"Well? And did you find her?"
"Not yet. But we will," said Vyshimirsky, "following my plan. I wrote
to Buguruslan and to the Central Inquiry Bureau, but that was useless.
They sent us a dozen Tatarinovs and a hundred Grigorievs, and we don't
know what name we have to give as her first. So then I wrote personally
to the chairmen of the executive committees of all the regional cities. It
was a big job, a big assignment. But Captain Tatarinov was a friend of
mine and for his daughter's sake I spent three months writing and
sending out a stereotype inquiry—will you please give necessary
instructions—evacuation point—historical personality—awaiting your
reply. And we received it."
There was a sharp ring at the door. "That's him," Vyshimirsky said.
A cowed look came into his face. The grey tuft of hair on top of his
head started shaking and his moustache drooped. He went out into the
hallway, while I took up a position against the wall beside the door, so
that Romashov should not catch sight of me at once on coming in. He
might jump out onto the landing, because Vyshimirsky said to him in
the hallway: "Somebody to see you."
"Who?" he asked quickly.
"A man by the name of Grigoriev," the old man said.
He did not jump out, though he could have done-I bided my time. He
stood in the dark corner between the wardrobe and the wall and he gave
a scream when he saw me. Then he raised doubled fists and pressed
them to his face, childlike. There was a key in the door. I turned it, took
it out and slipped it into my pocket. Vyshimirsky was standing between
us. I picked him up and set him aside like a dummy. Then, for some
reason, I pushed him and he toppled mechanically into an armchair.
"Well, let's go and have a chat," I said to Romashov.
He was silent. He had a cap in his hand, and he stuffed it into his
mouth and clamped his teeth down on it.
"Well!" I said again.
He shook his head violently.
"You're not going?"
"No!" he screamed.
The stark terror of despair that had seized him at the sight of me
suddenly fell away from him. I wrenched his arm and he straightened
up. When we entered the room only one eye of his still had a slight
squint to it, but a complete change had come over his face, which was
now composed and blank of expression.
"I'm alive as you see," I said quietly.
"So I see."
308
I could now have a good look at him. He was wearing a light grey suit
with a yellow ribbon on the lapel-the insignia of a seriously wounded
man, whereas he was only slightly shell-shocked. He had put on weight,
and but for Ms protruding red ears, he had never looked such a
presentable gentleman.
"The pistol."
I thought he would start lying about having handed it in when he was
demobbed. But the pistol, with my name engraved on it, was a gift from
my regimental commander for bombing the bridge over the Narova. If
Romashov had handed it in he would have given himself away. That was
why, without saying a word, he now pulled open a drawer of his desk
and got it out. The gun was not loaded.
"The papers!"
He was silent.
"Well!"
"They got soaked and were ruined," he said hastily. "A bomb shelter in
Leningrad was flooded. I was unconscious. Only C.'s photograph was
intact. I gave it to Katya. I saved her."
"Really?"
"Yes, I saved her. That's why I'm not afraid. You won't kill me." "Won't
I? Tell me everything, you skunk," I said seizing him by the collar, then
letting him go at once when I felt the yielding softness of his throat.
"I gave her everything when she was starving. Ah, you don't believe
me!" he cried in despair, sidling up to me to peer into my eyes. "But you
will when you've heard me out. You don't know anything. I hate you."
"Is that so?"
"You've taken from me everything that was good in life. I could have
made a go of it, yes I could," he said arrogantly. "I was always in luck,
because the world's full of fools. I could have made a career. But I didn't
give a damn for that!"
"I didn't give a damn for a career" was putting it pretty strong. From
what I knew of him, Romashov had always been an unprincipled
climber. He had succeeded admirably, considering that he had always
been such a frightful dullard at school.
"So listen," Romashov said, growing still paler, if that were possible.
"You'll believe me because I'm going to tell you everything. The
Tatarinov search expedition-it was me who got it cancelled! At first I
helped Katya because I was sure you were going alone. But she decided
to .go with you, so I got the expedition cancelled. I sent in a letter,
making a rather risky statement—it would have been all up with me if I
hadn't been able to prove it. But I pulled it
off."
Some sheets of writing paper lay in a grey leather case bearing the
initials "M.R." in gold. I drew out one sheet, and Romashov froze, Ms
staring eyes directed to some spot above my head. It looked as if he was
trying to peer ahead into his own future, to see what threat to himself
that simple action of mine contained.
"Yes, write it down," he said, "this man who had the expedition
stopped was eventually exiled and is dead. But write it down if it still
matters to you."
"It doesn't mean anything to me," I answered coolly.
309
"I wrote that the idea of finding Captain Tatarinov, who had
disappeared twenty years ago, was a mania with you, and that you
always were unbalanced ever since your schooldays. But behind it all
was an ulterior motive. You had married Captain Tatarinov's daughter
and were raising all this fuss around his name in order to further your
own career. I did not write this by myself."
"Trust you!"
"D'you remember that article 'In Defence of a Scientist'? Nikolai
Antonich wrote that, and we referred to it in the letter."
"You mean in the denunciation."
I was now taking all this down as fast as I could.
"Yes, in the denunciation. And we had it all corroborated. I tricked
Nina Kapitonovna into signing one paper, and my God, what a job it was
to prevent them calling her out! You have no idea what harm this caused
you! In the Civil Air Fleet, and I suppose also afterwards, when you were
already in the army."
How can I convey the feeling with which I heard out this confession? I
couldn't make out why he was coming clean. The simple calculation was
soon to become clear to me though. It was like a light thrown in
retrospect upon all the inexplicable things that had been happening to
me and that I couldn't help thinking of wherever I was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SHADOW
"It all began a long time ago, when I was still at school," Romashov
went on. "I had to sit up all night to be able to answer my lesson as well
as you did. I tried not to think about money because I saw that money
didn't mean anything to you. It was my ambition to become like you, to
become you, and I fretted because you were always and in everything
the better man."
With trembling fingers he drew a cigarette out of a glass box lying on the