Chapter 56 Chapter fifty-six

Leslie Slote was sitting working under a kerosene lamp in his overcoat and fur hat when he heard footsteps in the dark.His desk was placed right under the unlit chandelier in the marble columned hall of the Spasso Tower, the ambassador's residence in Moscow. "Who's there?" The tense, gruff voice echoed in the empty hall.Before he saw the face, he recognized the white navy cap, the white scarf, and the brass buttons. "My God, Colonel Henry, why didn't they send you straight to Kazan Station? Maybe you still have time. You must leave Moscow tonight!" "I've been to the station. The train to Kuibyshev has left." Pug brushed the snow off his shoulders. "The raid stopped us from entering the city."

Slote looked at his watch uneasily. "But—it's too bad! God knows when they'll still have a train to Kuibyshev—if ever. Did you know that a German armored unit has crossed the north and is driving behind the city?Another pincer offensive is coming from Kaluga, they say.I don't know what to believe now, but at least one thing is conceivable, that is, we may all be surrounded within twenty-four hours.Now it's starting to look like Warsaw again. Slote let out an easy laugh. "I'm sorry, no chairs, a bunch of Georgia workmen came and piled up all the furniture like crazy and covered up—oh, and there's a stool, sit, sit Down--"

"I don't know about the German pincers, I just came from the Foreign Office," said Pug. He sat down without unbuttoning his overcoat.It was almost as dark and cold in the Spasso Building as it was outside in the blizzard. "Do you think they will tell you the truth? I can tell you for sure that I heard the news directly from the Swedish ambassador at nine o'clock tonight in the dining room of the Kazan station, where I saw our people off. I God, what a sight to see at the station! If one bomb were dropped, all the journalists, ninety percent of the diplomats in Russia, and a whole bunch of Soviet bureaucrats would all be wiped out."

"Are all the typewriters put away? I have a report to write." "There's still a typewriter in Colonel Yeden's office. I also have a broken guy. I have to maintain my job for a while until Kuibyshev arranges it." Slote replied calmly and absent-mindedly, and then there was a dull sound from outside. The sound made him jump up. "Is this a bomb? You don't have time to write your report, Colonel. It is my duty to get you out of Moscow at once, and I have reasons to insist on that—" Pug raised his hand. "The Foreign Office is making arrangements. There are others who are left behind like me. I have to go at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Ah! Well, if the Foreign Office is sure to be responsible, so be it," Sloter said with a smirk. Victor Henry narrowed his eyes and looked at him, "Why are you taking on this burden again? It's a bit too much for you to do this again after Warsaw." "I voluntarily. You don't seem to believe me, but I really voluntarily. After all, I have had an exercise. I am not very satisfied with my work in Warsaw. I think maybe this time I can make up for it." "Where, Byron told me you did a great job in Warsaw." "Is that so? Byron is a gentleman, almost a knight. That reminds me, the day you left, a large postal package arrived from Stockholm with something from Rome. Would you like to see a picture of your newborn grandson ?” He searched for a long time in the pile of papers on the table, and pulled out a photo from a crumpled envelope. "That's him. You say he's handsome?"

The light from the oil lamps showed deep dark lines on the naval officer's face.He first glanced at the words written on the back of the photo: To old Sloot—Louis Henry, eleven days old, and the fat woman in the circus, and then looked at the photo carefully.A plump, sunken-eyed Natalie in a loose gown holds a baby.It looks almost exactly like Byron did when he was a child.The triangular face, the big serious eyes, the amusing yet resolute expression, the soft flaxen hair—it was all the same; Louie had been made of the same mold as his son.He was more Henry than Janice's child.Victor Henry cleared his throat and said, "Not bad. Natalie's right, she's put on weight."

"Didn't she gain weight? She said she was lying in bed for too long. I bet this child is not only beautiful, but also smart. She looks smart." Victor Henry sat there looking at the photo, Slote added, "Are you going to keep it?" Henry gave it back right away. "No, of course not. She gave it to you." "I'll lose it, Colonel Henry. I've got a better picture of Natalie than this one." "Really? That's fine." Victor Henry smiled unnaturally, wanted to express his gratitude but couldn't find the right words, and carefully put the photo in his inner pocket.

"How about the Tudsburys?" asked Sloter. "Are they stuck in Moscow too?" "Talky was trying to find a way to get himself and Pam on a plane to Archangel when I parted from him. The Russians were flying some RAF flight instructors away. Sure he could of this plane." "Okay. Did you get into any trouble at the front? What idiots to drag a girl there!" "Well, we heard gunfire, and saw some Germans. I'd better go and write the report, and if Talkey is going to fly away, I'll give him a transfer from London." "Give me a copy too, can you? Give me another copy and let the messenger take it away next time, if there is another one."

"You're a pessimist, Sloter." "I'm a realist. I was in Warsaw then and I knew what the Germans could do." "Do you know what the Russians can do?" "Before I thought I knew, I was the biggest Red Army advocate in the embassy until—" Sloter shrugged, turned to his desk, and blew his nose. "The only thing that really bothers me is the smell of the burning paper. My God, how come it's back to Warsaw! The whole embassy was full of smoke until they left, burning, burning, burning all day. There's another ton I'll have to figure out how to burn it in the morning."

"The whole of Moscow smells like burnt paper," Pug said. "Driving in a snowstorm and smelling burnt paper is a pain. The city is a mess, Sloter. Do you see the barbed wire and the mess of steel barricaded bridges? And, my God, train station man It's a mess! Eastbound vehicles are jammed together with headlights on, fuck the blackout! I didn't expect so many trucks and sleeping cars in the whole of the USSR, full of mattresses, old people, babies, Wait. The blue anti-aircraft searchlight is still dangling overhead. God knows what is going on, and with the snow and wind, I tell you, it really feels like the end of the world."

Slote laughed. "Yeah, didn't you? The exodus started the day you left, and it hasn't snowballed since then. The government officials left yesterday, in a long line of black cars honking. Oh, You should see the faces of the people along the street! I'm sure the panic is caused by this. Anyway, I trust Stalin. He stayed till the end, it takes courage, because if Hitler caught Stalin, he would hang him like a dog Died in Red Square. He would also drag Lenin's body out of the tomb, hang it together, and let the wind blow it to pieces. Ah, a lot of earth-shattering things will happen here, and whoever survives can tell you." Victor Henry stood up and buttoned his coat. "Do you know that there is no guard at the door? I just walked in all the way." "It's impossible. We are guarded day and night by soldiers from the Foreign Office." "There's no one there." Sloter opened and closed his mouth twice. "Are you sure? Then, we might be robbed by bandits! Soldiers leave their posts, it's almost over. I must ask the Foreign Office. If there are still people in the switchboard!" He jumped up and disappeared into the darkness. Victor Henry touched the office of the embassy military attache.He struck a match, found two kerosene lamps, and lit them.With the dim blue-yellow light, he observed the office.The floor and all surfaces in the house were covered with black paper dust.On the floor and in the leather chairs were piles of reports, files, and unbound papers, with the inscription in red pencil: DESTRUCTION—URGENT.Empty drawers and filing cabinets were left open, a swivel chair was overturned, and the whole place looked like it had been robbed.On the desk, with the keys of the typewriter all messed up, stood a piece of shredded cardboard bearing the words in large letters: URGENT--BURN THE DOCUMENTS OF THE SECOND LOCKED BROWN FILE TOnight (Ly Slote know the password).Pug cleared the desk, smoothed the keys of the typewriter, and lit an oil lamp on either side of the typewriter.He found paper, carbon paper, and transparencies in drawers. Moscow Front - Eyewitness Report, October 16, 1941, Spasso Tower. His frozen fingers couldn't hit the proper keys, and he always felt clumsy and inflexible when typing in a long coat.The sound of slow typing echoed through the deserted embassy.An oil lamp began to smoke, and he fiddled with the wick to light it.I have just returned from the western front of Moscow, and I intend to report on my trip. Our car was stopped twenty miles outside the city tonight because of the air raid on Moscow.From a distance, it was an unusual sight: For half an hour, on the horizon, a fan of searchlights and anti-aircraft fire hung over a small patch of ground like a multicolored pyrotechnic umbrella.The Russians had a seemingly unlimited supply of anti-aircraft fire despite their lack of supplies, and when the Luftwaffe ventured into the capital, they fired large numbers of shells high into the air.Nothing I've seen in London or Berlin in the past can compare to this. Still, what was on the ground in Moscow tonight was no match for the heroics in the air.Cities are being prepared for siege.There was an abnormal situation, and the timid people made a hasty escape in the snow.The communist government was unable or unwilling to eliminate this panic phenomenon.I've been told that there's already a slang term for this mass exodus - "fuck off".Foreign envoys and journalists have been sent to Kuibyshev on the Volga River 500 miles to the east, and the government agencies have also retreated to a safe area. The crowded vehicles and pedestrians all the way to the east have to give people a feeling of rats. Impressions of a shipwreck.Regardless, Stalin reportedly stayed on. I think the panic seems a little premature; Moscow still has a good chance of holding out, and even if it falls, the war will not be over.The front line gave me many impressions, but one of the most outstanding points is that although the Russians have retreated to the last line of defense, they have not yet been defeated.The American leadership must be estimating whether the Russians will stand or fall, and use this to consider the supply of transport under Lend-Lease.Estimates from frontline eyewitnesses, even in fragments, might answer that question. Typewriters type faster now.It was almost one o'clock, and Victor Henry had to go back to the hotel to pack his bags.He ate another bar of Russian Polar Bear chocolate for added strength, and then began to write about what he had seen along the way.Suddenly the electric lights in the room came on, but he didn't turn off the kerosene lamp and kept on.About half an hour later, the electric light flickered for a while, then turned orange-yellow, gradually dimmed, and then went out after a flicker.He continued to type, and just as he was describing the situation inside the KV tank, Sloter came in.Said, "You really did it." "You work so late yourself." "I'm almost done with my pile." Sloter threw a brown wax-sealed envelope on the table. "I forgot, it's the same package that came this time. Would you like some coffee?" "Of course, thank you." Stretching, Pug paced up and down the room, beating his shoulders, kicking his feet, and then opened the envelope. Inside were two letters, one from the White House and one from the Personnel Bureau.He hesitated for a moment, and opened the letter from the White House. A few lines of Harry Hopkins' hastily crooked handwriting filled a sheet of paper. My dear Pug: Congratulations to you on your new appointment and best wishes from your boss.He's busy with the Japanese now, and they're going crazy, and of course we're all watching the Russians closely.I still think -- and wish -- they can hold on.I hope my letter has been delivered to Stalin.He is a crab on land. You have to convince him that crossing the strait is a relatively big task. Otherwise, accusations of our dishonesty will fly all over the sky, and Hitler will be happy to hear it.The number of submarines sunk in the Atlantic has unfortunately increased, and the Germans have also begun to do it in Africa.In short, our cause seemed to be going into a great storm.You will be missed here brothers in gray. Harry Howe Another envelope contained a postal telegram for the Navy: mail telegram From: Director of Personnel Hair: Victor (no middle name) Henry, U.S. Navy Captain.From November 1st, I will be relieved of my original position and go to Pearl Harbor to report to California (Battleship 64) as soon as possible according to the traffic situation. A piece of thin yellow paper, a few boring and common naval terms, and the appointment of the command of a battleship-and what kind of battleship! "California," the original old Pruner boat, where he served twice, once as an ensign and once as a lieutenant commander, a ship he knew well and loved, launched in 1919, and since The name of the state of his hometown has been fully modernized. Captain of the USS California! Pug Henry's first reaction was to calculate calmly.Apparently he had escaped the hurdle of becoming a staff officer with Vice Admiral King.Of his rank, only Warrendorf, Monson, and Brown had served as captains of battleships, and Robinson commanded the Saratoga. His unusual position as a "boy in gray uniform" with the President turned out to be a quick route to promotion.Suddenly, the bright future of the general level is already in sight. He thought of Rhoda, because she had been with him for twenty-seven years, waiting for this little piece of yellow tissue paper; and Pamela, who he wanted to know now, to make her happy too.But he was not sure whether he would see her again in Moscow.They had parted after a firm handshake at the station, when Taj Tudsbury, begging the RAF pilot to take him with him, yelled at the Foreign Office official who was trying to take him away.Leslie Sloot came in with two cups of coffee. "Any good news?" "New appointment. Commander, USS California." "Huh? What's that?" "A battleship." "A battleship?" Sloter sipped his coffee, a little puzzled. "Is that what you want next?" "Oh, change the environment." "I always feel that after doing the kind of work you're already doing, it's too narrow a job—a routine job. There are very few naval officers—not many Americans, in fact. —had a face-to-face conversation with Stalin." "Leslie, I'm not at all unhappy about this appointment." "Ah! Well, then, congratulations. How's the report? I'm going to bed." "A few more hours." "You won't have much sleep." Slote shook his head and went out. Victor Henry sat drinking coffee, brooding over the little rectangle of yellow paper that had suddenly made an irrevocable decision about his life.He couldn't have asked for a better decision than this one.This is the Merit Medal, a "Tianzi No. 1", the gold medal in naval service.But there was still a little uneasiness in his spirit which clouded the great news.what is this?Pug asked himself as he sipped his coffee, and found something that surprised even him. After more than twenty-five years, he has somewhat given up his career ambitions.He was interested in war, and he had engaged in a kind of dreadful battle in the Operations Planning Department, prioritizing the landing craft program. "Pug's girlfriend Elsie" was no joke; but now he couldn't keep fighting.Mike Drayton will replace him.Mike is a good lieutenant-colonel officer with a lot of experience in the Naval Bureau and a very good knowledge of the industry of the country.But he lacks combativeness and his level is not high. "Elsie" seems to be at a disadvantage. This one won't last.One day the landing craft problem would take a turn for the worse—Henry was convinced of this from his campaign studies—and landing craft would be at the top of the priority list, and a frenzy for building landing craft would ensue.Military strength may be lost, and it is conceivable that the first landing operation will fail and there will be many casualties.But, thought Pug, it was ridiculous to think that the burden of the war was on his shoulders, and to be as anxious about "Elsie" as he had been about his own future.That's swinging to the other extreme.The war was much bigger than any individual, and he himself was a small, replaceable cog, and one way or another, sooner or later, America was bound to produce enough landing craft to defeat Hitler.Presently he got his battleship aboard. He took a lamp and walked over to the globe standing in the corner, and with his thumb and forefinger he measured the distance from Moscow to Pearl Harbor.He was surprised to find that it made little difference whether he walked from the east or the west.These two places are the poles of the earth.But which direction is less time-consuming and safer?From the west, there is good express transportation, across the Atlantic to the US, and then take a Pan Am flight from San Francisco to Honolulu.How light!Unfortunately, passage through Europe in this direction, from Spitzbergen to Sicily, from Moscow to the English Channel, is now impossible due to the dreadful obstacles of war.There are a few more trails through the line of fire: the North Sea Convoy, and the air link between Stockholm and London can also be hit or miss.In theory, if he got to Stockholm, he could even go to Lisbon via Berlin and Madrid; but Colonel Victor Henry, on his way to the "California", did not want to set foot on the territory of Germany and the countries controlled by Germany .The last time he rudely insulted Goering to Wolf Stöller must be recorded.The Germans are now close to world victory and may be interested in taking on Victor Henry. So, go east?The Russian trains were slow and inaccurate, and the refugees from the direction the Germans were attacking were already overcrowded.The Russian planes that fly once in a while are even more inaccurate.But this route is safer, and at the same time shorter; especially from Kuibyshev, it is another five hundred miles to Pearl Harbor.Yes, he thought, he'd better let the distraught Russians arrange for him to circle the east of the globe now. "You look like a mad conqueror," he heard Slote say. "Oh?" "Looking greedily at the earth in the light. You just need a little black beard." The diplomat leaned against the door, fingering his pipe. "We have a visitor outside." At the edge of the table under the chandelier stood a pudgy Russian soldier, brushing the snow off his long khaki overcoat, taking off his big-brimmed hat and shaking it by one of his earflaps. , Pug was startled, and recognized the man as Jochenan Jastrow.The man's hair was cropped short now, and he had a sparse, long brown beard, some of it greyed, and he looked dirty and unkempt.Answering Sloter's questioning in German, he explained that he had enlisted in a mobile unit for a winter coat and legal papers.The Moscow authorities organized both refugees and stragglers into an emergency task force and allowed them to join with a simple question.He had some false certificates, and once in the bomb shelter, a patrol police questioned him and took them away, but he managed to slip away.Other fake certificates were available, there was a market for them, but he felt the existing military certificates were better. "In this country, sir," he said, "an undocumented man is worse than a pig or a dog. A pig and a dog have no proof that they can find a place to eat and sleep, and neither can a man. Perhaps, after a while, the war situation will improve, and then I'll be able to find my family." "Where are they now?" Sloter asked. "With the partisans in Smolensk. I left them there when my daughter-in-law was sick," Pug said. "Are you going to go back across the German blockade?" Natalie's uncle smiled at him strangely and slyly, one side of his bearded mouth curled up to show his white teeth, and the other was tightly shut. "Russia is a large country, Colonel Henry, full of woods. The Germans, for their own safety, are stationed close to the main roads. I have crossed this line, and thousands of others like me. He turned to Slote. "That's all. But I heard that all foreigners are leaving Moscow. I want to know. What happened to the paper I gave you." The diplomat and Victor Henry glanced at each other, showing the same hesitant and embarrassed expressions. "Well, I showed this document to an important American journalist," said Sloter, "and he wrote a long article and sent it back to the United States, and I'm afraid it will end up in the newspaper with a small piece of news. You know, How many reports are there of how brutal the Germans are!" "Something like that?" Jastrow exclaimed, anger and disappointment showing on his unshaven face. "Children, mothers, old people? Sitting behind closed doors and doing nothing, dragged into a hole dug in the woods and shot in the middle of the night?" "It's terrible, maybe the German commander in the Minsk region is a crazy, fanatical Nazi." "But the people who shoot the guns are not soldiers, I told you, they wear different uniforms. Here in Moscow, people from the Ukraine and from the north, tell the same story. These things happen everywhere, sir, not only In Minsk. Forgive me. But why don't you give these documents to your ambassador? I'm sure he will give it to President Roosevelt." "I have brought your material to his attention, but I regret to inform you that our intelligence officers have doubts about its authenticity." "What? But, sir, it's unbelievable! Tomorrow I could take ten men and tell you such a story, with affidavits. Some of them saw it with their own eyes, running from those trucks the Germans used came out, and—” Sloter interrupted him with an exasperated tone: "You see, my good chap, I'm almost alone now—" He pointed to the desk piled with papers—"to be in charge of our country All business in Moscow. I do think that I have done my best for you. After suspicions were raised by our intelligence officers, I disobeyed the instructions of my superiors and let journalists see your files. I was severely reprimanded .In fact, I stayed in Moscow to do what no one would do, mainly to make amends. Your story is terrible, and I myself tend to believe your material, and I am in a bad mood. But this is just A small part of the horrors of war. Moscow could fall in seventy-two hours, and that's my main job now. I'm sorry." Jastrow listened to his outburst as if nothing had happened, and replied in a calm and submissive tone: "I'm sorry about the reprimand. Anyway, as long as President Roosevelt knows about these crazy killings of innocent people , he'll stop it. He's the only one in the world who can do it." Jastrow turned to Victor Henry and said, "Colonel, you know how else to make President Roosevelt Know about this?" Pug was already thinking of writing a letter to the President himself.He had seen a lot of material like Jastrow's and the more horrific official reports of the Germans killing partisans and village people.Such a letter is useless at all, worse than useless, and is not good at it.It would be blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah in front of the president.He, Victor Henry, was a naval officer who was on leave for Lend-Lease duty in the Soviet Union.Such a letter, like the one proposed by Byron at the presidential banquet, was an inappropriate act, and Byron was at least young and ignorant, concerned about his own wife.Victor Henry just spread his hands at Jastrow's question. Jastrow nodded gloomily and said, "Naturally, it's not your business. Have you heard from Natalie? Has she come home with Ellen?" Pug fished a photograph from his breast pocket. "This photo was taken a few weeks ago. Maybe by now they've come out, I think so." Holding the photo and approaching the light, Jastrow suddenly showed a gentle and warm smile that was not suitable for him. "Oh, this is little Byron. God bless him and keep him safe." He looked at Victor Henry and handed him the photo.Henry's eyes were wet when he heard these emotional words he said in German. "Well, you gentlemen have been very kind to me, and I have done everything I can to tell you what happened in Minsk. Maybe one day these materials will find their way into the right hands. They are true, and I pray to God, Hopefully someone will soon figure out a way to tell President Roosevelt what happened. The President must save the Jews from the clutches of the Germans. Only he can." After saying these words, Jochenan Jastrow smiled at them expressionlessly, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the light of the small kerosene lamp. After an hour or two of sleepy sleep, the alarm clock woke Pug again, and he almost forgot his letter.The letter, scrawled on two sheets of paper from the National Hotel, was still on the table next to the alarm clock.In the small, monotonous room, even though the windows were covered with slits, it was still terribly cold.He put on a thick woolen bathrobe he had bought in London, and a pair of thick socks, and sat down at the table to reread the letters he had finished. My dear Mr. President: My appointment as captain of the USS California fulfilled my life's will.I will do my best to live up to the trust placed in me. I have written a report to Mr. Hopkins on my visit to the front outside Moscow at his request.I've written all the details, maybe it's not worth your while.My basic impression is that presumably the Russians will hold up against the Germans and will drive them out sooner or later.But the price is terrible.Right now they need — and deserve — all the assistance we can provide, and the sooner the better.For our selfish purposes, we couldn't have used the weapons better than this, because they killed a lot of Germans, and I saw a lot of dead bodies. I also take the liberty to remind you that the embassy here has recently received solid evidence of the incredible mass murder of Jews by irregular German troops outside Minsk.I remember you saying on the Augusta flagship that it is useless to continue insulting Hitler, and it is tantamount to humiliating yourself.But in Europe, the United States is considered the last bastion of mankind, and you, Mr. President, are to these people the mouthpiece of the God of Justice on Earth.It's a heavy burden, but it's true anyway. I boldly recommend that you call in materials about Minsk and read them yourself.If you expose them to the world and use the material as a basis for condemnation, Germany will have to think twice about committing these atrocities.At the same time, world public opinion may turn against Hitler's government from then on. respect yours, Captain Victor Henry Rereading the letter after waking up, his overriding feeling was that it was ill-conceived and better thrown in the wastebasket.The first and second paragraphs are harmless, but the president's penetrating eye can see at a glance that they are just a foil.The rest, which is the essence of faith, is superfluous, even inappropriate.He suggested that the president bypass everyone in the State Department, including his ambassador to the Soviet Union, and ask to read some documents.There was little chance that Roosevelt would actually do so, and his opinion of Victor Henry would be lowered.He would immediately remember that Henry had a Jewish daughter-in-law for whom he had troubled him.Moreover, Pug didn't even know the reliability of this material.It is also possible that Jastrow, as Tudsbury guessed, was sent by the Soviet Ministry of the Interior to fabricate some materials for the Americans.The man seemed honest, but that proved nothing. In Henry's career, he had drafted dozens of such ill-conceived letters, trying to solve some problems, and then discarded them.He has a scrupulously editorial eye, and a precise sense of professional self-defense.He turned the letter over on the table, for there was a heavy knock at the door.Alister Tudsbury stood at the door leaning on crutches, wearing a long brown fur coat and a lambskin cap, with a flushed face and a more massive figure. "Thank goodness you're here, old friend." The reporter limped to a sofa and sat down, sticking out his bad leg, a cloud of dust in the sunlight. "Excuse me for intruding on you like this, but—well, how are you?" "Oh, yes, I'm fine." Pug wiped his face hard with both hands. "I stayed up all night and wrote a report. What's the matter?" The reporter stared at him with bulging eyes. "It's a little difficult, but come straight to the point. Are you and Pamela lovers?" "What!" Pug was too sudden and too tired to be angry or amused. "Why, no! Of course not." "Oh, that's ridiculous, and I don't think you are. That makes things even more awkward and difficult. Pamela just told me simply that she doesn't want to go back to London unless you go too. If you go to Kuibyshev Well, she's going to follow, to do something at the British embassy. Oh, it's nonsense!" Tudsbury became angry, and tapped the floor with his cane. "First of all, the Foreign Office doesn't want her to go. But she has made up her mind, and you can't reason with her. The RAF takes off at noon, and they have reserved places for us both." "Where is she now?" "Hmph, she actually went for a walk in the Red Square! Can you imagine? Look, the luggage is not in order. Victor, I didn't come to show you the anger of being a father. You can understand it, right?" Tudsbury was visibly mad and babbling, and even his talkative personality seemed special. "That puts me in the most ridiculous position. Hell, I've been completely on my own about these little things all my life. If I'd lectured her on morals, she'd laugh in my face. But people So what's common sense? You're one of those happy families, and you don't want her following you all the time, do you? How embarrassing! What about Tad Garrard anyway? Ha, she told me to tell He said shit! I said I don't do these things to her, and she wrote a random letter and stuffed it in my purse. I'm telling you, I'm in a very nasty situation with Pam. time." Victor Henry put a hand over his eyebrows and said in a languid tone though sweet in his heart, "Well, take my word for it, I'm totally surprised." "I know you're going to be surprised. I told her it wasn't going to work, and I got mad, and I said you're a very restrained old-fashioned man, jealous of your honor, loyal to your wife, stuff like that. Well, The wayward child agrees, saying that's why she likes you. It doesn't make any sense. Victor, the Germans are overwhelmed, and an English woman is wandering aimlessly around Moscow, how stupid it is, It must be dangerous, too." "Yes, it's dangerous. Why don't you go to Kuibyshev with her, Tarky? All the foreign journalists in Russia are on that train except you." "They're all idiots. It's hard enough to get a little news in Moscow. What the hell do they have to write about in the mud holes of the Volga? They just get cirrhotic from drinking and blind from playing cards. My eyes It's bad enough. I'm going to run. If the Russos can hold Moscow, I'll come back. I believe and hope they can, but if they don't it's over. There's nothing Britain can do, you know that .We all have to do our part. It's going to be a world shift, and your timing Roosevelt is going to be met with armed opposition from around the world." Victor Henry stumbled to the yellow mirror, touched his bearded jaw, and said, "I'd better talk to Pamela." “求求你，亲爱的伙计，求求你了。快一点！” 帕格走到外面，地上是新下的雪，阳光灿烂，他听到了参差不齐的男声唱着俄国歌曲。在玛耐兹纳雅广场上，一队老人和男孩，背着镐和锹，使劲地唱着进行曲，跟在一个军曹后面走过去。其余的莫斯科人照常为了各人自己的事在路上跋涉，如往常一样成群结队，披着围巾，但人行道上的行人少多了。帕格想，也许耗子已经都走了，这里留下的是真正的莫斯科人。 他走到红场，经过一幅巨大的表明祖国已严阵以待的招贴画，画上是一个高喊着的身强力壮的妇女挥舞着刺刀和红旗，还有一些小招贴画，画着长了希特勒脸的老鼠、蜘蛛、长虫被忿怒而漂亮的俄国士兵刺死，或被红军的坦克压死。广场上空无一人，宽阔的地面铺了很深的白雪，几乎没有一个足印。在克里姆林宫墙外面列宁墓前，它的红大理石已经隐蔽在盖着雪的一层层沙包之中，两个士兵象往常一样站在那里，象个穿着衣服的雕像，但没有排队谒墓的人。在另一边的远处，帕格看到一个穿灰衣服的矮小人形经过圣巴希尔教堂走过来。即使在很远的地方，他也认出在“不来梅号”轮船甲板上那个摇晃的步伐和她移动膀子的姿势。他朝着她走去，他的套鞋深陷在蒙了一层纸灰的雪地里。她看见他，就招招手。她急急忙忙穿过雪地迎接他，一下子倒在他怀里，象他从柏林飞行回来一样吻了他。她的呼吸温暖而带香味。“妈的！老头儿去找你谈了吧。” “对啦。” “你筋疲力尽了吧？我知道你一夜没睡。教堂边上有长凳。你的计划怎么样？你们都去古比雪夫？还是你也去伦敦？” 他们胳膊挽着胳膊走着，手指握在一起。“都不去。突然的改变。我接到了命令，帕姆，命令已寄到了这儿。我要去指挥一艘战列舰，'加利福尼亚号'。” 她停下来，拉住他的胳膊把他转过来对着她，握住他的两只胳膊，睁大了闪着光的眼睛看着他的脸。“指挥一艘战列舰！” “不坏吧，唉？”他象小学生一样说。 “我的天，真惊人！经过这个以后，你肯定会成为一个海军将官，可不吗？啊，你妻子将会多么高兴！”帕米拉不自觉地高兴地说着，又往前走。“我希望现在就在这里有一瓶那种很粘的乔治亚香槟酒。好啊！这真是非常了不起。'加利福尼亚号'基地在哪里？你知道吗？” “珍珠港。”她带着疑问的目光看了他一眼。“奥阿胡。夏威夷群岛。” “啊，夏威夷。好吧。我们将设法把我弄到夏威夷去。毫无疑问，那里有英国领事馆，或者商务代办处，或者军事联络处，诸如此类的机构。总得有个什么。” “你不是在空军服务，现在休假吗？要是韬基回到伦敦，你不需要回去报到吗？” “我亲爱的，论我来安排这一切。我很会，很会去取得我需要的东西。” “我相信这一点。” She laughed.他们掸掉了奇怪的教堂栏杆外面长凳上的积雪。教堂的那些带色的圆顶有的象洋葱、有的象菠萝，它们跟克里姆林宫的红星一样，一半罩在灰色的厚帆布星。 “你什么时候动身去夏威夷，怎么走法？” “我将尽快地动身，经过西伯利亚、日本、菲律宾。”他们坐下来，他抓住她的手。“现在，帕姆、你听着——” “你要教训我吗？请不用费心，维克多，没有用。” “你提起了我的妻子。她也可能去珍珠港。” “我也想她会去。” “那么，你脑子想的是什么，精确地说？” “噢，亲爱的，既然你问我，我脑子里想的是你和我欺骗她，体面地、谨慎地，还要和蔼地，等到你腻了，我就回家。” 这个直率的声明使维克多•亨利大吃一惊。多么新奇、多么超出他生活的常规，他只能笨拙而生硬地回答说：“我不懂这种安排。” “我知道，条爱的，我知道这一定使你感到吃惊，这对你说来是不道德的。你是一个亲爱的好人。尽管如此，我不知道还有别的什么办法。我爱你，这是改变不了的。我只有和你在一起才感到幸福，不然便不快乐。在今后，我不想再跟你长期地分开了。直到有一天你自己让我走开。所以你得容忍这种安排，这不是一个坏安排，真的。” “是的，这不是一个坏安排，但你不会遵守它。” 帕米拉的鹅蛋脸上露出了很吃惊的表情，然后她的眼神里闪现出一种快乐的光彩，她的嘴唇一弯，聪明地微笑了。 “你不怎么笨。” “我一点也不笨，帕米拉。海军不会把一艘战列舰交给笨蛋。” 一长串有红星标志的青色卡车开进广场，从红砖墙的博物馆与停业的百货大楼之间穿过，面朝列宁墓一辆挨着一辆停下来。 “我们在这里时间有限，”帕格继续说，提高了嗓子，“暂时我把罗达放在一边，只谈你的事——” 她打断他说：“维克多，亲爱的，我知道你对你妻子很忠诚。我总怕你把我当作一个挖墙脚的坏女人。但我没有别的办法，已经到了这一步了，就是这样。自从今天早晨我被迫告诉韬基以后，我高兴极啦。” 亨利向前倾着身子坐着，胳膊放在膝上，两只手握在一起，在雪地的阳光反射下半闭着眼，瞧着她。士兵们从卡车上下来，显然是新征集来的，他们参差不齐地站在雪地上，一个穿齐膝长大衣的军曹大声吆喝着，传递着分发步枪。沉默了好一会，亨利实事求是地说：“我知道这样的机会我这一辈子不会再有了。” “不会，维克多，不会了！”她的脸激动得放着光彩。“人只要能碰上一次就很幸运了。这就是为什么我必须跟你走。你不能跟我结婚真不幸，但我们必须面对现实，在这个条件下走吧。” “我没有说我不能跟你结婚，”亨利说。她大吃一惊。“让我们说清楚。如果我能爱你达到背着我妻子和你发生关系的话，就是说我已经爱你爱到可以和她提出离婚的程度。对我说来，伤害是一样的。我不懂得你所说体面和蔼的欺骗是什么。它有一个恰当的名词，我不喜欢这名词。但这一切都来得太快了，帕姆，现在你必须离开莫斯科。唯一的地方是去伦敦。这是常识。” “我不会跟台德结婚，不用争论，”他刚要开口说话，她就语气很硬地说，“我知道这是一个讨厌的决定，但是决定已经做了。的的确确是这样。我不知道你的战列舰是什么样的。这是令人高兴和激动的，但事情也就更复杂化了。我当然不能让你带着我穿越西伯利亚，但如果你现在不阻止我的话，我将想办法自己到厦威夷来——比你认为可能的时间还要早得多。” “你甚至不考虑英国需要你吗？” “现在你听我说，维克多。没有一个方面我没有经过很长时间周密的考虑。如果你想知道，我可以告诉你，这四天坐车的旅途中我没有想多少其他的事。如果我在祖国危急的时候离开了它，那是因为一种更强烈的东西召唤着我，我要这样做。” 这是维克多•亨利能懂的直率的语言。帕米拉的灰大衣领和灰毛线帽子盖住了她一半脸。她的脸冻得发红，鼻子也是红的。她只不过是另一个裹在厚衣服里面看不出身段的青年妇女而已，但突然间，维克多•亨利对她产生了一种强烈的欲望，对将来有可能单独和这个青年妇女在一起的新生活产生了一种希望。至少在这个时候，他被她这种孤注一掷的态度压倒了。 “好吧，让我们谈论现实问题，”他温和地说，看了看手表，“你今天几小时之内得行动起来，而我也要为绕到地球的那一边去指挥我的战列舰这件小事张罗一下。”帕米拉紧紧地皱着眉头听完这话以后，美丽地微笑了。 “我这人该多令人讨厌啊，在你一生中这样的时刻，我突然把自己挂在你的脖子上。你真的爱我吗？” “是的，我爱你，”既然这是事实，帕格就毫不犹豫地颇为诚恳地说。 “你能肯定，能吗？你再说一遍。” “我爱你。”帕米拉沉思地叹了一口长气，低头看着两手。“好！好吧，那，我今天该采取什么行动？” “跟韬基一起回伦敦。你没有别的路可走，就安静地步吧。我会写信或打电报给你。” "when?" “当我能够的时候，当我知道的时候。” 他们沉默地坐着。克里姆林宫的墙漆得象一排住宅公寓一样，军曹的喊声和枪栓的碰击声在墙上起着回音，新征集的士兵笨拙地在进行基本训练。 “唉，这将是我盼望的一次联系，”帕米拉轻轻地说，“现在你能暗示一下它的内容吗？” "cannot." 因为某些原因，这使她很高兴，或看来很高兴。她用一只手放在他的脸上，对他微笑，眼神里充满了毫不掩饰的爱。 “好，我等着。”她的手挪到他撕破的大衣肩上。“啊，我原想给你补起来。什么时候啦？” “十点过了，帕姆。” “那我得赶快走。啊，天哪，我真不愿意再离开你。”他们站起来，挽着胳膊开始走。他们从新兵前面走过，其中站着班瑞尔•杰斯特罗，新修了脸。他那刮红的脸皮褶子耷拉着，看起来更老了。他看到了维克多•亨利，把他的右手在心窝上放了一下，海军军官脱下帽子，好象擦了下眉毛一样，然后又戴上了。 “他是谁？”帕米拉问，机警地注意着，“啊！就是斯鲁特请客时闯进来的那个人吧？” “是的，”维克多•亨利说，“我的明斯克来的亲戚。这就是他，别看他或表示什么。” 在她的房间外面没有灯的过道中，帕米拉解开她大衣的扣子，又解开维克多•亨利长大衣的扣子，望着他的眼睛。她紧紧地贴在他身上，他们拥抱、亲吻。她轻声说：“你最好写信或打电报叫我去。呵，上帝，我多爱你！你跟我们一起坐车去飞机场好不好？你跟我一起呆到最后一分钟好不好？” “好，我当然跟你呆在一起。” 她用手背擦去脸上的眼泪，然后用手绢擦眼睛。“啊，多亏我硬赖着不走。”她打开门，塔茨伯利着急地一瘸一拐走到门口。“怎么样？怎么样？怎样决定的？” “先头是我傻气，”帕米拉说，“我跟你一起回家。” 塔茨伯利看看她的脸，又看看亨利，因为她的语调带着一点尖刻讽刺的味道。 “她跟我一起走吗，维克多？” “她刚才说她跟你走。” “天，一块石头落地！好吧。结果好，就一切都好。噢，我正准备去找你们。英国皇家空军的孩子们提前半小时起飞。谣传一个德国支队已经向飞机场方向穿过来，也许很快就进入炮火射程。外交部说这是胡造谣，但孩子们不愿意冒风险。” “我十分钟内就收拾好，”帕米拉踱进她的房间，对帕格说，“跟我来，亲爱的。” 维克多•亨利看到塔茨伯利眼睛里闪着光，胡子下面的厚嘴唇带着微笑。唉，帕格想，帕米拉再要强也是个人，她象爆竹一样再也抑停不住自己，在她父亲面前爆发了她爱情的占有欲。他说：“等一等，有一个报告韬基一定得给我带往伦敦。我马上就回来。” “你有什么想法，韬基？”帕格离开时听到她愉快地说，“维克多•亨利给他自己搞到一艘战列舰指挥，确确实实。他要去珍珠港。那是在夏威夷！” 他一会儿回来了，在旅馆楼梯上下跑得气喘吁吁。他递给塔茨伯利一个用订书机封的厚纸信封。“这个给凯瑟上校，我们大使馆的海军武官，要面交。行吗？” “当然行。绝密？”塔茨伯利热心地问。 “唉——你加小心一点。给下一趟去华盛顿的信使带走。” “我旅行的时候，这个皮包从不离开我的手。”塔茨伯利说，“即使我睡觉也带着。所以不用担心。” 他把帕格的信封放进棕色的手皮包里，信封里有两封封好的信，一封是给哈利•霍普金斯的长长的打字信，一封是给总统的关于明斯克犹太人的信。