on the death of Dzerzhinsky to the workers of the foundry.
'The sudden death from heart failure of Comrade Dzerzhinsky, terror of the bourgeoisie, true knight of the proletariat, noble fighter for the communist revolution, tireless builder of our industry, ceaseless toiler and fearless soldier of great battles...
'His weak heart, strained beyond endurance, at last refused to function and death claimed him instantly. Death in battle...'
I got that far and stopped. Choking sobs rose in my throat. With an effort I checked myself from
bursting into tears before the whole foundry, before the sad, stern faces of my mates. Afterwards, when in a quiet, muffled voice I had finished reading the announcement, folded the newspaper and was walking back to my machine, Flegontov came up behind me and placed his heavy graphite-smeared worker's hand on my shoulder.
'Hard to read, wasn't it, Vasil?' he said quietly. 'I know how you feel. What a great loss! You understand, old chap, how all of us—young and old, Communists and non-Communists—must rally round the Party to make up for our loss. We must press on no matter what the bourgeoisie plot against us. . .'
And now, as I stood on the quay looking at that name I loved so well, I still could not get used to the idea that Dzerzhinsky was no longer with us...
The Felix Dzerzhinsky was on her way to Rostov-on-Don from the Crimea and we were to make the stormy voyage on her to Mariupol, where a district Komsomol conference was being held.
Not being used to rough weather, we felt rather scared of putting out to sea on a night like this...
A tall sailor appeared on the upper deck and shouted: 'Hi, Selezen! Get the boats ready!'
The sailor's voice had a familiar ring but I could not see his face.
Tolya Golovatsky, who was standing near me, said: 'It's going to be tough, chaps! The barometer's falling.'
'The wind seemed a bit quieter to me...'
'Don't you believe it, Mandzhura. Take a look at the weather tower. There were only eight balls hanging up there, this afternoon. Now there are nine.'
'Yes, if the captain has ordered them to get the lifeboats ready, the sea must be really rough,' Kolotilov, the freckled secretary of the customs Komsomol group, agreed with Golovatsky.
We mounted the creaking gangway and the officer of the watch checked our tickets. Golovatsky suggested going up on deck.
'The cabins are stuffy, you'll feel rotten down there,' he said, glancing at Kolotilov who was already looking rather pale.
Having stacked our things near the stern life-boat, we went to the rail. We could make out distant signal lights somewhere near Kobazovaya Hill.
Soon the gangway was taken in. The stevedores cast off the bow line. There was a hiss of steam, the engine burst into life and the ship moved slowly away from the granite harbour wall. The stern line slipped off the mooring post and was thrown on to the deck. Its paddles churning swiftly, the ship manoeuvred out into the harbour. The rudder chain clanked. Slowly the grey hump-backed warehouses dwindled in the distance.
Striving to make his voice heard above the roar of the wind, Golovatsky shouted: 'Shall we have a song, chaps?'
And taking our answer for granted, he struck up in a deep pleasant voice:
Forward, young sailors and Communists all,
Arise to build the new age!. . .
Looking back affectionately at our little harbour, we picked up the refrain in ringing voices that were at once borne away on the wind.
Dotted with twinkling yellow lights our town slipped past along the sandy Azov shore. As I sang my favourite song, I tried to pick out the lighted window of our little house. Sasha and Petka had volunteered to see me off, but I had refused. It had not been certain that the ship would leave on time, and they had to work the next day.
I also wanted to spot Lika's ivy-covered window in the house next door. Now I was sure that she would carry out her promise. At dinner today, Maria Trofimovna, our landlady, had unwittingly confirmed my conviction.
'There's been a terrible crying to-do next door,' she had said. 'The lady's sobbing her heart out and the engineer's black as thunder. Their daughter wants to go to Leningrad and they've been trying to talk her out of it. Her mother says she'll give her anything. 'You don't need that .. . what d'ye call it ... 'conservatoire,' ' she says. 'We'll teach you at home. I'll hire two teachers and the choir-master from the Liski church will come round too. You'll die of consumption in Leningrad. But their daughter won't give in. Dead set on the idea, she is. She's a stubborn little miss.'
Maria Trofimovna was a reliable source of information about next door and as I listened to her I felt glad Lika was going away, yet sorry that she would go without my being there to see her off. I had wanted to talk to her frankly about everything and say good-bye to her and wish her success in her new life of independence.
Children of workers and sailors, we march
With hearts that are strong and loyal.
No fear have we oftempest or storm,
Nor of long hard days of toll. . .
sang the boys.
The ship was pitching hard. Now it would plunge down from a billowing, foam-capped wave, so that your heart rose to your throat and your legs suddenly felt as if they had been filled with air, now it would rear up on a mountain of angry water and-the paddles would lash the long broken ridges of the waves. The rising wind howled at us from the pitch blackness of the open sea which was broken only by the flashing beam of the beacon on the headland.
One by one, the shore lights disappeared and the light of 'the beacon showed us that we were leaving the bay.
But we sang in spite of the storm:
Let the storm winds rage and the tempest blow, The tide of the workers is high.
Forward, young sailors and Communists all, Forward to conquer or die!...
'Your singing's fine, but do you mind clearing your stuff away from the boats. We might have to lower them if things get worse.' Again I heard that familiar voice, this time at my elbow.
I turned. For an instant the beam from the lighthouse showed up the face of a young navigating officer and I recognized my old friend.
'Weasel!'
I gave such a shout that all our delegates turned round.
The sailor fell back a pace and his quick gypsy eyes widened. Obviously it was a long time since anyone had called him by his childhood nickname. For a moment he rubbed his forehead in a puzzled fashion, as if trying to remember something, and only when the beam from the lighthouse swept again over the heaving deck did he run towards me with outstretched arms.
'Mandzhura!. . . Where did you spring from?' ... Something caught in Yuzik's throat. He glanced round helplessly, then mastering his excitement, he spoke more quietly.
'Fancy meeting you here? Well, I'm darned! Vasya!. . .' I could hardly believe it myself. On a ship's deck, in a storm like this! But he it was, my old friend Weasel!
Half an hour later, the Felix Dzerzhinsky rounded the harbour bar and set course across the open sea for Mariupol. Yuzik was relieved from his watch and invited me to the officers' saloon. Golovatsky and several of the other delegates went with me.
With great difficulty, clutching hand-rails and banging our elbows on the bulkheads, we made our way to the saloon.
'I've found a friend, Nikolai Ivanovich!' Yuzik said joyfully to an old waiter in a white apron. 'Haven't seen each other for years!. . . How long is it since we met, Vasil?'
'Over five years.'
Weasel put his arm round my shoulders and said reproachfully: 'You couldn't even write to me!
You're a fine pal!'
'But we did write to you! Petka and I, both of us! You answered once, then dried up. We we're a bit sore about it, thought your naval training had made you stuck-up.'
