this to an outsider, but I explained it.
'Captain Tatarinov appreciated what the Northern Sea Route meant
for Russia,' I said. 'And it's no mere accident that the Germans tried to
cut it off. I was a soldier when I flew to the place where the St. Maria
expedition had perished, and I found it because I was a soldier.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
MY PAPER
Everybody came to hear my paper, even Kiren's mother.
Unfortunately, I do not remember the exact words of the little speech of
welcome, with quotations from the classics, with which she greeted me.
The speech was a bit longish, and it amused me to see the look of
resignation and despair on Valya's face as he listened to it.
I seated Korablev in the front row, directly facing the speaker's desk—
1 was accustomed to looking at him when I made speeches.
'Well, Sanya,' he said gaily, 'I'll hold my hand like this, palm
downward, and you keep an eye on it when you speak. When I start
drumming my fingers, it means you are getting excited. If I don't you're
not.'
'Ivan Pavlovich, you're a dear.'
I wasn't in the least excited, though I did feel a bit nervous, wondering
whether Nikolai Antonich would come or not.
He did. After hanging up my maps I turned round and saw him in the
front row, not far from Korablev. He sat with his legs crossed, looking
straight in front of him with an immobile expression. I thought he had
changed these last few days-his face had a hangdog sort of look, with
sagging jowls and a thin, wrinkled neck showing high above the collar. It
was very pleasant, of course, when the chairman, an old, distinguished
geographer, before calling on me to speak, himself said a few words
about me. I even regretted that he had such a quiet voice. He said that it
was to my 'talented tenacity' that Soviet Arctic science owed one of the
most interesting pages-and I took no exception to this either, especially
as the audience applauded, loudest of all Kiren's mother.
352
I ought not, perhaps, have made such a long preamble dealing with
the history of the Northern Sea Route, even though it was an interesting
history.
I spoke about this rather lamely, often halting and forgetting the
simplest words, and generally humming and hawing, as Kiren said
afterwards.
But when I came to our own times and gave a general outline of the
military significance of the North, I caught a glimpse of Katya far down
the dark isle. She had been indisposed-having caught a cold—and had
promised to stay indoors. But what a good thing, how splendid it was
that she had come! It cheered me up immensely and I began to speak
with greater confidence and assurance.
'It may seem strange to you,' I said, 'that in a time of war I should be
talking to you about an old expedition, which ended nearly thirty years
ago. It's now history. But we have not forgotten our history, and perhaps
our main strength lies in the fact that war has not negated or arrested a
single one of the great ideas which have transformed our country. The
conquest of the North by the Soviet people is one such idea.'
I hesitated for a moment, as I wished to speak of how Ledkov and I had
surveyed the Arctic region, but this was remote from the subject, so I
switched over, none too skilfully, to the Captain's life story.
I spoke about him with an indescribable feeling. As if it were I, not he,
who had been that boy, the son of a poor fisherman, born on the shores
of the Sea of Azov. As if it were I, not he, who had sailed before the mast
in oil-tankers plying between Batum and Novorossiisk. As if it were I,
not he, who had passed his examination for sub-lieutenant and had then
served in the Hydrographical Board, suffering the slighting arrogance of
the aristocratic officers with proud indifference. As if it were I, not he,
who had made notes in the margins of Nansen's books and by whose
hand was written down that brilliant idea: 'The ice itself will solve the
problem.' As if his was not a story of ultimate defeat and obscure death,
but, on the contrary, of victory and joy. The story of friends, enemies,
and love was repeated, but life was different now, and it was friends and
love, not enemies, who had won the day.
As I spoke I experienced a mounting sense of exhilaration verging
on inspiration. It was as though I were looking at a distant screen and
had sighted beneath the open sky a dead schooner buried in snow. But
was she dead? No, there was a sound of hammering: skylights were
being boarded up and ceilings covered with tarred felt in preparation for
wintering.
Naval men standing in the aisle made way for Katya as she passed
to her seat, and I thought it was only right that they should make way
respectfully for the daughter of Captain Tatarinov. Besides, she was the
best one there, especially in that simple tailored suit. She was the best,
and she, too, in a manner of speaking, had a share in that fervour and
exhilaration with which I spoke about the voyage of the St. Maria.
But it was time I passed on to the scientific aspects of the drift, and I
prefaced it with the statement that the facts established by Captain
Tatarinov's expedition had lost none of their significance today. Thus,
from a study of the drift, Professor V., the well-known Arctic scientist,
deduced the existence of an unknown island between the 78th and 80th
parallels, and this island was actually discovered in 1935 just where V.
had figured it should be. The constant drift-current shown by Nansen
353
was confirmed by the voyage of Captain Tatarinov, whose formulae of
the comparative movement of ice and wind were a notable contribution
to Russian science.
A stir of interest ran through the hall when I began to relate how we
had developed the expedition's photographic films, which had lain in
the earth for nearly thirty years.
The light went out, and on the screen appeared a tall man in a fur cap
