And Platonov’s quite something himself: he talked without any particular emotion, quite impassively, one might say. Without exaggerated (ah!) joy, even without any agitation that’s difficult to suppress, meaning v. calmly. I waved a hand in front of him, to say: Come back to life a little. Inside, I was proud of my Platonov: the country’s leadership is calling him and he’s talking like that, no fuss. Like a man.
THURSDAY [INNOKENTY]
Of course Geiger isn’t as straightforward as I described him in recent days. I’m striking back at him about Nastya’s pragmatism. He already understands that words like that wound me and now he’s keeping quiet. It is best to be quiet, Geiger… And so: though I exaggerated something in my notes, in the main, I do not think I was mistaken. Geiger is a smart and shrewd person who believes in social ideals that are reflected in his various types of statements, not infrequently in fairly pompous pronouncements. As I have noted, Geiger knows a lot of them. Outwardly, he utters them offhandedly, but in his soul he values them very highly.
What he seems not to understand is that reality tires of pronouncements and then tends to evaporate from them. Only phrases remain and they are not used at all as one might expect. Let us suppose that in my time we liked the phrase about peace to the people and land to the peasants. And what happened? Instead of peace, they received civil war and instead of land, there was requisitioning of farm produce followed by collective farming. Nobody could have even contemplated that, even Geiger if he had lived then. How would he have adapted his slogans to reality?
Or those discussions of his about experience: I keep thinking about those. Maybe bruises do engender some sort of experience but I continue to think that kind of experience is not the most important thing. Let’s say that in childhood I often saw the deceased in church: that’s a bruise, too, if you will. But as I remember now, those deceased did not engender a fear of death in me. I examined them carefully and was not even afraid of stretching to touch them. One time I stroked an old man on the forehead: his forehead was cold and rough. My mother was scared and dashed over to pull me away, but I didn’t really understand why.
Only years later, when I was maturing, did I discover death and feel horrified about it, but that was not a result of my meetings with the deceased. The discovery was predicated on the logic of my inner development.
SATURDAY [GEIGER]
The topic of experience touched our Innokenty very seriously. We had yet another conversation on that score. Innokenty said it wasn’t the beatings in the camp that formed him. It was other things entirely. A grasshopper’s chirping in Siverskaya, for example. The smell of a samovar that’s boiled.
I attempted to explain to him that this is taken into consideration, too. In the end, any action takes place set against some sort of backdrop. He just waved me off, though. The grasshopper, he says, is the main action. And the samovar, too.
‘Good.’ I asked, ‘Do you acknowledge history as a chain of events?’
‘I acknowledge that,’ answered Innokenty. ‘There’s just the question of what to consider an event.’
For Innokenty, history is not just outside time. Its particularity also lies in that it consists not of events but of phenomena.
Or there’s this: a historical event is anything that can exist in the whole wide world. Including, it stands to reason, a grasshopper and a samovar. Why? Well, because, as it turns out, both those things disseminate calmness and peace. And in that, he said, lies their historical role.
MONDAY [NASTYA]
The day started with disappointment. Our intended tenants called to turn down the apartment. When I asked why, they answered that it was something personal. I informed Platonov of what happened and he took it calmly. I’m sorry, though. I spent a lot of time and energy on the search, found a married couple without children, and now this. I’ll have to start all over again. There’s no such thing as luck, it occurred to me. And then I recalled a little story from Platosha’s youth, about an Australian resident who goes to the bottom of the sea in search of human happiness. That’s who we need.
Interestingly, this evening we were at a reception at the Australian consulate. This was basically the first time I’d been to a foreign reception; it was hilarious. The consul appeared in the beginning and welcomed everybody on behalf of the citizens of Australia. Among other things, a non-Australian spoke: he started explaining why Serbia needed to be bombed; nobody was expecting to hear about that. The funniest thing is that he was bug-eyed, like the ‘Australian Resident’ toy, and his speech turned out to be a retelling of Platonov’s story.
There was a buffet after that. People kept coming up to my Platonov and expressing gratitude for his courage. He would set aside yet another tartlet and politely thank them. He said he’d simply had no choice. I admired my gallant companion. We never did figure out why they’d invited him to the consulate. Maybe they were gathering courageous people there that day.
TUESDAY [GEIGER]
Innokenty has changed. The fear of what didn’t exist in his time is no longer conspicuous. The current time really is his now, too. He’s settled in pretty well.
He’s hanging in there calmly, if not exactly confidently. And it seems like he’s growing accustomed to his role as a celebrity.
People invite him everywhere, they’re glad to see him everywhere. I heard him on the telephone answering, ‘Thank you…’ and ‘I’ll have to take a peek at my calendar…’
Innokenty truly does already have a calendar. It’s Nastya.
Of course she likes this life more than anyone. Nastya’s in seventh heaven and doesn’t hide her feelings. It’s rather amusing. At times she takes on a weary look when recollecting her pregnancy. Even then, though, she sparkles with happiness.
And I’m glad of it. You’d have to look really hard for a source of positivity like that. It’s very important for my patient.
THURSDAY [INNOKENTY]
Of all my Solovetsky years, Anzer was probably the only human time. I cannot call that time ‘happy,’ only because each day of my physical recovery drew me closer to the day of my departure. To the day, I whispered to myself, of my death, because neither I nor the other Lazaruses nurtured any sorts of illusions about the results of the freezing. Muromtsev did everything to extend the time we spent at Anzer but what did the gift of a few weeks mean by comparison with a life taken away?
We felt like animals being fed for slaughter who – unlike ordinary animals – know that. In fact there was something animal-like in our life: there was some sort of stupefaction that did not allow one to fall into despair. It was as if they were holding your head under water and then suddenly let go, allowing you to inhale, so you gasp for air with your mouth, not thinking much about what awaits you afterwards. You are simply glad that you can breathe.
Muromtsev petitioned for the Lazaruses to have complete freedom of movement. They were granted passes allowing unlimited movement around the island. After breakfast (which was, by the way, very filling), I would head out for a walk. I wore a short sheepskin coat and a hat of wolf’s fur with soft officer boots on my feet. Along the way I would run into half-undressed prisoners with wheelbarrows: they were exactly the same as I had been, not long ago at all. Their eyes silently followed me: it was strictly forbidden to talk with Lazaruses. I would go down to the water and stroll along the shore.
Although snow had already accumulated in the middle of the island, especially in the wooded parts, it barely lingered on the open shore. Only in certain places, catching on the bushes, did it unobtrusively make its presence known and even in those spots it blended with the sand, becoming unnoticeable. There were astonishing sandy beaches on Anzer. Stepping along the sand, I felt its softness even through the boots and imagined I was in the south: summer, the damp brim of a bucket hat, and grains of sand between sweaty toes.