nose. It was a terrific nose, and it kept sniffing and snuffling with an
alarmingly predatory air.
I greeted her politely, and she ran out, reappearing some minutes
later looking quite a different person. She was wearing a normal dress
now in place of that Arab burnous thing she had had on when she came
in.
We fell into conversation, talking first about Korablev, who was the
only acquaintance we had in common, then about his pupil, who was
still fiddling about in his comer with his reels and coils and paying no
attention to us whatever.
"Anyuta, what was the name of that young man?" her father asked
timidly.
"What young man?"
"The one who promised to get me my pension."
Anyuta's nose twitched and her lips quivered, and a variety of
expressions crossed her face. The strongest was indignation.
"I don’t remember-Romashov, I think," she answered carelessly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"WE HAVE A VISITOR!"
Romashka! Romashka had been to see them! He had promised the
old man assistance in getting him a special pension, he had paid court to
Anyuta with the nose! In the end he had disappeared, taking some
papers with him, and the old man could not even remember what kind
203
of papers they were. At first I thought this was some other Romashov,
some other man by the same name. But no, it was the same one. I
described him in detail, and Anyuta said venomously:
"That's him!"
He had paid court to her, that was clear. Afterwards he had stopped
paying court, otherwise she would not be calling him the names she did.
He had got out of the old man everything he knew about Nikolai
Antonich. He was collecting information. What for? Why had he taken
from Vyshimirsky those papers, which only went to prove one thing -
that before the revolution Nikolai Antonich had been no teacher, but
just a mean stock-jobber?
I came away from Vyshimirsky with a reeling head. There could be
only two solutions here—either that his purpose was to destroy all traces
of this past, or to get some sort of hold over Nikolai Antonich.
A hold over him? But why? Wasn't he his pupil, his most devoted and
loyal pupil? He had always been that, even at school, when he
eavesdropped on the boys to hear what they were saying about Nikolai
Antonich and then reported it to him. No, he was acting on instructions!
Nikolai Antonich had asked him to find out what Vyshimirsky knew
about him. It was a "plant". He had sent Romashov to take away the
papers which might prove damaging to him.
I went into a cafe and had some ice-cream. Then I had a drink of
something-some mineral water. I felt very hot and kept thinking and
thinking. After all, many years had passed since Romashka and I had
parted after finishing school. At that time he had been a nasty piece of
work, a mean, cold soul. But he was sincerely devoted to Nikolai
Antonich—at least, so we thought. Now I wasn't so sure. He may have
changed. Perhaps, without Nikolai Antonich knowing it, out of pure
devotion to him, he had decided to destroy papers which might cast a
reflection on the good name of his teacher, his friend?
No, he would never do anything merely out of devotion to that man.
There was some other motive behind this, I was sure. But I couldn't
make out what that motive was. I could only go by the old set of
relations which had existed between Nikolai Antonich and Romashka,
as I knew very little about their present relations.
It might have been some very simple motive, something to do with
promotion. Nikolai Antonich, it should be remembered, was a professor,
and Romashka was his assistant. It might even be money-even as a
schoolboy his ears used to burn at the mere mention of money.
Something to do with his salary perhaps.
I phoned Valya. I wanted to consult him, seeing that he had been
visiting the Tatarinovs in recent years, but he was not at home. He never
was when he was most needed!
"No, it's not salary or a career," I went on thinking. "He'd get these by
other, simpler means. You only have to look at him." It was time to go
home, but evening was only just drawing in, a lovely Moscow evening so
unlike my evenings at Zapolarie that I felt a desire to walk back to my
hotel, though it was a good distance away.
And so I sauntered off, first in the direction of Gorky Street, then
down Vorotnikovsky Street. Familiar places! I had passed my hotel and
continued down Vorotnikovsky, then turned off into Sadovo-
Triumfalnaya, past our school. And from there it was a stone's throw to
2nd Tverskaya-Yamskaya, where a few minutes later found me standing
204
in front of a familiar house. I looked through the gate and saw a familiar
tidy little courtyard and a familiar brickbuilt woodshed where I used to
chop wood for the old lady. And there was the staircase down which I
had tumbled head over heels, and there the door with the brass
nameplate on which was inscribed in fanciful lettering: "N. A.
Tatarinov".
"Katya, I've come to see you. You won't drive me away, will you?"
Afterwards Katya said that she realised at once the moment she saw
me that I was "quite different" from what I had been the other day
outside the Bolshoi Theatre. One thing she couldn't make out, though-
why, coming to see her so suddenly and looking "quite different", I
never took my eyes off Nikolai Antonich and Romashka the whole
evening.
That was an exaggeration, of course, but I did glance at them now and
again. My brain that evening was working at full exam-time pressure
and I guessed and grasped things at a bare hint.
I forgot to mention that before leaving the cafe I had bought some
flowers. I had walked to the Tatarinovs' house carrying a bunch of
flowers and felt rather awkward. Ever since the days Pyotr and I had
stolen gillyflowers from the gardening beds at Ensk and sold them for
five kopecks a bunch to people coming out of the theatre, I had never
walked through the streets carrying flowers. Now that I had come, I
should have given the flowers to Katya. Instead, I put them down on the
hall table beside my cap.
I just have shown some agitation, though, because when I spoke I
couldn't keep the ring out of my voice. Katya looked at me quickly
straight in the face.
We were about to go into her room, but at that moment Nina
Kapitonovna came out of the dining-room. I bowed. She looked at me
blankly and nodded stiffly.
"Grandma, this is Sanya. Don't you recognise him?"
"Sanya? Bless my heart! Is it really?"
She threw a startled look over the shoulder, and through the open
door of the dining-room I saw Nikolai Antonich sitting in an armchair
with a newspaper in his hands. He was at home!
"How do you do, Nina Kapitonovna!" I said warmly. "Do you still
remember me? I bet you have forgotten me."
"No I haven't. Forgotten! Nothing of the sort," the old lady answered.
We were still embracing when Nikolai Antonich appeared in the
doorway.
It was a moment of renewed mutual appraisal. He could have ignored
me, as he had done at Korablev's anniversary party. He could have made