without putting on the light. She removed the coat, a tasselled shawl, a
sleeveless jacket, then another smaller shawl, a kerchief and so on. Then
she opened her umbrella and after that she disappeared. The next
moment the kitchen door opened and a little girl appeared in the
doorway. I was almost ready to believe that this was my old lady who
had magically turned into a little girl. But the next moment the old lady
herself reappeared. She stepped out of a cupboard in which she had
been hanging up her shawls and things.
'And this is Katerina Ivanovna,' she said.
54
Katerina Ivanovna was about twelve, no older than I. But what a
difference! I wish I had the same poise she had, the same proud set of
the head, the same way of looking one straight in the face with her dark
bright eyes. She was rosy, but demure and had the same purposeful
nose as the old lady. All in all, she was pretty, but gave herself airs-you
could tell that at once.
'You can congratulate me, Katerina Ivanovna,' the old lady said,
peeling off more clothes. 'They've pinched a lemon again.'
'Didn't I tell you to keep your money in your coat pocket,' Katerina
Ivanovna said with annoyance.
'Coat pocket, you say? That's just where they pinched it from.'
'Then you've been counting again. Grandma.'
'No I wasn't! I had this young man here escorting me.'
The girl looked at me. Till then she hadn't seemed to notice me.
'He carried my bag for me. How's your mother?'
'We're taking her temperature now,' the girl said, regarding me
coolly.
'Tut, tut!' the old lady said, thrown into a flutter. 'Why so late? You
know the doctor said she was to have it taken at noon.'
She hurried out and the girl and I were left by ourselves. For two
minutes or so we said nothing. Then frowning, she asked me gravely:
'Have you read Helen Robinson'!'
'No.'
'Robinson Crusoe?
'No.'
'Why not?'
I was about to tell her that it was only six months since I had learned
to read properly, but checked myself in time.
'I haven't got them.'
'What form are you in?'
'I'm not in any form.'
'He's a traveller,' said the old lady, coming back. 'Ninety-eight point
seven. He was footing it to Turkestan. Treat him nicely, Katya.'
'Footing it? What d'you mean?'
'What I say. He hoofed it all the way.'
In the hall, under the mirror, stood a little table, and Katya drew a
chair up to it, settled herself in it with her head resting on her hand and
said, 'Well, tell me about it.'
I had no desire to tell her anything-she gave herself such airs. If we
had made it and got to Turkestan that would be a different matter. I
therefore answered politely, 'Oh, I don't feel like it. Some other time
perhaps.'
The old lady put bread and jam in front of me, but I declined it,
saying, 'I told you I did it for nothing.'
I don't know why, but I got upset. I was even pleased that Katya had
reddened when I refused to tell her my story and made for the door.
'Come, come, don't be angry,' the old lady said as she saw me out.
'What's your name?'
'Grigoriev, Alexander.'
'Well, Alexander Grigoriev, goodbye, and thank you.'
I stood for a while on the landing, trying to make out the name on the
doorplate. Kazarinov ... no, it wasn't Kazarinov...
55
'N. A. Tatarinov,' I read it out suddenly.
Gosh! Tatarinov, Nikolai Antonich. Our Head. This was his flat.
CHAPTER FOUR
MORE FOOD FOR THOUGHT
We spent the summer at Silver Woods, just outside Moscow, in an old
deserted house which had lots of little passage steps, carved wooden
ceilings and corridors that unexpectedly ended in blank walls. The
whole place creaked-the doors in one key, the shutters in another. One
large room was boarded up, but even in there something creaked and
rustled, and suddenly there would come a measured rattling sound like
that of a little hammer in a striking clock tapping without striking the
bell. In the attic grew puffballs and foreign books lay scattered about
with pages torn out of them and covers missing.
Before the Revolution the house had belonged to an old gypsy
countess. A gypsy countess! How mysterious! It was rumoured that
before she died she had hidden away her valuables. Romashka searched
for the treasure all through the summer. Puny, big-headed, he prowled
around the house with a stick, tapping and listening. He tapped at night
until he got a clip on the ear from one of the older boys. At thirteen he
was determined to get rich. Whenever he spoke about money his pale
ears would begin to burn. He was a born treasure-seeker—superstitious
and greedy.
Lilac grew thickly round the tumbledown arbours. Statues lined the
green paths. They were quite unlike those Greek gods. Those had been
remote, with white sightless eyes, whereas these were people, just like
us.
Life was good only at the beginning of the summer, when we first
moved into Silver Woods. Afterwards things got worse. They all but
stopped feeding us. Our children's home was put under a system of
'self-supply'. We caught fish and crabs, we sold lilac at the stadium
when anything was on there, and simply helped ourselves to anything
