Komsomol boy who gives his word not to tell anybody anything-about
what? About what he hasn't heard yet himself! What do you call that?
And that's not all!'
Korablev had been drumming the table for some time, but I was no
longer worrying whether I was excited or not. I don't think I was a bit
excited.
'And that's not all! Now I ask you,' I said loudly, turning to Nikolai
Antonich, 'could such a person as Romashov exist in our school if he did
not have protectors? He could not. And he does have them! At least, I
know one of them—Nikolai Antonich!'
Spoken like a man! I never thought I'd had it in me to tell him this
straight to his face! The room was silent, the whole Council waiting to
see what would happen. Nikolai Antonich gave a laugh and paled. He
always did go a bit pale when he laughed.
'Can this be proved? Easy as anything. Nikolai Antonich has always
been interested in what they say about him in the school. I don't know
why he should be. The fact remains that he hired Romashov for this
purpose. I say 'hired' because Romashov never does anything for
nothing. He hired him, and Romashov started eavesdropping on the
boys and reporting to Nikolai Antonich what they said about him, and
afterwards he gets Zhukov to give him his word of honour not to blab
and tells him all about his talebearing. You may ask me—why did you
keep silent if you knew about this? I got to know this just before I went
away, and Zhukov promised me to write to the Komsomol Group about
it, but he's only done that today.'
I stopped speaking. Korablev removed his hand from the table and
turned to Nikolai Antonich with a look of interest. He was the only one,
by the way, who bore himself with ease. The other teachers looked
embarrassed.
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'Have you finished your explanations, Grigoriev?' said Nikolai
Antonich in a level voice, as though nothing had happened.
'Yes.'
'Are there any questions?'
'Nikolai Antonich,' said Korablev in a courteous tone, 'I believe we
can dismiss Grigoriev. Don't you think we ought to invite Zhukov or
Romashov in now?'
Nikolai Antonich undid the top button of his waistcoat and placed his
hand over his heart. He had gone paler still and a strand of hair combed
back over his head suddenly came loose and tumbled over his forehead.
He fell back in his chair and closed his eyes. Everyone rushed over to
him. So ended the meeting.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AN OLD FRIEND
My speech at the Teachers' Council was the talk of the school, and I
found myself a very busy man. To say that I felt a hero would be an
exaggeration. Nevertheless, the girls from other classes came to look at
me and commented audibly on my appearance. For the first time in my
life my short stature was overlooked.
I was therefore disagreeably surprised when, at the height of my glory,
the Komsomol Group passed on me a severe reprimand and warning.
The Teachers' Council was not meeting owing to Nikolai Antonich's
illness, but Korablev said that they might decide to transfer me to
another school.
This did not make pleasant hearing, and what's more, it was unfair. I
had nothing to say against the Group's decision. But to have me
transferred to another school! For what? For having shown up
Romashka for the cad he was? For having shown up Nikolai Antonich,
who was his protector? I was in such a cheerless mood that, sitting in
the library, I heard a loud whisper in the doorway: 'Which one?' • I
looked up to see a tall young fellow with a mop of red hair eyeing me
questioningly from the doorway. Red-haired people always cultivate
shocks of hair, but this chap's had a wild sort of look, like those you see
on primitive man in your geography textbook. I leapt to my feet and
rushed towards him, overthrowing a chair.
'Pyotr!'
We pumped each other's hands, then, on second thoughts, embraced.
He was very much like his photograph, which Sanya had shown me,
except that on the photograph his hair was smoothed down. Was I glad!
I did not feel the slightest embarrassment—it was like meeting my own
brother.
'Pyotr! This is a surprise! Gee, I'm glad to see you!'
He laughed.
'I thought you were living in Turkestan. Didn't you make it?'
'What about you?'
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'I did,' said Pyotr. 'But I didn't like it. Much too hot out there, you
feel thirsty all the time. I was run in, got fed up and came back. You'd
have kicked the bucket there.'
We put on our coats and started down the stairs, talking away all the
time. And here a very strange encounter took place.
On the landing outside the geography room stood a woman in a coat
with a squirrel collar. She was standing by the banisters looking down
the well of the staircase-for a moment I thought she was going to throw
herself down the well, because she swayed by the banisters with her eyes
closed. We must have frightened her, and she moved uncertainly
towards the door. It was Maria Vasilievna. I recognised her at once,
though she was in an unfamiliar guise. Perhaps, if I had been alone, she
would have spoken to me. But I was with Pyotr, so she just nodded to
me in response to my awkward bow and turned away.
She had grown thinner since I last saw her and her face was mask-like
and sombre. With this thought in my mind I went out into the street,
and Pyotr and I went for a walk together-just the two of us again, again
in winter, again in Moscow, after a long separation.
