The Judas Code

Suddenly thunder cracked overhead. The first blobs of rain hit the window and slid down in rivulets. Behind him he heard the rustle of clothing.

Another crack of thunder and he turned and she was naked and he reached for her

*

The summons came ten days later.

His father took the call in the living room.

‘It’s that girl,’ he said, exuding displeasure, and handed the receiver to Viktor.

‘Do you still want to go through with it?’ Anna asked.

‘Of course. Where shall I meet you?’ He wanted to stop her from committing any indiscretion on the phone. But why should I worry?

‘Nikolai says—’

‘Forget about Nikolai,’ he broke in. ‘Just tell me where to meet you.’

‘At the Tchaikovsky in half an hour. But Viktor—’

‘I’ll be there.’ He hung up.

He glanced at his watch. Six pm.

‘That girl,’ his father said, stroking his grey-streaked beard. ‘Anna, isn’t it?’

‘How did you know her name?’

‘I’ve heard you talk about her.’

Viktor who didn’t remember ever discussing her said: ‘Well, what about her?’

‘I’ve heard,’ his father said, ‘that she’s a bit of a firebrand.’ His voice didn’t carry authority; but it was a voice that wasn’t used to being contradicted.

‘Really? Who told you that?’

‘We get a lot of people from the university in the library.’

‘And they thought fit to discuss your son’s friends with you? Your adopted son,’ he added because he was angry.

‘Just one of your friends. They seemed to think that she wasn’t desirable company.’

‘What were they implying? That she was a whore?’

‘Viktor!’ exclaimed his mother who had just entered the room, clean and bright from a good dusting that morning.

‘I’m sorry, mama, I didn’t know you were there.’

‘What sort of excuse is that? I won’t have that sort of language in my house.’ With one finger she dabbed at a trace of pollen that had fallen from a vase of roses on the table.

Viktor turned to his father. ‘Why did they think she was undesirable, whoever they are?’

‘Apparently she has an ungovernable tongue.’ He had a way of emphasing long words as though he had just invented them.

‘She’s got spirit if that’s what you mean.’

‘Misdirected by all accounts. I really think, Viktor, that you should give her up.’

‘There must be some nice girls in your class,’ his mother said.

What would they say, Viktor wondered, if they knew that he had celebrated his release from celibacy by making love to her twice in one day? Twice! He almost felt like telling them; but that wouldn’t be fair, they had been good to him in their way.

His father said: ‘Wasn’t there some gossip about her and her private tutor?’

‘Was there? I didn’t know.’

‘Your father’s only telling you for your own good,’ his mother said.

Viktor wondered if his father had been fortified by a few nips of vodka. ‘And I’m grateful,’ he said stiffly, ‘but I’m nineteen years old and capable of making my own judgements.’

His father drummed his fingers on a bookcase crammed with esoteric volumes discarded by the library. ‘You’re going to see her now?’

‘You were listening to my conversation, you know perfectly well I am.’ He consulted his watch again. ‘And I’m late.’

His father’s fingers returned to his beard but the combing movements were quicker. ‘You realise you are displeasing your mother and me. Do you think we deserve that?’

Addressing his mother, Viktor said: ‘Look, you’ve been wonderful to me. If it wasn’t for you I might be living in a hovel, working on an assembly line; I might even be dead. I’ve never been disobedient before. But I’m a man now. And I have the right to choose my friends. After all, it is a free country. Isn’t it?’ turning to his father.

His father said: ‘I’ve warned you.’

‘And your warning has been considered and dismissed.’ Viktor kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry but there it is: your little boy has grown up. And now I must rush.’

He took a tramcar to the centre of the city. It was another fine day, cumulus cloud piled high on the horizon. Two more months and the jaws of winter would begin to close. But Viktor didn’t mind the long bitter months. Perhaps his parents had been Siberians. That would account for his blue eyes.

He walked briskly through the Arbat, past sleeping dogs and a group of children wearing scarlet scarves and red stars on their shirts and old people in black becalmed in the past on the pavements.

She was waiting for him at a table by an open window. A breeze breathed through the window stirring her black hair. She wore a yellow dress with jade beads at her neck. She was smoking a cardboard-tipped cigarette with nervous little puffs.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘Coffee?’

‘We haven’t time. Come, we can’t talk here.’ Outside she said: ‘You have to promise me, Viktor, that whatever you see you won’t tell a soul. You won’t say where you’ve been and you won’t say who with. Do you promise?’

‘Of course, it was understood anyway. Where am I going anyway?’

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: ‘To a place of execution.’

Apprehension was germinating inside him: she seemed so confident. ‘How do we get there?’ he asked. ‘Wherever there is.’