“That’s great!” exclaimed Pol. “That’s great!”
“Yes, yes, you’ll have the works. And how about ignis fatuus? You remember ignis fatuus? And how I almost got married? And how I missed you!”
The workday was beginning on the farm. The street was full of people, men and girls, dressed colorfully and simply. The people made way for Kostylin and Pol. The two could hear cries:
“They’re bringing the Pilgrim!”
“Vivisect it—it’s sick!”
“Some new hybrid?”
“Sasha, wait, let us have a look.”
Through the crowd spread a rumor that during the night, near Kostylin’s laboratory, a second Taimyr had landed.
“Eighteenth century,” someone stated. “They’re handing out the crew to researchers in comparative anatomy.”
Kostylin waved the stick, and Pol gaily bared his teeth. “I love attention,” he said.
Voices among the crowd sang, “O, what a hero I, / Who cold or frost fear not!”
Pol the Pilgrim sat on a broad wooden bench at a broad wooden table amid currant bushes. The morning sun pleasantly warmed his antiseptically clean back. Pol luxuriated. In his hand he had an enormous mug of cranberry juice. Kostylin, also shirtless and with wet hair, sat opposite and looked at him affectionately.
“I always believed that Athos was a great man,” said Pol, making sweeping motions with the mug. “He had the clearest head, and he knew best of any of us what he wanted.”
“Oh, no,” Kostylin said warmly. “The Captain saw his goal best of any of us. And he moved straight toward it.”
Pol took a sip from the mug and thought. “Maybe,” he said. “The Captain wanted to be a spacer, and he became a spacer.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kostylin, “and Athos is still more of a biologist than a spacer.”
“But what a biologist!” Pol raised a finger. “Honestly, I brag about having been friends with him in school.”
“Me too,” Kostylin agreed. “But you wait five years or so, and we’ll be bragging about being friends with the Captain.”
“Right,” said Pol. “And here I drift around like a bit of foil in the wind. I want to try everything. Now, you were just scolding me for not writing.” He put down his mug with a sigh. “I can’t write when I’m busy with something. Writing is boring then. When you’re working on a subject, writing is boring, because everything is ahead of you. And when you finish, it’s boring because it’s all behind you… And then you don’t know what’s ahead. You know, Lin, everything has really been working out stupidly for me. Here I work four years on theoretical servomechanics. One girl and I solved Chebotarev’s Problem—you remember, Teacher told us about it? We solve it, build two very good regulators… and I fall in love with the girl. And then everything ended and… everything ended.”
“You haven’t gotten married?” Kostylin asked sympathetically.
“That’s not the point. It was just that when other people work, they always get new ideas of some sort, but I didn’t. The work was finished, and it didn’t interest me any more. In these ten years I’ve gone through four specialties. And again I’m out of ideas. So I thought to myself, I’ll go find old Lin.”
“Quite right!” Kostylin said in his deep voice. “I’ll give you twenty ideas!”
“So give,” Pol said sluggishly. He grew gloomy and buried his nose in the mug.
Kostylin looked at him with thoughtful interest. “Couldn’t you get into endocrinology?” he proposed.
“Could be endocrinology,” said Pol. “Even if it is a hard word. And anyhow, all these ideas are utter languor of the spirit.”
Kostylin said suddenly, and without obvious relevance to what had gone before, “I’m getting married soon.”
“Wonderful!” Pol said sadly. “Just don’t tell me all about your happy love in X thousand boring words.” He became more lively. “Happy love is inherently boring anyhow,” he declared. “Even the ancients understood that. No real craftsman has been attracted by the theme of happy love. For great works, unhappy love was always an end in itself, but happy love is at best background.”
Kostylin assented reluctantly.
“True depth of feeling is characteristic only of unrequited love,” Pol continued with inspiration. “Unhappy love makes a person active, churns him up, but happy love calms him down, spiritually castrates him.”
“Cheer up, Polly,” said Kostylin. “It will all pass. The good thing about unhappy love is that it is usually short-lived. Let me pour you some more juice.”
“No, Lin,” said Pol, “I think this is long-lived. After all, two years have already gone by. She probably doesn’t even remember me, and I…” He looked at Kostylin. “Excuse me, Lin. I know it isn’t very nice when someone cries all over your shoulder. Only this is all so interminable. I sure as hell wasn’t lucky in love.”
Kostylin nodded helplessly. “Would you like me to put you in touch with Teacher?” he asked uncertainly.
Pol shook his head and said, “No. I don’t want to talk to Teacher when I’m like this. I’d feel like a fool.”
“Mmm, yes,” Kostylin said, and thought, What’s true is true. Teacher can’t stand unhappy people. He looked at Pol suspiciously. Could clever Polly be playing the unfortunate? He had a good appetite—it was a pleasure to watch him eating. And he loved attention, as always. “Do you remember Operation October?” Lin asked.
“Of course!” Pol once again came to life. “Do you remember how the plan failed?”
“Well-how should I put it?… We were too young.”
“Good heavens!” said Pol He grew more cheerful. “Teacher sicked us on Walter on purpose! And then he smashed us in the examination—”
“What examination?”
“Zow, Lin!” Pol shouted delightedly. “The Captain was right—you’re the only one who never figured it out!”
Kostylin slowly came to the realization. “Yes, of course,” he said. “But what do you mean, I never figured it out? I just forgot. And do you remember how the Captain tested us for acceleration?”
“That was when you ate all that chocolate to see if you could handle the extra weight?” Pol said wickedly.
“And do you remember how we tested the rocket fuel?” Kostylin recollected hurriedly.
“Yeah,” Pol said dreamily. “Boy, did it thunder!”
“I have the scar to this day,” Kostylin said with pride. “Here—feel it.” He turned his back to Pol.
Pol felt it with pleasure. “We were good kids,” he said. “Glorious. Do you remember when on parade we turned into a herd of crayspiders?”
“Uff, it was noisy!”
They were sweet memories. Pol suddenly jumped up and with unusual animation imitated a crayspider. The surroundings filled with the repulsive gnashing howl of the multilegged monster that stole through the jungles of fearsome Pandora. And as if in reply, a deep roaring sigh came from afar. Pol froze in fright. “What’s that?” he asked.
Kostylin laughed. “Some spider you make! That’s cattle!”
“What sort of cattle?” Pol asked in indignation.
“Beef cattle,” Lin explained. “Astonishingly good either grilled or roasted.”
“Listen, Lin,” said Pol, “those are worthy opponents. I want a look at them. And anyhow, I want to see what you do around here.”
Kostylin’s face filled with boredom. “Forget it, Polly,” he said. “Cattle are cattle. Let’s sit here a little longer. I’ll get you some more juice. All right?”
But it was too late. Pol had filled with energy. “The unknown is calling us! Forward, on to the beef cattle, who throw down the gauntlet to crayspiders! Where’s my shirt? Didn’t some pedigreed bull promise me a clean shirt?”