Read Online For the Good of the Cause by Alexander Solzhenitsyn - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexander Solzhenitsyn
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acting and what exactly you are after.”
The Comrade from the Ministry took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked even more impressive without a hat. He had a fine head of hair, although it was thinning in spots.
“Haven’t you heard yet?” he asked in a tone of mild surprise. “Our Ministry and”—he nodded toward his colleague—“the Department have decided that a research institute of national importance should be set up in this town and accommodated in the buildings originally intended for your school. That’s it, isn’t it, Khabalygin?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Khabalygin agreed, nodding his head in its green fedora. “That’s the way it is.” He eyed the principal somewhat sympathetically and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can stick it out for another couple of years, and then they’ll build you a new school—an even better one! That’s how things go, my friend, so don’t let it get you down. It can’t be helped. It’s all for the good of the cause!”
Not very tall to begin with, Fyodor now seemed to become even shorter. He looked stunned, as if he had been hit over the head.
“But how …” Fyodor said the first, but by no means the most important, thing that came to his mind. “We haven’t even kept this place in good repair.” When Fyodor was upset, his voice, always gruff, dropped even lower and became quite hoarse.
“Don’t worry about that,” Khabalygin said. “I bet you painted it last year.”
The Comrade from the Department went down one step on the stairs.
There were so many things the principal wanted to tell them that he couldn’t make up his mind what to say first.
“What have I got to do with your Ministry?” he protested hoarsely, while blocking the visitors’ way. “We come under the local Economic Council. You need a Government order for a transfer of this sort.”
“You’re quite right.” The commission members pushed him gently aside, making their way down the stairs. “We’re just preparing the necessary papers. We expect the final okay in a couple of days.”
The five men went down the stairs while the principal just stood there staring blankly after them.
“Fyodor Mikheyevich!” Lidia called out, coming down the corridor. For some reason or other, she had her hand clasped to her throat. Her blouse was open at the neck and one could see how sunburned she had gotten while working on the building site. “What did they have to say?”
“They are taking the building away from us,” he replied in a flat, almost toneless voice, without raising his eyes.
And with that he went into his study.
“What?” she cried out after a moment. “The new one? They’re taking it away from us?” She hurried after him, her heels tapping on the floor. In the doorway she bumped into the bookkeeper. She brushed her aside and rushed in after the principal.
Fyodor Mikheyevich was walking slowly toward his desk.
“Listen!” Lidia called out in a strained voice … “What is this? How can they do such a terrible thing? It’s not right!” Her voice was becoming shriller with every word. She was saying out loud what he should have shouted at them. But he was the principal, not a woman. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. “What are we going to tell the kids? That we’ve cheated them?”
He couldn’t remember ever having seen her cry before. He slumped into his chair and stared vacantly ahead at his desk. His forehead was one mass of wrinkles.
The bookkeeper, an elderly, shriveled-up woman, her straggly hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck, was standing there holding a checkbook.
She had heard everything. She would have gone away at once and not bothered him, but she had just spoken to the bank and been told that she could cash a check. The check had already been made out, with the amount and date filled in. She therefore had to see the principal, in spite of everything. She put the
The Comrade from the Ministry took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked even more impressive without a hat. He had a fine head of hair, although it was thinning in spots.
“Haven’t you heard yet?” he asked in a tone of mild surprise. “Our Ministry and”—he nodded toward his colleague—“the Department have decided that a research institute of national importance should be set up in this town and accommodated in the buildings originally intended for your school. That’s it, isn’t it, Khabalygin?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Khabalygin agreed, nodding his head in its green fedora. “That’s the way it is.” He eyed the principal somewhat sympathetically and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can stick it out for another couple of years, and then they’ll build you a new school—an even better one! That’s how things go, my friend, so don’t let it get you down. It can’t be helped. It’s all for the good of the cause!”
Not very tall to begin with, Fyodor now seemed to become even shorter. He looked stunned, as if he had been hit over the head.
“But how …” Fyodor said the first, but by no means the most important, thing that came to his mind. “We haven’t even kept this place in good repair.” When Fyodor was upset, his voice, always gruff, dropped even lower and became quite hoarse.
“Don’t worry about that,” Khabalygin said. “I bet you painted it last year.”
The Comrade from the Department went down one step on the stairs.
There were so many things the principal wanted to tell them that he couldn’t make up his mind what to say first.
“What have I got to do with your Ministry?” he protested hoarsely, while blocking the visitors’ way. “We come under the local Economic Council. You need a Government order for a transfer of this sort.”
“You’re quite right.” The commission members pushed him gently aside, making their way down the stairs. “We’re just preparing the necessary papers. We expect the final okay in a couple of days.”
The five men went down the stairs while the principal just stood there staring blankly after them.
“Fyodor Mikheyevich!” Lidia called out, coming down the corridor. For some reason or other, she had her hand clasped to her throat. Her blouse was open at the neck and one could see how sunburned she had gotten while working on the building site. “What did they have to say?”
“They are taking the building away from us,” he replied in a flat, almost toneless voice, without raising his eyes.
And with that he went into his study.
“What?” she cried out after a moment. “The new one? They’re taking it away from us?” She hurried after him, her heels tapping on the floor. In the doorway she bumped into the bookkeeper. She brushed her aside and rushed in after the principal.
Fyodor Mikheyevich was walking slowly toward his desk.
“Listen!” Lidia called out in a strained voice … “What is this? How can they do such a terrible thing? It’s not right!” Her voice was becoming shriller with every word. She was saying out loud what he should have shouted at them. But he was the principal, not a woman. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. “What are we going to tell the kids? That we’ve cheated them?”
He couldn’t remember ever having seen her cry before. He slumped into his chair and stared vacantly ahead at his desk. His forehead was one mass of wrinkles.
The bookkeeper, an elderly, shriveled-up woman, her straggly hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck, was standing there holding a checkbook.
She had heard everything. She would have gone away at once and not bothered him, but she had just spoken to the bank and been told that she could cash a check. The check had already been made out, with the amount and date filled in. She therefore had to see the principal, in spite of everything. She put the
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