Название: The Squire Quartet
Автор: Brian Aldiss
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Научная фантастика
isbn: 9780007488117
isbn:
The coffee arrived.
Looking down at his cup, Squire said, ‘My dear Rugorsky, how can I answer all the arguments you put forward? Perhaps the fundamental error you make – forgive me if I speak out as you encourage me to – lies in making such great distinction between your rulers and your ruled. One hopelessly bad, one hopelessly good. That’s unreal – and isn’t it a very Russian error of thought? Are not your rulers of the people, and have people not conspired to be badly ruled? You threw out the Romanovs, if I remember rightly.
‘Every country gets the rulers it deserves. I say that knowing how England has a mediocre team at present. But our system which communists and persons of ill-will seek constantly to undermine, at least allows a chance of changing the team peaceably. Your system is designed to give the people no such chance. So you have a self-perpetuating autarchy, which condones and often perpetuates the crimes of Stalin and his henchmen.
‘And if you are a poor country after half a century of Marxism, then it’s Marxism and the system it has created which is to blame. Quite simple.’
‘No, you see, reality is not so simple.’ Rugorsky lifted his cup and placed it to his thick lips, whilst fixing Squire with glittering eyes. ‘To give an instance, I did not put forward so many arguments when I spoke; you only say I did. Then you grasped the point of major antagonism, building up explosively the area I tried to defuse, trying to imply I am a member of a criminal nation. You long for a confrontation, I believe. You are fierce.’
Squire said impatiently, ‘No, I’m only too bloody polite. Quite honestly, if the USSR’s as poor as you say, it is because of the barbarous killing off of the kulaks, and the miserable consequences of the enforced collectivization of agriculture. I listen patiently, but really – a system so criminal and repressive can earn nothing but poverty.’
The Russian inclined his head in a submissive gesture.
‘Perhaps you think of my country as one big lock-up, as Solzhenitsyn wants you to do. But I must tell you, you meet many good fellows in a prison, you know. Some may even become your friends and spiritual leaders. So I take the liberty to tell you once more, whilst all the while drinking your coffee, that I care much more about your country than you do about mine. I love England, you see – that’s my weakness.
‘If you really wish to help people in Russia who work for happier times, then you must do so quietly. You must not make inflammatory speeches, even when idiots like Krawstadt open their mouths so widely.’
The coffee was good. Squire drained his cup and sighed.
‘So far, I have kept silent in public. But most of the speakers give vent to a Marxist bias. I was provoked, let’s say. How does my keeping quiet further the cause of enlightenment in the Soviet Union?’
‘Because …’ Rugorsky tapped a plump finger on the table top. ‘Because it is important that these international gatherings take place. Otherwise, we all get locked up in our own countries. If it is reported that there is political dissension, or if the political system of my country is insulted in public, then we shall not be allowed to leave home again. This is what d’Exiteuil understands. I believe he’s a sensible man.
‘There’s also the personal aspect. If I and Kchevov are involved in trouble, it will be interpreted at home as loss of face. We shall not be allowed again in the West, or maybe even in other socialist countries. I can only live, I tell you frankly, by breathing decadent capitalist oxygen at least once in the year. Perhaps you do understand these things a little, I think. You also travel.’
Looking him in the eye, Squire said, ‘You’re a charmer, Rugorsky, but I know and you know that you are trying to have it both ways. You admit or pretend you find your own country unbearable, yet you lecture me on the faults of mine.’
‘Why not?’ The Russian finished his coffee and regarded the bottom of the cup with an amused expression of regret. ‘If you can’t stand your own wife any more, it doesn’t stop you seeing faults in other men’s wives. Well … perhaps it does. That’s not a good analogy I chose.’ They laughed together.
They had both been aware that a tide of people was carrying Jacques d’Exiteuil towards their corner. The ever-active conference chairman was talking to two other candidates, patting another on the back, squeezing Maria Frenza’s hand, and grinning at Rugorsky and Squire as he approached. His coppery hair and thin features reminded Squire – not for the first time – of a Beerbohm cartoon of the poet Swinburne.
‘We will talk more, Thomas,’ Rugorsky said quickly, heaving his shoulders forward, so that he leaned across the table almost as if to embrace Squire. ‘But not in front of Frenchmen, who are too subtle for simple Russian and English men.’
D’Exiteuil put his arm round Maria Frenza’s narrow shoulders and pushed her forward so that she and he together blocked away the table at which Squire and Rugorsky sat from the rest of the crowd. His smile was even broader than before.
‘Well, well, well, here in Ermalpa we have really a united nations! After the heat round the conference table, here is Winston Churchill sitting down with—’ D’Exiteuil paused for a moment, almost as if he had been going to make an unfortunate comparison. Then he added, ‘The Russian bear.’
Rugorsky fixed his glittering eyes on Signora Frenza and reached for her hand. ‘Is Madame Frenza also pleased with me because I am being good and not squeezing people to death?’
The question was translated into Italian, and Maria Frenza replied that she understood the hug of the bear to be very enjoyable if one was a lady bear.
This made Rugorsky laugh. He threw his head downwards rather than upwards to laugh, so that his mirth was directed towards the empty coffee cup. Then, with a dextrous movement surprising in one so heavy, he grasped Maria Frenza round the waist and had her sitting on his knee the next moment. He buried his snout in her crop of dark tawny hair.
‘You see, I promote you to be a lady bear, with full territorial privileges!’
She laughed politely, making the best of it.
D’Exiteuil dithered a bit, nodding his head from side to side and playing his fingers on the table top. ‘I’m sorry I have no lady to offer you,’ he said to Squire.
‘I’m content, though I’d also enjoy getting my arm round that slinky waist. Perhaps I see politics in everything these days, Jacques, but here before our eyes is a lampoon on statesmanship in the manner of Gillray. You will have to stand in for, say, Harry Truman. Rugorsky and I are Stalin and Churchill, at the conference table at Potsdam. Maria is Eastern Europe, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, East Germany. You have allowed the bear to grab Maria. See how warmly it embraces her – and how she cannot help responding because she was born that way …’ James Gillray’s pen depicts a crowded cartoon scene. Bright colours and fountains of words issuing from every mouth add to the congestion.
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