heart".
Anyway, everyone drew a sigh of relief when he sat down, wiping his
brow and very pleased with himself.
"The court is retiring to confer."
"Hurry up, you fellows."
"What a bore."
"Dragging it out."
These comments were perfectly justified, and we decided, by tacit
consent, to rush through our verdict. To my astonishment, the majority
of the members of the court agreed with the public prosecutor. Ten
years with confiscation of property. It was clear that Eugene Onegin had
nothing to do with it. The sentence was intended for Grisha, who had
bored everyone to death, everyone except the witnesses Tatiana and
Olga. But I said that it was not fair: Grisha had acted well and without
him the whole show would have been a wash-out. We agreed on five
years.
"Stand!" the usher called. The members of the court filed in.
Everyone stood up. I read the sentence.
"It isn't right!" .
"Acquit him!"
"Shame!"
86
"All right, comrades," I said morosely. "I think it's wrong too. I
consider that Eugene Onegin should be acquitted, and Grisha should
have a vote of thanks. Who's in favour?"
All raised their hands, laughing.
"Adopted unanimously. The meeting is closed."
I was furious. I shouldn't have taken on this thing. Perhaps we should
have treated the whole trial as a joke. But how? I felt that everyone saw
how lacking in resource and wit I was.
It was in this bad humour that I went out into the cloakroom, and
whom should I meet but Katya. She had just got her coat and was
making her way to a clear space near the exit.
"Hullo!" she said with a laugh. "Hold my coat, will you. Some trial
that was!"
She spoke this as if we had parted only the day before.
"Hullo!" I answered sullenly.
She looked at me with interest.
"You've changed."
"Why?"
"Stuck-up. Well, get your coat and let's go!"
"Where?"
"Oh, where, where! To the comer, if that suits you. You're not very
polite."
I went downstairs with her without my coat, but she sent me back.
"It's cold and windy."
This is how I remember her when I caught up with her at the street
corner: she was wearing a grey fur cap with the earflaps down, and the
ringlets on her forehead had come covered with hoarfrost while I ran
back to the school. The wind whipped back the skirt of her coat and she
leaned slightly forward, holding it down with her hand. She was of
medium height, slim and, I believe, very pretty. I say "I believe" because
at that time I did not think about it. Certainly no girl at our school
would have dared to order me about like that:
"Get your coat and let's go!"
But then this was Katya, the kid whose hair I had pulled and nose I
had poked into the snow. Yes, it was Katya all right!
"I say, why do they all call you 'Captain'? Is it because you want to go
to nautical school?"
"I don't know yet," I said, though I had long ago made up my mind
that I would go not to a nautical school but to a flying school.
I saw her to the gate of the familiar house and she asked me in.
"It's awkward."
"Why? Your being on bad terms with Nikolai Antonich is no concern
of mine. Grandma was talking about you the other day too. Come in."
"No, it's awkward."
Katya shrugged coldly.
"Just as you please."
I caught up with her in the yard.
"How silly of you, Katya! I'm telling you it's awkward. Let's go
somewhere together, eh? What about the skating-rink?"
Katya looked at me, then suddenly cocked up her nose, the way she
did when a child.
87
"I'll see," she said importantly. "Phone me up tomorrow round about
four. Ouch, how cold it is! Even your teeth freeze."
CHAPTER THREE
AT THE SKATING-RINK
Back in those years when I was mad on Amundsen, a simple thought
had occurred to me. It was this: if Amundsen had used an aeroplane he
would have reached the South Pole in a fraction of the time. What a
hard time he had had, fighting his way day after day through the endless
snowy wilderness! For two months he had trudged behind his dogs, who
had ended by eating each other. But in an aeroplane he could have
reached the Pole in twenty-four hours. He would not have had friends
enough and acquaintances whose names he could use for all the
mountain peaks, glaciers and plateaux he would have discovered during
the flight.
Every day I copied out long passages from accounts of polar
expeditions. I cut out from the newspapers paragraphs concerning the
first flights to the North and pasted them into an old ledger. On the first
page of this ledger was written: "From (Forward) is the name of his
ship. 'Forward' he says, and forward he strives. Nansen about
Amundsen." This was my motto too. Mentally, in an aeroplane, I
followed Scott, and Shackleton, and Robert Peary. Along all their routes.
And since I had an aeroplane at my disposal, I had to study its design.
Following point 3 of my Rules: "Wilful will do't", I read The Theory of
Aircraft Construction. Ugh, what agony it was! If there was anything I
did not understand, I just learnt it off by heart to be on the safe side.
Every day I took my imaginary aeroplane to pieces. I studied the
engine and airscrew. I fitted it with the most up-to-date instruments. I
knew it like the back of my own hand. The only thing I didn't know
about it was how to fly it. And that was just what I wanted to learn.
I kept my resolution a secret, even from Korablev. At school they
considered that I had too many irons in the fire as it was and I did not
want them to say of my interest in aviation: "The latest fad!" This was no
fad.
Then suddenly I revealed my secret. To whom? To Katya.
That day we had arranged to go to the skating-rink first thing in the
morning, but something kept cropping up to prevent us. First Katya put
it off, then I. At last we started out, but our skating started off on the
wrong foot. For one thing, we had to wait half an hour in the frost,
because the rink was snowed up and closed while they were clearing it.
Secondly, Katya's heel broke off the first time round and we had to tie
the skate down with a strap, which I had brought with me just in case.
But my strap kept coming undone. We had to go back to the cloakroom
and ask the help of the dour, red-faced mechanic who was grinding
skates there. At last, all was in order. It had started snowing again and
we skated for a long time hand in hand, in big half-circles, now to the
right, now to the left. This figure is called "curve eight".
88
Then we sat down right in front of the bandstand, and Katya suddenly
brought her flushed face with its dancing black eyes close to mine. I
thought she wanted to say something in my ear and said loudly: "Eh?"
She laughed.
"Nothing. It's hot."
"Katya," I said, "shall I tell you something? You won't tell anybody,
will you?"
"Not a soul."
"I'm going to flying school."
She blinked, then stared hard at me.
"You've made up your mind?"