and she said as much in her very first words.
She sat erect with a blank face, patting her hair from time to time with
a slim hand. Wine and biscuits stood on the table, and Korablev kept
refilling his glass while she only took one sip at hers. She kept smoking
all the time and there was ash all over the place, even on her knees. She
was wearing the familiar string of coral beads and gave little tugs at it
several times as though it were strangling her. That's all.
'The navigating officer writes that he cannot risk sending this letter
through the post,' she said. 'Yet both letters were in the same post-bag.
How do you account for that?'
I said that I did not know. One would have to ask the officer about
that, if he were still alive. She shook her head. 'If he were alive!'
'Perhaps his relatives would know? And then, Maria Vasilievna,' I
said in a sudden flash of inspiration, 'the navigating officer was picked
up by Lieutenant Sedov's expedition. They would know. He told them
everything, I'm sure of it.' 'Yes, maybe,' she answered.
'And then there's that packet for the Hydrographical Board. If the
navigating officer sent the letter through the post he probably sent that
packet by the same mail. We must find that out.' Maria Vasilievna again
said: 'Yes.'
I paused. I had been speaking alone, and Korablev had not yet uttered
a word.
'What were you doing in Ensk?' she asked me suddenly. 'Have you
relatives there?'
I said yes, I had. A sister.
'I love Ensk,' she remarked, addressing herself to Korablev. 'It's
wonderful there. Such gardens! I've never been in any gardens since.'
And suddenly she started talking about Ensk. She said she had three
aunts living there who did not believe in God and were very proud of it,
and one of them had graduated in philosophy at Heidelberg. I had never
known her to talk so much. She sat there pale and beautiful, with
shining eyes, smoking and smoking.
'Katya told me you remembered some more passages from this
letter,' she suddenly switched back from the subject of her aunts and
hometown. 'But I couldn't get her to tell me what it was.' 'Yes, I do
remember them.'
I was expecting her to ask me what they were, but she said nothing. It
was as if she were afraid to hear them from me.
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'Well, Sanya?' Korablev said in a brisk tone of voice that was
obviously feigned.
'It ended like this,' I said. ' 'Greetings from you...' Is that right?'
Maria Vasilievna nodded.
'And it went on: '...from your Mongotimo Hawk's Claw...' '
'Mongotimo?' Korablev queried, astonished.
'Yes, Mongotimo,' I repeated firmly.
'Montigomo Hawk's Claw,' said Maria Vasilievna, and for the first
time her voice shook slightly. 'I used to call him that.'
'Montigomo, if you say so,' I said. 'I remember it as Mongotimo... 'as
you once called me. God, how long ago that was. I am not complaining,
though. We shall see each other again and all will be well. But one
thought, one thought torments me.' 'One thought' comes twice, it's not
me repeating it, that's how it was in the letter.'
Maria Vasilievna nodded again.
' 'It's galling to think,' ' I went on, ' 'that everything could have
turned out differently. Misfortunes dogged us, but our main misfortune
was the mistake for which we are now having to pay every hour, every
minute of the day—the mistake I made in entrusting the fitting out of
our expedition to Nikolai.' '
I may have overstressed the last word, because Maria Vasilievna, who
had been very pale already, went still paler. She sat before us, now white
as death, smoking and smoking. Then she said something that sounded
very queer and made me think for the first time that she might be a bit
mad. But I did not attach any importance to it, as I thought that
Korablev, too, was a bit mad that evening. He, of all people, should have
realised what was happening to her! But he had lost his head
completely. I daresay he was picturing Maria Vasilievna marrying him
the very next day.
'Nikolai Antonich fell ill after that meeting,' she said to Korablev. 'I
wanted to call the doctor, but he wouldn't let me. I haven't spoken to
him about these letters. He's upset as it is. I don't think I ought to just
now—what do you say?'
She was crushed, confounded, but I still understood nothing.
'If that's the case I'll do it myself!' I retorted. 'I'll send him a copy. Let
him read it.'
'Sanya!' Korablev cried, coming to himself.
'Excuse me, Ivan Pavlovich, but I'll have my say. I feel very strongly
about this. It's a fact that the expedition ended in disaster through his
fault. That's a historical fact. He is charged with a terrible crime. And I
consider, if it comes to that, that Maria Vasilievna, as Captain
Tatarinov's wife, ought to bring this accusation against him herself.'
She wasn't Captain Tatarinov's wife, she was his widow. She was now
the wife of Nikolai Antonich, and so would have to bring this accusation
against her own husband. But I hadn't tumbled to this either.
'Sanya!' Korablev shouted again.
But I had already stopped. I had nothing more to say. Our
conversation continued, though there was nothing more to talk about. I
only said that the land mentioned in the letter was Severnaya Zemlya
and that, consequently, Severnaya Zemlya had been discovered by
Captain Tatarinov. All those geographical terms, 'longitude', 'latitude',
sounded strange in that room at that hour. Korablev paced furiously up
and down the room. Maria Vasilievna smoked incessantly, and the
130
stubs, pink from her lipstick, formed a small mound in the ashtray
before her. She was motionless and calm, and only tugged feebly now
