Free For the Good of the Cause by Alexander Solzhenitsyn Page A

earthquake. Grachikov hadn’t grabbed both of his phones at once, nor had he jumped up and rushed out of the room.
    “So what did you hear? Is it a very important institute?” Fyodor asked dejectedly.
    Grachikov sighed: “Once you know that its address is a P.O. box number, you don’t ask any questions. With us everything is important.”
    Fyodor sighed too.
    “But, Ivan, what are we going to do? They are planning to get a Government decision, and once they do it’ll be all over. We’ve only got a couple of days. There’s no time to be lost.”
    Grachikov was thinking.
    Fyodor turned to face him. He leaned on the desk, propping his head on his hands.
    “Listen. What about sending a telegram to the Council of Ministers in Moscow? This is just the right moment, when they’re talking so much about the need for contact between the schools and real life… I’ll sign it. I’m not afraid.”
    Grachikov studied him closely for a minute.
    Suddenly all the sternness vanished from his face, giving way to a friendly smile. He began to talk the way he liked to, in a sing-song voice, in long, well-rounded sentences which had a tone of genuine warmth.
    “My dear Fyodor, how do you picture this being arrived at, this decision by the Government? Do you imagine the whole Council sitting at a long table, discussing what to do about your building? Do you think they’ve got nothing better to do? And then I suppose you think your telegram will be brought in at just the right moment. Is that what you believe? No! A Government decision means that one of these days a Deputy Prime Minister will see one of the Ministers. The Minister will have some papers with him to make his report and at some point he will say: ‘This research institute, as you know, has top priority. It has been decided to locate it in this town, in which there happens to be a building it can use.’ The Deputy Prime Minister will then ask: ‘Whom was it built for?’ And the Minister will reply: ‘For a school. But the school has got rather decent premises for the time being. We sent a commission of experts down and the Comrades studied the matter on the spot.’ Then, before giving his final okay, the Deputy Prime Minister will ask one more question: ‘Does the District Committee have any objections?’ Do you get this—the District Committee! Your telegram will be returned right to this place with a notation on it saying: ‘Check facts.’” Grachikov pursed his thick lips. “You’ve got to know how these things work. In this case it’s the District Committee that holds the power.”
    He laid his hand on the telephone but didn’t lift the receiver.
    “What I don’t like about this business is that the District Committee Supervisor was with them and raised no objections. If Knorozov has already given his okay, then, my friend, you’re in trouble. He never goes back on a decision.”
    Grachikov was a little scared of Victor Knorozov. But then, there was hardly anyone in the district who wasn’t.
    He lifted the receiver.
    “Is that Konyevsky? This is Grachikov. Say, is Knorozov there? When will he be back? I see… Well, if he does come back today, tell him I’d be most grateful if he would see me… Even after I get home this evening …”
    He put the receiver down but continued toying with it on its rest. Then he turned his eyes from the telephone to Fyodor, who was now holding his head in his hands.
    “You know, Fyodor,” Grachikov said earnestly, “I’m very fond of technical schools. I really like them. In this country of ours they’re always making such a fuss over the top scientists. They don’t seem to think that anyone with anything less than an engineering degree has any education at all. But for us in industry it’s the technicians who matter most of all. Yet technical schools get a raw deal—and not just yours alone. Take your place for example. You accept kids this high”—he held his hand at desk level, though Fyodor had never