Not take me? I thought of the oath Pyotr and I had once sworn to each
other in Cathedral Gardens: 'To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield'.
I did not say it out loud, though. Korablev would not have understood
anyway.
__________
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PART THREE
OLD LETTERS
CHAPTER ONE
FOUR YEARS
As in the old silent films, I see a big clock with the hand showing years
instead of hours. One-full circle and I see myself at lesson-time with
Korablev, sharing the same desk with Romashka. We have made a bet, a
bet that I will not cry out or pull my hand away if Romashka slashes me
across the fingers with a penknife. It is a test of willpower. According to
the 'rules for developing willpower' I must learn 'not to give vent to my
feelings'. Every evening I repeat these rules over and over, and now at
last I have a chance of putting myself to the test.
The whole class is watching us. Nobody is listening to Korablev,
though today's lesson is an interesting one; it's a lesson about the
manners and customs of the Chukchi people. 'Come on!' I say to
Romashka.
And that cold-blooded beast saws at my finger with his penknife. I do
not cry out, but I can't help pulling my hand away and I lose the bet.
A gasp and a whisper ran round the desks. Bleeding, I purposely give
a loud laugh to show that I don't feel the slightest pain, and suddenly
Korablev orders me out of the classroom. I leave the room with my hand
thrust in my pocket. 'You needn't come back.'
But I do come back. It is an interesting lesson and I listen to it outside
the door, sitting on the floor.
Rules for developing willpower! I had spent a whole year over them. I
had tried not only to 'conceal my feelings', but 'not to care for the
opinion of people I disdain'. I don't remember which of these rules was
the harder-the first one, probably, because my face always gave me
away.
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'Sleep as little as possible, for in sleep the will is absent - this was no
hard task either, not for a man like me. I leant to make my 'plan for the
whole day first thing in the morning', and have been following this rule
all my life. As for the main rule, 'remember the purpose of your
existence', I did not have to repeat that too often, as this purpose was
clear to me even in those days.
Another full circle: an early winter morning in 1925. I wake up before
anyone else, and I lie there thinking, not quite sure whether I am awake
or still asleep. I am thinking of the Tatarinovs. I had not been to see
them for two years. Nikolai Antonich still hates me. There isn't a single
sibilant in my name, yet he contrives to hiss it. Nina Kapitonovna still
loves me; the other day Korablev passed on to me her 'regards and
greetings'. I wonder how Maria Vasilievna is getting on? Still sitting on
the couch and smoking? And Katya?
I look at the clock. Getting on for seven. Time to get up. I had made a
vow to get up before the bell goes. I run on tiptoe to the washroom and
do my exercises in front of the open window. It is cold, snowflakes fly in
at the window, whirling, settling on my shoulders, melting. I wash down
to my waist, then start reading my book. That wonderful book of
Amundsen's about the South Pole, which I am reading for the fourth
time.
Yet another full circle, and I see myself in a small familiar room in
which, for three years, I have spent nearly all my evenings. I have been
given my first assignment by the Komsomol Group—to take charge of
the collective reading of the newspapers. The first time is rather
terrifying, because you have to answer questions too. I know 'the
present situation', 'the national policy' and 'world problems'. Best of
all, though, I know the world flying records for altitude, endurance and
duration. What if I am suddenly asked about price cuts? But everything
goes off smoothly.
Another full circle, and I am seventeen.
The whole school is assembled in the hall. Behind a long red table sit
the members of the court. On the left—counsel for the defence; on the
right-the public prosecutor. In the dock—the defendant.
'Defendant, what is your first name?'
'Eugene.'
'Surname?'
'Onegin.'
That was a memorable day.
CHAPTER TWO
THE TRIAL OF EUGENE ONEGIN*
* (Eugene Onegin-the title and principal character of Pushkin's poem -Tr.)
At first no one in the school took any interest in the idea. But when
one of the actresses of our school theatre suggested staging 'The Trial of
Eugene Onegin' in costume, the whole school started talking about it.
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Grisha Faber was invited to play the leading role. He was studying
now at the Theatrical School, but would sometimes come to see our first
nights for old times' sake. Our own actors were to play the part of
witnesses. No period costume could be found for the Larin's nurse and
so we had to let ourselves be persuaded that nurses in Pushkin's day
dressed much the same as they did in ours. The defence was entrusted
