Cancer Ward: A Novel (FSG Classics) by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Author:Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn [Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 1991-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

21. The Shadows Go Their Way

Oleg was lucky enough to bump into her right in the doorway of the clinic. Moving to one side, he held the door open for her. She was walking so vigorously, her body bent slightly forward, that if he hadn’t moved aside she might well have knocked him down.

He took in the whole picture at a glance: the blue beret on her dark-brown hair, her head bowed as if she were walking against the wind, and her coat with its very individual cut. It had a fantastic, long scarflike collar, buttoned to the throat.

Had he known she was Rusanov’s daughter he’d probably have turned back, but as it was he walked on to take his usual stroll along the unfrequented paths.

Aviette had no trouble in getting permission to go upstairs to the ward. Her father was very weak, and in any case Thursday was visiting day. Taking off her overcoat, she threw over her claret-colored sweater the white coat they gave her, which was so small that she would only have been able to get her arms into the sleeves if she had been a child.

After his third injection the day before, Pavel Nikolayevich had grown much weaker and no longer felt like taking his legs from under the blankets unless he had to. He moved about in bed very little, ate with reluctance, and didn’t put on his glasses or butt in on conversations. The life around him, to which he normally reacted decisively with approval or censure, had faded. He had become indifferent to it. His customary strength of will had been shaken and he had surrendered to his weakness with a kind of pleasure. It was the wrong kind of pleasure—such as is felt by a man who is freezing to death and powerless to move. The tumor, which had begun by annoying him, then frightening him, had now acquired rights of its own. It was no longer he but the tumor that was in charge.

Knowing that Aviette had flown in from Moscow, Pavel Nikolayevich was expecting her. As always he was waiting for her with joy, but this morning the joy was mixed with alarm. It had been decided that Kapa should tell her about Minai’s letter and the whole truth about Rodichev and Guzun. There’d been no point in her knowing before, but now her brains and her advice were needed. Aviette was a very clever girl, whose views on things were at least as bright as her parents’, usually brighter. Still, it was rather alarming. How would she react? Would she be able to put herself back in time into their position and understand? Mightn’t she condemn them thoughtlessly, out of hand?

In spite of the heavy bag she was carrying in one hand and the white coat she was holding around her shoulders with the other, Aviette strode energetically into the ward, her head still bent as if against the wind. Her fresh, young face was glowing. It registered

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