Thirteen Years Later (66 page)

But the fact that he did not care for his own reputation did not mean he had no concern for that of his wife, or his son. The revelation of Marfa’s infidelity would do infinitely more harm to her standing in Petersburg than it would to Aleksei’s. Even Dmitry risked becoming a laughing stock if his comrades discovered such a story about his mother. But that was not a reason to chastise Marfa for her behaviour – simply one to help her keep it secret.

Ultimately, Aleksei felt relieved. He and Marfa were on an equal level once again. He could not object to her having a lover when he had one – even if she had been unaware of the symmetry. Now at last, they could again be the friends they had once been. The passion – mostly – was long past, but now Aleksei did not need to feel guilty about it. She had her own recourse for passion, as did he. There was no need for Marfa and him to discuss it, but nevertheless his attitude could change. She did not know his secret, and never needed to be aware that he knew hers. And yet he was afraid that the moment she saw him, she would read the whole thing on his face.

He had arrived at their home. He let himself in and went up to the salon. There was no one there. There was no light in any of the rooms. He climbed the stairs to the second floor. There he could see a light emerging under her dressing-room door. It was not yet seven o’clock, so she would not be preparing for bed. More likely she was getting ready to go out – or to receive a guest.

He knocked softly on the door, but there was no reply. He turned the handle and went in. The dressing room was empty. On the other side, the door to their bedroom was ajar. He walked over to it. Through the gap, he glimpsed the mirror, and in it, the image of pink, amorphous flesh, writhing in shared pleasure.

Aleksei took a rapid step back and pressed himself against the wall. He couldn’t help but grin. He’d come to terms with his wife’s infidelity, but it was a cruel God who immediately presented him with the fact of it in all its wanton glory.

He listened – he would only stay for a moment, or two. Even though Marfa articulated no specific words, her tone was unmistakable in her halting, voiced breaths and short, eager sighs. Her partner was quieter. Aleksei heard the low murmur of a male voice, to which the instant response came, ‘
Da, Vasya! Da!
’

So there was no doubt – as if there could have been in the mind of any husband with enough respect for his wife to assume she would limit herself to a single lover – that the man who currently occupied the Danilovs’ marital bed was Vasiliy. He heard Vasiliy’s laugh. He knew he should have been outraged, but he was not. There was even a certain excitement in listening to his wife being fucked by this stranger – one more reason he should leave soon. It was enthralling to know that Marfa could respond in such a way, could so enjoy it. Their marriage had started out something like that, or so Aleksei hoped, but the passion had quickly faded. He thought she had been uninterested, but now he realized that perhaps it had been him – or both of them together. It was thrilling to hear his wife so enjoying the act of sex, even if it was not and never would be the case that she enjoyed it so intently with Aleksei himself. It was simply a pleasant surprise to know she had within her depths of carnal desire not often revealed in a woman, desires which put her on a level with – well, to be honest – Domnikiia.

The voices of Vasiliy and Marfa began to merge into a succession of rhythmic, guttural grunts, and Aleksei realized it was time to leave. He would come back later tonight, or even tomorrow, having worked out some way to announce his presence well in advance so that no embarrassment need be felt by either of them. Even so – disguise it though he would try – in future he would look at Marfa in a slightly different way. He would look at her with a certain feeling of – God help him – pride.

As he departed, he glanced around the dressing room. The signs that there had been a man there were all too obvious now that he looked for them. Marfa’s own clothes were strewn about in a way that was quite out of character for her, but mixed in with them, Aleksei could easily spot the coat, the boots, the breeches
of a man. There was even a leather bag on the chaise longue, which he knew was not his own. On top of it was what he took to be a cardboard box – a shirt box or something like that. He felt mildly peeved at the idea that Vasiliy might be taking advantage of the account Aleksei held at his tailor’s – a minor insult in the circumstances.

But as Aleksei moved closer, he realized that what he had seen was not a box, but a book – a book that was not properly bound, but which had a cover made simply of cardboard. There was no writing on the front of it. Aleksei flipped it open and examined the first page. The text was remarkably familiar for something written in an unfamiliar language. Then he looked at the inside of the cover. What he saw there told him everything; absolutely everything.

Richard L. Cain F.R S.

A
S I THINK I TOLD YOU, LYOSHA, I AM KNOWN BY
MANY
NAMES
.’ Iuda had emerged from the bedroom. He was naked, as if deliberately to disgust Aleksei. ‘But here in Petersburg I am Vasiliy Denisovich Makarov.’

‘You really must hate me,’ said Aleksei.

‘No,’ said Iuda thoughtfully, ‘no, I don’t think I hate you. But don’t feel flattered – I don’t hate anyone, any more than I love anyone. You really do interest me, though.’

‘How kind.’

‘I’m being honest, Lyosha.’

‘And Marfa – does
she
interest you?’

‘She does her best to entertain me,’ Iuda replied. ‘And I do likewise – which is more than you do.’

‘So which came first?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Your plan to tempt me with Kyesha and your book, or your plan to make me a laughing stock by screwing my wife?’

‘A laughing stock? That’s not you at all, Lyosha.’ Iuda knew Aleksei as he knew himself. ‘It doesn’t hurt you that your friends will know your wife opened her legs for some passing stranger, or that her love for you is not so consuming she cannot even contemplate the idea of being with another man. What you object to is that it’s me; that I can wander into your own bedroom without you having the slightest knowledge, and that I’ve been
doing it for years. What you’re asking yourself now is, whither else have I wandered?’

‘For years?’ said Aleksei.

‘Several,’ confirmed Iuda.

Aleksei tried to think how long ‘several’ might be. Was there any moment in his marriage when there had been a noticeable change? When Tamara was born? When he returned from Paris? They were all times of change, but all had their explanations. But he was forgetting the golden rule: never believe Iuda. The earliest evidence of ‘Vasiliy’ being on the scene dated back only a few months. That was the limit he would give with any confidence to the time over which Iuda had been sleeping with his wife.

And it occurred to Aleksei that there were other, much more basic areas in which he should verify the facts for himself rather than believing Iuda. The words
Nullius in Verba
were no longer visible on the notebook, but they rang just as true as they had ever done. He leaned and tried to peer in through the bedroom door, but Iuda took a side step to block his view.

‘How ungentlemanly, Lyosha,’ he said. But then he seemed to read Aleksei’s thoughts. ‘Don’t fret; it is Marfa Mihailovna in there, for sure. I’m playing no is she-ain’t she, Dominique-Margarita tricks here tonight. Though I will admit, I did at first toy with trying that one with the lovely Marfa.’

‘What?’

‘I considered whether it might not be entertaining for you to see me at some window in the arms of your wife rather than your lover – or your lover’s colleague; we still don’t know, do we?’

‘In 1812?’

‘Yes,’ said Iuda.

‘But Marfa was in Petersburg in 1812. We were in . . .’ Aleksei tailed off. He already knew where Iuda had been for part of that autumn. He had paid a visit – in the guise of Richard Cain – to Tsar Aleksandr, as Aleksandr himself had told Aleksei. And the tsar had been in Petersburg. It could have been no great additional
effort to locate Marfa and pay a visit to her in the guise of Vasiliy Denisovich Makarov.

‘What did you think I’d be doing while you were in Yuryev-Polsky hiding from the French?’

Aleksei was about to point out that it had not been the French he had been hiding from but Iuda and the other Oprichniki, but he decided it would do him little benefit.

‘So it’s been going on all that time,’ he said instead.

Before Iuda could reply, a call came from the bedroom. ‘Vasya!’ Aleksei could detect a timbre of repressed panic in his wife’s voice. Iuda went back inside, returning almost immediately.

‘Your wife would like to get dressed, Lyosha,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should retire.’ He picked up a robe – Aleksei’s robe – and put it on, then opened the door and invited Aleksei to step through it first. Aleksei was being made a guest in his own house, but now that he was in front of Iuda, at least he could decide where they would go. He led the way downstairs and chose the salon. Dmitry’s harpsichord had been pushed to one corner of the room. Where it had stood there was now a pianoforte – the instrument Aleksei had ordered as a gift for his son before they had left. It had not yet been fully removed from the wooden crate it had come in. Even in the present circumstances, Aleksei found time to hope his son would be pleased with it. He sat down in an armchair. Iuda seated himself opposite.

‘Since 1812,’ said Aleksei, picking up where he had left off.

‘Not as lovers, but as friends, at first.’

‘How did you find her?’

‘Oh that was no problem. The wife of Captain Danilov? They were all proud of their soldiers back then. I introduced myself as a friend of yours – at the time I still may have been, I can’t recall.’

‘You weren’t,’ growled Aleksei.

‘I’ll bow to your opinion on that. She was very friendly – not in any untoward way, I assure you – and by the time I left, I’d only dropped the fewest, lightest hints that you might have a lover in
Moscow. But I presume it was enough to ensure she never mentioned me to you.’

He paused, waiting for Aleksei to confirm his side of the story. It was true enough, Marfa had not mentioned meeting Vasiliy, or any friend of his from Moscow, but he wasn’t going to give Iuda the pleasure of hearing him say so.

‘Then, of course, events intervened,’ Iuda continued. ‘I almost died in the Berezina – I really did – but I was washed up on the far bank, and some kind French
soldat
dragged me to my feet and forced me to march on with them. I was in Warsaw before I could get away.’

‘But you came back,’ said Aleksei.

Iuda nodded. ‘It was over a year before I managed to. By then you were marching across Europe in the opposite direction, and poor Marfa was all alone. She asked me directly whether you had a lover and – well, if you’d looked into that poor, confused woman’s eyes, you’d have had to tell the truth – I told her about this pretty young thing in Moscow called Dominique. I told the story backwards really. First how you’d set her up in a small home, then how you’d met her at a brothel and how she’d been working there since really just a child, then how you’d spent your free hours wandering in and out of such establishments and how I thought it was probably a good thing you’d settled down with just one whore rather than flitting to a different one every night. She teased it out of me, Lyosha.’

‘And you were there to help her find . . . restitution?’

‘Not then, Lyosha, no. That wasn’t until 1818, I think. She knew I was your friend – still your friend, even knowing what you were – and so it would be inappropriate for me, however much she begged.’

‘What changed?’

‘I don’t suppose you even noticed. It was 4 June. Mean anything to you?’

‘Marfa’s name day,’ said Aleksei.

‘And do you know where you were?’ Aleksei could guess, but
he said nothing. ‘You had an “urgent appointment in Moscow” apparently. All three of us know what that meant. It was pure chance I was in Petersburg, and I finally took pity on her.’

‘Seven years of screwing my wife – just for this moment?’

‘This moment?’ asked Iuda.

‘The moment I would find out.’

‘Oh, you do have a high opinion of yourself, Lyosha – and of my foresightedness. I had no idea how I was going to use our relationship when we first formed it. I will admit that the thought of you discovering us was – throughout – an added excitement, though not, I think, so much for Marfa. Not at first. Early on, I imagined the possibility of you rushing in on us and smothering her in some jealous rage, like that Moor, and then you would go to prison for it, but I quickly realized you don’t have that kind of mettle.’

‘I might have killed
you
,’ said Aleksei, with the intended implication that he still might.

‘Then you would still have been convicted as a murderer. But that is why I’ve obtained a little protection.’ He tapped his chest lightly with the flat of his hand, but Aleksei did not understand what he meant by the gesture. ‘It seemed that was unlikely too though, so I’ve been forced to live merely in the hope of the sense of betrayal you would feel on your discovery.’

Aleksei smiled. He didn’t feel so betrayed. ‘You must be disappointed,’ he said.

‘Time will tell.’