Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [35]
“In the questionnaire,” said Bibikov, snapping on his glasses and consulting another paper, “you state you are a Jew ‘by birth and nationality.’ Do I sense a reservation, and if so what is it?”
The fixer sat silent a minute, then looked up uncomfortably. “What I meant by that is I’m not a religious man. I was when I was young but lost my belief. I thought I mentioned that when we talked last night, but maybe I didn’t. That’s all I meant by that.”
“How did it happen? I refer to your loss of religion.”
“I guess there’s more than one reason even though I don’t recall them all. In my life, the way that it’s turned out, I’ve had a lot to think about. One thought breeds another. Give me an idea and in two minutes there’s a second pushing out the first. Also I’ve been reading a little here and there, as I mentioned to you, your honor, and have picked up a few things I never knew before. It all adds up.”
The magistrate leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t by some chance been baptized along the way? It might be convenient if you had.”
“Oh, no, your honor, nothing at all like that. What I mean to say is I’m a freethinker.”
“I understand that, though to be a freethinker assumes one would know how to think.”
“I try my best,” said Yakov.
“What do you think freethinker means?”
“A man who decides for himself if he wants to believe in religion. Maybe an agnostic also. Some do and some don’t.”
“Do you think it adds to your stature to be irreligious?”
My God, what have I said? the fixer thought. I’d better keep this simple and small or I’ll dig my grave and they’ll lay me in it.
He said hastily, “It’s as you say, your honor, yes and no fall into place if you tell the truth. I’m telling the truth.”
“Let’s not complicate matters unnecessarily.” Bibikov sipped from his water glass. “Legally you are a Jew. The Imperial Government considers you one even though you twist and squirm. You are so recorded on your passport. Our laws concerning Jews apply to you. However, if you are ashamed of your people, why don’t you leave the faith officially?”
“I’m not ashamed, your honor. Maybe I don’t always like what I see—there are Jews of all sorts, as the saying goes, but if I’m going to be ashamed of anyone, it might as well be myself.” As he said this his color heightened.
Bibikov listened with interest. He glanced down at his notes, then looked up with eyes narrowed. Ivan Semyon-ovitch, the assistant, who reacted quickly to his remarks, often taking on the same facial expression as the magistrate, glancing at the notes from where he sat, leaned forward intently.
“The absolute truth, please,” said the Investigating Magistrate sternly. “—Are you a revolutionary, either as a theorist or activist?”
Yakov felt the force of his pounding heart.
“Does it say that anywhere in your papers, your honor?”
“Please answer my question.”
“No, I’m not. God forbid. That’s beyond me, if you know what I mean. It’s not my nature. If I’m anything I’m a peaceful man. ‘Yakov,’ I used to say to myself, ‘there’s too much violence in the world and if you’re smart you’ll stay out of it.’ It isn’t for me, your honor.”
“A Socialist or member of any Socialist parties?”
The fixer hesitated. “No.”
“Are you certain?”
“I give you my earnest word.”
“Are you a Zionist?”
“No.”
“Do you belong to any political party whatsoever? That would include Jewish parties.”
“To none at all, your honor.”
“Very well. Have you noted the responses, Ivan Semyonovitch?”
“Every word, sir. I have it all,” said the pimply assistant.
“Good,” said Bibikov, absently scratching his beard. “Now there is another matter I wish to question you about. Wait till I find the paper.”
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Yakov said, “but I would like you to know that my passport was stamped ‘Permission Granted’ when I left my village. And when I got to Kiev, the very next day after my arrival which happened