Several days passed in this wise without our having yet talked about
what had happened since we last met, though enough had happened to
last us a lifetime talking about it. We both seemed to feel that it was first
necessary to get used to each other anew. Not a word about Nikolai
Antonich, or Romashov, or my being guilty about her. This was not so
easy, considering that almost every evening the old lady came visiting.
At first she used to make ceremonious calls, looking prim and proper
in a dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves, and telling all kinds of stories—
that is, until Nikolai Antonich's return. But one day she came running in
looking upset and said in a loud whisper: 'He's arrived.' And forthwith
closeted herself with Katya.
When leaving, she said gruffly: 'You've got to have tact to live with
people.'
But Katya did not answer. She merely kissed her goodbye with a
thoughtful air.
The next day the old lady came with a tear-stained face, looking tired
and carrying an umbrella. She sat down in the hall.
'He's taken ill,' she said. 'I called a doctor. A homeopath. But he sent
him away. 'I've given my whole life to her,' he says, 'and this is her
gratitude.' '
She gave a little sob.
' 'It was the last thing that gave me a hold on life. Now it's all over.'
Something like that.'
Obviously, it wasn't all over, because Nikolai Antonich got well again,
although he had had a severe heart attack which had kept him in bed for
a few days. He asked for Katya. But Katya did not go to see him. I heard
her tell the old lady: 'Grandma, ill or well, alive or dead, I don't want to
see him. D'you understand?'
'I understand,' Nina Kapitonovna answered. 'Just the way her father
was too,' she complained to Kiren's mother as she left. 'Talk about
obstinate! Sheer cussedness, I call it!'
But Nikolai Antonich rallied and the old lady cheered up. Now she
sometimes dropped in twice a day, so that we always had the latest news
about Nikolai Antonich and Romashka. One day Katya herself spoke
about Romashka.
'He called on me at the office,' she said briefly. 'But I sent him word
that I had no time for him and never would have.'
'They're writing a letter,' the old lady said one day. 'All about pilot G.
Pilot G. shouldn't be surprised if they're informing on somebody. And
that holy Joe-is he in a fume! But Nikolai Antonich-he says nothing.
Just sits there, all swollen up, and doesn't say a word. Sits in my shawl.'
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Valya paid several visits to Sivtsev-Vrazhek, and on these occasions
everybody dropped what he or she was doing and stopped talking to
watch the way he was courting Kiren. He really was courting her
according to all the rules of the game, fully convinced that no one
suspected it.
He brought her potted flowers, always the same kind, so that her
room was turned into a little nursery of tea-roses and primulas. He saw
me and Katya as if in a dream and came awake only with Kiren and
sometimes with her mother, to whom he also gave presents—on one
occasion he gave her A Book for the Reciter, 1917 edition.
During his waking spells he told us amusing stories from the life of
jumping squirrels and bats.
It was just as well that Kiren did not need much to make her laugh.
Thus did we spend the evenings at Sivtsev-Vrazhek—the last evenings
before my return to the Arctic.
I was kept pretty busy. My plan to organise a search for Captain
Tatarinov's expedition was received without enthusiasm-or had I not
gone about it the right way?
I wrote several articles-one for the journal Civil Aviation about my
method of anchoring a grounded plane during a blizzard, another for
Pravda about the navigator's diaries, and my Memo for the Northern
Sea Route Administration. Within a few days, on the very eve of my
departure, I was to read my paper on the drift of the St. Maria at a
special session of the Geographical Society.
And then, one late night, when I returned to my hotel in a cheerful
frame of mind, I was handed, together with the key to my room, a letter
and a newspaper.
The letter was a brief one. The Secretary of the Geographical Society
notified me that my paper could not be read as I had not submitted it in
writing within the proper time. The newspaper fell open as I picked it up
and I saw an article headed: 'In Defence of a Scientist'. I started to read
it and lines grew blurred before my eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A HECTIC DAY
This is what the article said:
1. That there lived in Moscow a well-known educationalist and public
figure. Professor N. A. Tatarinov, author of a number of articles on the
history of Arctic exploration and development.
2. That an airman by the name of G. was making the round of various
offices connected with Arctic affairs and casting slurs upon this worthy
scientist, whom he accused of swindling (!) the expedition led by his
cousin. Captain I. L. Tatarinov.
3. That this airman G. intended to read a paper on these lines,
evidently regarding his slander as a scientific achievement of major
importance.
215
4. That the conduct of this man, who was sullying the good name of
Soviet Arctic workers, could bear looking into on the part of the
Northern Sea Route Administration.
The article was signed 'I. Krylov', and I was surprised at the editors
using the name of the great man for such an article. I had no doubt that
Nikolai Antonich had written it-this was the 'letter' the old lady had
