because the rink was snowed up and closed while they were clearing it.
Secondly, Katya's heel broke off the first time round and we had to tie
the skate down with a strap, which I had brought with me just in case.
But my strap kept coming undone. We had to go back to the cloakroom
and ask the help of the dour, red-faced mechanic who was grinding
skates there. At last, all was in order. It had started snowing again and
we skated for a long time hand in hand, in big half-circles, now to the
right, now to the left. This figure is called 'curve eight'.
88
Then we sat down right in front of the bandstand, and Katya suddenly
brought her flushed face with its dancing black eyes close to mine. I
thought she wanted to say something in my ear and said loudly: 'Eh?'
She laughed.
'Nothing. It's hot.'
'Katya,' I said, 'shall I tell you something? You won't tell anybody,
will you?'
'Not a soul.'
'I'm going to flying school.'
She blinked, then stared hard at me.
'You've made up your mind?'
'Uhu.'
'Positively?'
I nodded.
The band suddenly struck up and I didn't catch what she said as she
shook the snow from her jacket and frock.
'I don't hear you!'
She grasped my hand and we skated down to the other side of the
rink, to the children's play area. It was dark and quiet there, and all
snowed up. The toboggan slide had fir trees planted along the sides and
little fir trees grew around the area. We might have been in a wood,
somewhere out of town.
'Will they take you?'
'The school?'
'Yes.'
It was a dreadful question. Every morning I did my daily dozen on
Anokhin's system and took a cold sponge down on Muller's. I felt my
muscles and thought: 'What if they don't take me?' I had my eyes, ears
and heart examined. The school doctor said I was healthy. But there
were different kinds of health; how was he to know I wanted to enter a
flying school? What if I had bad nerves? Or something else wrong with
me? My height! My height, damn it! During the last year I had grown
only by three-quarters of an inch.
'They'll take me,' I said confidently.
Katya regarded me with what looked like respect.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHANGES
I never talked with Katya about her domestic affairs. I only asked her
how Maria Vasilievna was getting on and she answered: 'Thanks, she's
all right.'
'And Nina Kapitonovna?'
'Thanks, she's all right.'
Maybe it was all right, but I didn't think so. Katya's spirits dropped
when she had to go home. Obviously, things had gone wrong at home.
Shortly afterwards I met Maria Vasilievna and she confirmed me in this
belief.
89
We met at the theatre at a performance of Princess Turandot. Katya
had managed to get three tickets, the third being for Nina Kapitonovna.
But Nina Kapitonovna, for some reason, could not go, and so I took the
ticket instead.
We arrived at the theatre from different places and Katya was very
nearly late. She came running in after the ticket-collector had closed the
doors.
'Where's Mum?'
Her mother was in her seat. She called to us as we made our way to
our seats, stepping on somebody's feet in the darkness.
There had been a lot of talk at school about Princess Turandot' and
we had even tried to stage it. So, during the first act, I had no time to
look at Maria Vasilievna. I only noticed that she was just as beautiful, if
not more so. She wore her hair differently, exposing the whole of her
high white forehead. She sat erect and had eyes for nothing but the
stage.
In the interval, however, I had a good look at her and was upset.
She had gone thinner and looked older. Her eyes were enormous and
altogether sombre. It occurred to me that anyone seeing her for the first
time might well be startled by that gloomy look.
We talked about Princess Turandot and Katya declared that she did
not like it very much. I did not know whether I liked it or not, so I
agreed with Katya. Maria Vasilievna thought it was wonderful.
'You and Katya are too young, you don't understand.'
She asked me about Korablev, how he was getting on, and I thought a
tinge of colour came into her face when I said: 'He's quite all right.'
As a matter of fact he was feeling none too good. He had not
forgotten, of course, that she had refused him.
She may have been a bit sorry for this now. Otherwise she wouldn't be
asking about him in such detail. She was even interested to know what
forms he was teaching and how he got on with the pupils.
I answered in monosyllables and in the end she got cross with me.
'Faugh, Sanya, I can't get a word out of you! 'Yes', 'no'. Have you
swallowed your tongue?' she said with annoyance.
Then, going off at a tangent, she began to talk about Nikolai Antonich.
Very odd. She said that she considered him a fine man. I said nothing.
The interval was over and we went in for the second act. During the
next interval she started talking about Nikolai Antonich again. I noticed
