everything you've told me.' And he made quick notes on a pad. 'You've obviously got a leaning for cultural work with the masses. We may even entrust you with the job of organizing a Time League' society in the foundry. That's an important job, you know.' Golovatsky glanced at his watch. 'But for the time being, old man, I'll ask you to concentrate all your energy on the fight against defective output. Your department is on piece-work. But piece-work under a capitalist is one thing, and it's quite a different thing under our Soviet system, when we are working for ourselves and are interested not only in quantity but quality. Some of the foundry men don't understand that. They bash away as hard as they can go, and give us a lot of spoilage. Pay special attention to these castings.' And Golovatsky took down from the bookshelf a casting just like the one the director had shown us. 'That must be the most perfect casting of the lot,' he went on. 'All the other castings must be perfect as well, of course. But this one
particularly. And you, as a 'Komsomol member, must wage a campaign against bad workers. Find out where the trouble lies... '
'But I've never worked on a machine before!' I interrupted the secretary, repeating what I had said to the foreman. 'I worked on the moulding-bed. I can do fly-wheels even without the bottom mould-box.'
'You'll catch on,' said the secretary, and he seemed to know something about the foundry. 'Where's your card?. . .'
And now, as I stared through the clean glass of the window, I remembered the cold, abrupt words of the foreman, 'you'll catch on,' and my conversation with Golovatsky, and I thought, 'Suppose things go wrong? Suppose I still haven't learnt to work on a machine after two weeks and they tell me to get out! What will happen then?'
I began to feel as if I had never been to a factory-training school, as if the fifth grade that I had qualified for there meant nothing, as if I didn't know anything at all and should have to start tomorrow right from the beginning again. And since I did not know what awaited me on the following day, I felt even more worried.
There was a creak on the stairs and Petka appeared. He was carrying a small round table with a long, thin centre leg.
'Look at this!' Petka said, puffing with exertion and pride.
'Did Maria Trofimovna give it you?'
'That's right! 'Until you've got your own furniture, you can use this,' she says, 'I don't need it.' '
'Now we've only got to get hold of some stools and we'll be all set.'
'Maria Trofimovna was asking me what to cook for dinner tomorrow—vegetable borshch or cold cherry soup? 'I don't know,' I says, 'let the other chaps decide.' What do you want, Vasil?'
'What does she think this is—a restaurant?' I replied frowning.
'Well, if she's agreed to give us full board, let her get on with it.'
'We don't know yet what wages we'll be getting.'
'Don't worry, we'll get our due,' Petka said confidently. 'When I was signing up, one of the joiners told me that none of them get less than a hundred, even the third-graders!'
'It's all right for you, Petka, you'll be doing work you know. That's easy! But I've got to requalify. Blowed if I know how you use one of those moulding machines! I've never even seen them before.'
'Don't worry, Vasil! If you're in a spot, you can always count on Sasha and me.'
'Where's Sasha got to?' I said, glancing at the old alarm-clock that our landlady had put on the stove-ledge. 'What's become of him? It's over an hour since he left.'
'It's quite a way to the station, you know. He's got to find Volodya and get the things. Then he's got to buy some grub. Our landlady won't start cooking for us till tomorrow, you know,'
We had sent Sasha to the station to get our luggage. While he was away it had been our job to stuff the mattresses, wash the floor and get the room ready for sleeping.
'Did he make a note of the address?' I asked Petka. 'Perhaps he's been wandering all over town and can't find the way back.'
'What for? We agreed that he'd get hold of Volodya at the station and Volodya would bring the stuff back free.'
'Oh yes, that's right,' I said. 'Well, we've finished our job, let's go for a stroll.'
We walked past the landlady, who was ironing our sheets in the kitchen, and opened the gate.
'Let's go left, Petka,' I suggested.
We walked along Primorskaya Street towards the harbour, passing the house from which the music had been coming a little while ago.
Now the piano was quiet and a clink of glasses could be heard from the house—it must be their tea-time. The yard in front of the house was a mass of hollyhocks, young vine bushes, tea roses, purple carnations, and mauve wistaria. The sweet tobacco was not out yet, but the scent of flowers, freshened by the recent rain, seemed to pour over us from behind the low fence. Roses of a kind that I had never seen before climbed under the eaves of the roof, weaving a flowery archway round one of the open windows.
In the corner of the garden, just by the fence, stood a summer-house, covered with dark green ivy and mauve convolvulus.
As we passed the summer-house, I heard the sound of voices and could not help glancing in.
On the rail of the summer-house, swinging her sunburnt legs, sat the girl whose dressing-gown we had minded on the sea-front. Kneeling on one knee beside her, pumping a bicycle tyre, was the dandy from the personnel department. I stared at the girl as if I had never seen anyone like her before. Noticing my glance, she raised her eyes and freed her hair from the ivy with a pettish shake of her head. I felt awkward. Blushing, I gave a sort of half nod. As I turned hurriedly away, I noticed that the girl was smiling. 'Did you see who that was, Vasil?' Petka asked, nudging me with his elbow. 'Who?'
'The princess there?' And mimicking the girl, Petka squeaked: 'Do you mind looking after my things, please?...' 'Didn't you recognize the lanky fellow?' I said. 'What lanky fellow?' 'The one who was pumping the tyre.' 'No. Who was he?'
'That toff who wouldn't take us on at the works!' '-Really?' Petka exclaimed. 'You don't mean to say they're our neighbours?'
'I'm sure the girl in the dressing-gown is!' 'And he's her brother,' Petka declared. 'Why should he be! Her boy friend most likely!' For some reason I didn't like to think that the dandy knew the girl next door and might tell her how we had begged him to give us a job.
Petka and I wandered slowly down Primorskaya Street. The railway lines leading to the harbour gleamed on our left. Beyond them the sea stretched away to the horizon.
The wind had dropped completely and the sea was calm. Instead of thundering against the wall, as they had in the morning, the waves rolled up the sandy beach with a rustling sound. A wooden fence ran along the railway line. Above it swayed the tops of masts. The flags on them scarcely stirred. A scarlet sunset gleamed in the west, where the sinking sun was still wrapped in clouds.
On the whitewashed fence there was a notice in big letters:
LIFE-SAVING SOCIETY BEACH
A bicycle bell rang behind us.
We pressed against the fence and the dandy flashed past on his bicycle with the girl on the cross-bar in front of him. He rode awkwardly, but at a good speed.
'Isn't the street wide enough for him?' Petka grunted.
'Don't you see the puddles on it? He's afraid of dirtying his pants,' I said with unconcealed annoyance, staring after the rapidly disappearing couple.
The back wheel of the bicycle grew smaller and smaller, leaving a faint pattern on the sandy path.
By the time we had finished staring through the railings at the sidings and a number of long, corrugated-iron warehouses in the harbour yard, Sasha Bobir had brought back our cases and unpacked everything.
We found him getting supper ready. Sasha was carving a big dry roll that had been left over from the journey into three big hunks.
'Where have you been all this time?' Sasha cried when he saw us. 'Do you know who I met?'
'The Count of Bengal?' I asked sarcastically. I didn't like Sasha's habit of yapping at you as if you were a kid.
'You can joke!' Sasha snapped. 'I've seen Pecheritsa!'
