Committee's Secretary, the recent collection has yielded negligible
results. Neither have many other methods, such as the organisation of
entertainments, etc., produced the hoped-for profits. Therefore, the
Committee finds itself unable to render to the families of the crew the
proposed assistance of 1,000 rubles."
This phrase about "donations from well-wishers" sounded so queer
and grotesque to me. Maybe Mother and I, too, had been living like
beggars on this almsgiving?
But what surprises me most in these old newspapers is the way they
all declared with one voice, that the schooner St. Maria was doomed.
Some figured out, pencil in hand, that she would scarcely make Novaya
Zemlya. Others believed she would be trapped in the first icefield and
would perish somewhat later, after passing Franz Josef Land as a
"captive of the Arctic Sea".
That she would fail to navigate the Northern Sea Route, either in one,
two or three seasons, nobody had any doubt.
The only exception was a poet who published some verses "To I. L.
Tatarinov" in an Archangel newspaper. He was of a different mind:
231
He is well! God watches over him! The man's astounding energy and
risk Have unlocked the Arctic's frozen disk. The icefield crumbles and
retreats before him.
I had known a good deal before reading these clippings. In the letter
which Sanya had found at Ensk, Father wrote that "most of the sixty
dogs had had to be shot at Novaya Zemlya". Vyshimirsky's statement
which Sanya had taken down spoke about rotten clothing and damaged
chocolate. In the newspaper Arkhangelsk I read the letter of a merchant
named E. V. Demidov, who stated that "the curing of meat and the
preparation of ready-made clothes were not my line of business" and
that "in the present instant I acted as an agent. Moreover, as I had a big
business of my own to attend to, I naturally could not examine every
piece of meat and every fish that went into the barrel. Besides, Captain
Tatarinov kept wiring: 'Stop purchases, no money'. And so on. Why start
fitting out an expedition when you have no money? If there was
anything faulty in such hurried preparations, then those to blame for it
should be sought not among the local businessmen, but higher up..."
What I didn't know-nor Sanya either, and I can't understand why
Mother never mentioned it-was that "three days before St. Maria set
sail it was discovered that in the forepeak, below the second deck and
well below the waterline, on both sides of the collision-bulkhead there
were gashes right through the ribs and shell to the outer sheathing,
which made the ship unseaworthy. These holes that bore the telltale
traces of an axe and saw, were photographed and measured, the largest
being 12 inches wide and 2 ft. 4 inches long, the others a bit smaller.
How these holes came to be there is a mystery, one is reminded of the
fact that in the event of shipwreck the new owner of the vessel would
collect the insurance money."
Of course, no further confirmation is needed that Father is dead and
will never come back. His doom had been sealed. He had been sent to
his death.
July 18, 1935. Last night, a little after eleven, someone rang at the
door. Kiren's mother said it must be the yardman, who had Come to
collect the garbage. I ran, pail in hand, to open the door. It wasn't the
yardman. It was Romashov. He stepped back quickly when I opened the
door and took off his hat.
"It's an urgent matter, and concerns you, that's why I have decided to
call, even though it's so late."
He uttered this very gravely, and I believed at once that the matter
was urgent and concerned me. I believed because he was so perfectly
calm.
"Please come in."
We stood facing each other—he with his hat in his hand, I with my
slop-pail. Then I recalled myself and put the pail down in a corner.
"I'm afraid it's not quite convenient," he said politely. "You have
visitors, I believe?"
"No."
"Can't we talk out here, on the landing? Or go down to the boulevard.
I have something to tell you—"
"Just a moment," I said quickly.
Kiren's mother was calling me. I closed the door and went back.
232
"Who is it?"
"I'll be back in a minute, Alexandra Dmitrievna," I said hastily. "Or, I
tell you what-let Valya come down for me in fifteen minutes' time. I'll be
on the boulevard."
She said something, but I did not stop to listen.
It was a cool evening and I had come out as I was. Going downstairs,
Romashov said: "You'll catch a cold." He probably wanted to offer me
his overcoat—he had even taken it off and was carrying it on his arm,
and afterwards, when we sat down, he placed it on the seat-but he could
not bring himself to do it. I didn't feel cold, though. I was excited,
wondering what his visit could mean.
The boulevard was quiet and deserted.
"Katya, what I wanted to tell you is this," he began cautiously. "I know
how important it is for you that the expedition should take place. For
you and for—"
He faltered, then went on easily:
"And for Sanya. I don't think that it matters really, I mean that it can
change anything, for your uncle, say, who is scared at the prospect. But
this concerns you and so it can't be a matter of indifference to me."
He said this very simply.
"I have come to warn you."
"Of what?"
"That the expedition won't take place."
"It isn't true! C. telephoned me."
"They have just decided that it's not worth while," Romashov
countered calmly.
"Who has decided? And how do you know?"
He turned away, then faced me, smiling.
"I don't know how to tell you, really. You'll think me a cad again."
"Just as you like."
I was afraid he would get up and go away—he was so calm and self-
assured and so unlike the Romashov I had known. But he did not go
away.
"Nikolai Antonich told me that the Deputy Chief of the N.S.R.
Administration reported on the plan for the expedition and came out
against it himself. He doesn't think it's the business of the N.S.R.A. to
carry out searches for the lost captains who disappeared over twenty
years ago. If you ask me, though-" Romashov hesitated. He must have
felt hot, because he took his hat off and held it on his knee. "It's not his
own opinion."
"Whose opinion is it, then?"
"Nikolai Antonich's," Romashov came back quickly. "He's acquainted
with the Deputy Chief, who considers him a great expert on the history
of the Arctic. For that matter, who else could they consult concerning
the search for Captain Tatarinov if not Nikolai Antonich? It was he who
fitted out the expedition and afterwards wrote about it. He's a member
of the Geographical Society, and a highly respected one at that."
I was so upset that for the moment I did not ask myself why Nikolai
Antonich should be so interested in preventing a search, or what had
made Romashov give him away. I felt aggrieved not only for my father's
sake, but for Sanya's as well.
"What's his name?"
233
"Whose?"
"That man who says it's not worth while making a search for lost