Valya blinked, then looked at me gravely and got out the money.
"I'm going away."
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"Where to?"
"To Ensk."
"What for?"
"Tell you when I get back. Meanwhile, let me tell you-Romashka's a
cad. You're chummy with him, because you don't know what a cad he is.
And if you do know, then you're a cad yourself. That's all. So long."
I had one foot outside the door when Valya called me back, and in
such a queer voice that I spun round.
"Sanya," he muttered, "I'm not chummy with him. Besides..."
He fell silent.
"It's my fault," he went on with an air of decision. "I should have
warned you. You remember that business about Korablev, don't you?"
"I should say so!"
"Well, it was him!"
"What about him?"
"He went to Nikolai Antonich and told him everything."
"No!"
In a flash I recollected that evening when, on returning from the
Tatarinovs, I had told Valya about the conspiracy they were hatching
against Korablev.
"But I only told you about it."
"Yes, but Romashka was eavesdropping."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Valya hung his head.
"He made me give my word of honour," he muttered. "Besides, he
threatened that he'd look at me at night. You know I hate being looked
at at night. It's silly, I know. It started with me waking up once to find
him looking at me."
"You're simply a fool, that's all."
"He writes everything down in a book and then snitches to Nikolai
Antonich," Valya went on miserably. "He makes life hell for me. He
narks on people and then tells me all about it. I stop my ears, but he
goes on telling."
"You're a poor yap, you are!" I said. "I've no time to talk to you now,
but I think you ought to write to the Komsomol group about that little
book of his. I never thought he'd bully you like that. How many words of
honour did you give him?"
"I don't remember," Valya mumbled.
"We'll count 'em up."
He looked at me mournfully.
From the Zoo I went to the railway station to book my ticket, and
from there back to school. I had a good case of drawing instruments and
decided to take it with me to sell if I was up against it.
And now to all the follies I had committed was added another one—
one that I had to pay for with interest.
When I entered the dormitory there were about ten people there,
among them Tania Velichko, a girl from my form. They were all engaged
in some occupation, some reading and others talking. Nobody was
paying any attention to Romashka, who was kneeling by my bed and
rummaging in my box.
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This new act of treachery was the last straw. The blood rushed to my
head and I went over to him with an even tread and said to him in an
even voice: "What are you looking for, Romashka?"
He looked up at me with startled eyes, and worked up as I was at that
moment, I could not help noticing his striking resemblance to an owl—
with that white face of his and those big red ears.
"Katya's letters?" I went on. "Want to hand them over to Nikolai
Antonich? Here they are. Take 'em."
And I kicked him hard in the face.
I had spoken in a quiet voice, so nobody expected that I was going to
hit him. I believe I gave him two or three more kicks. I would have killed
him but for Tania Velichko. While the boys stood open-mouthed, she
rushed between us, grabbed hold of me and pushed me away with such
force that I sat down on the bed.
"You're crazy."
As if through a mist I saw her face and realised that she was looking at
me with abhorrence. I recollected myself.
"I'll explain everything, boys," I said shakily.
They were all silent. Romashka lay on the floor with his head thrown
back. There was a blue bruise on his cheek. I took my box and went out.
I wandered heavy-hearted about the railway station for nearly three
hours. I felt beastly as I read the newspaper, studied the timetable, and
drank tea in the third-class buffet. I was hungry, but the tea seemed
tasteless and the sandwiches wouldn't go down my throat. I somehow
felt sullied after that scene in the dormitory. Ah, well, I didn't have to go
back to school anyway. But the instrument case? Who the hell needed
it? As if I couldn't get the money for my return fare from Aunt Dasha!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
HOME AGAIN
One impression has remained with me after that journey through the
places where Pyotr Skovorodnikov and I used to ramble, stealing and
begging - an impression of incomparable freedom.
For the first time in my life I was travelling by rail with a ticket. I
could sit at the window, chat with my fellow-passengers, or smoke, had I
been a smoker. I did not have to crawl under the seat when the ticket-
collector came round. I handed him my ticket with a casual air, without
interrupting my conversation. It was an extraordinary sensation—a
feeling of spaciousness, though the carriage was pretty crowded. I found
it amusing, and I was thinking now about Ensk— about my sister, Aunt
Dasha, and how I would spring a surprise on them and they would not
recognise me.
With this thought I fell asleep and slept so long that my fellow-
passengers began to wonder whether I was alive or not.
How good it is to return to one's home town after an absence of eight
years! Everything is so familiar yet unfamiliar. Could that be the
governor's house? I had thought it so huge once. Could that be
Zastennaya Street? Was it so narrow and crooked? And is it
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Lopukhinsky Boulevard? The boulevard gladdened me, though: all
down the main avenue, behind the lime trees, stretched a line of
splendid new buildings. The black lime trees looked like a pencil
drawing on a white background and their black shadows lay aslant on
the white snow- it made a beautiful picture.
I walked fast, and at every step I kept recognising old landmarks or
viewing new ones with surprise. There was the orphanage in which Aunt
Dasha had been going to put my sister and me; it was now a green
colour and a big marble plaque had appeared on the wall with gold
lettering on it. I could not believe my eyes-it said: "Alexander Pushkin
stayed in this house in 1824". Well I never! In that house! What airs the
orphanage kids would have given themselves had they known this!
And here were the "Chambers", where Mother and I had once handed
in a petition. The place did not look half as imposing now. The old low
grating had been removed from the windows and at the gate hung a
signboard saying: Cultural Centre.
And there were the ramparts. My heart beat faster at the sight of
them. A granite embankment stretched before me, and I hardly
recognised our poor old shelving river bank. But what astonished me
more than anything was to find our houses gone and in their place a
public garden had been laid out and on the seats sat nannies holding
infants wrapped up like little mummies. I had expected anything but
this. I stood for a long time on the ramparts surveying with amazement
the garden, the granite embankment and the boulevard, on which we
used to play tipcat. On the site of the common back of the small grocery