We sat so long over dinner that we nearly missed the train. We drove
to the station in cabs. I had never travelled so luxuriously before-sitting
back in a cab with a hamper at my feet.
We arrived to find Katya standing on the carriage steps with the two
old Bubenchikov aunts exhorting her not to catch cold during the
journey, to keep an eye on her luggage, not to go out on the carriage
platform, to wire them on arrival, remember them to everybody and not
to forget to write.
My seat was in another carriage, so we merely bowed a greeting to
Katya and the Bubenchikovs. Katya waved to us and the old ladies
nodded primly.
The second bell. I embraced Sanya and Aunt Dasha. The judge
reminded me to look up Pyotr and I gave my word of honour that I
would call on him the day I arrived. I invited Sanya to come and see me
in Moscow and she promised to come for her spring holidays-it
appeared that she had already made arrangements about this with
Pyotr.
The third bell. I was in the carriage. Sanya was writing something in
the air and I wrote back at a guess: "Okay." Aunt Dasha began to cry
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quietly and the last thing I saw was Sanya taking the handkerchief from
her and, with a laugh, wiping away her tears. The train pulled out, and
that dear old railway station slipped past me. We gathered speed. In
another moment the platform came to an end. Goodbye, Ensk.
At the next station I changed places with an oldish gentleman, who
found my lower berth more convenient for him, and moved into Katya's
carriage. For one thing, it was more airy, for another it was Katya's.
She had quite settled in. On the little table lay a clean napkin and the
window was curtained. You'd think she'd been living in that carriage a
hundred years.
We had both only just had dinner, but we simply had to see what the
old folks had put in our hampers. We had an apple each and treated our
travelling companion to one. He was a little, unshaven, blue-black man
in spectacles, who kept making guesses as to who we were: brother and
sister-no, we didn't look like it. Husband and wife - too young.
It was some time past two in the morning and our unshaven
companion was snoring his head off, while Katya and I were still
standing in the corridor, chatting. We wrote with our fingers on the
frozen panes-first initials, then the opening letters of words.
"Just like in Anna Karenina," said Katya.
I didn't think it was like Anna Karenina or anything else for that
matter.
Katya stood beside me and looked sort of new, different. She wore her
hair in grown-up style, parted in the middle, and a surprisingly new ear
peeped out from under her dark attractive hair. Her teeth, too, looked
new when she smiled. Never before had she turned her head, when I
began to speak, with that easy yet proud gesture of a beautiful woman.
She was a new and entirely different girl, and I felt that I was terribly in
love with her.
Suddenly, through the window, we could see the wires dipping and
rising, and a dark field came into view covered with dark snow. I don't
know at what speed the train was going-it could not have been more
than forty kilometres an hour—but it seemed to me that we were
rushing along at magical speed. The world lay before me. I did not know
what it had in store for me. But I did know that this was forever, that
Katya was mine and I hers for as long as we live.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHAТ АWAITED ME IN MOSCOW
Imagine yourself returning to your home, in which you had spent half
your life, to suddenly find yourself being stared at in surprise, as if you
had come to the wrong place. That was what I experienced when I
returned to school after visiting Ensk.
The first person I met, down in the cloakroom, was Romashka. He
scowled when he saw me, then grinned.
"Hullo!" he said in a tone of malicious glee. "Tishoo! Bless you!"
The cad seemed very pleased.
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None of the other boys were about-it was the last day before term
began. Korablev passed down the corridor and I ran after him.
"Good morning, Ivan Pavlovich!"
"Ah, it's you!" he said gravely. "Come and see me, I want to speak to
you."
____________
The portrait of a young woman stood on Korablev's desk, and for the
moment I did not recognise Maria Vasilievna—she was much too
beautiful. She was wearing a coral necklace, the same one Katya had
worn at our school ball. The sight of that necklace somehow bucked me
up. It was like a greeting from Katya.
"Ivan Pavlovich, what's the matter?" I began.
"This is the matter," Korablev said slowly. "They're going to expel you
from the school."
"What for?"
"Don't you know?" "I don't."
Korablev eyed me sternly. "I don't like that at all." "Honestly, I don't,
Ivan Pavlovich."
"For nine days AWOL," he said, turning down one finger. "For
insulting Likho. For fighting."
"I see! Very good," I said very calmly. "But before expelling me be so
good as to hear me out." "Go ahead."
"Ivan Pavlovich," I began in a solemn tone, "you want to know why I
socked Romashka one in his ugly mug?" "Leave the 'ugly mugs' out of
it," Korablev said. "All right. I gave him one in his ugly mug because he's
a cad. For one thing, he told the Tatarinovs about me and Katya.
Secondly, he listens to what the boys say about Nikolai Antonich and
narks on them. Third, I found him rummaging in my box. It was a
regular search. The boys saw me catch him at it, and I hit him, it's true. I
admit, it wasn't right to use my boot, but I'm only human after all. It
was more than flesh and blood could stand. It might have happened to
anybody."
"All right. Go on."
"As for Likho, you know about that already. Let him first prove that I
am an idealist. Did you read my essay?" "Yes, it's bad."
"That may be, but there isn't a hint of idealism in it. You can take that
from me." "All right. Go on." "That's all. What else is there?"
"What else? Do you know they have had the police searching for you?"
"Ivan Pavlovich... Well, that was wrong of me, perhaps. I did tell
Valya, but I suppose that doesn't count. All right. But do you mean to
say they're going to expel me because I went off on holiday-where do
you think?-to my hometown where I haven't been for eight years?"
I knew there was going to be ructions when Korablev mentioned the
police, and I wasn't mistaken. He went for me baldheaded, shouting at
the top of his voice, and I could only slip in an occasional timid: "Ivan
Pavlovich!" "Hold your tongue!"
And he would pause himself for a moment, but only to draw breath
for a renewed attack.
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It slowly dawned on me that I really had a lot to answer for. But
would they really expel me? If they did, then all was lost. It was goodbye
to flying school. Goodbye to life! Korablev stopped at last.
"Your behaviour has been outrageous!" he said.
"Ivan Pavlovich," I began in a voice that was croaky, rather than
tremulous. "I'm not going to argue with you, though on many points you