The Secret City Part 42

"I will do my best," I said.

I found by a miracle of good fortune an Isvostchick in the street outside. We plunged along through the pools of water in the direction of the Gagarinskaya. That was a horrible drive. In the Sadovaya we met the slow, winding funeral procession.

On they went, arm in arm, the same little wailing tune, monotonously repeating, but sounding like nothing human, rather exuding from the very cobbles of the road and the waters of the stagnant ca.n.a.ls.

The march of the peasants upon Petrograd! I could see them from all the quarters of the town, converging upon the Marsovoie Pole, stubborn, silent, wraiths of earlier civilisation, omens of later dominations. I thought of Boris Grogoff. What did he, with all his vehemence and conceit, intend to do with these? First he would flatter them--I saw that clearly enough. But then when his flatteries failed, what then?

Could he control them? Would they obey him? Would they obey anybody until education had shown them the necessities for co-ordination and self-discipline? The river at last was overflowing its banks--would not the savage force of its power be greater than any one could calculate?

The stream flowed on.... My Isvostchick took his cab down a side street, and then again met the strange sorrowful company. From this point I could see several further bridges and streets, and over them all I saw the same stream flowing, the same banners blowing--and all so still, so dumb, so patient.

The delay was maddening. My thoughts were all now on Nina. I saw her always before me as I had beheld her yesterday, walking slowly along, her eyes fixed on s.p.a.ce, the tears trickling down her face. "Life,"

Nikitin once said to me, "I sometimes think is like a dark room, the door closed, the windows bolted and your enemy shut in with you. Whether your enemy or yourself is the stronger who knows?... Nor does it matter, as the issue is always decided outside.... Knowing that you can at least afford to despise him."

I felt something of that impotence now. I cursed the Isvostchick, but wherever he went this slow endless stream seemed to impede our way. Poor Nina! Such a baby! What was it that had driven her to this? She did not love the man, and she knew quite well that she did not. No, it was an act of defiance. But defiance to whom--to Vera? to Lawrence?... and what had Semyonov said to her?

Then, thank Heaven, we crossed the Nevski, and our way was clear. The old cabman whipped up his horse and, in a minute or two we were outside 16 Gagarinskaya. I will confess to very real fears and hesitations as I climbed the dark stairs (the lift was, of course, not working). I was not the kind of man for this kind of job. In the first place I hated quarrels, and knowing Grogoff's hot temper I had every reason to expect a tempestuous interview. Then I was ill, aching in every limb and seeing everything, as I always did when I was unwell, mistily and with uncertainty. Then I had a very shrewd suspicion that there was considerable truth in what Semyonov had said, that I was interfering in what only remotely concerned me. At any rate, that was certainly the view that Grogoff would take, and Nina, perhaps also. I felt, as I rang the bell of No. 3, that unpleasant pain in the pit of the stomach that tells you that you're going to make a fool of yourself.

Well, it would not be for the first time.

"Boris Nicolaievitch, _doma_?" I asked the cross-looking old woman who opened the door.

"_Doma_," she answered, holding it open to let me pa.s.s.

I was shown into a dark, untidy sitting-room. It seemed at first sight to be littered with papers, newspapers, Revolutionary sheets and proclamations, the _Pravda_, the _Novaya Jezn_, the _Soldatskaya Mwyssl_.... On the dirty wall-paper there were enormous dark photographs, in faded gilt frames, of family groups; on one wall there was a large garishly coloured picture of Grogoff himself in student's dress. The stove was unlighted and the room was very cold. My heart ached for Nina.

A moment after Grogoff came in. He came forward to me very amiably, holding out his hand.

"Nu, Ivan Andreievitch.... What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling.

And how he had changed! He was positively swollen with self-satisfaction. He had never been famous for personal modesty, but he seemed now to be physically twice his normal size. He was fat, his cheeks puffed, his stomach swelling beneath the belt that bound it. His fair hair was long, and rolled in large curls on one side of his head and over his forehead. He spoke in a loud, overbearing voice.

"Nu, Ivan Andreievitch, what can I do for you?" he repeated.

"Can I see Nina?" I asked.

"Nina?..." he repeated as though surprised. "Certainly--but what do you want to say to her?"

"I don't see that that's your business," I answered. "I have a message for her from her family."

"But of course it's my business," he answered. "I'm looking after her now."

"Since when?" I asked.

"What does that matter?... She is going to live with me."

"We'll see about that," I said.

I knew that it was foolish to take this kind of tone. It could do no good, and I was not the sort of man to carry it through.

But he was not at all annoyed.

"See, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, smiling. "What is there to discuss?

Nina and I have long considered living together. She is a grown-up woman. It's no one's affair but her own."

"Are you going to marry her?" I asked.

"Certainly not," he answered; "that would not suit either of us. It's no good your bringing your English ideas here, Ivan Andreievitch. We belong to the new world, Nina and I."

"Well, I want to speak to her," I answered.

"So you shall, certainly. But if you hope to influence her at all you are wasting your time, I a.s.sure you. Nina has acted very rightly. She found the home life impossible. I'm sure I don't wonder. She will a.s.sist me in my work. The most important work, perhaps, that man has ever been called on to perform...."

He raised his voice here as though he were going to begin a speech. But at that moment Nina came in. She stood in the doorway looking across at me with a childish mixture of hesitation and boldness, of anger and goodwill in her face. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes heavy. Her hair was done in two long plaits. She looked about fourteen.

She came up to me, but she didn't offer me her hand. Boris said:

"Nina dear, Ivan Andreievitch has come to give you a message from your family." There was a note of scorn in his voice as he repeated my earlier sentence.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at me defiantly.

"I'd like to give it you alone," I said.

"Whatever you say to me it is right that Boris should hear," she answered.

I tried to forget that Grogoff was there. I went on:

"Well then, Nina, you must know what I want to say. They are heartbroken at your leaving them. You know of course that they are. They beg you to come back.... Vera and Nicholas too. They simply won't know what to do without you. Vera says that you have been angry with her. She doesn't know why, but she says that she will do her very best if you come back, so that you won't be angry any more.... Nina, dear, you know that it is they whom you really love. You never can be happy here. You know that you cannot.... Come back to them! Come back! I don't know what it was that Alexei Petrovitch said to you, but whatever it was you should not listen to it. He is a bad man and only means harm to your family. He does indeed...."

I paused. She had never moved whilst I was speaking. Now she only said, shaking her head, "It's no good, Ivan Andreievitch.... It's no good."

"But why? Why?" I asked. "Give me your reasons, Nina."

She answered proudly, "I don't see why I should give you any reasons, Ivan Andreievitch. I am free. I can do as I wish."

"There's something behind this that I don't know," I said. "I ought to know.... It isn't fair not to tell me. What did Alexei Petrovitch say to you?"

But she only shook her head.

"He had nothing to do with this. It is my affair, Ivan Andreievitch. I couldn't live with Vera and Nicholas any longer."

Grogoff then interfered.

"I think this is about enough...." he said. "I have given you your opportunity. Nina has been quite clear in what she has said. She does not wish to return. There is your answer." He cleared his voice and went on in rather a higher tone: "I think you forget, Ivan Andreievitch, another aspect of this affair. It is not only a question of our private family disputes. Nina has come here to a.s.sist me in my national work. As a member of the Soviet I may, without exaggeration, claim to have an opportunity in my hands that has been offered in the past to few human beings. You are an Englishman, and so hidebound with prejudices and conventions. You may not be aware that there has opened this week the greatest war the world has ever seen--the war of the proletariats against the bourgeoisies and capitalists of the world." I tried to interrupt him, but he went on, his voice ever rising and rising: "What is your wretched German war? What but a struggle between the capitalists of the different countries to secure greater robberies and extortions, to set their feet more firmly than ever on the broad necks of the wretched People! Yes, you English, with your natural hypocrisy, pretend that you are fighting for the freedom of the world. What about Ireland?

What about India? What about South Africa?... No, you are all alike.

Germany, England, Italy, France, and our own wretched Government that has, at last, been destroyed by the brave will of the People. We declare a People's War!... We cry aloud to the People to throw down their arms!

And the People will hear us!"

He paused for breath. His arms were raised, his eyes on fire, his cheeks crimson.