She looked at me, sad and quite grown-up—much older and wiser
than I.
'He says it's all my fault,' she said.
'Yours?'
'He says that once I believe this unnatural idea that it was he who was
meant in Daddy's letter, then I was to blame for everything.'
I recollected Korablev once saying to Maria Vasilievna: 'Believe me,
he's a terrible man.' And the Captain had written about him:
'One thing I beg of you: do not trust that man.' I leapt to my feet in
despair and horror.
'Now he'll be saying it's your fault for fifteen years and you'll believe
him, just as Maria Vasilievna did. Don't you realise if you're to blame he
gets complete power over you, and you'll do everything he wants.'
'I'll go away.'
'Where?'
'I don't know yet. I've decided to take up geological survey. I'll
graduate and go away.'
'You won't go anywhere. You might be able to do it now, but in four
years' time... I bet you won't go anywhere. He'll talk your head off, make
you believe anything. Didn't Maria Vasilievna believe that he was kind
and noble, and, what is more, that she was indebted to him for
everything he had done? Why the hell doesn't he leave you alone! Didn't
he say that it was all my fault?'
'He says you're just a murderer.'
'I see.'
'And that he could easily have you tried and shot.'
'All right, everybody's to blame except him. And I tell you he's a
scoundrel, and it's terrifying even to think that there are people like that
in the world.'
'Don't let's talk about it any more.'
'All right. But tell me this: what do you believe out of all this
nonsense?'
For a long time Katya said nothing. I sat down again beside her. My
heart in my mouth, I took her hand and she did not move away, did not
withdraw it.
'I don't believe you said it on purpose. You really did think it was
him.'
'I still think so.'
'But you shouldn't have tried to persuade me of it, still less Mother.'
142
'But it was him-'
Katya drew back and disengaged her hand.
'Let's not talk about it any more.'
'All right, we shan't. Some day I'll prove to you it was him, even if I
have to spend my whole life doing it.'
'It isn't him. If you don't want me to go away don't let's talk about it
any more.'
'All right, we shan't.'
And we let the matter drop. She asked me about the spring holidays,
how I had spent my time at Ensk, how Sanya and the old folks were
getting on. And I gave her regards from them. But I didn't say about
how lonesome I had been at Ensk without her, especially when I
wandered alone round the places where we had been together. I did not
know now whether or not she loved me, and it was impossible to ask,
though I was dying to all the time. The very word couldn't be uttered,
now that we were sitting and talking, so grave and pale, with Katya
looking so like her mother. I recalled our journey back to Moscow from
Ensk, when we had written on the frosted window-pane with our
fingers, and suddenly through the window, a dark field covered with
snow had come into view. Everything had changed since then. And we
could no longer be to each other what we were before. I was dying to
know, though, whether she still loved me or not.
'Katya,' I said suddenly. 'Don't you love me any more?'
She gave me a startled look, then blushing, put her arms round my
neck. We kissed with closed eyes-at least, mine were closed and I think
hers were too, because afterwards we opened our eyes together. We
kissed in the public garden in Triumfalnaya Square, in the garden where
three schools could have seen us. But it was a bitter kiss, a kiss of
farewell. Though we arranged to meet again, I felt that it had been our
parting kiss.
That's why, after Katya had gone, I remained in the garden and
wandered for a long time about the paths in anguish, then sat down on
our seat, walked away and came back again. I took off my cap; my head
felt hot and there was an ache in my heart. I couldn't go away.
When I got home I found a large envelope on my bedside table. It bore
the Osoaviakhim stamp and my full name in a large hand. I tore open
the envelope with trembling fingers. Osoaviakhim informed me that my
papers had been accepted and that I was to present myself before a
medical board on May and for enrolment in the flying school.
_____________
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PART FOUR
THE NORTH
CHAPTER ONE
FLYING SCHOOL
The summer of 1928. I see myself walking the streets of Leningrad
with a small bundle in my hands. The bundle contains my 'leaving kit'.
All inmates of the children's home on leaving school received such a kit.
It consisted of a spoon, a mug, two sets of underwear and 'everything
needed for the first night's lodging'. Pyotr and I are living in the home
of Semyon Ginsburg, a fitter at the Elektrosila Works and a former pupil
of our school. Semyon's mother is afraid of the house-manager, so every
