embraced. "Congratulations!" I said between the kisses. "I hope all your
pupils will be as grateful to you as I am."
"Thank you, Sanya. Thank you, dear boy," he said, giving me another
hug. He was deeply moved and his lips quivered a little.
An hour later he was sitting on the platform, in that same hall where
we had once held a court to try Eugene Onegin. And we, as guests of
honour, sat on his left and right among the platform party. The latter
consisted of Valya, who had put on a bright green tie for the occasion,
Tania Velichko, now a construction engineer, who had grown into such
a tall stout woman that it was difficult to believe this was the same slim,
high-principled girl I had once known, and several other pupils of
Korablev's, who had been juniors in our day and whom we had looked
down upon as beings who were almost sub-human. Among this
generation were a number of military trainees and I was delighted to
recognise some of them who had belonged to my Pioneer group.
Then, glamorous and dignified in white spats and a heavy knitted
waistcoat, arrived Grisha Faber, actor of the Moscow Drama Theatre.
He, for one, hadn't changed a bit! With a lordly air of condescension, as
though all this had been arranged for his benefit, he implanted a
sovereign kiss upon Korablev's cheek and sat down with legs crossed
negligently. He was so conspicuous among the platform party that it
began to look as if it were his anniversary that was being celebrated and
not Korablev's at all. He passed a languid eye over the audience, then
took out his comb and combed his hair. I wrote him a note:
"Grisha, you blighter, hullo!" He read it and waved a hand to me with an
indulgent smile.
It was a wonderful evening and a good one, because everybody who
spoke spoke the pure truth. Nobody lied—doubtless because it was not
hard to speak the pure truth about Korablev. He had never demanded
anything else from his pupils. I wish people would speak the same way
about me in twenty-five years as they did about Korablev that evening.
I, too, made a little speech, then I went up to Korablev to kiss him,
and bumped foreheads with Valya, who had come up to do the same
from the other side. My speech had received thin applause, but when we
bumped foreheads the applause became thunderous.
186
Tania Velichko spoke after me, but I did not even heard her, for
Nikolai Antonich had arrived.
He came in—stout, dignified, condescending. Dressed in wide
trousers, and bending slightly forward, he made his way towards the
platform. I saw our poor old Serafima, the one who used to do the
"duck" teaching by the complex method, running ahead of him to clear
the way for him, while he strode along, unsmiling, taking no notice
other.
I had not seen him since that ugly scene, when he had shouted at me,
crackling his knuckles, and then spat at me. I found that he had changed
a great deal since then. Behind him walked another man, who was also
rather stout and walked with his body bent forward, unsmiling.
I should never have guessed who this man was if Valya had not
whispered to me at that moment: "There comes Romashka too."
What-that Romashka? That sleek-haired, solid figure with the big,
white, presentable face, wearing that smart grey suit? What had become
of his yellow matted hair? His unnaturally round eyes—the eyes of an
owl—which never closed at night?
187
He was all neat, sleek, toned down, and even the square heavy jaw did
not look so square now. If anything it was fuller and quite presentable
too. If Romashka had been able to make a new face for himself he could
not have made a better job of it. On someone who met him for the first
time he might even have made an agreeable impression.
Nikolai Antonich stepped up on the platform, followed by Romashka,
who did everything that Nikolai Antonich did. Nikolai Antonich
congratulated Korablev in a cordial, though restrained manner, and
shook hands with him, but did not kiss him. Romashka, too, only shook
hands with him. Nikolai Antonich passed an eye over the platform party
and first greeted the Head of the City Educational Department.
Romashka followed suit, the only difference being that Romashka,
oddly enough, carried himself more confidently, with greater assurance.
Nikolai Antonich did not notice me. That is, he made believe I was not
there. But Romashka on drawing level with me, stopped and threw his
hands up in mock surprise, as much as to say: "If that isn't Grigoriev!"
As if I had never kicked him in his ugly face.
"Hullo, Romashka!" I said casually.
He winced, but the next moment pretended that we were old friends
who were entitled to call each other "Sanya" and "Romashka". He sat
down next to me and began talking, but I checked him rather
contemptuously and turned away as though listening to Tania.
But I was not listening to Tania. Everything in me was boiling and
seething, and it was only by an effort of will that I was able to keep a
composed face.
After the meeting the guests were invited to table. Romashka overtook
me in the corridor.
"The affair went on splendidly, didn't it?"
Even his voice had become mellower.
"Yes."
"It's a pity, really, that we meet so rarely. After all we're old friends.
Where do you work?"
"In civil aviation."
"So I see," he said laughing. "I meant 'where' territorially."
"In the Far North."
"Yes, of course! I'd quite forgotten. Katya told me. At Zapolarie."
Katya! Katya had told him. I grew hot, but answered in a calm voice:
"Yes, Zapolarie."
After a pause, he asked guardedly: "Are you here for long?"
"I don't know yet." My reply, too, was guarded. "Depends on a lot of
things."
I was pleased with myself for having answered so calmly and
guardedly, and from that moment I fully recovered my composure. I
became cold and courteous, cunning as a snake.
"Katya told me you were going to read a paper. At the Scientists' Club,
I believe?"
"No, the Geographical Society."
Romashka eyed me with pleasure. He looked as if I'd made him happy
by saying I was going to read the paper at the Geographical Society and
not at the Scientists' Club. And so he was, though I didn't know it at the
time.
"What's it about?"
"Come and hear it," I said coolly. "You'll find it interesting."
188
He winced again, this time markedly.
"Yes," he said, "I'll have to make a note not to miss it." And he began
to write in his pocket diary. "What's the paper called?"
"A Forgotten Polar Expedition."
"I say, isn't that about Ivan Lvovich's expedition?"
"Captain Tatarinov's expedition," I said dryly.
But he affected not to hear my correction.
"Some new information?"
The crafty gleam in his eyes told me at once what it was all about.
"Aha, you rat," I said to myself. "Nikolai Antonich put you up to this.
Wanted you to find out whether I intend to prove again that it was he,
and not some von Vyshimirsky or other, who is to blame for the disaster