BOOKS
NYET
THE YAWNING HEIGHTS.
By
Alexander Zlnovlev.
Translated
by
Gordon Clough. Random House. $15.
During the five months that I spent in Moscow as visiting
professor of American literature I was often taken
to
tour all sorts of
places. Such outings invariably occurred on the spur of the moment;
even those scheduled weeks in advance had to be regarded as spontane–
ous, as if only the accidental could be enjoyed.
I tended
to
regard this as evidence of the general organizational
disarray of Soviet society as well as a further protest against planning–
and so it was-but there was more to it than this, as I learned one day
from Tatjana Efimovna, one of my graduate students. Her inordinate
curiosity about my activities led me to conclude that from time to time
she filed reports on them with the Foreign Office as one of her duties as
a candidate for Party membership. Her official responsibilities did not
by any means dampen her good spirits, and she often surprised me by
doing little favors for me and even arranging impromptu excursions.
One day she hung back after class and chirped:
"Professor Martin! Isn 't it lucky? Today we have a splendid
opportunity to visit the Palace of Pioneers."
"Is it in teresting?"
"Oh very. It's our paradise for children, you know."
"And is it far?"
"Only a few blocks. Surely you've noticed the splendid modern
complex just off Lenin Prospect?"
"Then we can go over now?"
"Yes, certainly. But in this freezing weather-and it's nearly
lunchtime-well, perhaps on our way we should pause for just a bite at
the professors' dining room."
Why not? She knew that as a professor I could simply walk
to
the
head of the line there, and the prospect of participating in special
privileges dazzled her no less than it did every other Soviet I met. And
so we walked across the campus
to
the little low building, checked our
coats, and stepped to the front of a long line to get a table and eat a dish
of grilled meat-variety unidentifiable.
