Child 44

Since Maria had decided to die her cat would have to fend for itself.


Enemies of the Party were not merely saboteurs, spies, and wreckers of industry, but doubters of the Party line, doubters of the society which awaited them.


—It's my fault.
—What was your fault?
—My brother's death: I threw a snowball at him. I'd packed it with stones and dirt and grit. Arkady was hurt, it hit him in the head. He ran off. Maybe it made him dizzy, maybe that's why he couldn't see the train. The dirt they found in his mouth: that was my fault. I threw it at him.
—Your brother's death was an accident. There's no reason for you to feel any guilt. But you did well telling me the truth. Now go back to your parents.
—I haven't told them about the snowball with dirt and the mud and the stones.
—Perhaps they don't need to know.
—They'd be so angry. Because that was the last time I ever saw him. Sir, we played nicely most of the time. And we would've played nicely again, we would've made up, we would've been friends again, I'm sure of it. But now I can't make it up to him, I can't ever say sorry.


But having a family had made him fearful. He was able to imagine far worse things than his own death.


...not even those who kept this machinery of fear ticking, could be certain that the system they sustained would not one day swallow them too.


My innocence offends you because you wish me to be guilty. You wish me to be guilty because you've arrested me.


To stand up for someone was to stitch your fate into the lining of theirs.


Leo had the confirmation he was looking for. Major Kuzmin's offer was clear. If he denounced his wife he'd have their continued confidence. What had Vasili said? If you survive this scandal you'll one day berunning the MGB. I'm sure of it. Promotion was a sentence away. The room was silent.
Major Kuzmin leaned forward: —Leo?
Leo stood up, straightened the jacket of his uniform: —My wife is innocent.


They were equals as they had never been equal before. If he wanted to hear about love, the first verse was his to sing.


Did his work have meaning or was it merely a means to survive? There was nothing shameful about trying to survive—it was the occupation of the majority. However, was it enough to live in squalor and not even be rewarded with a sense of pride, not even to be sustained by a sense that what he did served some purpose?


They'd murdered together, deceived together, plotted and planned and lied together. They were criminals, the two of them, them against the world. It was time to consummate this new relationship. If only they could stay here, live here in this exact moment, hidden in the forest, enjoying these feelings forever.


The price of this story was the audience's innocence.


But she refused to accept that she was going to be the one to get them caught just because she wasn't strong enough, refused to accept the idea that they'd fail because she was weak.


Everyone has a reason to live. You were hers. But you were mine too. The only difference between us was that I was sure you were alive.


He'd tried to bury the past. And now his brother had murdered his way back into his life.