Part 19 (1/2)

”Your grave,” said Mundt quietly. He was looking thoughtfully at Leamas with his pale, pale eyes. ”And perhaps Comrade Fiedler's.”

”You can hardly blame Fiedler,” said Leamas indifferently, ”he happened to be the man on the spot; he's not the only man in the Abteilung who'd willingly hang you, Mundt.”

”We shall hang you, anyway,” said Mundt rea.s.suringly. ”You murdered a guard. You tried to murder me.” - Leamas smiled drily.

”All cats are alike in the dark, Mundt. . . . Smiley always said it could go wrong. He said it might start a reaction we couldn't stop. His nerve's gone--you know that. He's never been the same since the Fennan Case--since the Mundt affair in London. They say something happened to him then--that's why he left the Circus. That's what I can't make out, why they paid off the bills, the girl and all that. It must have been Smiley wrecking the operation on purpose, it must have been. He must have had a crisis of conscience, thought it was wrong to kill or something. It was mad, after all that preparation, all that work, to mess up an operation that way.

”But Smiley hated you, Mundt. We all did, I think, although we didn't say it. We planned the thing as if it was all a bit of a game.. . it's hard to explain now. We knew we had our backs to the wall: we'd failed against Mundt and now we were going to try to kill him. But it was still a game.” Turning to the Tribunal he said: ”You're wrong about Fiedler; he's not ours. Why would London take this kind of risk with a man in Fiedler's position? They counted on him, I admit. They knew he hated Mundt--why shouldn't he? Fiedler's a Jew, isn't he? You know, you must know, all of you, what Mundt's reputation is, what he thinks about Jews.

”I'll tell you something--no one else will, so I'll tell you. Mundt had Fiedler beaten up, and all the time, while it was going on, Mundt baited him and jeered at him for being a Jew. You all know what kind of man Mundt is, and you put up with him because he's good at his job. But”--he faltered for a second, then continued--”but for G.o.d's sake, enough people have got mixed up in all this without Fiedler's head going into the basket. Fiedler's all right, I tell you.. . idealogically sound, that's the expression, isn't it?”

He looked at the Tribunal. They watched him impa.s.sively, curiously almost, their eyes steady and cold. Fiedler, who had returned to his chair and was listening with rather studied detachment, looked at Leamas blankly for a moment.

”And you messed it all up, Leamas, is that it?” he asked. ”An old dog like Leamas, engaged in the crowning operation of his career, falls for a. . . what did you call her? . . . a frustrated little girl in a crackpot library? London must have known; Smiley couldn't have done it alone.” Fiedler turned to Mundt. ”Here's an odd thing, Mundt; they must have known you'd check up on every part of his story. That was why Leamas lived the life. Yet afterwards they sent money to the grocer, paid up the rent; and they bought the lease for the girl. Of all the extraordinary things for them to do, people of their experience, to pay a thousand pounds to a girl--_to a member of the Party_-- who was supposed to believe he was broke. Don't tell me Smiley's conscience goes that far. London must have done it. What a risk!”

Leamas shrugged.

”Smiley was right. We couldn't stop the reaction. We never expected you to bring me here--Holland, yes--but not here.” He fell silent for a moment, then continued. ”And I never thought you'd bring the girl. I've been a b.l.o.o.d.y fool.”

”But Mundt hasn't,” Fiedler put in quickly. ”Mundt knew what to look for--he even knew the girl would provide the proof--very clever of Mundt, I must say. He even knew about that lease--amazing really. I mean, how _could_ he have found out? She didn't tell anyone. I know that girl, I understand her. . . she wouldn't tell anyone at all.” He glanced toward Mundt. ”Perhaps Mundt can tell us how he knew?”

Mundt hesitated, a second too long, Leamas thought.

”It was her subscription,” he said. ”A month ago she increased her Party contribution by ten s.h.i.+llings a month. I heard about it. And so I tried to establish how she could afford it. I succeeded.”

”A masterly explanation,” Fiedler replied coolly.

There was silence.

”I think,” said the President, glancing at her two colleagues, ”that the Tribunal is now in a position to make its report to the Praesidium. That is,” she added, turning her small, cruel eyes on Fiedler, ”unless you have anything more to say.”

Fiedler shook his head. Something still seemed to amuse him.

”In that case,” the President continued, ”my colleagues are agreed that Comrade Fiedler should be relieved of his duties until the disciplinary committee of the Praesidium has considered his position.

”Leamas is already under arrest I would remind you all that the Tribunal has no executive powers. The People's Prosecutor, in collaboration with Comrade Mundt, will no doubt consider what action is to be taken against a British _agent provocateur_ and murderer.”

She glanced past Leamas at Mundt. But Mundt was looking at Fiedler with the dispa.s.sionate regard of a hangman measuring his subject for the rope.

And suddenly, with the terrible clarity of a man too long deceived, Leamas understood the whole ghastly tuck.

* * 24 * The Commissar

Liz stood at the window, her back to the wardress, and stared blankly into the tiny yard outside. She supposed the prisoners took their exercise there. She was in somebody's office; there was food on the desk beside the telephones but she couldn't touch it. She felt sick and terribly tired; physically tired. Her legs ached, her face felt stiff and raw from weeping. She felt dirty and longed for a bath.

”Why don't you eat?” the woman asked again. ”It's all over now.” She said this without compa.s.sion, as if the girl were a fool not to eat when the food was there.

”I'm not hungry.”

The wardress shrugged. ”You may have a long journey,” she observed, ”and not much at the other end.”

”What do you mean?”

”The workers are starving in England,” she declared complacently. ”The capitalists let them starve.”

Liz thought of saying something but there seemed no point. Besides, she wanted to know; she had to know, and this woman could tell her.

”What is this place?”

”Don't you know?” The wardress laughed. ”You should ask them over there.” She nodded toward the window. ”They can tell you what it is.”

”Who are they?”

”Prisoners.”

”What kind of prisoners?”

”Enemies of the state,” she replied promptly. ”Spies, agitators.”

”How do you know they are spies?”

”The Party knows. The Party knows more about people than they know themselves. Haven't you been told that?” The wardress looked at her, shook her head and observed, ”The Englis.h.!.+ The rich have eaten your future and your poor have given them the food--that's what's happened to the English.”

”Who told you that?”

The woman smiled and said nothing. She seemed pleased with herself.

”And this is a prison for spies?” Liz persisted.

”It is a prison for those who fail to recognize socialist reality; for those who think they have the right to err; for those who slow down the march. Traitors,” she concluded briefly.

”But what have they done?”

”We cannot build communism without doing away with individualism. You cannot plan a great building if some swine builds his sty on your site.”

Liz looked at her in astonishment.

”Who told you all this?”

”I am Commissar here,” she said proudly. ”I work in the prison.”

”You are very clever,” Liz observed, approaching her.

”I am a worker,” the woman replied acidly. ”The concept of brain workers as a higher category must be destroyed. There are no categories, only workers; no ant.i.thesis between physical and mental labor. Haven't you read Lenin?”

”Then the people in this prison are intellectuals?”