now, he still felt shy and timid as he waited for her smile or for some ironic comment. But he knew that something new had been born.
She watched him get ready to leave and said: 'The time has come for you to rejoin your complaining companions and cast me into the approaching waves.' [37]
As Novikov said goodbye, he began to realize that she wasn't really so very strong, that a woman was still a woman – for all the sharpness and clarity of her mind.
'There's so much I wanted to say and I haven't said any of it,' she said.
But that wasn't quite so. What really matters, whatever it is that decides people's fates, had become clearer. He loved her.
4
Novikov walked back to the station.
… Zhenya, her confused whispering, her bare feet, her tender whispering, her tears as they'd said goodbye, her power over him, her poverty and her purity, the smell of her hair, her modesty, the warmth of her body… And his own shyness at being just a worker and a soldier… And his pride at being a worker and a soldier.
As Novikov crossed the tracks, a sharp needle of fear suddenly pierced the warm blur of his thoughts. Like every soldier on a journey, he was afraid he had been left behind.
In the distance he caught sight of the open wagons, the rectangular outlines of the tanks under their tarpaulins, the sentries in their black helmets, the white curtains in the windows of the staff carriage.
A sentry corrected his stance as Novikov climbed in.
Vershkov, his orderly, was upset at not having been taken into Kuibyshev. Without a word, he placed on the table a coded message from the
General Nyeudobnov entered the compartment. Looking not at Novikov's face, but at the telegram in his hands, he said: 'They've confirmed our destination.'
'Yes, Mikhail Petrovich. More than that – they've confirmed our fate. Stalingrad…! Oh yes, greetings from Lieutenant-General Ryutin.'
'Mmm,' said Nyeudobnov. It was unclear whether this expression of indifference referred to the general's greetings or Stalingrad itself.
He was a strange man; Novikov sometimes found him quite frightening. Whenever anything had gone wrong on the journey -a delay because of a train coming in the opposite direction, a faulty axle on one of the carriages, a controller being slow to signal them on – Nyeudobnov had said with sudden excitement: 'Take down his name. That's deliberate sabotage. The swine should be arrested immediately.'
Deep down, Novikov felt indifferent towards the kulaks and saboteurs, the men who were called enemies of the people. He didn't hate them. He had never felt the least desire to have anyone flung in prison, taken before a tribunal or unmasked at a public meeting. He himself had always attributed this good-humoured indifference to a lack of political consciousness.
Nyeudobnov, on the other hand, seemed to be constantly vigilant. It was as if, whenever he met someone, he wondered suspiciously: 'And how am I to know, dear comrade, that you're not an enemy of the people yourself?' Yesterday he had told Novikov and Getmanov about the saboteur architects who had tried to convert the main Moscow boulevards into landing strips for enemy planes.
'Sounds like nonsense to me,' Novikov had said. 'It doesn't make sense technically.'
Now Nyeudobnov launched into his other favourite topic -domestic life. After testing the heating pipes in the carriage, he began to describe the central heating system he'd installed, not long before the war, on his dacha. All of a sudden Novikov found this surprisingly interesting; he asked Nyeudobnov to draw a sketch of the system, folded it up and placed it in the inside pocket of his tunic.
'Who knows? One day it might come in useful,' he said.
Soon afterwards Getmanov came in. He greeted Novikov loudly and heartily.
'So our chief's back, is he? We were beginning to think we'd have to choose a new ataman. [38] We were afraid Stenka Razin had abandoned his companions.'
He looked Novikov up and down good-humouredly. Novikov laughed, but as always, the presence of the commissar made him feel tense.
Getmanov seemed to know a great deal about Novikov, and it was always through his jokes that he allowed this to show. Just now he had even echoed Yevgenia's parting words about rejoining his companions – though that, of course, was pure coincidence.
Getmanov looked at his watch and announced: 'Well, gentlemen, if no one minds, I'll take a look round the town myself.'
'Go ahead,' said Novikov. 'We can manage to entertain ourselves without you.'
'That's for sure. You certainly know how to entertain yourself in Kuibyshev,' said Getmanov, adding from the doorway of the compartment: 'Well, Pyotr Pavlovich? How's Yevgenia Nikolaevna?'
His face was now quite serious; his eyes were no longer laughing.
'Very well, thank you,' said Novikov. 'But she's got a lot of work to do.'
To change the subject, he asked Nyeudobnov: 'Mikhail Petrovich, why don't you go into Kuibyshev yourself for an hour?'
'I've already seen all there is to see.'
They were sitting next to each other. As he listened to Nyeudobnov, Novikov went through his papers, putting them aside one by one and repeating every now and then: 'Very good… Carry on…'
All his career Novikov had reported to superior officers who had gone on looking through their papers as they repeated absent-mindedly: 'Very good… Carry on…' He had always found it very offensive and had never expected to end up doing it himself.
'Listen now,' he said. 'We need to make out a request for more maintenance mechanics. We've got plenty for the wheeled vehicles, but hardly any for the tanks.'
'I've already made one out. I think it should be addressed to the colonel-general himself. It will go to him anyway to be signed.'
'Very good,' said Novikov, signing the request. 'I want each brigade to check their anti-aircraft weapons. There's a possibility of air-attacks after Saratov.'
'I've already given instructions to that effect to the staff.'
'That's not enough. I want it to be the personal responsibility of each commanding officer. They're to report back in person not later than 1600 hours.'
'The appointment of Sazonov to the post of brigade chief of staff has been confirmed.'
'That's remarkably quick,' said Novikov.
Instead of avoiding his eyes, Nyeudobnov was smiling. He was aware of Novikov's embarrassment and irritation.
Usually Novikov lacked the courage to defend his choice of commanding officers to the end. As soon as anyone cast aspersions on their political reliability, he went sour on them. Their military abilities seemed suddenly unimportant. This time, however, he felt angry. He no longer wanted peace at any price. Looking straight at Nyeudobnov, he said:
'My mistake. I allowed more importance to be attached to a man's biographical data than to his military abilities. But that can be sorted out at the Front. To fight the Germans, you need more than a spotless background. If need be, I'll send Sazonov packing on the first day.'
Nyeudobnov shrugged his shoulders. 'Personally I've got nothing whatsoever against this Basangov. But one should always give preference to a Russian if possible. The friendship of nations is something sacred – but you must realize that there is a considerable percentage, among the national minorities, of people who are unreliable or even positively hostile.'
