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.Eventually he boarded a tram which, he was assured, would take him to Nevsky Prospekt.Wedging a bit of tram-ticket between right canine and false quaternion, he thought of what he would say to Zverkov and Karamzin.They would be there waiting, undoubtedly they would be there.He would invite them to lunch and tell them he was leaving Leningrad.They would be quite welcome to watch him paying his bill.Yes, in one sense leaving.In another, just arriving.PART TWO* * *1‘YOU LOOK,’ SAID BELINDA, ‘JUST TERRIBLE.I’D SAY YOU HAVEN’T shaved for days and days and days.And you’re dirty with it.Not a bit like God’s Englishman abroad.’ She was sitting up in bed in a Soviet hospital night-gown, a woolly bed-jacket on, her black clean hair bound in a coarse blue fillet.‘I’m growing a bit of a beard,’ explained Paul, fingering the bristles.‘It saves trouble, you see.We’re not too well off for water where we are.’‘And where exactly are you?’‘Oh, it’s all right really.A bit rough, but it’s all right.Cheaper than a hotel, that’s the main thing.’‘But where?’‘Not far off the Kirov works.You have to get the Metro.The suburbs you could call it.’‘Poor Paul.This has all been a bit unexpected, hasn’t it?’‘I’m all right.It seems funny to be called Paul again.I’ve got quite used to being called Pavel.This last week seems like ages and ages.’ He took her forearm, egg-smooth, egg-warm, and squeezed it.‘Poor darling,’ he said.‘I’ve missed you.’ He thought about that and added, ‘When I’ve had time to, that is.I’ve been busy one way and another.It’s been more difficult than I expected, you know, selling these damned things.You’ve got to be very careful.’ He swivelled his head instinctively to look, with narrowed eyes, at the other patients of the ward.They were all somnolent or surveying, straight in front of them, vast Russian wastes.‘And what,’ he asked, ‘are they doing to you exactly? And when are they going to let you out?’‘Oh.’ Belinda let the vowel drop and shrugged her shoulders vaguely.‘Drugs and things.Tests and so on.And Sonya talks to me a lot.’‘Sonya?’‘Dr Lazurkina.She’s been wonderful.’‘I see,’ said Paul warily.‘Wonderful, is she? A great one for talking, I’ll say that.And what precisely does she talk to you about?’ He frowned jealously.Belinda smiled.She said:‘Happiness.The meaning of happiness.The need to belong somewhere.My childhood.Her childhood.’‘But,’ said Paul, ‘what in the name of God is supposed to be wrong with you? Talking about happiness doesn’t seem to be much of a sort of treatment.That rash seems to have gone.’ He spoke with increasing heat, crescendo poco a poco.‘I should imagine you’re able to walk now, too.When are they letting you out? I had to go and see about an extension of our stay here.It took a long time.What the hell’s going on?’‘That was nothing much, apparently,’ said Belinda.‘It was just something to do with mixing barbiturates with wood alcohol or something.Have you ever heard of that before? I hadn’t, either.It seems we’ve been drinking a lot of wood alcohol.No, all that’s all right.I’m ill in a deeper way, she says.’‘It sounds to me,’ cut in Paul brusquely, ‘like a bit of brain-washing.They’re trying to get at you because you’re an American.’‘Is that what it is?’ said Belinda languidly.‘It sounds rather nice.’‘Oh, come off it,’ scowled Paul.‘Indoctrination.Are they trying to get you to say that Western democracy’s no good and that it’s made you unhappy and there’s a fundamental contradiction in it and all that jazz?’ Belinda said:‘Where did you pick up that expression?’ Then, ‘“Wash the stone, wash the bone, wash the brain, wash the soul.” That comes in Murder in the Cathedral, doesn’t it? I always liked the idea of getting absolutely clean.Mr Eliot, too.My father met Mr Eliot at least twice.’‘I don’t seem to be getting through to you,’ sighed Paul.‘It must be the drugs.’‘From your boy-friend, I suppose.That’s where you’ve got that expression from.Are you happy with your boy-friend?’Paul blushed.‘Alex,’ he said, ‘is not my boy-friend.Not in the sense you mean.’‘How do you know what sense I mean?’‘I’m going to see Dr Lazurkina,’ said Paul.‘She’s been putting ideas into your head, hasn’t she?’ He made as if to get up right away from his visitor’s chair, but the gesture was half-hearted and he knew it.And Belinda said:‘She’s not here today.And I won’t have you running to her raging and complaining.She’s helping a great deal.Sonya’s a wonderful doctor.’‘For the fifth time,’ exaggerated Paul, ‘when are they going to let you out of here? There’s a shop to be run, remember, back in good old capitalist decadent England.And the money won’t last for ever.’‘If,’ Belinda said, ‘it’s dear Sandra and her goddamn widow’s dower you’re worried about——’‘I know all about that.I know all about you and Sandra.But it’s Robert I’m concerned about.I’ve got to do my duty to poor Robert.I’ve got to take back a good thousand quid in memory of poor dead Robert.I won’t be able to do it if we stay here much longer.’‘Oh,’ said Belinda, ‘if you take it nice and quiet and easy … You don’t have to spend much money, do you? Living out in the slums of Leningrad or wherever you are.And I’m not costing you anything.They look after me here very well.’‘But,’ Paul said with force, ‘don’t you want to get out of here and back home again? Do you like being stuck here in a Soviet hospital?’‘It’s nice to be able to lie back and dream a bit,’ said Belinda dreamily, pushing herself languidly back down into the bed.‘I lie here and dream about the past, you know, and then Sonya comes and talks to me and asks me questions.It’s a bit of a rest.Soon, she says, I’ll be able to get up and go for little walks.She’ll go with me and show me things.’‘There’s one little walk you can take,’ said Paul viciously, ‘and you can take it with me.That’s a walk back to the ship.’ Silly: that ship had long gone; nobody could call that a little walk.‘What I mean is,’ he said, ‘I’m going to have a word with your precious Dr Lazurkina about getting you out of here.Tomorrow,’ he said.Then he saw he had to be realistic.‘Or the next day.I’ll get these dresses off my hands somehow and I’ll book on the next available boat.’‘All right,’ said Belinda levelly.‘That’s fine.Nobody’s complaining, then.No hurry at all, is there? Just leave me here till you’ve finished doing what you came here to do.I’m having a nice little rest.Do you know, I’m reading all sorts of books I never read before.Uncle Tom’s Cabin.Three Men in a Boat.They have them all here.In English.’‘But it’s not right,’ said Paul.‘Can’t you see that? It’s just not right at all.’ A farmer’s wife of a sister came to the bed, red, jolly, affectionate, with a glass of tea in which seemed to float segments of apple.She smiled on Belinda and hugged her, saying:‘Krasiva Anglichanka.’Belinda smiled up her thanks.‘Did you understand that?’ said Paul.‘Did you get what she said?’‘She said I was a beautiful Englishwoman,’ said Belinda.‘That, I should think, is about half right.I’m learning a few words,’ she said complacently.The sister, though still jolly, made briskish chicken-shooing gestures at Paul.‘It would seem,’ Belinda said, ‘that visiting-time is over.It was nice of you to come and see me, dear.You must come again.’‘Tomorrow.I’ll be along tomorrow.’‘Kiss Momma, then
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