The Household Traitors by John Blackburn

Author:John Blackburn [Blackburn, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2016-10-12T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The man had been waiting for him in the office of Professor Reyd­kin and there was nothing at all distinguished about his appearance. A mild-looking man of medium height, medium build who was just approaching middle age. His hair had started to recede, he wore a shabby suit with leather-bound cuffs and elbows and he was smoking a pipe and obviously not enjoying it. He appeared somewhat prim and old-maidish, and Boris fancied he was a junior lecturer till he dismissed Reydkin with a curt word of thanks and sat down behind his desk.

‘Please take that chair, Boris Dubassof,’ he said, nodding affably before opening a report sheet. ‘My name is Vanin . . . Peter Ilyich Vanin and unknown to you I have been taking a close interest in your career.’ His pipe was not drawing well and he seemed to have difficulty in even keeping it alight.

‘You are a bright fellow, it seems, Dubassof. Your teachers state that your academic progress is excellent and you are a keen athlete. You also attend night classes to study English, German and Italian. All very commendable.’

‘Thank you, comrade.’ Boris now imagined that he was some benevolent inspector from the Bureau of Higher Education, but in this also he was quite wrong.

‘You have yourself to thank, Boris Stephanovich, and there is something else in your favour. You are not only popular with your teachers and fellow students, but you have the type of personality which makes people eager to confide in you . . . to discuss their problems and hopes freely. That is a very, very valuable asset, indeed.

‘Curse this thing.’ Vanin had given up his battle with the pipe and he laid it down. ‘My wife keeps nagging that I smoke too many cigarettes and I’ve been trying to compromise, but it’s no use. I’m a wet smoker and I just can’t get on with a pipe at all.’ He took a packet of long-funnelled Mockbas from his crumpled jacket and lit one with relish.

‘Now, what was I coming to? Yes, your future intentions which are to enter the planning department of the State Railways. How will a knowledge of foreign languages help you there, Dubassof?’

‘Railways cross frontiers, comrade, so they are bound to be international. Also foreign techniques have to be studied and sometimes adopted.’

‘Fair enough, but what about your reasons for choosing a railway career? Aren’t they rather emotional?’ Vanin pushed aside the file and spoke from memory. ‘Your father is a locomotive engineer and you are very close to each other. That is perfectly natural because your mother was murdered in Germany when you were very young. But it is not natural or desirable that you should feel emotionally forced to follow in your father’s footsteps. By the way, I hope that Stephan Feodorovich is in good health. They discovered a slight cardiac murmur during his last medical.’

‘He was well enough when I last heard from him, comrade.’ Though Vanin could not have spoken more pleasantly, Boris found the line of questioning disturbing.

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