"That is because I wasn't sure I'd be able to. Happily, however…" He smiled pleasantly and turned his hands palms up, as if to say, "Here I am and isn't it fun?" Then the waiter came hurrying up, setting down an extra glass; and naturally it was Loginov who poured out the vodka — a straightforward demonstration of who was in charge. We drank a simple vashez-dorovye. When I put my glass down, I said, "You have the advantage, Mr. Loginov. I think you must know more about me than I do about you."
He brought out a package of John Player's Special, and extended one to me. "I suppose that is true. To begin with, I think I have read everything you have written."
"I doubt that."
He shrugged, lighting our cigarettes. "Well, not all… but a great deal. And I have read careful digests of the rest. And estimates of you."
"That's a file I'd like to see."
"I can tell you, Mr. Thome, that its conclusions are all very positive. You've taken the trouble to learn our language, you've done your best to understand our country, and you are a fair man. That doesn't make you less critical, but at least your criticisms are not stupid. And intelligent criticism is as rare… is the same as… good advice." He lifted his glass then. "Let us drink to that — to good advice."
I drank, or rather sipped; though, as usual in this life, it was too late to worry about how much I'd drunk. As he put his glass down, Loginov added, "Perhaps I can return the favor, Mr. Thorne. Not with advice, exactly, but information."
"Really? Your organization isn't famous for passing it out."
His voice sank a little; he looked very levelly at me. "Look, Mr. Thorne… I have mentioned no organizations, and though I naturally have an employer, why don't we forget it. For now. Put it out of your mind…"
"That's easier said than done."
"I won't disagree. But — you understand? — there is nothing official about this conversation. Tell me to leave, and I will. And there will be no repercussions. You are very welcome in the Soviet Union. That is official." He paused, then added, "I would simply like to help make your stay more profitable."
"By giving me information?"
"Exactly."
I could hear the band again. They were still flipping around through the musical eras, and now everyone chuckled at "How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?"
I said, "As you know, Mr. Loginov, I'm a journalist. Information is one thing I never have enough of."
"Good… and, as it happens, I am especially well informed about the subject of your current project… which Mr. Glubin mentioned to me."
I said, "I see," though of course Viktor Glubin had supposedly known nothing about my current "project" till twenty minutes ago.
Loginov nodded. "Yes," he said. "The dissidents. Naturally, they are a subject of great fascination in the West. But they are much misunderstood. I'm sure it would be very worthwhile for a man of your knowledge and sensitivity to tackle the subject."
I leaned forward, knocking ash from my cigarette. "Mr. Loginov, I wouldn't want you to think me ungrateful, but just for the record, my current project — as you call it — has nothing to do with the dissident movement."
"No?" He looked skeptical. "I will note that — for the record, as you put it. But I'm not sure that you're right. Possibly it is a confusion of terminology; we may be speaking of the same thing, but with different words. You see what I mean?" He added, "It may become clearer as I go on."
He was a KGB officer and this was Leningrad; if he wanted to go on, I had no intention of trying to stop him. I leaned back in my chair. "I don't suppose you're a dissident, Mr. Loginov?"
He smiled. "Not quite. But I know many of them… Or does that surprise you?"
I shrugged.
"Of course, personal knowledge is not the same as friendship, though everyone knows Yevtushenko was very friendly with Khrushchev. You see, what people in the West don't understand is that the liberal dissidents are very few in number and are almost all drawn from the elite elements of Soviet society… our intellectuals, scientists. They are a closely knit group, and if you know one, you know all the others. They are like a family. Or the characters in our great novels — there is always a chart on the flyleaf that shows you how they are related." He reached for the vodka, pouring us each another glass. "Perhaps it's even hereditary," he added, "or at least a tradition — like the painting of icons — that is passed down from generation to generation. Think of Yuli Daniel. He was a student of Sinyavsky, the famous 'Abram Tertz.' And Si-nyavsky, of course, was a great friend of Pasternak's — he was a pallbearer at Pasternak's funeral — and Pasternak, in his turn, came from a family who were friends of Tolstoy, and he was enough of a dissident in his day to be excommunicated by the Orthodox Church. So you see, in the veins of Yuli Daniel, you might say there is running the blood of a tradition of resistance that goes all the way back to the Czars."
"That's a fascinating theory, Mr. Loginov. Maybe this is a book you should be writing."
He shook his head. "I wouldn't be interested. And neither should you — if you don't mind my saying so. Why? Because the dissidents I have been talking about — the democratic, liberal dissidents you so admire in the West — can have little importance here. I don't say no importance, you understand; but only a little. It's interesting. The reason they have a little importance is the same reason why they can never have very much: it is because, as I've said, they come from the elite. Any regime must pay some attention to what its top people say, men like Sakharov, but in the final analysis they don't count, for they have no popular power."
"You mean, they are separated from the masses."
"Sneer at the words, Mr. Thome, but not the idea. Ask Johnson and Nixon why they couldn't win their ugly little war in Vietnam — it was because, in the end, they didn't have the people behind them. That is the same problem the liberal dissidents have. You understand, this isn't because the people support the regime, or that they love Communism. In Russia, Mr. Thorne, Communism is not even a bad joke anymore, just an old one. It simply doesn't work, and even when it does, it works to no purpose. It's like that old story about Gorky, you know. He was supposed to have visited a wonderful, modern, efficient factory — everything humming along at top speed— but when he asked them what they made, they told him, 'We make signs that say "Elevator Out of Order." ' That's Communism for you — that's the best it can do — and everybody knows it. But this 'everybody,' you see, is Russian. That's the trouble. And 'democracy' is not Russian, 'freedom' is not Russian, 'human rights' are not Russian. These ideas come from the West, where Napoleon came from, and Guderian's tanks. That is why the liberal dissidents have always been doomed."
I said nothing; in Russia, "sophistication" can often be expressed by this sort of talk, but it might also be a trap. After a second, Loginov smiled. "You are surprised, Mr. Thorne?"
"I don't want to bring up organizations again, but there's one, you know, that's supposed to be the 'shield of the Party.' "
"Ah. The Party. Have I said a word that's critical of it? I would hate to think so, Mr. Thorne — I would hate myself for saying it. But the Party is over eighty years old, and only a foolish old man believes in the dreams of his youth." He shook his head. "When you speak of the Party, you speak of Soviet power — legitimate Soviet power… and that has less and less to do with Communism."
"All right. I won't even quibble about 'legitimate.' But what does any of this have to do with me?"
"Yes. For that, I return to the dissidents. I told you why the liberal dissidents couldn't succeed — they're too identified with the West, with foreign ideas. Ordinary Russians, even if they're unhappy with the state of affairs, can find nothing there — so they look elsewhere. They look to themselves, to Russia, to their past. In its own way, of course, that is rebellion… to find anything good before 1917 is a criticism of what has come after, whether you like it or not. At the same time, how can anyone disapprove? What is wrong with loving your country, its being, its history?"