“I have no craving, doctor. And my desire for alcohol is now no more than that of any citizen you might run into on Red Square.”
“That could be considered an offensive exaggeration of alcohol problems in our country.”
Bukansky laughed. “I’m saying I’m all right, doctor. A couple of months in here have cured me of any craving. Let’s get on with the examination, shall we?”
The doctor lifted his hand. “First I would like to discuss with you your attitude to the West.”
“What has that to do with a medical man?”
The doctor took out a notebook and silver pencil and scribbled a few lines. “I wanted to ask you,” he said, bringing his eyes up from the notebook, “if in any way you have materially altered your attitudes to the West?”
“No,” Bukansky said cautiously. “I have no reason to alter my view that the West is an essentially anti-Soviet power grouping. That has always been my view.”
“You have not then found, after serious reflection in the Clinic, that your view of the West has changed?”
“Doctor,” Bukansky said urgently, “my view has not changed because it has no need to change.”
“Ah,” the doctor scribbled in his notebook. “But you obviously, Citizen Bukansky, appreciated what the West calls ‘the good things in life.’”
“Yes, without considering them the best things in life.”
“And what would you consider the best things in life?”
“Our own Soviet achievements.”
“Then why did your magazine, Novaya Literature spend so much time praising the ‘good,’ and ignoring the best?”
“Are you going to examine me, doctor?”
“When you have answered my question.”
“The magazine, under my editorship, did not take that view.”
“You deny it?” the doctor said in apparent astonishment. “I could show you issues of your own magazine that look like a collection of fashion plates for capitalist clothing enterprises in Paris and New York.”
“I’m happy to see you, and possibly your wife, read my magazine.”
“I studied it,” the doctor said coldly. “I found it interesting to note how many references you chose to make to the so-called arts of the German Federal Republic.”
“I considered some of their recent architecture and design to be of high quality, especially by their young socialist designers.”
Again the doctor bent his head and scribbled.
“This obsession with Western life,” he said at length, “clearly remains with you. A form of nostalgia perhaps for the things you’ve lost.”
“The only thing of value that I’ve lost, doctor, is my freedom.”
“In the sense you mean it, another Western concept.”
“What sort of a doctor are you?” Bukansky said.
He stood up. “My position is senior medical adviser here at the Kirov Clinic. My specialty is psychiatry.”
He picked up his bag.
“So the examination is concluded.” Bukansky looked at him with contempt.
“The examination is concluded.”
“Will I see your conclusions?”
“Of course. As soon as I have determined what treatment is appropriate.”
He rapped on the door and a guard outside opened it.
“One moment, doctor,” Bukansky stood next to him by the door. “Do I understand that at this point at least I am a patient, not a prisoner?”
“That is true. Any restraint is for your own protection.”
“Of course. I am naturally interested in my friends…” Bukansky said cautiously.
“Yes?”
“As a patient do I have the right to contact any of them by letter?”
“I will make enquiries.”
“Do I have the right to know if any of them have made efforts to contact me?”
“Do you have one, or several persons in mind?”
Bukansky hesitated. “Several.”
The doctor’s blue eyes stared into his. “No,” he said. “Nobody has made any effort whatsoever to contact you.”
Bukansky turned away. “Thank you, doctor,” he said.
The doctor paused by the door. As if as an afterthought he said: “One more matter I must raise with you, Citizen, before we conclude the examination. I’m sure you are aware of the process of Soviet law in these matters.”
“Tell me.”
“We have just been conducting, as required by law, a forensic-psychiatric examination of your condition. This is at the legal request of the investigative organs of the State and the procuracy.”
“I am comforted, doctor.”
“The next stage is for your case to go to court.”
“On what charge?”
“But of course there is no charge,” the doctor smiled reassuringly. “What the court has to establish is whether or not you are accountable for your actions.”
“Which actions?”
“The actions which caused investigative organs originally to ask for your psychiatric examination.”
“Do you know a book called Catch-22, doctor?”
“A Western book?”
“Yes.”
“I am unfamiliar with it.”
“Please go on, doctor…”
“Your defense counsel…”
“I was unaware I had one, or needed one.”
“He was appointed by the procuracy at the time of your hospitalization.”
“Should he not have discussed matters with me?” Bukansky said. “I might have been able to help.”
“It is not desirable, Citizen. I must repeat this is not a criminal case. The court is simply charged with the responsibility of deciding whether or not you are accountable.”
“If I’m non-accountable, what happens?”
“You remain in hospital for treatment, of course. But let me continue, Citizen. Your defense counsel had decided to call an important witness in your favor.”
“Who is this witness?”
“He has decided to call Lydia Petrovna, your former secretary.”
Bukansky said nothing.
“Presumably she will testify to your complete accountability.”
“I think she found me sane, doctor, yes.”
“You have the right to refuse this witness.”
“Why should I do that? I believe she will be prepared to testify in my favor. That’s to say in favor of the view that I am not mentally deranged.”
“It’s true,” the doctor conceded, “it would not look good in court if you had rejected such a witness.”
“Then I accept.”
“Very well, Citizen. Then I, too, will exercise my legal right to a prior examination of the witness.”
“What for?” Bukansky tried to cover his alarm.
“We must be satisfied that the witness is not suffering herself from a psychopathic condition.”
“You have the right to bring her to one of your hospitals?”
“Undoubtedly. Under RSFR Notarial Law, articles six-six, six-seven, she can first be examined by her own doctor.”
“But will anybody tell her that? Will my so-called defense counsel?”
“A Soviet citizen is presumed to be familiar with Soviet Law.”
“I see,” Bukansky said. “But in any event you will bring her here and examine her?”
“Yes.”
“What will you find, doctor?”
“How can I tell,” the doctor said, testily. “When I have not yet conducted the examination.”
“You must have already made up your mind.”
“That is an aggressive slur on my professional standards, Citizen Bukansky.”
“I am not prepared to be responsible for any Soviet citizen being brought to this place,” Bukansky said.
“You have no choice, Citizen. Under the law I am empowered to conduct an examination.”