Darkness at Noon - Arthur Koestler [31]
with his almost tender smile, Rubashov expectant and watchful. His glance slid to Ivanov's right leg under the table. "Oh, that's all right," said Ivanov. "Artificial leg with automatic joints and rustless chromium-plating; I can swim, ride, drive a car and dance. Will you have a cigarette?" He held out a wooden cigarette case to Rubashov. Rubashov looked at the cigarettes and thought of his first visit to the military hospital after Ivanov's leg had been amputated. Ivanov had asked him to procure veronal for him, and in a discussion which lasted the whole afternoon, had tried to prove that every man had a right to suicide. Rubashov had finally asked for time to reflect, and had in the same night been transferred to another sector of the front. It was only years later that he had met Ivanov again. He looked at the cigarettes in the wooden case. They were hand-made, of loose, blonde American tobacco. "Is this still an unofficial prelude, or have the hostilities started?" asked Rubashov. "In the latter case, I won't have one. You know the etiquette." "Rubbish," said Ivanov. "Well then, rubbish," said Rubashov and lit one of Ivanov's cigarettes. He inhaled deeply, trying not to let his enjoyment be seen. "And how is the rheumatism in your shoulders?" he asked. "All right, thank you," said Ivanov, "and how is your burn?" He smiled and pointed innocently at Rubashov's left hand. On the back of the hand, between the bluish veins, in the place where three days ago he had stubbed out his cigarette, was a blister the size of a copper coin. For a minute both looked at Rubashov's hand lying in his lap. How does he know that? thought Rubashov. He has had me spied on. He felt more shame than anger; he took one last deep pull at his cigarette and threw it away. "As far as I am concerned the unofficial part is over," he said. Ivanov blew smoke rings and watched him with the same tenderly ironic smile. "Don't become aggressive," he said. "Make allowances," said Rubashov. "Did I arrest you or did you people arrest me?" "We arrested you," said Ivanov. He put out his cigarette, lit another one and held out the box to Rubashov, who did not move. "Thedevil take you," said Ivanov. "Do you remember the story of the veronal?" He bent forward and blew the smoke of his cigarette into Rubashov's face. "I do not want you to be shot," he said slowly. He leaned back again in his chair. "Thedevil take you," he repeated, smiling again. "Touching of you," said Rubashov. "Why actually do you people intend to have me shot?" Ivanov let a few seconds go by. He smoked and drew figures with his pencil on the blotting-paper. He seemed to be searching for the exact words. "Listen, Rubashov," he said finally. "There is one thing I would like to point out to you. You have now repeatedly said ‘you'--meaning State and Party, as opposed to ‘I'--that is, Nicolas Salmanovitch Rubashov. For the public, one needs, of course, a trial and legal justification. For us, what I have just said should be enough." Rubashov thought this over; he was somewhat taken aback. For a moment it was as if Ivanov had hit a tuning fork, to which his mind responded of its own accord. All he had believedin, fought for and preached during the last forty years swept over his mind in an irresistible wave. The individual was nothing, the Party was all; the branch which broke from the tree must wither. ... Rubashov rubbed his pince-nez on his sleeve. Ivanov was sitting back in his chair, smoking; he was no longer smiling. Suddenly Rubashov's eye was caught by a square patch on the wall lighter than the rest of the wall-paper. He knew at once that the picture with the bearded heads and the numbered names had hung there--Ivanov followed his glance without changing his expression. Your argument is somewhat anachronistic," said Rubashov. "As you quite rightly remarked, we were accustomed always to use the plural ‘we' and to avoid as far as possible the first person singular. I have rather lost the habit of that form of speech; you stick to it. But who is this ‘we' in whose name you speak to-day? It needs