FATIGUE OF THE SYNAPSES
29
Embassy. He had just heard the news and wished to express the
Ambassador's and his own sympathies. He went on to say that though
everybody sympathized with Leontiev's bereavement, he had been
instructed to ask Leontiev not to cancel his appearance at Monsieur
Anatole's reception, as cultural propaganda was at the present mo–
ment more important than ever. "Of course I shall go," said Leontiev
absently, and hung up.
There was another knock at the door and an old waiter with side–
whiskers came in, asking what Leontiev wanted. Leontiev said he didn't
want anything. The waiter respectfully insisted that Leontiev had
rung the bell. Leontiev suddenly became angry and began to curse
the waiter in his native language, telling him to go to the devil and
leave him alone. The waiter looked at him uncomprehendingly, then,
with a show of dignified distress, made for the door. "Wait," Leontiev
called after him in French. "I wanted some brandy." "Very good,
sir," said the waiter. He was a member of the Royalist Rally, and
found his opinion confirmed that the Commonwealth was populated
by savages.
The telephone rang again. It was a secretary of the personnel
department of the Embassy who called to say that accommodation
for Leontiev's return journey had been reserved for the next day; the
plane would leave at 8 a.m.
"It
is no longer necessary," said Leontiev
in the same voice in which he had refused the needle and thread.
The secretary sounded startled; Leontiev hung up.
There was another knock at the door; the old waiter came in
carrying a large glass of brandy on a tray. Leontiev downed it in
one gulp, asked for another, and began to dress for Monsieur Ana–
tole's reception.
He was ready now, and decided to walk instead of taking a taxi.
He looked at his watch-a heavy gold watch, personal gift of the
Marshal of Peace on Leontiev's fiftieth birthday. Only half an hour
had passed since he had torn the pocket of his dressing-gown and
events had started rolling in quick, smooth succession. Now that the
brandy and a cold shower had cleared his mind, the events of that
half hour appeared in retrospect like a film played with its sound
track switched off. The missing sound track was his own numbed
thoughts while he had talked to the messenger and written his note
