Switzerland.’
[ ‘It must be somewhere else then.’ ]
‘When they found Thracian gold on my land, I gave it voluntarily to the National Archaeological Museum.’
[ ‘He prefers silver.’ ]
‘I am not like the imperialist presidents of the United States, who present themselves to their fellow-countrymen as simple folk, and then leave office laden down with riches.’
[ ‘Us, us.’ ]
‘I have been awarded many international honours, but I have always accepted them on behalf of the Party and the State. I have often given money to the nation’s orphanages. When the Lenin Publishing House insisted that I took royalties on my books, since otherwise writers would not be encouraged to do so themselves, I always gave half away to the orphanages. This was not always publicised.’
[ ‘We are the orphans.’ ]
‘My late wife never dressed in Paris fashions.’
[ ‘She should have done. Bag of suet.’
‘Raisa! Raisa!’ ]
‘My own suits, for that matter, are made from cloth woven at a communal production centre close to my own home village.’
Solinsky had had enough. At the start of the morning’s session, he might have been prepared to let things go quietly. But his tolerance was decreasing daily, and the onset of tiredness he felt was edged with nausea. ‘We arenot talking about your suits.’ His tone was peremptory and sarcastic. ‘We do not wish to hear that you consider yourself a paragon of virtue. We are investigating your corruption. We are investigating the way in which you systematically bled this country to death.’
The President of the Court was beginning to feel tired too. ‘Be specific,’ he urged. ‘This is not the place for mere denunciation. You can leave that to the speakers in the public squares.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But what is corruption?’ Petkanov suavely picked up the argument, as if Solinsky’s irritated outburst had merely been a prompt. ‘And why do we not talk about suits?’ He stood with his hands on the padded bar, a compact figure, head set low on the shoulders, and questing nose raised to sniff the courtroom air. He seemed the only person with any energy that day; he was the one driving the tribunal along. ‘Is not corruption in the eye of the beholder? Let me give you an example.’ He paused, knowing that this offer of actual information, set beside his habitual denials and failures of memory, would compel attention. ‘You, for instance, Mr Prosecutor General, I well remember that time we sent you to Italy. The middle-Seventies, was it not? You were, or at least you then proclaimed yourself to be, a loyal member of the Party, a good Communist, a true Socialist. We sent you to Turin, you will recall, as part of a trade delegation. We also gave you some hard currency, which was a privilege, the fruits of the labours of your fellow-countrymen. But we gave you some.’
Solinsky looked at the bench. He didn’t know what was coming — or at least, he hoped he didn’t know what was coming. Why hadn’t the President of the Court intervened?Wasn’t this mere denunciation too? But all three judges were complacently sitting on their hands, showing an immoderate interest in Petkanov’s tale.
‘How, the court might ask, does a good Communist spend the hard currency provided for him by the sweat of the workers and peasants at home? Does he buy socialist books by our fraternal Italian colleagues, books worthy of study? Does he perhaps give some money to a local orphanage? Would he save as much as possible, bring it home and return it to the Party? No, no, no, none of these things. He spent part of it on a nice Italian suit, so that he could be more elegant than his comrades when he returned home. He spent some of it on whisky. And he spent the rest of it,’ Petkanov paused again, an old ham who had long ago understood that old hams’ tricks work, ‘he spent the rest of it on taking a local woman to an expensive restaurant. I ask you simply, is this
[ ‘It must be somewhere else then.’ ]
‘When they found Thracian gold on my land, I gave it voluntarily to the National Archaeological Museum.’
[ ‘He prefers silver.’ ]
‘I am not like the imperialist presidents of the United States, who present themselves to their fellow-countrymen as simple folk, and then leave office laden down with riches.’
[ ‘Us, us.’ ]
‘I have been awarded many international honours, but I have always accepted them on behalf of the Party and the State. I have often given money to the nation’s orphanages. When the Lenin Publishing House insisted that I took royalties on my books, since otherwise writers would not be encouraged to do so themselves, I always gave half away to the orphanages. This was not always publicised.’
[ ‘We are the orphans.’ ]
‘My late wife never dressed in Paris fashions.’
[ ‘She should have done. Bag of suet.’
‘Raisa! Raisa!’ ]
‘My own suits, for that matter, are made from cloth woven at a communal production centre close to my own home village.’
Solinsky had had enough. At the start of the morning’s session, he might have been prepared to let things go quietly. But his tolerance was decreasing daily, and the onset of tiredness he felt was edged with nausea. ‘We arenot talking about your suits.’ His tone was peremptory and sarcastic. ‘We do not wish to hear that you consider yourself a paragon of virtue. We are investigating your corruption. We are investigating the way in which you systematically bled this country to death.’
The President of the Court was beginning to feel tired too. ‘Be specific,’ he urged. ‘This is not the place for mere denunciation. You can leave that to the speakers in the public squares.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But what is corruption?’ Petkanov suavely picked up the argument, as if Solinsky’s irritated outburst had merely been a prompt. ‘And why do we not talk about suits?’ He stood with his hands on the padded bar, a compact figure, head set low on the shoulders, and questing nose raised to sniff the courtroom air. He seemed the only person with any energy that day; he was the one driving the tribunal along. ‘Is not corruption in the eye of the beholder? Let me give you an example.’ He paused, knowing that this offer of actual information, set beside his habitual denials and failures of memory, would compel attention. ‘You, for instance, Mr Prosecutor General, I well remember that time we sent you to Italy. The middle-Seventies, was it not? You were, or at least you then proclaimed yourself to be, a loyal member of the Party, a good Communist, a true Socialist. We sent you to Turin, you will recall, as part of a trade delegation. We also gave you some hard currency, which was a privilege, the fruits of the labours of your fellow-countrymen. But we gave you some.’
Solinsky looked at the bench. He didn’t know what was coming — or at least, he hoped he didn’t know what was coming. Why hadn’t the President of the Court intervened?Wasn’t this mere denunciation too? But all three judges were complacently sitting on their hands, showing an immoderate interest in Petkanov’s tale.
‘How, the court might ask, does a good Communist spend the hard currency provided for him by the sweat of the workers and peasants at home? Does he buy socialist books by our fraternal Italian colleagues, books worthy of study? Does he perhaps give some money to a local orphanage? Would he save as much as possible, bring it home and return it to the Party? No, no, no, none of these things. He spent part of it on a nice Italian suit, so that he could be more elegant than his comrades when he returned home. He spent some of it on whisky. And he spent the rest of it,’ Petkanov paused again, an old ham who had long ago understood that old hams’ tricks work, ‘he spent the rest of it on taking a local woman to an expensive restaurant. I ask you simply, is this
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