“Ilya, you’re the reason Mikha’s in prison, you know.”
Ilya spat out defensively: “What are you talking about! Are you nuts?”
“You tempted him. Don’t you remember what it says in Matthew about causing the little ones to stumble?”
“No!” Ilya insisted. “We’re all adults, aren’t we? Well, aren’t we?”
But in his heart of hearts he felt uneasy. He was the one, after all, who had introduced Mikha to Edik, and he was responsible for what had happened in an indirect sense. But only indirectly!
* * *
The vindictive Meloedov did everything in his power to prevent Mikha from seeing his wife before being sent away under armed guard to the prison camp. Only the persistence of his father-in-law, an experienced ex-con himself, who managed to get an appointment with the deputy security officer of the prison, foiled in the end the machinations of the investigator.
On the eve of his departure, Mikha was granted a meeting with his wife. She had grown plainer, as some pregnant women do, especially (according to folk legend) if she’s carrying a girl. To Mikha, her beauty was angelic, but he was unable to express what was boiling and seething inside him. He was unable because of his habitual, innate sense of profound guilt toward every living being, which was magnified even more by the circumstances. The only thing he managed to say was some sort of nonsense that sounded like Dostoevsky: “I am guilty for everyone, for everything, before all people…”
That was what he was feeling as he left under convoy to the prison camp: guilty, guilty for all that had happened … Guilty before Alyona, since he had left her alone; before his friends, for not being able to do anything that would change the disposition of things for the better; before the whole world, to which he was indebted …
It’s a strange, inexplicable law that the most innocent people among us are the ones predisposed to the greatest sense of guilt.
FIRST IN LINE
It was completely natural that the powerful musical ideas that preoccupied Sanya rendered him completely oblivious to domestic political events, large and small. They seemed as distant from him as revolutions in Latin America, crop failures in Africa, or tsunamis in Japan. Even Anna Alexandrovna, who was apt to admire her son uncritically, would sometimes remark, with a tinge of perplexity:
“Sanya, dear, we live here. It’s our country, after all. But you’re almost like a foreigner in your own country.”
Early one morning in January 1969, Alyona rushed over to see him and to tell him about Mikha’s arrest. It was Sanya’s first personal contact with politics. It left him shaken and crushed. Mikha had shown him his magazine, and it was amusing. But it was impossible that a self-published collection on onionskin paper, consisting half of news that was usually heard on Western radio broadcasts, and half of poetry—some good, some indifferent, but still just poetry—could land someone in prison. It wasn’t The Bell, not at all. It was homegrown. Sanya didn’t know about all Mikha’s activities, however. He was unaware of the Tatar connection in Mikha’s life.
Ilya was exceedingly well informed about the progress of the investigation and trial; they summoned him to the KGB headquarters about the case of Edik Tolmachev. They didn’t ask a single question about Mikha, and this surprised Ilya. He was even more surprised when Mikha was arrested three months after Edik.
Alyona came down with strep throat just after Mikha’s arrest. Then and there she chose Sanya as her “girlfriend,” and, somehow, all the responsibility for taking care of her fell on his shoulders. Alyona had never been overfond of Ilya, and she avoided having any dealings with him.
Alyona had all but broken off relations with her father. She suspected him of some kind of foul play, and once she even burst out with the accusation that he was to blame for all their misfortune. She rarely allowed her mother to visit her at home, as though she were trying to punish her for something. Alyona wept a lot at first, and didn’t want to see anyone but Sanya.
Sanya was the first to know about her pregnancy. He had agreed to accompany her to the gynecologist who was supposed to carry out the Soviet woman’s favorite operation. Halfway to the doctor, who was ready to perform the procedure, they turned back, after he persuaded her not to go through with it. Alyona was often offended by something Sanya said or did. She sent him away, made scenes, and kicked up a fuss; and he put up with everything patiently. Alyona rarely left the house all winter—either she was sick or simply didn’t feel up to it.
She’s so cantankerous and bad-tempered! he would think. But he couldn’t resist her capricious charms. Up to a predictable point.
Ilya brought Sanya money to give to Alyona regularly. Alyona didn’t refuse the money, but she didn’t particularly need it. Anna Alexandrovna put together care packages and sent them to her through Ilya. Throughout her pregnancy, Alyona either lay in bed or drew her enigmatic ornamental patterns. During the final months she learned how to draw lying prone on the bed.
When the time came, Sanya took Alyona to the maternity home, then fetched her, now with her newborn daughter in her arms. With a bouquet of carnations in hand, he played the role of husband and father for the nurses. This set a precedent, and afterward he accompanied Alyona and her daughter to consultations at the polyclinic, bathed the baby, fed her … He even liked this intimate bustling and pottering about. At the same time, however, he felt uneasy for his own safety and well-being. The whole time that Mikha was in prison, Alyona was half-unconsciously trying to seduce Sanya. He would adopt a high guard, like a boxer; or simply let the feminine signals pass over him, like air or steam; or quickly make himself scarce, like water running down a drain. Occasionally, Alyona had hysterics, or went into a sulk with him. Several times she even chased him out of the house; but either she would start missing him and call him up, or he would come over without warning with a toy for the little girl, or pastry eclairs for Alyona. In fact, she ate almost nothing the whole three years that Mikha was gone. It was some sort of metabolical hunger strike. She was able to drink tea with bread or sweets, but she couldn’t stomach meat, or cheese, or even soup. It was strange that the more emaciated she became, the more beautiful and ethereal she seemed. Sanya felt this, and feared her morbid attractiveness. It was Sanya who had taken her to see Mikha, before he was transferred to a prison camp. Sanya was the only one who wrote Mikha long letters. Alyona wrote short letters, very beautiful, sometimes even with little drawings. Mikha would write Alyona an open letter once a month—one for everyone, but with a specific message for each person individually. All the people who corresponded with him would gather at Alyona’s for the reading. Alyona usually sat in an armchair with the sleeping baby on her lap, and Sanya set out tea with cookies. He gave the impression of being Mikha’s replacement. This occasioned rumors about a romance between Alyona and the friend of her imprisoned husband. There was no romance. But a tension hung in the air nevertheless.
Sanya, perhaps more than Alyona, was anxious for Mikha’s return. He sensed her psychological volatility and was afraid—what if her strength gave out suddenly before he came back or his own well-trained resistance failed him? Alyona was perhaps the most attractive of all the women he had ever known: she seemed nearly disembodied, with the long, slow turns of her swanlike neck and head, to the point of conclusion made by her chin, upraised. Or the slow, gentle sweep of the fingers that grazed her temples, and the fingertips coming to rest at the edge of her hairline, pulling slightly at her almond-shaped eyes. It was almost as though her head were hanging on her fingertips, frozen in midair.