rose to his feet, and their clothes were momentarily in contact. “This day comes for everyone,” he said. He went over to the television set and changed the channel. Pensively, he watched some little birds bathing in a soup bowl. “For everyone who works on the outside. It’s the hardest thing of all, Anna. Please take your seat again.”
He rarely called her by her first name. She couldn’t let herself be lulled, but she obeyed him, grateful that he was taking up her subject. He approached the sofa from the side and placed one foot on the armrest; he was wearing lined slippers.
“You think we people on the inside have it easy. If we need information, we give someone an assignment, and then we evaluate the results.” He made a gentle pause. “I used to be on the street, too, Anna, working on the outside. It sharpens your discernment, but it simultaneously makes you lose focus. Who’s an agent, who’s just a fellow human being, who’s an informer, who’s simply telling us something? Back then, I lost my capacity for chitchat, would you believe it? In the evenings, when we’d have a few drinks and the others would make small talk, I couldn’t stop looking for what lay behind their words and analyzing their characters. I eavesdropped on my friends, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to make use of the information I had on them. It was during that time that my wife left me.” He gave Anna a warmhearted look.
“So didn’t you think of quitting then?”
“Once or twice. Yes, I wanted to put an end to it, because I felt that my work had turned me into some kind of freak. Life had lost all normality as far as I was concerned.” He lowered his head, and the glint of his spectacles struck her eyes. “At the same time, I realized that the decision wasn’t up to me. I trusted my case officer; I trusted the Party.”
Anna’s heart sank. Kamarovsky’s last words hung over her like a neon sign. She understood that he’d told her his—or someone else’s—story just to keep her up to the mark. That meant that he wouldn’t simply let her go.
“There’s one thing I’ve never forgotten, even in my moments of doubt,” Kamarovsky said, removing his foot from the sofa. “My occupation is not a job, it’s a struggle whose purpose is to combat our society’s enemies and to protect its representatives. Therefore how I feel is unimportant; there can scarcely be anything less significant than how an individual feels while the battle is raging. The only thing that matters is the outcome, the result, which justifies all misgivings, all doubts, and every other human emotion. Those are subjective feelings; the Party, however, thinks objectively, and it acts exclusively in the interest of society. To subordinate yourself to the Party’s insights must necessarily be for the benefit of all and therefore for the welfare of each individual.”
As though he wanted to assure Anna of his accessibility, Kamarovsky sat down next to her. “Your case is different,” he said in a suddenly changed voice. “You’re not made for such a life, Anna. I know that.”
The shift in tone rendered her speechless. In some confusion, she stared at his white-tipped hairs, his fine nose, his slightly mocking mouth.
“You have some feelings for the Deputy Minister. At the same time, you believe you’re deceiving him. Moreover, you have to hide your actions from your husband and your son, and you even lie to your father.”
It seemed to Anna as though she were sitting with the Colonel in a movie theater where the film of her life was being shown. Kamarovsky spoke softly, as though he didn’t want to disturb the other people in the audience. “I don’t shy away from calling things by their names,” he said, “because I know that your mission will soon be concluded. We’re just about ready to close the Deputy Minister’s case.”
“Case? I thought I was doing all this for his protection.”
“Of course you are.” Kamarovsky made a soothing gesture. “The aims we’re pursuing will enable us to avert a specific danger that threatens Bulyagkov. Soon, very soon, Comrade. And that’s why your report is of such great significance.”
He pressed a hand against his brow and fell silent for a moment, during which Anna watched his head sink. His hand fell, too, and landed as though lifeless on Anna’s thigh. It looked to her as though Kamarovsky had dozed off in the middle