thrown into when he saw me. He went all of a dither when I came into
the library where we were in the habit of doing our homework. He
laughed several times without apparent reason and hastily handed me
my homework.
' 'Old Moke' at it again,' he said ingratiatingly. 'If I were you, I'd
complain.'
I thumbed through my work. Down the side of every page was drawn
a red line and at the bottom it was written: 'Idealism. Extremely poor.'
'Fathead,' I commented coolly and walked out. Romashka came
running after me. I was surprised at the way he fawned on me that day,
running ahead of me and peering into my face. I suppose he was glad
that I had done so badly with my homework. The real reason for this
behaviour never occurred to me.
I was in bed before the boys had returned from their excursion. I
really should not have gone to bed so early. Sleep fled my eyes the
moment I shut them and turned over on my side.
It was the first case of insomnia in my life. I lay very still, thinking.
About what? About everything under the sun, I believe. About Korablev
and how I would take my homework to him tomorrow and ask him to
read it. About the tinsmith who had taken me for a thief. About Katya's
father's booklet Causes of the Failure of the Greely Expedition.
But whatever my thoughts, they always came back to her. I began to
doze, and all of a sudden found myself thinking of her with such
tenderness that it took my breath away and my heart started beating
slowly and loudly. I saw her more distinctly than if she had been at my
side. I could feel the touch of her hand on my eyes.
'Ah, well, if you've fallen in love, you've fallen in love. Now let's get
some sleep, my dear chap,' I said to myself.
But now that I was feeling so happy I thought it a pity to go to sleep,
though I did feel a bit sleepy. I fell asleep when day began to break and
Uncle Petya in the kitchen started grumbling at Makhmet, our kitten.
CHAPTER TEN
TROUBLES
100
The first date and first insomnia, though something new, were still
part of the good old life. The troubles started the next day, however.
I phoned Katya after breakfast, but had no luck. Nikolai Antonich
answered the phone.
'Who wants her?'
'A friend.'
'What friend?' I was silent.
'Well?'
I hung up.
At eleven I entrenched myself in a greengrocer's shop from which I
could see the whole length of Tverskaya-Yamskaya. Nobody took me for
a thief this time. I pretended to be using the phone, bought some
pickled apples and hung around the doorway with a casual air. I was
waiting for Nina Kapitonovna. I knew from previous years exactly when
she returned from the market. At last she appeared small, bent, in her
green velvet coat, carrying her umbrella—in such a frost'-and the
invariable shopping bag.
'Nina Kapitonovna!'
She glanced at me coldly and walked on without saying a word. I was
dumbfounded.
'Nina Kapitonovna!'
She set her bag down, straightened up and looked at me resentfully.
'Look here, young man,' she said sternly, 'I shouldn't like to quarrel
with you for old time's sake. But don't let me see or hear you any more.'
Her head shook slightly.
'You go this way, we go that! And no writing or phoning, please! I
don't mind telling you this-I never would have believed it! I see I was
mistaken!'
She snatched up her bag, and-bang!-shut the gate right in my face. I
stared after her open-mouthed. Which one of us had gone mad? I or
she?
This was the first disagreeable conversation. It was followed by a
second, and then by a third.
Going home, I met Likho at the front door. I couldn't have chosen a
worse time to talk to him about my essay.
We mounted the stairs together, he, as usual, with his head in the air,
twisting his nose this way and that in such a stupid fashion that I was
strongly tempted to kick him.
'Mr Likho,' I suddenly said, 'I received my homework. You write:
'Idealism'. This isn't a mark, it's an accusation, which has to be proved
first.'
'We'll talk about that some other time.'
'No, we'll talk about it now,' I said. 'I'm a Komsomol member and
you accuse me of idealism. You don't know a thing about it.' 'What,
what's that?' he demanded, glaring at me. 'You have no idea about
idealism,' I went on, noting with satisfaction that with every word of
mine his ugly mug grew longer. 'You're just trying to be nasty to me,
that's why you've written:
'Idealism.' No wonder they say of you-'
I paused for a moment, feeling that I was about to say something
shockingly rude. I said it nevertheless:
'That you have a head like a coconut, hard outside and watery inside.'
101
This was so unexpected that we were both thunderstruck. Then, with
flaring nostrils, he said briefly and ominously: 'I see!' And off he strode.
Exactly an hour after this conversation Korablev sent for me. This was
an ominous sign, for Korablev seldom summoned anyone to his house.
It was long since I had seen him looking so angry. With bent head, he
paced the room and when I came in, he drew aside with something like
distaste.
