What sent weakness through his belly that morning was that Semyon Petrovitch was not a good liar. He had early on in life realized this by being caught so often and had abandoned lying. Especially when the truth seemed always to work out better. It was definitely easier. He had one cigarette left, and he smoked it. A car stopped to offer him a ride. He refused it.
He reminded himself of what Lew, the American, who generally seemed to know what was going on, said. Semyon's authorities would not care that he was lying; it was not in their self-interest to detect him in a lie.
‘
Now, Semyon,' he said to himself, scolding as his father had scolded. They are simple lies. You will do it well. Don't worry. They are simple and they will work.'
He remembered what Lew had said and how clear it was and how rational it was. Very logical.
The American had told him there were only three diversions from the truth. One, that the patient suffered a deep gash across the nose during the killing in the kitchen; two, he was five feet five and a half; and three, Sister Olav had left with Lew.
'But if we are going to mi
sdirect, why not describe the patient as six feet tall ? And blond ?'
'Because there were enough people who saw him. We could never get away with that. We will get away with this. They will look for a man with a scar, travelling alone, of just about normal size. They will think Sister Olav has left to meet me, stricken with love, my love partner, who of course was in on deceiving you. It will work because it is just the kind of thing they know. It is what they will believe. You only have to worry as if you were trying to convince them of grace, not sin.'
'I am surprised at those words,' said Sister Olav. 'From you.'
'Yes, aren't you ?' said Lew angrily.
'I'm sorry,' said Sister Olav. 'I apologize.'
So the lies were simple. And they would work, and there was no reason for Semyon to keep delaying on the side of the road.
So he continued walking, and as he approached town he haunted himself with improbable variations of what could happen and go wrong, and when he phoned his embassy in Oslo from a store in the town, he was told to wait.
By the time the car from the embassy arrived in the town, Semyon was numb with fear and could hardly move, and he wondered if he could even remember the three lies. There would be many times he would have to tell them, he knew. He didn't want them to vary.
An older man, with very thick glasses and a very bookish attitude, was the first from his embassy to reach him. He drove up with two others and quickly asked him what had happened, and Semyon started at the beginning, but the man wanted to know what had happened in the hospital with the killing.
Semyon, smoking continuously even though his throat couldn't take much more, described the killing in the kitchen, answered as to why the match was set up, and was told the story didn't make sense.
'Dr Petrovitch, that is blatantly stupid,' said the man in Russian. And Semyon knew he had been met by a security officer, KGB. Semyon started to fall over his words, but the man insisted on details about what happened after the killing. Where did they find the patient? Was the knife bloody? Why did they let him keep the weapon? They all seemed to get along. And he did not speak the language of the patient, correct ?
Semyon nodded, Semyon explained, Semyon tried to follow where the man was leading. He was taken to the embassy compound and not allowed to change or shave.
'You will tell the Norwegian police what you have told me, but leave out what the American and the nun told you about the patient you saved. That is too stupid of you even to mention.'
The Norwegian police inspector was somewhat softer and more concilliatory, but got around to basically the same questions. And a few others.
'Five feet five and a half. Wasn't your patient shorter ?'
'No,' said Petrovitch, feeling as though electricity ripped through his flesh. They know, he thought. They know everything. They'll find out everything. They know. You can't fool them.
'We've heard from people at the hospital that the man we're looking for is five feet two, five feet three or so.'
'No,' said Petrovitch. He did not breathe.
'Yes. Of course. Standing next to the six feet three and one-half inch American, he would look shorter. That's logical. He would look like a midget by comparison. And the nun, a citizen of our country, was five feet eight, making him look even shorter, because one expects women to be shorter. Yes.'
'A point,' said Petrovitch, breathing again. 'Good point.
’
it's important that we know exactly how tall he is. We need a good description. And for that we thank you. He is dangerous.'
There were other questions.
Had Semyon noticed any affection between Dr Lewellyn McCardle and the nun, Sister Olav ?
Semyon thought a moment and then remembered what Lew had cautioned. Tell the truth except for the key lies.
'No. I was not aware they were having an affair. Were they ?'
The Norwegian inspector looked to the Russian security officer.
'According to my colleague here, you said Sister Olav left with Dr McCardle.'
‘I
said they were not there when I woke up.' 'The patient was there, correct?' 'Yes.
’
'We found the cabin,' said the inspector. 'By the description my colleague and member of your embassy gave us, we found the cabin almost immediately. The phone was working. Why didn't you use it, instead of walking away ?'
‘I
didn't think. I didn't know. I just fled.'
'Yes. I can see that. Do you know what kind of car the patient fled in?'
'No. I just left him there. You didn't find anyone?' 'Not yet.'
'You should ask the American. He knows. Dr McCardle knows everything.'
'We are certain of that. We believe he" was involved in some swindle to do with oil exploration. It went awry and he shot himself this afternoon before we could talk to him. Was he despondent?' 'He was drinking heavily.'
'That often happens to alcoholics. Were you aware that he had a serious drinking problem?'
‘
No. I knew he drank heavily.'
'His company said he had to be relieved of duty, sort of stricken from the rolls, so to speak, because he had become unreliable. They had hoped he would be able to effect his cure while assigned to a public service project.'
'I don't understand politics,' said Dr Petrovitch.
'Not politics. Facts.' said the inspector.
'Oh,' said Dr Petrovitch.
'It is a shame you had to be sucked into this, doctor, but on behalf of my government, let me thank you for your wholehearted cooperation.'
Semyon offered to shake hands and then realized his were very wet with perspiration. He also realized that he had not been told by Lew how quickly Sister Olav and the little patient would leave after he was gone, or how. Or where they were going in order to help the patient's recovery, to break the depression, and ultimately to enable him to realize what had happened.
They were gone. Both of them. From his life. With just as much finality as Lew was gone. The American had acted much like a poultice, sucking all the evil humours to his own self. With his life. The least Semyon could do was to endure now whatever the bureaucracy would do to what they considered an innocent fool. It came quickly from a minor diplomatic officer.
Dr Petrovitch was sourly told he had compromised the embassy itself. The embassy did not consider him helpful. There was a time, he was told, that he helped foster the friendly presence of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics here in Norway by his cooperative work, sharing the advancement of Soviet science with a friendly nation.
Now, this was not the case.
Did Dr Petrovitch realize the significance of what had happened? This asked by a sombre, resolute, young assistant deputy consul for embassy affairs. Did he?
Dr Petrovitch shrugged, gathering back his dignity.
‘
No. I do not know,' he said.
'Does it help to know the victim was Ferdinand d'Ouelette?' Dr Petrovitch shrugged.
'The second best man with foil
in the world is Anastas Boresk
ian,' said the assistant deputy consul for embassy affairs. 'Yes?'
'You haven't heard of the name?'
'No. That is not a sport I am interested in.'
'Well, one of our citizens has just gotten himself associated with the murder of the best fencer in the world. Now do you understand the significance of what you have allowed yourself to be duped into? Yes?'
'I understand that I have spent forty-two years avoiding the slime of politics, and you, son, reaffirm my basic decision.'
'You know we cannot afford to leave you here to go wandering around like a trusted and responsible citizen. You know that, of course,' said the young man with his little triumph. 'But in case you don't understand the significance of what has happened, let me tell you that the sum total of your work is to add a slight taint to a Soviet athlete when he wins his rightful place at the next Olympics. People will forever wonder if Boreskian would ever have been able to honestly defeat d'Ouelette.'
Semyon Petrovitch asked the young man if there was anything else he wanted.
No, he was told, there was nothing else.
'Then take some vitamin C, you're coming down with a cold,' said Dr Petrovitch.
'Now, wait a minute,' snorted the assistant deputy consul for embassy affairs.
'Stick out your tongue,' said Dr Petrovitch, and when the young man did so, Semyon Petrovitch, physician, knew everything would be all right. He was still a doctor, and he would be needed.
The KGB officer understood the significance of what had happened. This only went to show the inevitable results of keeping a limited security staff in a country designated 'nonstrategic'. With a limited staff, citizens like Dr Semyon Petrovitch could be lured by the wiles of almost any foreigner, and even worse could happen unless the embassy staff at Oslo were brought up to the comparable French or British operation. Dr Petrovitch was going home.
At Ringerike, at the Dominican convent, the mother superior heard that Sister Olav might never be coming back, that there was evidence she might have been involved romantically with an alcoholic swindler, now dead. And she was off, pardon the expression, Mother Superior, to God knew where.
When the priest came the next morning to say Mass, the mother superior prayed for Sister Olav, whom she always believed had a vocation elsewhere outside the convent.
When the sad happening was discussed with the office of the metropolitan, she said she believed not that Sister Olav had been involved in some unpleasantness or evil; rather, she felt, Sister Olav had realized possibly some calling that none of them at this time understood. And that everything would some day be clear.
'Considering the facts, Mother Superior,' said a brother working at the metropolitan's office, 'that seems a bit too much to hope for.'
'Nothing on this earth is too much to hope for,' said the mother superior.
Thirty
Olava watched Semyonus disappear, then looked at the timepiece on her wrist. And counted. She counted to two hundred, and I could tell it was to force herself to slow down. She wanted to make sure she was not rushing.
At two hundred, she told me to put on fresh clothes and take only a few things. I put on a dark shirt and a bright pair of pants, but when Olava saw this she said the colour combination would attract attention.
She selected a shirt and a pair of pants, the house being stocked with things to fit me, although most of them were white.
'Do you have shoes for me?' I asked, for I had worn sandals and I had not seen others wear them, only the complicated lacing boots that ended at the ankles. I had been told that everytime someone wanted to put on these boots he had to loosen the thongs, and then tighten them and then tie them. Each time a person had to do this, on both feet.
'No. No. Use the sandals you've been using.'
That will not cause notice?'
'No. No. Some people wear them today.'
'Why are we running?'
'To go to a better place, Eugeni. Hurry. Get dressed.'
'No, woman. There is no place I want to go. I have no place. I have no place. You record everything and hear nothing. Don't you listen?'
'Lewus has sacrificed his career for you and maybe more. Semyonus is giving up his research here for you. For them, Eugeni, come. Get ready.'