Read Online For the Good of the Cause by Alexander Solzhenitsyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexander Solzhenitsyn
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long, blue-striped book down in front of him and held it flat with her hand.
Fyodor dipped his pen in the ink, grasped his right wrist with his left hand, and raised it to write his signature. But even clutched like this, his hands still shook. He tried to put his signature on the check. The pen started to make some marks, then dug into the paper and sputtered.
Fyodor looked up at the bookkeeper and smiled.
She bit her lip, took the checkbook away from him, and hurried out.
Chapter 4
Everything had happened so suddenly, and the commission had breezed through with such supreme confidence and so rapidly, that Fyodor had not been able to find the words he wanted while they were there, and even after they had gone he was still unable to decide exactly what to do.
He phoned the Education Department of the Economic Council. All they did was listen to his story, voice their indignation, and promise to look into the matter. Another time that might have cheered him up. But now it didn’t. He knew the commission hadn’t come for a social visit.
He felt so ashamed. He didn’t know how he could face the students or the teachers, or anybody else he had gotten to help with the new building on the understanding that it would be theirs. All the plans which for months, even years, he and his colleagues had been making for the new building were now completely ruined. He would gladly exchange his own living quarters for worse ones if only the new building were given to the school.
His mind went blank. He just didn’t seem able to think clearly.
Without a word to anyone and without putting on his hat, he went out to try to collect his thoughts.
Leaving the building, he set off in the direction of the railroad. But he wasn’t really thinking about where he was going, because in his mind he was turning over the dozens of vitally important things the school was losing along with the new building. The railroad barrier came down just as he got to the crossing. Fyodor stopped, although he could have slipped through under it. A long freight train appeared in the distance, eventually reached the crossing, and quickly clattered past down the incline. But Fyodor didn’t really take any of this in. The barrier was raised and he continued on his way.
He was inside the gates of the new building before he realized where he actually was. His legs had taken him there of their own accord. The main entrance, on which all the glazing and painting were already finished, was locked. So Fyodor went through the grounds, which had been marked off and cleared by the students. There was plenty of land, and they had planned to turn it into athletic fields.
One of the builders’ trucks stood in the yard, and the plumbers were noisily throwing brackets, piping, and other scuff into it. But Fyodor paid no attention to them.
He went into the building. It made him feel good to hear his footsteps echoing on the stone slabs of the wide lobby. Its two cloakrooms, one on each side, were big enough for a thousand people. The hat- and coat-racks of aluminum tubing shone brightly, and maybe it was this that made Fyodor ask himself a simple question which-because all this time he had been thinking about the school, not its new occupants—had not occurred to him until now: What on earth would the new institute do with such a building? For one thing, they’d probably dismantle these cloakrooms, because the institute wouldn’t have even a hundred people. And what about the gymnasium with its wall ladders, rings, horizontal bars, nets, and wire-meshed windows? Was all that going to be pulled down and thrown out? What about the workshops with their specially built concrete foundations under each machine? And the electric wiring? And the whole layout of the building around the lecture halls? And the blackboards? And the main lecture hall, designed like an amphitheater? And the auditorium? And …
At that moment a couple of painters and carpenters walked by him with
Fyodor dipped his pen in the ink, grasped his right wrist with his left hand, and raised it to write his signature. But even clutched like this, his hands still shook. He tried to put his signature on the check. The pen started to make some marks, then dug into the paper and sputtered.
Fyodor looked up at the bookkeeper and smiled.
She bit her lip, took the checkbook away from him, and hurried out.
Chapter 4
Everything had happened so suddenly, and the commission had breezed through with such supreme confidence and so rapidly, that Fyodor had not been able to find the words he wanted while they were there, and even after they had gone he was still unable to decide exactly what to do.
He phoned the Education Department of the Economic Council. All they did was listen to his story, voice their indignation, and promise to look into the matter. Another time that might have cheered him up. But now it didn’t. He knew the commission hadn’t come for a social visit.
He felt so ashamed. He didn’t know how he could face the students or the teachers, or anybody else he had gotten to help with the new building on the understanding that it would be theirs. All the plans which for months, even years, he and his colleagues had been making for the new building were now completely ruined. He would gladly exchange his own living quarters for worse ones if only the new building were given to the school.
His mind went blank. He just didn’t seem able to think clearly.
Without a word to anyone and without putting on his hat, he went out to try to collect his thoughts.
Leaving the building, he set off in the direction of the railroad. But he wasn’t really thinking about where he was going, because in his mind he was turning over the dozens of vitally important things the school was losing along with the new building. The railroad barrier came down just as he got to the crossing. Fyodor stopped, although he could have slipped through under it. A long freight train appeared in the distance, eventually reached the crossing, and quickly clattered past down the incline. But Fyodor didn’t really take any of this in. The barrier was raised and he continued on his way.
He was inside the gates of the new building before he realized where he actually was. His legs had taken him there of their own accord. The main entrance, on which all the glazing and painting were already finished, was locked. So Fyodor went through the grounds, which had been marked off and cleared by the students. There was plenty of land, and they had planned to turn it into athletic fields.
One of the builders’ trucks stood in the yard, and the plumbers were noisily throwing brackets, piping, and other scuff into it. But Fyodor paid no attention to them.
He went into the building. It made him feel good to hear his footsteps echoing on the stone slabs of the wide lobby. Its two cloakrooms, one on each side, were big enough for a thousand people. The hat- and coat-racks of aluminum tubing shone brightly, and maybe it was this that made Fyodor ask himself a simple question which-because all this time he had been thinking about the school, not its new occupants—had not occurred to him until now: What on earth would the new institute do with such a building? For one thing, they’d probably dismantle these cloakrooms, because the institute wouldn’t have even a hundred people. And what about the gymnasium with its wall ladders, rings, horizontal bars, nets, and wire-meshed windows? Was all that going to be pulled down and thrown out? What about the workshops with their specially built concrete foundations under each machine? And the electric wiring? And the whole layout of the building around the lecture halls? And the blackboards? And the main lecture hall, designed like an amphitheater? And the auditorium? And …
At that moment a couple of painters and carpenters walked by him with
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