The Russia House Page #2

- What happened?

- I was brilliant.

- Yes?

- Oh, yes.

How to save the world between

lunch and dinner. I was flying.

I believe in the new Russia.

You may not, but I do.

20 years ago, it was just a pipe dream.

Today, it's our only hope.

We thought we could bankrupt you

by raising the stakes in the arms race.

Gambling with the fate of the human race.

Barley, you won your gamble.

Nuclear peace for 40 years.

Oh, rubbish. What peace?

Ask the Czechs, the Vietnamese,

the Koreans. Ask the Afghans.

No. If there is to be hope,

we must all betray our countries.

We have to save each other,

because all victims are equal.

And none is more equal than others.

It's everyone's duty to start the avalanche.

A heroic thought, Barley.

Listen, nowadays you have

to think like a hero

just to behave like

a merely decent human being.

And did you believe this nonsense?

I don't know. I believe it when I say it.

But you've got to be there.

You're taking a leak

in some filthy public urinal,

and the man in the next stall leans across

and asks you about God, or Kafka,

or freedom versus responsibility.

So you tell him. Because you know.

Because you're from the West.

And before you've finished shaking your

dick, you think ''What a great country.''

That's why I love them.

And they're very fond of me.

Anyway,... later we talked about jazz,

and I played some.

What, somebody had a saxophone?

What else? Drum kit? Rhythm section?

How many women were there?

Three or four. But no Katya.

But there was someone, wasn't there?

Yes. There was someone.

Someone who is the reason

why we're all here. Yes?

- A man or a woman?

- Name?

Christ. The way you people

come alive when you smell blood.

They called him... Dante.

As in ''lnferno''.

The others said he was on holiday.

A drinking holiday.

He worked some place

where drinking wasn't on.

Everyone deferred to him.

He never spoke.

He just got drunk and stared.

- Stared?

- Mm. At me.

Did Dante arrive on his own

or with others?

I don't know.

Keep going.

Then I decided to give them all

a rest from wonderful me,

let them talk Russian for a while.

There's a graveyard

a couple of hundred yards up the hill.

It's a place of pilgrimage.

''If there is to be hope,

we must all betray our countries.''

Ah, Dante, old chum.

Come to pay your respects

to old Boris, have you?

Boris Pasternak.

Do you think he knows

people are allowed to read him again?

''All victims are equal.

None is more equal than others.''

Yes, well,... some write better than others.

''How sweet it is to hate one's native land,

to desire its ruin,

and in its ruin to discern

the dawn of universal rebirth.''

- Pasternak?

- No. Pecherin. An earlier poet.

Pecherin understood that it's possible to

love your country while hating its system.

If you say so.

I love my country.

I love it too - your country.

And I'm reasonably fond of my own.

To save it, perhaps

it's necessary to betray it. Yes?

Because you and I, we love truth.

Who are you, Dante?

What do you do for a living?

I am a moral outcast.

Oh, it's always nice to meet a writer.

And what sort of rubbish

are you turning out now?

Lies.

I am the lie.

Really?

You spoke the truth.

Promise me that you are not a spy, and

then I will make you a promise in return.

I'm not a spy, actually. Not my line.

You are nobody's spy? Not even ours?

Dante, I'm getting a bit jumpy,

to be honest.

I'm nobody's spy.

Let's talk about something else.

How about chess?

Oh, chess. In chess there are no lies.

But in my game lies are everything.

What game is that?

The Soviet knight is dying

inside his armour.

You are in danger only from our lies.

I commit the lie every day.

I lie even to my masters.

So, promise me that if I ever find

the courage to think like a hero,

then you will act like

a merely decent human being. Right?

- Dante, leave me out, will you?

- Hey, you cannot reject me.

Because I am strengthened

by your rejection.

So, promise me.

What the hell am I promising,

for God's sake?

Promise.

All right.

If you ever manage to be a hero,

I'll be a... decent human being.

OK?

Promise?

I promise.

Why didn't you come to us?! I know why.

You put your head in the sand.

Don't know because don't want to know.

I'm sorry, but we're going to need

your rather serious help.

Then I asked him ''What am I supposed

to be promising, for God's sake?''

Why didn't you come to us?! I know why.

You put your head in the sand.

Don't know because don't want to know.

- Who the hell is that?

- Walter? He's a character.

I'm sorry, but we're going to need

your rather serious help.

- That's it.

- And the notebooks?

The notebooks don't mesh

with any disinformation artist,

con man or intelligence peddler we know.

Our psychology and handwriting gurus

tried to fault them.

- And?

- They failed.

Try harder, Russell.

No.

No.

No.

Not even a perhaps or a maybe?

No. Not even a tickle, old boy.

They're not in Dante's class.

All right.

Is that Katya?

- That's her.

- You remember her now?

No such luck.

Choose someone else.

We didn't choose you. Dante did.

Because I wasn't a spy.

We're not asking you to build

the beastly rockets or push the button.

Only to help improve

our knowledge of the enemy.

And if the enemy turns out to be a friend,

where's the harm?

I thought we were all supposed

to be chums together now.

Oh, my dear Lord!

Because this year it suits them

to roll over and play nice doggie?

Because this year they're

on the floor anyway? You ninny.

All the more reason to spy

the daylights out of 'em.

Kick 'em in the balls

every time they get to their knees.

Well, that's where I disagree.

I'll back my Russia against yours

any time.

Nah.

I'm sorry, Ned. No go.

Bloody woman. I must've given offence.

She has a point.

Worry about Dante.

He reached out for you.

Would you rather

throw him to the Americans?

Don't be fooled by Bob's Yaley manner.

The Yanks will take Dante,

put him on a spit and have a barbecue.

How will you live with yourself?

I don't live with myself.

In fact, I try to give myself a wide berth.

I'm offering you a fresh start.

And a fat cheque.

Never mind the money.

Barley's far too grand.

This is something people write in for.

The chance to be an active player

in the defence of their country.

You live in a free society.

You've no choice.

Any decent church would've

burnt you bastards years ago.

You're a fool to use me.

I let people down.

Abercrombie and Blair.

Is it the office of...

Mr Bartholomew Scott Blair?

Yes. But he isn't in at the moment.

Can I help, or would you

like to leave a message?

No, thank you. It is a publishing matter.

I will telephone again. Thank you.

Crowds are good,

if you keep moving.

Open spaces are good.

Talking in the street is OK, if you have to.

Never, never talk in a car

or in your hotel room,

except for the benefit

of their microphones.

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