kneading his hat in his hands. She glanced at me—because I had come
with Nina Kapitonovna—then looked away at once. And I realised that
Maria Vasilievna was dead.
Afterwards I heard the nurse saying to someone: "Such a pity, a
beautiful woman." It all seemed to be happening in a dream, and I'm
not sure whether it was she who said it or somebody else, as Katya and
the old lady came out of the room in which she had died.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IT ISN'T HIM
Those were miserable days and I don't feel like dwelling on them,
though I remember every conversation, every encounter, almost every
thought. They were days which cast a large shadow, as it were, on my
life.
Soon after Maria Vasilievna's funeral I sat down to work. It seemed to
me that there was something like a sense of self-preservation in the
fierce persistence with which I applied myself to my studies, thrusting
all thoughts behind me. It was not easy, especially bearing in mind that
when I went up to Katya at the funeral she turned away from me.
It happened like this. Unexpectedly, very many people came to the
funeral-colleagues of Maria Vasilievna's and even students who had
been at the Medical Institute with her. She had always seemed a lonely
person, but apparently many people knew her and liked her. Among
these strangers, all talking in whispers and gazing at the gateway,
waiting for the coffin to be carried out, stood Korablev, hollow-eyed, his
big moustache looking enormous on his haggard face.
Nikolai Antonich stood slightly apart with lowered head, and Nina
Kapitonovna held his arm. It looked as if she was supporting him,
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though he stood quite straight. The Bubenchikov old ladies were there,
too, looking like nuns in their old-fashioned black dresses.
Katya was standing next to them staring steadily at the gate. Her
cheeks were rosy in spite of her grief, which was evident even in the
impatient gesture with which she adjusted her hat when it kept slipping
down on her forehead-probably she had not pinned her hair up
properly.
Half an hour passed, but the coffin had not been carried out yet. And
then suddenly I decided to go up to her.
It may not have been the right thing for me to do at such a moment as
this—I don't know. But I wanted to say something to her, if only a single
word.
"Katya!"
She had looked at me and turned away.
I sat over my books for days on end. This was my last semester at
school, and I was determined to get "highly satisfactory" marks on all
subjects. This was no simple task, especially when it came to Literature.
Came the day when even Likho, with an air of pained reluctance, gave
me his "highly satisfactory". My passing-out essay did not worry me-I
just dashed it off in accordance with the requirements of this loaf-head,
knowing that he would give me a high mark if only through gratified
pride.
I came out top of the class, with only Valya ahead of me. But then he
had brilliant capabilities and was much cleverer than me.
But the shadow crept on. It was with an effort that Korablev brought
himself to look at me whenever we met. Nikolai Antonich did not come
to the school, and though no one mentioned our clash at the Teachers'
Council, they all regarded me with a sort of reproach, as if that fainting
fit of his at the council meeting and Maria Vasilievna's death vindicated
him completely.
Everyone avoided me and I was lonelier than ever. But I little knew
what blow awaited me.
One day, about a fortnight after Maria Vasilievna's death, I went in to
see Korablev. I wanted to ask him to go with us to the Geology Museum
(I was then a Young Pioneer leader and my group had asked to be taken
to the museum).
But he came out to me in a very agitated state and told me to call later.
"When, Ivan Pavlovich?"
"I don't know. Later."
In the hall hung a coat and hat and on a side table lay the brown
woollen scarf which I had seen the old lady was knitting. Korablev had
Nikolai Antonich in his room. I went away.
What was Nikolai Antonich doing there? He hadn't been in Korablev’s
place for at least four years. What was Korablev so upset about?
When I went back, Nikolai Antonich was no longer there. I remember
everything as if it were yesterday: the stove was burning, and Korablev,
wearing the thick shaggy jacket he always put on when he was a little
tipsy or out of sorts, was sitting in front of the stove, gazing into the fire.
He looked up when I came in, and said: "What have you done, Sanya!
My God, what have you done!"
"Ivan Pavlovich!"
"My God, what have you done!" he repeated in a tone of despair. "It
isn't him, it isn't him at all! He has proved it undeniably, incontestably."
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"I don't understand, Ivan Pavlovich. What are you talking about?"
Korablev got up, then sat down and got up again.
"Nikolai Antonich has been to see me. He has proved me that the
Captain's letter does not refer to him at all. It's some other Nikolai,
some merchant by the name of von Vyshimirsky."
I was astounded.
"But Ivan Pavlovich, it's a lie. He's lying!"
"No, it's true," said Korablev. "It was a vast undertaking of which we
know nothing. There were lots of people involved, merchants, ship
chandlers and what not, and the Captain knew all about it from the very
beginning. He knew that the expedition had been fitted out very badly,
and he wrote to Nikolai Antonich about it. I saw his letters with my own
eyes."
I could hardly believe my ears. I had always thought that the letter I
had found at Ensk was the only one in existence, and this news about
other letters from the Captain simply bowled me over.
"Lots of things went wrong with them," Korablev continued. "Some
ship owner took the crew off just when they were putting out to sea,
they managed, with great difficulty, to get a wireless telegraph
installation, but had to leave it behind because they couldn't get an
operator, and other troubles-so why should Nikolai Antonich be blamed
for all this? It's as clear as anything, my God. And I-I guessed as much...
But I-"
He broke off and suddenly I saw that he was crying. "Ivan Pavlovich," I
said looking away. "It turns out then, that it's not his fault, but the fault
of that 'von' somebody or other. In that case why did Nikolai Antonich
always claim that he had been in charge of the whole business? Ask him
how many beef tea cubes the expedition took with them, how much
macaroni, biscuits and coffee. Why did he never mention this 'von'
before?"
Korablev wiped his eyes and moustache with his handkerchief. He got
some vodka from the cupboard, poured out half a tumbler and
immediately poured a little back with a shaking hand. He drank the
vodka and sat down again.
"Oh, what does it matter now?" he said with a wave of his hand. "But
how blind I was, how terribly blind!" he exclaimed again in a tone of
despair. "I should have persuaded her that it was impossible, incredible,
that even if it was Nikolai Antonich-all the same you couldn't throw the