of itself; there would be no point in sending a negative answer by registered mail.
He was at the post office ten minutes before it opened. Addressee Solovyov’s heart was beating as never before. After signing for the letter, he tore open the envelope right there at the window and proceeded to read it. It was signed by the vice rector for general affairs (the surname was feminine) and reported that a Yelizaveta Filippovna Larionova truly was studying at MSU. Following that, however, was the supposition—and here the letter’s tone became less formal—that this was not the same Yelizaveta the Petersburg historian was seeking. This Moscow Yelizaveta was 39 years old and working toward her second degree. At the end of the letter, the vice rector wished Solovyov success in his search and expressed the hope that he would certainly find his Yelizaveta. Judging from the date on the letter, she had expressed that wish exactly a month ago.
Solovyov started to leave but then returned and demanded to see the post office manager. When that person appeared, Solovyov silently showed him the postmark. The manager took his glasses out of his uniform smock and carefully studied the postmark.
‘A month,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it’s longer. Sometimes they don’t arrive at all.’
Solovyov looked over the manager’s head. He felt his hatred boiling. Hatred and despair: the hand on the wall clock was leading them around in a circle.
‘Dostoevsky’s letters from Germany took five days,’ Solovyov informed the man.
‘Dostoevsky was a genius,’ retorted the manager.
A few days later, Solovyov resorted to yet another option.
He published brief appeals to Leeza in Moscow and Petersburg newspapers, with a request to telephone (a number was given). There were quite a few calls in the days following the publication. Four Leezas telephoned, two of them were Larionovas. A Taisia Larionova telephoned, saying she was prepared to answer to Leeza if necessary. A woman who did not give her name telephoned. She offered a discounted portion of Herbalife. The calls ceased roughly a week later.
Solovyov directed all the force of his striving for Leeza and all the resentment that had accumulated during his fruitless searches into his dissertation research about the general. Never before had he worked so much or so passionately. He found document after document but they brought him no closer to Leeza. After catching himself in that thought, Solovyov realized he subconsciously hoped they would help him close in. Why?
One day he ran into Temriukovich in the corridor at the institute.