“I knew, of course, that you would stall.
Let’s first consider the moral or sentimental side of the matter.
You do not give away anybody by what you admit.
The whole bunch was arrested long before you, and half of them have been already liquidated; you know that yourself.
From the rest, we can obtain other confessions than this harmless stuff—in fact, any confession we like. ...
I take it that you understand me and that my frankness convinces you.”
“In other words: you yourself don’t believe the story of the plot against No. 1,” said Rubashov.
“Then, why don’t you confront me with this mysterious X, who made this alleged confession?”
“Think it over a bit,” said Ivanov.
“Put yourself in my place—after all, our positions might equally well be reversed—and find out the answer for yourself.”
Rubashov thought it over.
“You were given definite instructions from above for the handling of my case,” he said.
Ivanov smiled.
“That’s a bit too sharply put.
In actual fact, it is not yet decided whether your case should belong to category A or category P.
You know the terms?”
Rubashov nodded; he knew them.
“You begin to understand,” said Ivanov.
“A means: administrative case, P means: public trial.
The great majority o€ political cases are tried administratively—that is to say, those who would be no good in a public trial. ...
If you fall into category A, you will be removed from my authority.
The trial by the Administrative Board is secret and, as you know, somewhat summary. There is no opportunity for confrontations and that sort of thing.
Think of …” Ivanov cited three or four names, and gave a fugitive glance at the light patch on the wall.
When he turned towards Rubashov again, the latter noticed for the first time a tormented look in his face, a fixedness in his eye, as though he were not focusing him, Rubashov, but a point at some distance behind him.
Ivanov repeated again, in a lower tone, the names of their former friends.
I knew them as well as you did,” he went on. “But you must allow that we are as convinced that you and they would mean the end of the Revolution as you are of the reverse.
That is the essential point.
The methods follow by logical deduction.
We can’t afford to lose ourselves in judicial subtleties.
Did you, in your time?”
Rubashov said nothing.
“It all depends,” Ivanov went on, “on your being classed in category P, and on the case remaining in my hands.
You know from what point of view those cases are selected, which are given a public trial.
I have to prove a certain willingness on your part.
For that I need your deposition with a partial confession. if you play the hero, and insist on giving the impression that there is nothing to be done with you, you will be finished off on the grounds of X’s confession.
On the other hand, if you make a partial confession, a basis is given for a more thorough examination.
On this basis, I shall be able to obtain a confrontation; we will refute the worst points of the accusation and plead guilty within certain carefully defined limits.
Even so, we shan’t be able to make it cheaper than twenty years; that means, in fact, two or three years, and then an amnesty; and in five years you will be back in the ring again.
Now have the goodness to think it over calmly before answering.”
“I have already thought it over,” said Rubashov. “I reject your proposition.
Logically, you may be right.
But I have had enough of this kind of logic.
I am tired and I don’t want to play this game any more.
Be kind enough to have me taken back to my cell.”
“As you like,” said Ivanov.
“I did not expect that you would agree at once.
This kind of conversation usually has a retarded effect.
You have a fortnight’s time.
Ask to be taken to me again when you have thought the matter over, or send me a written declaration.
For I have no doubt that you will send one.”