Oh, shit, Lyudmila thinks.
“Subversive materials?” she says, perfectly composed. “I don’t understand. How do young students get their hands on such things?”
Grievskaya waves her hand. “We are not yet concerned with how. Right now, we are concerned with who and where. Until recently, we were unable to identify even a single member of this clandestine group. It seems they are bound by a vow of absolute secrecy, to which they have proved remarkably loyal, given their ages. But this morning, a certain piece of information came to us by chance.”
Grievskaya plucks a sheet of paper from the blotter and hands it across the desk to Lyudmila, who takes it reluctantly, forcing her fingers not to tremble. She smooths it out before her. EMERGENCY MEETING, it reads. AFTER SCHOOL AT HEADQUARTERS.
Underneath those letters, a list of names—PETREL, BEAR, EAGLE, PEGASUS, LION, ELEPHANT, HORSE, RAT. All of them are crossed out except the last two.
“What’s this?”
“It was found on the floor of the cafeteria after lunch. It appears someone had dropped it.”
Lyudmila hands the note back to Grievskaya. “Well? What does this have to do with Marina? Her name’s not on the list.”
“No. These are code names, Comrade Ivanova. That is plain even to those of us not engaged in intelligence work. But one of our teachers has identified the handwriting as that of your daughter. Who, as we have already established, left school early today, without authorization. What is more, two additional students are absent without leave today—one of whom we have long suspected of subversive opinions—which suggests . . .”
Grievskaya’s voice trails away. She looks expectantly at Lyudmila.
“Suggests what, Comrade?” Lyudmila says. “What do you imply? I see nothing but some ordinary high spirits among young people, which is regrettable but hardly subversive.”
Grievskaya removes her spectacles and folds the arms together. She speaks tiredly, as one who’s repeated this lesson too many times already. “Out of little acorns, oak trees grow. As you very well know, Comrade, whose business it is to fell these oak trees. Would it not be preferable to root out the acorns before they can secure themselves in the soil and begin to sprout?”
Of course! Lyudmila wants to scream. Of course it’s preferable—everybody knows this—Lyudmila believes wholeheartedly in the necessity for rooting out stubborn, rebellious acorns as aggressively as possible.
But this is not an acorn. This is Marina! This is her daughter, a human being, not a goddamned acorn!
“I confess, I’m surprised that you would presume to deliver me a lecture on this subject, Comrade Grievskaya,” Lyudmila says, in the silky voice she uses to interrogate suspected oak trees. “A little like the arithmetic teacher presuming to instruct Einstein on calculus?”
Grievskaya shrugs her shoulders. “I am giving you the facts, Comrada Ivanova. I’m confident you will know how to use them. You are, after all, the child’s mother. You are responsible for her. Her character reflects upon your reputation.”
“My daughter is the most brilliant student in her class.”
“In a few days, school will close for the summer, and Marina will join the youth camp at Ekaterinburg, isn’t that right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then I will dare to offer you a piece of advice, Comrade Ivanova, because I have directed this school for many years, and I well understand how nature softens us and makes us blind to the true character of our offspring. Believe me, I am entirely sympathetic to your plight.”
Rage boils up inside Lyudmila. She presses her lips together so it doesn’t escape in some catastrophic eruption.
Grievskaya continues. “Here at my school, I prefer to address these infractions quietly, within the walls of my office, in conversations with parents. I find it’s the most efficient and effective solution, when the child is so young and his character still so soft and easily corrected. As you know, however, youth camp is different. The children are old enough to have some responsibility for themselves. They will be expected to understand the consequences of their actions, and it is the duty of the instructors at the camp to report any subversive behavior not to the parents of the child in question, but to the Soviet state. Do I make myself clear?”
It would be so easy to lean forward and apply some pressure to a certain point in Grievskaya’s neck that would render her unable to speak further. It would be so easy to return to Moscow Centre and make a telephone call or two that would ruin Grievskaya’s life, if not end it entirely by the most agonizing means possible.