Only then, when your head is at stake, do you condescend to give a declaration of loyalty, which automatically finishes Arlova.
Her fate you know. …”
Rubashov was silent, and noticed that his tooth was aching again.
He knew her fate.
Also Richard’s.
Also Little Loewy’s.
Also his own.
He looked at the light patch on the wall, the only trace left by the men with the numbered heads.
Their fate, too, was known to him.
For once History had taken a run, which at last promised a more dignified form of life for mankind; now it was over.
So why all this talk and all this ceremony?
If anything in human beings could survive destruction, the girl Arlova lay somewhere in the great emptiness, still staring with her good cow’s eyes at Comrade Rubashov, who had been her idol and had sent her to her death. ...
His tooth became worse and worse.
“Shall I read you the public statement you made at that time?” asked Ivanov.
“No, thank you,” said Rubashov, and noticed that his voice sounded hoarse.
“As you remember, your statement—which one could also describe as a confession—ended with a sharp condemnation of the opposition and with a declaration of unconditional adhesion both to the policy of the Party and to the person of No. 1.”
“Stop this,” said Rubashov in a flat voice.
“You know how this sort of statement is produced.
If not, so much the better for you.
For God’s sake, stop this comedy.”
“We have nearly finished,” said Ivanov.
“We are now only two years from the present time. During these two years you were head of the State Aluminum Trust.
A year ago, on the occasion of the third trial of the opposition, the principal accused mentioned your name repeatedly in somewhat obscure contexts.
Nothing tangible is revealed, but the suspicion grows in the ranks of the Party.
You make a new public statement, in which you proclaim anew your devotion to the policy of the Leadership and condemn the criminality of the opposition in still sharper terms. ...
That was six months ago.
And to-day you admit that for years already you have considered the policy of the Leadership to be wrong and harmful. ...”
He paused and leant back again comfortably in his chair.
“Your first declarations of loyalty,” he continued, “were therefore merely means to a definite end.
I beg you to take note that I am not moralizing.
We both grew up in the same tradition and have on these matters the same conception.
You were convinced that our policy was wrong and that your own was right.
To say that openly at that time would have meant your expulsion from the Party, with the resulting impossibility to continue your work for your own ideas.
So you had to throw out ballast in order to be able to serve the policy which, in your opinion, was the only right one.
In your place, I would, of course, have acted in the same way.
So far everything is in order.”
“And what follows?” asked Rubashov.
Ivanov had again his former amiable smile. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is this.
You now openly admit that for years you have had the conviction that we were ruining the Revolution; and in the same breath you deny that you belonged to the opposition and that you plotted against us.
Do you really expect me to believe that you sat watching us with your hands in your lap—while, according to your conviction, we led country and Party to destruction?”
Rubashov shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps I was too old and used up. ...
But believe what you like,” he said.
Ivanov lit another cigarette.
His voice became quiet and penetrating:
“Do you really want me to believe that you sacrificed Arlova and denied those”—he jerked his chin towards the light patch on the wall— “only in order to save your own head?”
Rubashov was silent.
Quite a long time passed.
Ivanov’s head bent even closer over the writing desk.
“I don’t understand you,” he said.