goodbye. I walked away disturbed, angry and tired, and in the hotel, for
the first time in my life, I had a headache.
CHAPTER TWO
KORABLEV'S ANNIVERSARY
To celebrate the anniversary of a secondary school teacher when the
school had broken up for the summer and the pupils were away struck
me as being an odd idea. I told Valya as much and doubted whether
anybody would come.
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But I was mistaken. The school was crowded. The boys and girls were
still busy decorating the staircase with branches of birch and maple. A
pile of branches lay on the floor in the cloakroom and a huge figure '25'
hung over the entrance to the hall where the celebration meeting was to
be held. The girls were arranging festoons and everybody was busy and
preoccupied. The air of festive excitement made a cheering sight.
But I was not given a chance to spend much time reminiscing. I was in
uniform and in a moment found myself sunounded. Whew! An airman!
I was bombarded with questions.
Then a senior form girl, who reminded me of Varya—she was just as
plump and rosy—came up to me and said, blushing, that Korablev was
expecting me.
He was sitting in the teachers' room, looking older, slightly bent, his
hair already grey. He now resembled Mark Twain—that was it. Though
he had grown older, it seemed to me that he looked sturdier than when
we had last met. His moustache, though greying, was bushier than ever
and the loose, soft collar revealed a strong, red neck.
'Ivan Pavlovich, my hearty congratulations!' I said, and we
embraced. 'Congratulations!' I said between the kisses. 'I hope all your
pupils will be as grateful to you as I am.'
'Thank you, Sanya. Thank you, dear boy,' he said, giving me another
hug. He was deeply moved and his lips quivered a little.
An hour later he was sitting on the platform, in that same hall where
we had once held a court to try Eugene Onegin. And we, as guests of
honour, sat on his left and right among the platform party. The latter
consisted of Valya, who had put on a bright green tie for the occasion,
Tania Velichko, now a construction engineer, who had grown into such
a tall stout woman that it was difficult to believe this was the same slim,
high-principled girl I had once known, and several other pupils of
Korablev's, who had been juniors in our day and whom we had looked
down upon as beings who were almost sub-human. Among this
generation were a number of military trainees and I was delighted to
recognise some of them who had belonged to my Pioneer group.
Then, glamorous and dignified in white spats and a heavy knitted
waistcoat, arrived Grisha Faber, actor of the Moscow Drama Theatre.
He, for one, hadn't changed a bit! With a lordly air of condescension, as
though all this had been arranged for his benefit, he implanted a
sovereign kiss upon Korablev's cheek and sat down with legs crossed
negligently. He was so conspicuous among the platform party that it
began to look as if it were his anniversary that was being celebrated and
not Korablev's at all. He passed a languid eye over the audience, then
took out his comb and combed his hair. I wrote him a note:
'Grisha, you blighter, hullo!' He read it and waved a hand to me with an
indulgent smile.
It was a wonderful evening and a good one, because everybody who
spoke spoke the pure truth. Nobody lied—doubtless because it was not
hard to speak the pure truth about Korablev. He had never demanded
anything else from his pupils. I wish people would speak the same way
about me in twenty-five years as they did about Korablev that evening.
I, too, made a little speech, then I went up to Korablev to kiss him,
and bumped foreheads with Valya, who had come up to do the same
from the other side. My speech had received thin applause, but when we
bumped foreheads the applause became thunderous.
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Tania Velichko spoke after me, but I did not even heard her, for
Nikolai Antonich had arrived.
He came in—stout, dignified, condescending. Dressed in wide
trousers, and bending slightly forward, he made his way towards the
platform. I saw our poor old Serafima, the one who used to do the
'duck' teaching by the complex method, running ahead of him to clear
the way for him, while he strode along, unsmiling, taking no notice
other.
I had not seen him since that ugly scene, when he had shouted at me,
crackling his knuckles, and then spat at me. I found that he had changed
a great deal since then. Behind him walked another man, who was also
rather stout and walked with his body bent forward, unsmiling.
I should never have guessed who this man was if Valya had not
whispered to me at that moment: 'There comes Romashka too.'
What-that Romashka? That sleek-haired, solid figure with the big,
white, presentable face, wearing that smart grey suit? What had become
of his yellow matted hair? His unnaturally round eyes—the eyes of an
owl—which never closed at night?
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He was all neat, sleek, toned down, and even the square heavy jaw did
not look so square now. If anything it was fuller and quite presentable
too. If Romashka had been able to make a new face for himself he could
not have made a better job of it. On someone who met him for the first
time he might even have made an agreeable impression.
Nikolai Antonich stepped up on the platform, followed by Romashka,
who did everything that Nikolai Antonich did. Nikolai Antonich
congratulated Korablev in a cordial, though restrained manner, and
