The Beginning of Spring

by Penelope Fitzgerald

‘Not an unbeliever, sir, a free-thinker. Perhaps you’ve never thought about the difference. As a free-thinker I can believe what I like, when I like. I can commit you, in your sad situation, to the protection of God this evening, even though tomorrow morning I shan’t believe he exists. As an unbeliever I should be obliged not to believe, and that’s an unwarrantable restriction on my thoughts.’

‘Life makes its own corrections.’

to see too clearly in Russia is a mistake, leading to loss of confidence.

‘Why not, Dolly? Surely you don’t think she did the wrong thing?’ ‘I don’t know whether she did or not. The mistake she probably made was getting married in the first place.’ ‘Is that what you’re going to put in your letter?’ ‘I told you it would be better if I didn’t write one.’

Arkady had children—how many, Frank couldn’t say, because extra ones, perhaps nephews and nieces, perhaps waifs, or even hostages, seemed to come and go.

Restless as a bird of prey which has not caught anything for several days, she nodded him towards the seat next to her. There were no comfortable chairs in the chaplaincy, except in Mr Graham’s study.

‘There shouldn’t be such a state of mind as expectation,’ interrupted Mrs Graham. ‘One gets too dependent on the future.’

She was, or probably was, a kind-hearted woman, but she was too sharp, Frank thought. All sharp people, no matter whether they were men or women, were tiring.

With the ruthlessness of the timid,

Watching the breaking ice from the bridges was one of Moscow’s favourite occupations. The Gazeta-Kopeika said that a pair of dead lovers, clutched together, had floated by, frozen into the ice. The Gazeta repeated this story every spring.

With the terrible aimlessness of the benevolent, he was casting round for a new misfortune.

‘There’s no benefit at all,’ Frank replied. ‘I object to it in principle and in detail.’ ‘You don’t understand it. You have no peasants in England, and therefore no stories.’ ‘We have plenty of stories,’ said Frank, ‘but the woman always comes off best.’ ‘All the more reason to remember this one.’

Off came the lid of the tureen with a wild escape of steam, smelling of fish like a wharf at sunset. Each of them had a plateful except Annushka, who had a small saucer, not part of the set. She began to wail. ‘You oughtn’t to be here at all,’ Dolly told her. ‘We love you, but you’re superfluous.’ Annushka cried more loudly, and Lisa got up silently and led her out of the room.

That was a problem for the morning, and there were likely to be others. Open the doors, the Russians say, here comes trouble.

Frank could see that the captain and the orderly were not listening, being in the genial grip of inertia and greed.

Perhaps, Frank thought, I have faith, even if I have no beliefs.

God has given you patience, to take the place of your former happiness.’

‘It is better,’ said Frank. ‘But perhaps Lisa would explain why.’ Lisa never changed colour, but now she put down her spoon and said, ‘I haven’t much practice in explaining. It’s unkind to ask anyone for more than they have to give.’ ‘Unkind!’ said Frank, aghast.