Chapter 52 Chapter 52

With trembling hands, Leslie Sloot tied his tie hastily and missed it twice.He pushed the tie aside, picked another from the closet, and managed to tie it.He put on his coat, sat in the heavy brown leather armchair, put his long legs on the ottoman, and lit a cigarette to calm himself.On June 15th a German journalist gave up the apartment and gave it to him hastily.In Moscow, it was a remarkable house: three rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and solid German furniture.Pamela Tudsbury loves this place and has eaten here several times for Slote and some other friends. The English-speaking embassy staff and journalists—a small group of gossiping people with little contact with the outside world—thought the English girl was having an affair with the American diplomat.Varya, Slote's stocky nurse, thought so too, smiling at them every time Pamela came and walking quietly on tiptoe.Sloter longed for the relationship.Natalie Jastrow's marriage still makes him feel pain. Unless there is a new love, there is no way to heal his inner wounds.But Pam Tudsbury was indifferent to his gallantry.When he was in Paris, he knew her to be Philippe Rue's passionate girlfriend. She had a kind of licentiousness of her own, and she didn't hide her licentiousness. Also high.Now in a somber mood, she says she is sincere about her fiancé, a missing RAF pilot.Pam was as fair as she had been in Paris, and her pointed face, with its thin, curved lips, was still a pretty English flower.She was wearing a man's woolen suit, flat shoes, and glasses.This radiant girl in the uniform of the civil servants, once, on a midsummer evening, took off her stockings with Faye Ruhr, played in the fountain with bare feet, and lifted up her red silk dress. Standing half leg high.This red silk dress is still there, and she still wears it sometimes.

Slote dealt patiently with Pamela on her terms, hoping that it might be possible to improve the relationship.But the arrival of Captain Victor Henry snatched Pamela from him, no matter what terms he promised.He glanced at Pam, who was with Henry, and knew he was seeing a woman in love.What loyalty to the missing air force!As for Colonel Henry, a stubby, sallow, tired-looking fellow of about fifty, he looked, to the diplomat, like an unknown soldier in a caricature: the chatter was brief, the business He acted swiftly, with an expressionless face that was strong and pale.It was even hard to say whether Henry liked Pamela Tudsbury, not seeing how he reacted to her affectionate gaze.He couldn't figure out what was so attractive about the young Englishwoman in this middle-aged fool, and he never understood why Natalie Jastrow was so infatuated with this man's son.

Fate, Leslie Slote thought, had given him a strange and indigestible dish of defeat first by his son and now by his father, neither of whom, in his own opinion, were worthy of him. opponent.At least Byron Henry was still a pretty young brat, which changed some of Sloter's ideas about whether smart women were sensitive to attractive looks.But there was nothing glamorous about Byron's father's appearance.The only redeeming feature of the man was the fact that he had thick black hair and a straight back, which showed that he had made an effort to maintain his appearance.But his tired, creased eyes, rough hands, wrinkled mouth, and sluggish movements told of age.

Slote made an appointment to meet Admiral Standley and Captain Henry at the Hotel National, and then to a banquet in the Kremlin, for whom he would act as interpreter.This impending special honor did not please him, and he seemed to have a certain feeling of dread with foreboding. During the first few weeks of the German invasion, Sloter's timid nature, like that of some people who have just had hay fever or hypertension, did not show.Sloter was a Soviet admirer.He believed the loudspeaker news and insisted that the victory declared by the Germans was propaganda.Between him and the Germans was a distance of six hundred miles, with 100 million Russians in between, and above all, the great Red Army.Even the Luftwaffe was too far to fly here.From his timid barometer he could tell that Moscow was fine, sunny, and doing well.Muscovites—calm, kind, ragged men in caps, women in shawls, boys and girls in red Pioneer scarves, all with dull, calm faces, all looked alike, as if It's millions of cousins. ——Pile up sandbags calmly, seal the glass windows with paper strips, hold fire drills, and prepare for the air raid that has not yet appeared.The rest of the people, in the clear and warm sunshine, went about their own business.Silver jam balloons bobbed up and down on the winches in the square, anti-aircraft guns stretched out from the roofs of hotels and museums, and ruddy, belted youths in new uniforms and good boots streamed towards the station.Tanks, heavy trucks, and car-towed artillery rumbled to the west day and night.Theaters and cinemas are still open as usual.The ice cream sold by street vendors is still as abundant.The acrobatic performances in summer are very crowded, because in addition to bear dance, elephant dance has been added this year.If you believe what you hear or see in moscow, the soviet union has withstood the incoming enemy far from the frontier and delivered the first big defeat to the nazis, as announced by moscow radio broadcasts .

Minsk fell, then Smolensk, then Kyiv—the Germans triumphantly declared victory, and a week or two later the Russians acknowledged it as fact.The air strikes began, and the Luftwaffe was already within range.No one at the embassy was alarmed except Sloter, because no one had much hope for the Russians, especially since no one else had been through Warsaw.Since May, the ambassador had ordered that food, gasoline, and other supplies be stockpiled in a large house thirty miles from the city, awaiting the German siege.Some Americans were annoyed by the awkwardness of the Russians, and even looked forward to seeing the German troops marching through Red Square.At least, that's what someone once said after a few drinks.

Slote had been proven so wrong about the Reds that he stopped arguing.But he sees the indifference or schadenfreude attitude of other Americans as psychotic.The Germans were getting closer, and the air strikes were getting stronger.Moscow's heavy anti-aircraft fire created a soothing curtain of green, yellow and red pyrotechnics above the night's searchlights.But the bomb still fell.The horror of the siege artillery has not yet come.Even if he survived the siege, Sloter thought, how safe would he be?At that time, Roosevelt's apparent aid to the enemies of Nazism might have provoked a victorious Hitler to declare war on the United States.If Moscow fell, the Americans would be taken to the canyon and shot like the Jews in Minsk.Then Adolf Hitler could apologize, say there was a mistake, or deny that it happened, or say it was the Russians.

Sloter was horrified by the story of Baen Reel Jastrow.He had read a great deal on Germany, and many others besides the ones on the list he had given Byron Henry.The innocent, fanatical obedience of the Germans.Their rude and cruel temperament, their energy and wisdom, their stubborn self-centeredness, their endless complaints that the world is against them and unfair to them, their fanatical pursuit of a new extreme experience-the last one The idiosyncrasy which springs up like a fountain in the imaginative philosophers to a disgusting degree, was fixed once and for all in the figure of Faust by Goethe.In Leslie Sloter's view, once these 80 million weirdos in Europe give up their strict and docile traditional customs, they may be ordered to massacre countless innocent people and still be happy and feel no conscience. Nor would it occur to him that he had committed an atrocity.The German spirit is incomprehensible, and that is what is strange and terrible about them.Like distant and cold children, they are submissive and cruel.The scary thing about Hitler was that he knew them.Other belligerent nations can be counted on to enforce regulations such as exchanging besieged or captured diplomats with each other.The terrified Sloter thought that the diplomats could only hope that Hitler's Germans would not eat them, and that would be good enough.

The afterglow of the setting sun outside the window gradually dimmed.It was time to spend an evening with Victor Henry on a trip to the center of the Moscow air raid target. As expected, he found Colonel Henry in the Tudsbury suite.Although it was cold in the room, the naval officer was smoking a cigar on the couch in only his shirt sleeves.Pamela was sewing gold strips to a wrinkled blue blouse, under a lamp with a red shade over an alabaster Venus. "Hi, all right!" Henry said. Pamela said: "The brass buckle is loose too. Don't let it fall all over the Kremlin floor. Have some whiskey and tap water, Leslie. Beaverbroke gave the old man a bottle."

Slote looked at his watch and sat down on the edge of the chair. "No, thank you. I hope you haven't been drinking too much, Colonel. The last thing you need is wine if you want to eat Russian food." Henry grumbled, "That's up to you! I didn't drink at all." Pamela was sewing, Victor Henry was smoking, and the diplomat felt superfluous in the room.He looked at his watch again and again, coughed and said, "I said I'd wait for the Admiral in the corridor at six o'clock, and it's still ten minutes away. I'll wait for him now. Will you come later, Colonel?"

"Sure," Henry said. "You look very composed, Leslie," Pam said. "If I were to go to the Kremlin, I wouldn't be able to sit still." "Colonel Henry seems quite composed," said Sloter. "Oh, he," said Pamela. "He's a robot, a mechanical man. Dash! Dash! Dash! Clank!" "I need a new battery," Henry said, and maybe the valve needs to be repaired, too. " This friendly banter made Sloter feel even more redundant. "Well, be here in ten minutes," he said. Pamela said, "Two more buttons. What a jerk! Twice pricked my fingers. I just can't sew."

In front of the hotel was a row of hulking black sedans, which was an unusual sight.Since the beginning of the war, the small number of cars on Moscow's wide boulevards and squares has been reduced to zero.In the evening, Muscovites came out for a walk in groups as usual, and looked at the car curiously, but did not stop to look stupidly.A motorist and a security guard in a black hat and black leather jacket stand beside the car.The Americans called them the "YMCA boys," they were the secret police, and it seemed people hated hanging around them.But when the well-dressed foreigners squeezed through the narrow door of the Minzu Hotel to get on the bus, pedestrians lined up in a long line, and this group of quiet onlookers stared at the faces, clothes and leather shoes of the foreign guests with friendly round eyes. "How are you doing with those nautical charts?" Admiral Standley sat in the back seat, adjusted his hearing aids, and asked Henry.He was chief of naval operations at one point, retired, and the president asked him to come out and join this delegation.There was nothing Sloter could do to prevent this thin, stoic, bespectacled man with four rows of ribbons on his uniform from speaking in front of the secret agents of the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs, who, if they didn't speak it, certainly knew English. "I can't figure it out," Henry said. "As for combat codes and signals, don't count on it. Their people told me to my face that they don't have anything like that. They use lights or Morse code to communicate in clear code." "Nonsense! Did you give them ours?" "I showed them our General Signal Book and some secret codes. I almost got into a fight with the fat little Rear Admiral, who had already started packing them into his purse, and I snatched them again. Come back and say to him: Pay with one hand, and deliver with one hand." "No way! Did you really do that?" said the Admiral. "Well, you're going to lose your head for this, Pug. We're here to give, give, give. You should give 'em all our Navy codes and shake hands for our eternity." Brotherly toast with vodka. I'm ashamed for you, Colonel Henry, but I'm glad you're coming with us." "What we give to the Soviet Union will be compensated," Sloter said. "They're killing Germans for us." "They killed the Germans so they wouldn't be killed by the Germans," said the admiral. "It's not for us." Pug said to Sloter: "Look, Leslie, if we're going to convoy supplies to Murmansk and Archangel, or possibly a joint operation, we'll have to exchange intelligence and operational contacts about the state of the waters. Passwords. Damn it, we don't want their secret routes. We want them for sailing and flying." "The Russians are a little nervous about secrecy," Sloter said. "Perseverance and patience." The car made a long circle around the boulevard around the Kremlin and stopped in front of the gate of the Red Stone Tower with a red star on top. "That's useless," said the admiral. "The Dragon Lord doesn't nod, and the fish and shrimp don't bubble when blowing." After hearing this string of dialects, the bodyguards of the Ministry of Internal Affairs turned around, squinted their Tatar eyes and glanced at the general, and then told Sloter in Russian with a polite smile that they didn't need to get out of the car when they entered.The cars were inspected one by one by tall, fearsome armed guards in neat uniforms. They drove to the front of a castle, stopped at the inner gate, passed another inspection, passed several strange churches, and arrived at A majestic rectangular stone building. The guests disembarked with the Russian officials who mingled among them, went up the steps, and stood talking in front of the closed gate, their breath steaming in the cool air.In the light blue sky, around the entrance of the castle wall, there is a pink sunset glow.Suddenly the palace door opened.The foreigners all entered a long hall with a high ceiling, squinting their eyes under the glare of the circular chandelier.At the far end of the hall, the white marble steps covered with vermilion carpet were like explosive cloth.After entering the hall, warm air surrounded them, which is very rare in Moscow, and no fires are allowed in any building in the city until mid-October.In the hall, a musty smell of old stone walls and old furniture mixed with what seemed to be the scent of flowers.Waiters in military uniform and white gloves helped guests take off their coats and hats.A dozen sets of combs and brushes were neatly arranged on black tables against the wall where the mirror hung. "That's pretty thoughtful," Victor Henry told Sloter, as they stood together brushing their hair. "By the way, what does the ambassador think of the Minsk material? Did you give it to him?" Sloter nodded to Pug in the mirror. "I'm going to send it to Secretary of State Hull as a top priority. The ambassador stopped it. This material has to be routed to our Eastern European Division." Pug wrinkled his nose. "That's the end of it. You, the State Department, are always procrastinating about the Jewish question. Better leave it to the American journalists here." "My boss instructed me not to do this in person, for fear that if it turns out that this is a fabricated atrocity propaganda." Tall, bright-eyed, handsome young officers in brown uniforms and red collar patches came out of the side doors and began to lead the guests up the stairs.Pug walked beside Sloter and said, "What if you take Fred Flynn to your place for a drink, and then, as if by chance, let him look at the material? You know a reporter , even dared to steal good materials from his blind old grandmother." "Are you suggesting that I not carry out the order?" "I don't want the material to just get buried." The Admiral of the Navy came and took their arms and said with a loud laugh: "Look, does this look like the simple life of socialism? Can't you imagine the tsarist nobles and their aristocrats?" The ghosts of beautiful ladies walking this red carpet?This is exactly what a movie lens is. " The guests walked past a deserted modern room filled with tables equipped with loudspeakers, where the officer explained that the Supreme Soviet was meeting.They wandered from room to room, still looking as it had been in the days of the Tsars, filled with every kind of furniture (French, Italian, English), heaped with paintings and statues, except for the Other than being in awe, I don't know why.The impression is of a mass of gaudy luxuries put together hastily and impromptu by clumsy people.In one room, which was larger and more ornately decorated than the others: marble columns, vaulted gold ceiling, and walls covered with red satin, the group of about eighty people stopped.Eighty people staying in the room is not crowded at all. A mirrored door opened, and in came a group of people in civilian clothes, baggy trousers that had not been pressed, and ill-fitting double-breasted jackets.Sloter immediately recognized some of the people who had stood by Lenin's tomb during the May Day parade: Molotov, Kaganovich, Suslov, Mikoyan. "Look at these people coming in, okay?" Victor Henry said. "They make you feel like the revolution just happened last week." Slote glanced at him.He too was shocked by the sudden appearance of these inelegant Communist chiefs in this splendid palace, and the naval officer explained it all.Henry weighed the Communists ahead with half-closed eyes, as if he were gazing at the horizon. "This is the Politburo, Colonel," Sloter said. "They're all very important people." Henry nodded. "They don't look like important people, do they?" "Well, it's the ugly clothes," said Sloter. The introduction begins.Liveried waiters served trays of vodka and canapes in tulip-shaped shot glasses.Slote took a piece of the pastry to taste and found it too sweet.A small man came in, smoking a cigarette.There was no ceremony, no one stopped talking, but all the attention in the halls of government was on this man, because he was Stalin.You can see someone looking sideways at him, someone turning their backs or faces, a slight movement in the crowd, all focused on one point.In this way, Leslie Sloter saw this real person for the first time. His busts, statues, photos, and portraits abound in the Soviet Union, just like the icons in Catholic countries. The communist dictator, who looked particularly short and slightly pot-bellied, shook hands and talked with people all the way through the hall.An inconceivable gaze followed him like a spotlight on a stage.He walked up to two U.S. Navy officers, held out his hand to the admiral and said, "Stalin." He looked just like his picture, but his pale skin was rough and his face was pockmarked, as if he had been severely ill The wine sting is the same.His upturned eyes, thick gray hair brushed back, and upturned beard and eyebrows gave an impression of amiability and dignity.Unlike the other Communists, he wore a uniform of simple gray cloth, well cut, with sharp seams and tucked-in shiny moccasins. Leslie Slote made a presentation.Colonel Henry said slowly in Russian with a heavy American accent: "Your Excellency, I will tell my grandchildren what I have seen today." Stalin raised his thick eyebrows and said in a pleasant low voice: "Really? You have grandchildren?" "There are two." "Where are your children? Do you have a son?" The dictator seemed influenced by Victor Henry's slow, careful articulation and mechanical speech. "Two sons, Mr. Chairman. The older one is a pilot in the Navy, and the younger one serves on a submarine." Through the smoke of cigarettes, Stalin seemed to be looking at Victor Henry with some interest. Pug said, "Excuse my bad Russian. I used to play with Russian kids, but it was a long time ago." "Where did you play with Russian children?" "I was born near the Russian River in California. Descendants of the early settlers still live there." Stalin smiled from the bottom of his heart, showing his smoke-yellow teeth. "Ah, yes, yes. Roseburg. Few people know that we Russians settled there before you. Maybe it's time to ask for California back." "It is said that your policy is to fight against only one side at a time." Stalin grunted and said with a smile: "Ha! ochen horosho!" ("Very good") patted Henry on the shoulder lightly, and continued to move forward. "Hey, what's up with that damn California, Pug?" The general had been listening to them with a puzzled look on his face. "Damn it, you really learned the language." Victor recounted the conversation just now, and the general laughed out loud. "My God, take every word, Pug, hear? I'm going to put it in my report. One front at a time! Well said." "I really admire you," Sloter said. "You speak calmly, and he appreciates that." "He makes you feel less nervous," Pug said. "I know my Russian grammar is upside down, but he doesn't seem to show it at all. Did you notice his hands? They're beautifully manicured." "Oh, I didn't notice that," said the general. "Well, Slote? Plenty of depraved bourgeoisies don't bother with manicures, and this redhead has time. Isn't it worth thinking about, eh?" Slote didn't notice the well-manicured nails, annoyed that he had overlooked this detail. After a while the crowd began to move again, this time into a huge ballroom of white marble, with red curtains, a shiny intarsia floor, and tables set among green columns covered with white tablecloths of gold, silver, and glass. The utensils gleamed.There is a long table on the high platform, which is about a hundred feet long from one end of the hall to the other. The rest of the tables are arranged in rows at right angles to the high platform. Numerous round lamps of frosted glass shine brightly on the ceiling.There are also gorgeously decorated wall lamps shining on the walls. "Ah!" said Pug. Leslie Sturt looked around at the roof and walls. "This is the palace of Empress Catherine, I've seen it in pictures. And her crown among those big coats of arms. I think she had some French and Italian architects to rebuild this part of the palace However, as her throne hall." "Oh, my God, if that's their way of life," said the admiral, "maybe they can make me a Communist too." "I suppose," replied Slote, "that perhaps this is the first use of the palace since the Revolution." The menu is printed in Russian and English on light yellow thick paper with a sickle and ax emblem on it, and there is a long list of fish, soup, game, chicken and barbecue.The waiters started serving the food, and more waiters danced around with wine and vodka pouring glasses. The magnificent banquet hall, a row of tables arranged brilliantly, the colorful uniforms of the generals of the navy and army of the three countries, and a row of powerful figures sitting on the high platform (in the middle, Stalin was talking with Bifferbroke and Harriman, looking left and right, He is still the center of attention), attentive hospitality, endless wine, food Endless caviar, the Tsar's golden plate filled with rich and fatty dishes - all this made Victor Henry think of Russian resources, Russian strength, Russian generosity, Russian hospitality and Russian The person's self-confidence is reassured. Sloter's reaction was different from his.The leaders of these communist parties really enjoyed their drinks and entertained them warmly, but there was a kind of clumsy Slavic irony in this extravagance and extravagance.Although it was unspoken silent sarcasm, one could almost hear a deafening voice saying: "Well, you Westerners, these are things that can make you happy, and exchange other people's blood and sweat for wealth and happiness." .Look how well we can do it if we just want to! Look at what the old Russian regime did before we brought it down! Can you beat them? Tomorrow we will go back to the simplicity we chose But you are from the depraved West, let us gobble up together, eat and drink, and get drunk. We Russians know how to enjoy ourselves, how to have fun, and tonight we I can even surpass you guys, let's see who gets drunk first under the table. •I wish you •health•kang!" wish you health!Toast one after another.It seemed like everyone could get up, tap their knife on their glass to get attention, and make a loud toast.If people are praised or happy after a toast, they can go around the room and clink glasses with people.Stalin was always turning around with the glass in his hand.This aroused great interest for Slote, but because it went on so quickly, he missed many scenes in order to be the interpreter for the American general and the pudgy Russian general who refused to reveal the naval code.The radiant red face of this Russian old man glistened with sweat, and after finishing a glass of wine or vodka, he moaned and complained, saying that he was in poor health, that he would not live long, and that it would be better to enjoy one day at a time.The U.S. Navy Admiral once said: "What the hell is he, Slote, tell him he looks in good health, much better than I am." "Ah, but listen, tell him I'm like a capitalist system," hummed the little general, "I'm strong on the outside but on the inside." Slote took pleasure in translating the sentence, but the conversation between the two generals consisted mainly of their family chores.He envied Victor Henry to observe the scene quietly and use various methods to drink as little as possible.The noise of the banquet grew louder and was drowned out by the shouts of the two generals at each other, and Sloter felt his ears ache.Sloter wanted a taste of juicy roast quail with sour cream and a sip of mellow Crimean white wine, and the increasingly strident mutual dialogue took no time for him.The Russians keep asking why the mighty U.S. Navy doesn’t even do the bare minimum of escorting some Lend-Lease supplies to Britain?Are they afraid of a few German submarines made of foreign iron?Only idiots—who pounded the boxing table so hard that the glasses jumped—made military supplies and shipped them to Hitler as practice torpedo targets. "Tell him we can start escorting at any time," the American interrupted him, "but unless he gives some information about the port and operational contact signals, we will freeze before we send the supplies to Murmansk. " The old Russian stares at the old American while Sloter translates.The two officers fell silent after swallowing several glasses of vodka.At this moment when the conversation was interrupted, Sloter had time to survey the state of the party, now at the height of its merriment, with several heads bent on the table.A bald Russian deputy general staggered out, supported by two attendants.After the shouting in Sloter's ear stopped, he could hear another sound: an irregular low, piercing thump.Boom!Boom!Boom!His heart suddenly turned cold, and his eyes met Victor Henry. "Gunfire," he began, but his voice was stuck in his throat.He coughed. "Artillery fire. Air strikes." Henry nodded. "I bet they've got the highest concentration of anti-aircraft fire in the world all around this ground. Listen, through all those layers of walls! It's a hell of a mess outside." "If the Germans dropped a bomb here tonight," Sloter said with a faint smile. "The harvest will definitely not be small." The sound of artillery fire became more and more dense and louder, and some of the guests present at the banquet looked at the four walls uneasily.The old Russian general sank deep in his seat, bowed his flushed head, and glanced maliciously at the Americans. Now he struggled to stand up, knocking on his glass desperately, and waited until some people paid attention to him. He held up a glass full of yellow vodka. "Listen to me! I am sitting here with representatives of the most powerful navy in the world, the United States Navy. Their ships drop anchor and attract barnacles, while the whole of humanity is in mortal peril, These brave men must be very unhappy--" He turned to the American general with a sardonic smile. "I propose a toast to the day when the mighty U.S. Navy rises to the occasion and helps wipe out the public enemy of humanity, the Hitlerites." ① Barnacle: A small aquatic crustacean that often attaches to the bottom of a stationary ship or a stake on a dock. After he finished his toast, no one said a word.Sloter lowered his voice and quickly translated his toast.Russian soldiers and civilians at nearby tables shook their heads and looked at each other worriedly.The old man sat down and looked around with satisfaction. The US Navy general said to Sloter in an excited voice: "If I pay him back, you will experience an international incident." Victor Henry immediately said, "General, may I try my broken Russian?" "Exactly, Pug." Leslie Slote touched Henry's arm and said: "You see, the other Russians don't like his speech either—there's too much vodka—" "Okay." Victor Henry stood up with a wine glass in his hand.The whispered conversation in the hall died down.The muffled sound of anti-aircraft fire grew louder, and the jarring glasses rattled against each other.The people at the main table, including Stalin, all stared at the American.Henry replied slowly, in stammering sentences with many grammatical errors: "My chief asked me to speak on behalf of the United States Navy. We are not at war yet. I suggest starting with a toast to the wise peace policy of Marshal Stalin, who bought time by not leading your country to war before it was attacked." The ironic skill of this rebuttal surprised Sloter. "Comrade Stalin's wise policy of peace" is a Communist cliché referring to Stalin's compromise with Hitler.Henry went on, pausing now and then to find a Russian word, causing a tense silence in the hall. "It's our president's policy too, if we're attacked, we go to war. I want to fight like your people. As for—" he paused to ask Sloter a Russian word, "the thing about barnacles , any barnacle that can inhabit our ships today is a fast-swimming barnacle. Our ships are already in action. We do not announce everything we do. Secrecy is the common wisdom of our two countries policy. But let’s not get too far into working together with secrecy.” "Now, our navy needs some—" Henry asked Sloter another Russian word—"some information about your port, weather codes, etc. We need to get these before we go. Since today is a farewell Banquet, I also suggest a toast to some quick action. I am a naval attaché in Berlin, and I ran from Hitler's mansion to the inside of the Kremlin. This is something Hitler could never do, so in the end I suggest that cheers." A burst of warm applause erupted in the meeting place. Everyone raised their glasses unanimously and cheered loudly: "I wish you health! Act quickly!" Sloter stood up to prevent Pug from toasting, and pointed to him. Joseph Stalin was holding a toast. With a glass of wine, he has already left his seat. "My God, what kind of etiquette is this?" Henry said. "I don't know," Sloter said. "Don't drink just yet. My God, Colonel Henry, it's going to be an unusual thing." Pug strode toward Stalin, followed by Slote.When they met in front of the dais and clinked glasses with smiles and applause, the dictator said with a friendly smile, "I thank you for your beautiful toast, and in return, you can stay in California." "Thank you, Mr. Chairman," said Pug.They all drank. "It's a great start, what else can we do for us?" "Of course, move quickly," Stalin said, taking Pug's arm.They stood close enough that Pug could smell the fish in Stalin's mouth. “这是美国式的，我们俄国人有时也这样做。”他向两个将军那里走去，红脸的俄国人摇摇晃晃地站起来，笔直地站在那里。斯大林很快地低声和他说了几句话。斯鲁特在维克多•亨利后面只听到几个字，但从将军紧张的表情和斯大林的语调看，已经不用翻译了。独裁者转向维克多•亨利，又愉快地微笑着。 “好，气象密码等都给您安排好了。告诉您的首长，我们俄国人不想使客人为难。告诉他我想美国海军在这次斗争中将建立历史性功勋，而且当和平到来的时候，它还将统治海洋。” 当斯鲁特很快翻译时，斯坦德莱站起来，干瘪的薄嘴唇颤抖着，他抓住了独裁者的手。斯大林又回到主宾席去，这一次次突然的事情似乎给他很深的印象，因为这个晚上当他站起来最后一次为罗斯福总统祝酒时，他又提到这个题目。替他翻译的是驻美大使奥曼斯基。他的英文特别流利。他穿着剪裁得体的蓝色衣服，显得与其他俄国人不同。“斯大林同志说，罗斯福总统领导这个还没有参战的国家，是一个极为困难的任务，但是他还要尽一切可能帮助欧洲两个伟大的民主国家进行反法西斯的战争。斯大林同志说——”奥曼斯基停了一下，对宽敞的大厅环顾了一周，这时炮火已停，全场很安静——“愿上帝保佑他完成最困难的任务。” 这句宗教性的话使人们吃惊地楞了一下，接着全场起立，手里拿着酒杯，欢呼，干杯，鼓掌。哈里曼和斯大林热情地握手；充血的矮个子俄国将军抓住斯鲁特、亨和和斯坦德莱的手；整个宴会厅已沉浸在一片热烈的握手、拍肩和拥抱之中。 但是晚上的节目还没有完，俄国人又带着客人经过好几个空荡而豪华的房间，到了一个有五十张左右矮的软靠背椅的电影放映室，每张靠背椅前面都有一张小桌子，服务员放上糕点、水果、糖果和香槟酒。在这里他们放映了一部战争片和一部很长的音乐片，斯鲁特做了一件他再也不会相信他能做的事，在克里姆林宫的心脏，他睡着了！灯亮前几秒钟他才被电影结束曲的高音闹醒了。他看到别人在刺眼的灯光下醒来，偷偷地用手擦眼睛。斯大林迈着矫健的步伐同俾弗勃洛克和哈里曼走出放映厅。大厅里一张巨大的冰天雪地中作战的油画下面，斯大林逐一和所有的客人握手。 在沙皇宫殿的外面没有一颗星，天特别黑，刮着刺骨的寒风。内务部的特工人员，皮领翻在耳朵上，手里拿着蓝光的手电，看样子寒冷、疲劳而困倦。他们把客人都送上了汽车。 “咳，在黑暗中怎他妈的开得这样快？”当汽车穿过大门高速进入漆黑的空间时，海军将军不高兴地说。“俄国人长了猫眼？”车子在黑暗中停下来，保镖带着三个美国人走到一个门口，进去后，他们发现是在民族饭店寒冷的小休息室里，接待处的桌上点着一盏暗淡的灯。开门的看门人裹在皮大衣里，电梯开着门，没有灯，已经停开了。将军跟他们道了晚安以后缓步上了楼梯。 “上来一会儿，”亨利跟莱斯里•斯鲁特说。 “不，谢谢。我摸回我的住处去，离这儿不远。” 帕格坚持要他上去，斯鲁特跟着亨利走上阴暗的楼梯，到了阁楼上的一间小房间。“我不象塔茨伯利那样值钱，”他说。 “塔茨伯利是苏联能得到的最好的宣传家。”斯鲁特说，“我想他们知道这个。” 帕格打开箱子的锁，拿出一个狭长的公文包，又打开锁，从里面找文件。 “我希望你能懂得，”斯鲁特说，“这些锁毫无作用。箱子里的所有东西都已经拍了照。” “是的，”维克多•亨利心不在焉地说，他拿出一封信放在口袋里。“你要稍稍睡一会儿吗？请你再呆一会儿。有事情要做。” “啊？”由于他对亨利新增长的尊敬，斯鲁特二话未说，就往硬的窄床上一躺，床下的弹簧发出吱吱格格的声音。他的脑袋还是晕晕乎乎的，看电影时那些影子似的服务员不断给他添香槟酒，他喝多了。接着一阵打门声使他清醒过来。维克多•亨利站在门口正和一个穿黑色皮上衣的人说话。 “好，我们就来，”他用带着难听口音的俄语说，“一分钟。”他关上门。“你要不要洗一洗，莱斯里？我愿意你跟我一起去。” "Where are you going?" “回克里姆林宫。我这儿有一封哈利•霍普金斯给权势人物的信。我原来想不一定能面交给本人，现在也许有可能。” “上帝，大使知道这件事吗？” “知道。斯坦德莱海军将军带给他总统关于这件事的一张便条。我想他很生气。不过他知道这件事。” 斯鲁特坐起来。“生气！我想当然会这样。霍普金斯先生有他自己的一套办事方法，这是很古怪的，亨利上校。任何人都不应该不直接通过大使去见一个国家元首，你是怎样安排的？” “我？与我无关，我受人调遣而已。霍普金斯要把这个作为非正式的私人信件交给斯大林，要不然就算了。如果你处在我的地位，也不会去和哈利•霍普金斯争论。我知道他已和奥曼斯基说过。要是这使你的处境尴尬的话，我想我就一个人去。那里能找到翻译。” 斯鲁特从各个角度来考虑这件不寻常的事——主要从他自己在职业上自保的角度来考虑——开始在发黄的贴墙镜前面梳理头发。“我要给大使写一个书面报告。” "certainly." 在一间屋顶很高、灯光阴暗的长屋子里，墙上挂着一排地图，斯大林坐在油漆的会议桌的一头，在他面前的一条绿布上放着一堆文件。独裁者手边一个石头的烟灰缸里装满了烟头，说明从宴会送走客人回来后他一直没有停止工作。他现在穿着一套粗咔叽制服，显得很松垂宽大，他看来很疲倦。他经常的英文翻译巴甫洛夫坐在他身边，这是一个瘦削、苍白、黑头发的年轻人，有着一种聪明而小心翼翼地顺从的表情。这间大屋子里没有别人。当穿制服的礼宾官把两个美国人请进去后，斯大林站起来，和他们握手，默默地做了个优雅的手势请他们在椅子上坐下来，带着询问的目光看着亨利上校。 亨利交给他一封信以及一个用发光的蓝纸包着的圆盒子，用英语说：“主席先生，我还是不要再用我糟糕的俄语来使您难受的好。”斯大林小心地用裁纸刀拆开白宫的信封。斯鲁特翻译后，斯大林稍稍侧着头，用俄语说：“请便吧。”他把单页的手写的淡蓝信纸递给巴甫洛夫，信纸上角印有白宫字样。 当斯大林拆开盒子时，帕格说：“这是霍普金斯先生跟您谈起过的他儿子很喜欢的特等的弗吉尼亚烟斗丝。”巴甫洛夫把这一句以及后来美国上校说的每一句话都翻了过来，不仅又快又精确地传达亨利说的每一个字，有时候连语调也传达出来了。斯鲁特沉默地坐在那里，不时点点头。 斯大林在手上转着蓝色的铁罐，说：“难得霍普金斯先生还记得我们偶然闲谈中提到的烟斗丝。当然，我们苏联也有很多好烟斗丝。”他的手用劲迅速扭开了铁罐，好奇地细细观察了厚封的铅皮，然后用修剪得很漂亮的手指划开了封皮，从口袋里掏出一个烟斗。“现在你可以告诉霍普金斯先生，我已经尝了他儿子的烟丝。”帕格懂得斯大林这句简单的俄语，其余的他就跟不上了。 当巴甫洛夫大声翻译霍普金斯的信时，斯大林装满了烟斗，用粗火柴点燃起来，喷出一口芬芳的蓝烟。象沉思似的静默了一会以后，独裁者转过含蓄无情的眼光，对着维克多•亨利开始讲话。每讲三四句就停一下，让巴甫洛夫译成英文。“霍普金斯先生这封信是很奇怪的。我们都知道美国一年生产几百万各种式样和类型的汽车，包括奢华的、机器复杂的大型汽车，类似卡迪勒克轿车等品种。那么，生产登陆艇还有什么问题呢？登陆艇是一种装甲的平底船，有小型的简单发动机。显然你们要生产多少就能生产多少，肯定英国已经有了很多这样的船。我不大明白霍普金斯先生所说的，这就是现在在欧洲开辟第二战场的真正障碍。” 帕格•亨利从皮包里拿出登陆艇的草图和生产目录。“各种类型必须从头设计而加以制造，主席先生，以便适应在坚固防御的沿海登陆。我们计划最迟在一九四二年年中投入大量生产。这些材料或许可供参考。” 出乎意料，还没翻完，斯大林就发出一阵短促刺耳的笑声，然后对着维克多•亨利开始很快地用俄语讲话。斯鲁特和巴甫洛夫赶快记下要点，独裁者的话一停，巴甫洛夫接着就用斯大林生硬的讽刺语调翻译。“这很好！一九四二年年中。不幸的是现在是一九四一年十月。要是希特勒能等到一九四二年年中多好！但是我们不能指望这个，那么现在会出现什么情况呢？我把哈利•霍普金斯先生”——斯大林说的是加利•科普金斯先生——“作为一个朋友和一个聪明人，他不知道只要英国人现在能发动不管什么样的攻势——如果他们没有更多的力量，只要动用几个师的兵力就行——可能对战局起决定性的作用？德国人的后备力量很薄弱，只有几个象征性的师在法国沿海。他们把全部兵力都投入跟我们作战。西方的任何行动都能使他们停下来，把这里起决定作用的那部分力量撤走。” 当译员翻译时，斯大林心不在焉地用红墨水在一个灰色的白纸便条本上画一只狼。 维克多•亨利说：“主席先生，我受命回答任何关于登陆艇的问题。” 斯大林用手背推开了帕格•亨利放在他面前的材料。“登陆艇？但这是一个决心问题，而不是登陆艇问题。不管怎样，我们会研究登陆艇的事。当然我们也有在设防的沿岸登陆用的工具，也许我们可以租借一些给英国。在一九一五年，当时军事武器比现在原始，丘吉尔先生仍然有办法使一个大部队在离开英国几千英里的加利波利登陆。也许他经历了这一次之后有点胆怯了。但近几年来，有一百多万日本人在中国登陆。这些人当然不是在寒冷的海水里游过去的。所以很显然，问题不是在登陆艇，而是肯不肯下决心。我希望哈利•霍普金斯先生能利用他的巨大影响，促使现在在欧洲开辟第二战场，因为反希特勒战争的战局可能靠他来扭转。我没有更多可说的了。” 在翻译他的话时，独裁者用几笔很快地画完了那只狼，接着又画一只伸着舌头露出利牙的狼。他带着不常见的象照片上那样的亲切的笑容，转换话题，问道：“在这里过得好吗？还有什么需要我们帮忙的吗？” 维克多•亨利说：“主席先生，我曾经在德国和英国担任过战时军事观察员。霍普金斯先生要我有机会到前线去看看，给他一个目击情况的报告。” 听到“前线”两个字，斯大林摇了摇头。“不，不。我们有责任保证我们客人们的安全。在战争的现阶段，我们不能这样做。万一出个意外，霍普金斯先生不会原谅我们。” “霍普金斯先生曾经不惜牺牲他自己的健康，先生。现在是战时。” 斯大林的眼里露出一种阴暗激动的神情，很象猩猩的眼色。“唉，你应该了解，前线情况不好。德国人又突破了我们的防线。很快我们就会遇到俄国自一八一二年以来最坏的时刻。明天你可以听到全部消息。所以英国人现在开辟第二战场可以赢得我国人民永远的友谊。”他又开始画起狼来。 帕格认真地说：“听到这些消息，主席先生，我钦佩您在今晚宴会上表现的乐观精神。” 斯大林耸了一耸穿着松松的衣服的宽肩。“战争不能用忧郁来取胜，也不能由怠慢客人而取胜。好吧，如果霍普金斯先生要您去前线，他一定有他的理由，我们安排安排看。请转达我对他的信和烟丝的感谢。烟丝不坏，不过我习惯抽俄国烟。请转告他我对开辟第二战场的关切心情。也许您上我们前线去看看。可以把紧急形势带回去。霍普金斯先生是你们伟大总统的好顾问，而您是他的密使。祝您一切顺利。” 两个美国人一句话也未说，就离开克里姆林宫，进入灯火管制的黑暗中。车子停下来后，帕格•亨利说：“好吧，明天再谈吧，我想这些人会送你回家。” “不，我下来。”在人行道上，车子开走后，斯鲁特碰碰帕格的胳膊说：“就在这里谈吧。关于到前线的事，真使我吃 shock.要是霍普金斯先生知道斯大林刚才承认的灾难性局势——”这位外交官的声音有些颤抖，他清了一下嗓子—— “他一定会收回他的指示。” 天快亮了，不过寒冷的街道仍然很黑，帕格只能看到斯鲁特皮帽下苍白的脸。 “我不同意你说的这一点。他是一个很坚韧的汉子，我是说霍普金斯。” 斯鲁特坚持说：“要知道，你不可能真到前线。他们刚刚允许一些记者去跑了一趟。他们不让他们接近前线，每天用鱼子酱、鹌鹑和香槟酒招待他们。尽管如此，德国空军空袭了一个村庄，差一点把他们都埋在那里了。” “对，我们在莫斯科这里也可能被炸死，我还是要去试试看。” “为什么，老天爷？”斯鲁特突然大声尖叫。他压低了嗓子说：“最多你只能在一个很小的地区看几小时。这是一种有勇无谋的观光，会给大使馆和俄国人带来无穷无尽的麻烦。” 维克多•亨利接着又点起一支烟。“听我说，你如果观察十个战士在炮火下的表现，只要几小时，你就可以知道很多士气的情况。霍普金斯先生喜欢称他自己为光荣的信使。这是夸大，但是我是一个不光荣的信使。我这样做也许使我感到我没白拿钱。上楼来喝一杯吧，我有很好的威士忌酒。” “不，谢谢你。我要去写报告。然后看能不能睡一小时。” “好吧，振作一点。我个人的印象是这位煊赫人物态度还是友好的，不过前线我还是去不成。” “这是我所希望的。没有一个外国武官到过前线，或靠近前线的地方。早安。” 他们谈话时，天已经开始转为紫色，斯鲁特能够在寂静的街道上看清往回走的路。这下他放了心，因为在莫斯科灯光管制时，他不止一次碰到路灯杆上，或从街缘上跌下来。他还碰到过巡逻队用手枪指着他。这时，在灰色的黎明，一个巡逻队员迎面而来，带着怀疑的目光盯了他一眼，没有说什么就过去了。 回到公寓，斯鲁特在煤气炉上煮了咖啡，用打字机打了一篇关于宴会和会见斯大林的长报告。完了以后，他拉开黑窗帘，太阳已经很高了。他摇摇晃晃、迷迷糊糊地从抽屉里拿出一本活页日记，简单地写了一些情况，最后加了几句这样的话： 不过，刚才在我匆忙打出来的正式报告中，已十分详尽地叙述了和斯大林会面的情况，我自己还要留一个副本。 关于亨利父子的事，困惑已很容易地解决了。在过去几小时中，我找到了答案。他们父子二人都有一种善于采取实际行动的本能，行动时还能保持头脑冷静。拜伦在遭遇危险时显出了他的特点，他父亲也可能和他一样。但刚才看到他能应付更复杂微妙的局势，这需要敏捷、大胆和策略。应付象斯大林一样的人物是很不容易的。斯大林有一股灵气，象一块镭锭一样，有巨大的力量，看不见，但是有毒。维克多应付过来了。 想了想，我现在明白为什么女人喜欢亨利这样的人，在保护女人方面，在养活女人方面，据说还有在使女人怀孕方面（这个需要实验证明），善于行动的人都比善于思索的人来得强有力并且可靠。 也许，人不能改变他的天性。尽管如此，人也许可以学习和培养。亨利上校建议我不要理睬上级命令，将明斯克的文件泄露给弗莱德•费林或别的记者。这样做完全不合我的意愿；但是完全为了这个原故，我准备这样做。