formalities besides, and that might take a good hour and a half;
(b) drop in at the Rewards Department—while still at M—v I had
received notice that the award of my second Order of the Red Banner
had been endorsed and I could receive the document at the People's
Commissariat;
(c) get something to eat on the journey—nearly everything I had
brought with me from M-v I had left with a fellow-airman of the Baltic
Fleet in Leningrad;
(d) book my ticket, but this did not worry me much, as I would have
gone without one.
What's more, I had to write to the military prosecutor about
Romashov.
All this appeared to me absolutely necessary, that is, my life during
the four or five hours before my train was due to leave, was to be rilled
with these particular cares. But what I should have really done was
simply to go back to Valya Zhukov, who was a few minutes' walk away,
and then—who knows?—I might have found time to give some thought
to that jumble of truth and lies with which Romashov had tried to put
himself right with me.
I even paused in Arbat Square, in two minds whether to drop in for a
minute on Valya or not. Instead, I went into a barber shop-I had to get
shaved and change my collar before reporting to the Hydrographical
Department, where one rear-admiral was going to introduce me to
another.
At five o'clock sharp I presented myself to Slepushkin, and at six.
I was enlisted in the H.D. personnel for posting to the Far North at the
disposal of R. Two or three years ago these laconic, formal words would
have conjured up a distant scene of wild rolling hills lit up by the timid
sun of a first Arctic day, but just now what with excitement and all these
cares on my mind, I mechanically thrust the document into my pocket
and walked out, thinking of my omission in not having asked R. to get in
touch with Yaroslavl by military telegraph line.
314
I shall not dwell on the hour and a half that I lost in the Rewards
Department and my other errands. But I must describe this last
memorable encounter I had in Moscow.
Very tired, I went down into the Metro at Okhotny Ryad. It was the
close of the working day, and although in the summer of 1942 there was
still plenty of room in Moscow's Metro, there was a crowd at the top of
escalator. As I peered into the faces of the Muscovites coming up on the
moving belt towards me, it suddenly occurred to me that throughout
that busy, tiring day I had seen nothing of Moscow. I noticed from afar a
heavily-built man in a thick cap and an overcoat with broad square
shoulders floating up towards me, waxing larger as he waited with an air
of lofty toleration for that noisy machine to carry him to the top.
It was Nikolai Antonich.
Had he recognised me? I doubt it. Even if he had, of what interest to
him was a little captain in a shabby tunic, with an ugly kitbag from
which a hunk of bread stuck out?
His somnolent, imperious glance slid over my face incuriously.
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PART NINE
TO FIND AND NOT TO YIELD
CHAPTER ONE
THIS IS NOT THE END YET
At the hotel in Yaroslavl there was a telegram waiting for me: 'Leave
immediately for Archangel. Lopatin.' It was from the Hydro-graphical
Department. But why not from Slepushkin with whom I had arranged
that I would continue my search for Katya in the event of my not finding
her in Yaroslavl? Who was this Lopatin? And why immediately? Why
Archangel? True, Archangel was still the main base for any hydrological
work along the Northern Sea Route. But hadn't R. told me that we were
to meet at Polarnoye, where his plans would have to be endorsed by the
Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Fleet?
All this was cleared up, and very soon too. But at the moment, there in
Yaroslavl, in that squalid little hotel, where I raised the blue paper blind
and read and reread the telegram, I felt nothing but vexation at this
muddle and uncertainty, which seemed in some way to threaten Katya
and deprive me of the hope of seeing her again soon.
I now had a short journey facing me—a mere thousand kilometres
northward of Katya...
This is what I learnt when, straight from the train, I presented myself
at the HQ of the White Sea Naval Flotilla: Lopatin, whom I had been
cursing all the way, was Personnel Chief of the Hydro-graphical
Department. Only now did I recollect having heard the name at the
People's Commissariat. There had been no muddle in this telegram. The
day I left Moscow events had occurred in the Far North which caused
Rear-Admiral R. to leave urgently, at night, for Archangel, and the same
night a wire had been sent to me. There was nothing now for either R. or
me to do at Polarnoye, as the officer commanding the fleet had himself
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gone to Archangel. His meeting with R. had taken place the day before.
Evidently, the plan for that 'most interesting job' had been approved,
because immediately after this meeting R. flew out to Dickson. He must
have been in a great hurry, or else decided he could manage without me,
otherwise he would have left instructions for me at Flotilla HQ.
'You're late, Captain,' The Flotilla Personnel Chief said to me. He was
a genial, grey-headed man with side whiskers, who resembled an old
sailor of the period of Sevastopol's first defence. 'What am I to do with
