he put to me, I was in command, not of a squadron, but of the whole
front.
Then Korablev began to speak about Captain Tatarinov, and lowering
my voice a little so that Katya should not hear, I told them some details
which had not been mentioned in the papers. Not far from the Captain's
tent, in a narrow cleft between the rocks, we found the graves of the
sailors. The bodies had been simply laid out on the ground and covered
with large stones. Bears and foxes had got at them and scattered the
bones-one skull was found three kilometres from the camp, in the next
hollow. Evidently the Captain had spent his last days in the same
sleeping bag with the cook Kolpakov, who had died before he did. The
letter to Mrs Tatarinova was first addressed 'To my wife' and then
corrected 'To my widow'. A wedding ring was found on the Captain's
right hand with the initials M.T. on the inside.
I got out of my suitcase and showed them a gold locket in the shape of
a heart. On one side of it there was a miniature portrait of Maria
Vasilievna, and on the other a lock of black hair. Korablev went over to
the window, put on his glasses and examined the locket. He was so long
at it that Valya and I ultimately went over to him and putting our arms
round him from both sides led him back to his chair.
'Katya is the image of her!' he said with a sigh. 'This December it will
be seventeen years. I can hardly believe it.'
He asked me to call Katya in and told her that he had gone to the
cemetery in the spring, planted some flowers there and employed one of
the caretakers to paint the railing.
348
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWO CONVERSATIONS
I had two things to attend to in Moscow. One was my paper to -be
read before the Geographical Society on how we had found the St.
Maria expedition, the other, my talk with the examining magistrate
about Romashov. Oddly enough, these tasks were not unconnected, for
while I was still at N. Base I had sent to the Procurator's Office a
transcript of my talk with Romashov at his flat. I will begin with the
second.
The general waiting-room was a dimly lit hall divided in two by a
wooden barrier. Broad old-fashioned benches stood against the walls,
and a variety of people—old men, girls, servicemen without shoulder-
straps—were seated on them, waiting to be interrogated.
I found the office of my interrogating officer by the name on the door,
and as it was still early, I occupied myself with shifting the flags on the
map which hung in the waiting-room. It wasn't a bad map, but the flags
were far behind the present line of the front.
A familiar voice arrested my attention—a well-rounded, mellow,
pontifical voice, that instantly made me feel a poorly clad, grimy boy
with a big patch on his trousers. The voice said: 'May I come in?'
Evidently, he was asked to wait, because, after opening the door,
Nikolai Antonich closed it again and set down on the bench with a
slightly hurt expression. I had last seen him in the Metro in the summer
of 1942, and he was the same as he was then—his manner lordly,
dignified, patronising.
Whistling, I moved the flags about on the Second Baltic Front.
Seventeen years had passed since the day I had said: 'I'll find the
expedition and then we'll see who's right.' Did he know that I had found
the expedition? Undoubtedly he did. But what he did not know-the
newspapers had not said a word about it-was that among Captain
Tatarinov's papers there had been found incontestable, irrefragable
evidence proving that I had been right.
He sat with Us head lowered, hands resting on his walking stick. Then
he glanced at me and an involuntary quick movement passed across his
large, pale face. 'He's recognised me,' I thought, exultant. He had
recognised me. He looked away.
He was considering at that moment what attitude to adopt towards
me. A problem indeed. Evidently, he had disposed of it to his
satisfaction, because he suddenly stood up and strode over to me,
touching his hat.
'Comrade Grigoriev, if I am not mistaken?'
'Yes.'
I don't think I had ever had such difficulty in pronouncing that short
word. I, too, had my moment of hesitation in considering what my
manner towards him should be.
349
'You haven't been wasting your time, I see,' he went on, glancing at
my medal ribbons. 'Where do you come from now? On what front are
you defending us humble toilers of the rear?'
'The Far North.'
'Are you in Moscow for long?'
'On leave, three weeks.'
'And obliged to waste precious hours in this waiting-room? Ah, well,
it's our civic duty,' he added. 'I suppose you, too, have been summoned
here in connection with Romashov's case?'
'Yes.'
He paused. Oh, how familiar were those deceptive, pregnant pauses of
his, and how, even as a boy, I had loathed them!
'That man is evil incarnate,' he said at last. 'I consider that society
should rid itself of him, the sooner the better.'
Had I been an artist I could have admired this spectacle of smooth
hypocrisy. But being an ordinary layman, I felt like telling him that if
society had rid itself in time of Nikolai Antonich Tatarinov it would not
have had to mess about now with Romashov. But I said nothing.
So far not a word had been said about the St. Maria expedition, but I
knew my Nikolai Antonich—he had come up to me because he was
afraid of me.
'I've heard,' he began tentatively, 'that you have succeeded in
bringing your undertaking to a happy issue. I want to thank you from
