The next day he sent off a request for information concerning his parents, signed with this false name.
A week later the general told him to come up to his office at the ministry with him. For a moment Alexei thought Gavrilov was going to talk about Stella, that he might even say, "You know, my daughter has told me she's in love with you." This crazy hope survived for a few seconds and lingered only to show him later how blind one can be when one is in love.
"Listen, Sergei'," the general began in embarrassed tones, "yesterday some information about you was passed on to me… mere rumors, I hope. But these days, as you know very well, you can't be too careful. It appears that someone's been using your name, or at least… How can I put it…? Well, his family claim that you've taken, that is to say, not you yourself, but… To cut a long story short, they think their son's still alive. They know a friend saw him just before being demobilized but that he, you that is, don't want to go back to the village and you're hiding out. No one really knows why. Oh, boy, it sure is complicated. The fact is, it's a case of false identity, know what I mean? And, in the army, you bet, that's no joke. I don't have to tell you that. You get sent to a camp for far less than that… Well, I'm just telling you this for your own information. But if you think there's any kind of problem, you'd better let me know. With stories like this, you know, it's like land mines: better to defuse them before they go off."
The telephone rang, and the general picked it up; his face grew relaxed, and he began dictating a long list of food, specifying quantities of sausages and smoked sturgeon and numbers of bottles of wine. In the crackling of the receiver Alexe'i recognized the voice of Stella's mother. He was waiting for the conversation to end so he could confess everything.
The general hung up, licked his lips with satisfaction. "We're preparing a hell of a dinner for tomorrow night. And the guests are well worth the trouble. Future parents-in-law. Oh, yes, Sergei, time really flies. When I went off to the war our Stella was just a little girl. Now, lo and behold, we're going to marry her off. Her fiance's a great guy! And his father, this is just between us, mind you, has an excellent post at the Ministry of the Interior. He's the one, by the way, who tipped me off about that business of the false name. It's all in the family, you see… Otherwise they'd have carted you off without another word. Well, you can talk to me about that later. Now, about this dinner. I'm going to need you from dawn till dusk tomorrow and half the night as well. Stella's invited all her friends. Well, engagements these days aren't done the way they used to be – all settled in private. So you'll have to take them home in groups. The subway will be closed by then. In other words, maximum state of alert!"
They installed him in the crow's nest, all piled high with winter coats. The door was left ajar, and he watched the guests arriving, couples (the fiance's parents: the sugary waft of the mother's perfume, the father's bass voice), a few single people, then small groups of school friends. Some of them lost their way, came into the cubbyhole where he was waiting, stared in perplexity at this man motionless amid the overcoats and piles of cardboard cartons, uncertain whether to greet him or not. Several times the general asked him to take the car and fetch this or that guest of note. Alexe'i did his bidding, then returned to his vigil. Vera, the housekeeper, brought him a cup of tea, almost spoke to him, changed her mind, and simply smiled, with a sour little twitch.
He felt no bitterness, no jealousy, simply a pain so acute, so unremitting, that no other emotion could graft itself onto its cutting edge. Distractedly, he identified the sounds coming from the reception room that gave clues to the progress of the party. To begin with, there was a merry hubbub of voices, rhythmically augmented from time to time by deep bass notes. After this the popping of first one cork, then suddenly another, accompanied by shouts of laughter and squeals of panic. The words of the first toast being proposed by the general. And finally the clatter of knives and forks.
Rigid with grief, he felt nothing when, half an hour later, after a chorus of pleading voices, the music rang out. He readily recognized the polonaise Stella had been practicing the previous winter. He even noted that the moment for this musical interlude was very well chosen: between the first glass that made the guests receptive and the subsequent food and drink that would dull their senses. He listened and, despite his absent state, noticed two or three imperceptible hesitations in her playing that were like secret reminders addressed to him alone and which made him feel still further isolated. The sound of clapping burst forth, and this applause and some shouts of "Bravo!" prevented him from hearing the footsteps running down the corridor.
And now Stella's face was framed in the doorway. "Sergei! Quickly! Do come! This means so much to me!" Her excited whisper was redolent of intoxication, but it was more the intoxication of happiness than that of wine.
Perplexed, he got up and allowed himself to be led by the hand into the reception room.
"And now for a surprise!" announced Stella, holding out her arms toward him as if to invite acclaim for him. "Our Sergei's going to play us a little tune. I hope you'll appreciate his performance… and my modest talents as a music teacher. 'The Little Tin Soldier'!"
The young people applauded; the parents and the older guests found the jest rather daring but went along with it all the same, clapping a little, not wishing to seem unduly severe.
After the darkness of the crow's nest, he was blinded by the light in the reception room, embarrassed by the eyes fixed on him. Searching for a way to avoid the torment and not finding one, he had time to notice several faces; a woman's necklace with large pearls; the fiance, a tall, dark young man, seated among his classmates. In Stella's gaze, for a fraction of a second, something like a forgotten shadow flitted by. He saw that she was wearing the pale linen summer dress.
The applause died down. He sat on the piano stool, sensing that his grief, the block of ice that had held him frozen, was breaking up, turning into shame, humiliation, anger, the stupid crimson flush that rose to his neck, the weight of his thick boots resting on the slippery nickel of the pedals.
He performed, as in the days of their lessons, with the stolid application of an automaton. They were already laughing as he played, so comic was the sight of this soldier playing a little song about a soldier. Some of the young people sang the words of the chorus, which they knew. The wine was beginning to liven up the merriment. The applause was unanimous. "Bravo, the teacher!" cried one guest, whom Stella favored with a curtsy. The bass voice of the fiance's father rang out amid the laughter: "Well, I never, General. I had no idea that in your ministry the drivers were pianists as well." "A drink for the pianist," chanted one of the young men, and several voices joined in. A glass of vodka was passed from hand to hand in the direction of the piano. Stella raised her arms and shouted, so as to be heard above the noise from the table: "And now, the star item on the program: 'The Waltz of the Doves'!"
Alexei put down his glass, turned toward the keyboard. Little by little the shouting and talking died down, but still he waited, his hands resting on his knees, sitting bolt upright, with an abstracted air. Throwing a wink at the guests, Stella whispered, like a prompter: "Go on, then! You start by playing middle with your right thumb…"
As his hands fell upon the keyboard, it was still possible to believe a beautiful harmony had been formed at random, in spite of him. But a second later the music came surging out, the power of it sweeping away all doubts, voices, sounds, wiping away the fixed grins and exchanged glances, pushing back the walls, dispersing the light of the reception room out into the nocturnal immensity of the sky beyond the windows.