down whenever I have to fill up a questionnaire, because I have done
good service for the people. On the strength of this I have applied for a
special pension, and I shall get it, because I have rendered great
services. This expedition is a mere drop in the ocean! I have built a
bridge across the Volga.'
And off he went again! With that tuft of grey hair sticking up on his
head he resembled a harassed old bird.
Then the lamp in Grisha's dressing-room went out for a second-
signalling the end of the act—and this spectre of a past age vanished as
suddenly as it had appeared.
The whole conversation had lasted some five minutes, but it seemed to
me that it had gone on for a very long time, as in a dream. Korablev
looked at me and laughed; my face must have been a study.
'Ivan Pavlovich!'
'Yes, my boy?'
'Was that him?'
'It was.'
'Can that be?'
'It can.'
'The very same man?'
'The very same.'
'What did he tell you? Does he know Nikolai Antonich? Does he go
there?'
'Oh, no,' Korablev said. 'That he doesn't.'
'Why not?'
'Because he hates Nikolai Antonich.'
'Why?'
'For various reasons.'
'What did he tell you? That power of attorney made out to von
Vyshimirsky—where did it come from? You remember telling me
about it?'
'Ah! That's just it!' Korablev said. 'The power of attorney! He nearly
burst a blood vessel when I asked him about it.'
'Ivan Pavlovich, tell me all about it, please, I beg you! D'you think it
was nice, your telling me at the last moment that Vyshimirsky was
coming? I was so flabbergasted he must have thought me an idiot.'
'On the contrary, he took a fancy to you,' Korablev answered gravely.
'He has a grown-up daughter and he looks at every young man from one
angle—whether he's eligible or not. You are definitely eligible—young,
good-looking and an airman to boot.'
'Ivan Pavlovich,' I said reproachfully, 'I don't know what's come over
you, really. You've changed a lot, yes, you have. You know how
important this is for me, yet you make fun of me.'
'Oh, all right, Sanya, don't be angry. I'll tell you everything,' said
Korablev. 'But first let's get out of here before Grisha catches us and
makes us sit through a play at the Moscow Drama Theatre.'
'How on earth did you find this Vyshimirsky fellow?' I asked.
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'Very simple-his son goes to our school,' Korablev replied.
CHAPTER SIX
STILL MORE COMES TO LIGHT
I never understood anything about bills of exchange-the word itself
had gone out of use when I started going to school. What's an
'acknowledgment of loan'? What's an 'endorsement'? What's a
'policy'? Not in the political sense—everyone knows that. What's a
'discount'?
When these and other banking terms occurred in books that I read it
always reminded me of the 'Chambers' at Ensk-the iron seats in the
dimly-lit high corridor, and the unseen official behind the barrier to
whom Mother had bowed so humbly. It was a reminder of the old, long-
forgotten life, which gradually emerged from the dim past as
Vyshimirsky unfolded to me the story of his misfortunes.
We were sitting in a small room with a basement window through
which I could see a broom and a pair of legs-evidently belonging to the
yardman. Everything in this room was old-the rickety chairs held
together with strings, the dining table on which I leaned my elbow only
to remove it at once because the panel bade fair to drop off. There was
dirty upholstery material everywhere—on the window in lieu of
curtains, on the shabby covering of the sofa, and even the clothes
hanging on the wall were covered with the same stuff. The only new
things in the room were some slats, reels and coils of wire with which
Vyshimirsky's son was occupied over a table in a corner of the room.
The boy was about twelve, with a round, sunburnt face. He, too, was
quite new, and as far removed from the world which his father's story
conjured up to me as heaven is from earth.
It was a long, disjointed tale, interspersed with references to bills of
exchange and discounts, and full of digressions and a good deal of
nonsense. Absolutely everything the old man had ever done in his
lifetime he put down to his credit as a service rendered 'to the people'.
He made much of his work as secretary to the Metropolitan Isidore,
declaring that he had an intimate knowledge of the life of the clergy and
had even made a special study of it in the hope that this might be 'of
benefit to the people'. He was prepared to blow the lid off this
Metropolitan at any moment.
Another job he laid to his credit was with some admiral by the name
of Heckert. This admiral had 'an insane son' and Vyshimirsky took him
around restaurants so that nobody should guess that he was insane, a
fact which 'they tried to conceal'.
Then he started talking about Nikolai Antonich, and I pricked up my
ears. I had been convinced that Nikolai Antonich had always been a
teacher. He was a typical schoolmaster. Even at home he was always
lecturing, citing examples.
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