Выбрать главу

frame of mind, I was handed, together with the key to my room, a letter

and a newspaper.

The letter was a brief one. The Secretary of the Geographical Society

notified me that my paper could not be read as I had not submitted it in

writing within the proper time. The newspaper fell open as I picked it up

and I saw an article headed: "In Defence of a Scientist". I started to read

it and lines grew blurred before my eyes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A HECTIC DAY

This is what the article said:

1. That there lived in Moscow a well-known educationalist and public

figure. Professor N. A. Tatarinov, author of a number of articles on the

history of Arctic exploration and development.

2. That an airman by the name of G. was making the round of various

offices connected with Arctic affairs and casting slurs upon this worthy

scientist, whom he accused of swindling (!) the expedition led by his

cousin. Captain I. L. Tatarinov.

3. That this airman G. intended to read a paper on these lines,

evidently regarding his slander as a scientific achievement of major

importance.

215

4. That the conduct of this man, who was sullying the good name of

Soviet Arctic workers, could bear looking into on the part of the

Northern Sea Route Administration.

The article was signed "I. Krylov", and I was surprised at the editors

using the name of the great man for such an article. I had no doubt that

Nikolai Antonich had written it-this was the "letter" the old lady had

been talking about. The newspaper was addressed to me.

Hell, what if it isn't him? It was three o'clock and I was still pacing the

room, thinking. This letter from the Geographical Society now-that

surely was his doing. Korablev told me that Nikolai Antonich was a

member of the Geographical Society, and scolded me for having told

Romashka about my paper. But the article was his too! He'd lost his

head, what with Katya going away.

I pictured him sitting in that old woman's shawl, listening in silence to

Romashka's insults. It was quite possible!

The last thing they would wish was to have the N.S.R.A. call me out

and demand an explanation. It was just what I wanted! I thought of this

as I lay in my bed. "Conduct sullying the good name of Soviet Arctic

workers..." What conduct? I hadn't spoken to anyone about it yet. They

thought they'd scare me, make me back out.

Possibly, if it hadn't been for this article, I would have left Moscow

without having accomplished anything worth mention for the Captain's

cause. The article acted as a spur. I had to do something now, the sooner

the better.

It would be wrong to think that I was as calm then as I am now, when

I am looking back at it. Several times I caught myself playing with crazy

ideas of a kind that come within the jurisdiction of the C.I.D. But I had

only to remember Katya and her words: "ill or well, dead or alive, I do

not want to see him"-for everything to fall into its proper place, and I

was really surprised at the calm way I spoke and acted that busy day.

I had a plan worked out first thing in the morning-a very simple plan,

but one which showed how fed up I was with having to deal with

secretaries and clerks. It was this:

1. To go to Pravda. I had to be there in any case as I had to hand in

the promised article before my departure.

2. To call on C.

The idea of going to see C., that famous C. who had once been our

hero at the Leningrad Flying School and afterwards became Hero of the

Soviet Union, a man the whole country knew and loved-this idea

occurred to me during the night, but had then seemed to be too

audacious. I wondered whether I could presume to phone him. Would

he remember me? I had only been an air cadet when we last met.

But now I had made up my mind. I did not think he would refuse to

see me, even if he did not remember me.

I don't know who it was that answered the phone-his wife, perhaps.

"This is air pilot Grigoriev."

"Yes?"

"I'd very much like to see Comrade C. I've come down from the Arctic,

and it's very important for me to see him."

"Then come along."

"When?"

"Today, if you can. He'll be home from the airfield at ten o'clock."

216

I went to Pravda, and this time I had to wait two hours to see my

journalist. At last he arrived.

"Ah, airman G.?" he said in a rather friendly tone. "The man who

sullies the name?"

"That's him."

"What's it all about?"

"Let me explain," I said calmly.

There followed a very serious talk in the private office of the Editor-

in-Chief, in the course of which I placed on his desk, one after another:

(a) The Captain's last letter (a copy).

(b) The navigator's letter beginning with the words: "I hasten to

inform you that Ivan Lvovich is alive and well" (a copy).

(c) The navigator's diaries.

(d) The story of the hunter Ivan Vilka taken down by me and

witnessed by the doctor.

(e) Vyshimirsky's story certified by Korablev.

(0 A photograph of the boat-hook bearing the inscription "Schooner

St. Maria".

I think it was a useful talk, because one very serious man shook me

warmly by the hand, while another said that my article on the drift of

the St. Maria would be published in one of the next issues of the

newspaper.

It was at least six kilometres from the Pravda offices to where C.

lived, but I did not remember until I had gone half way that I could have

taken a tram. I ran like mad, thinking of how I was going to tell him

about my talk at the Pravda offices.

At last I climb the stairs of a new apartment house, and stop in front

of the door and wipe my face-it is very hot-trying to think slowly about

something-a sure way of keeping calm.

The door is opened, I give my name and hear his deep voice from one

of the rooms: "Somebody to see me?"

And now this man, whom we loved in our youth and of whose

wonderful flights we had heard so much, this man comes towards me

holding out his strong hand.

"Comrade C.," I say, "you would hardly remember me. My name is

Grigoriev. We met in Leningrad when I was an air cadet."

After a slight pause he says with pleasure: "Why, of course! You were

a regular ace. Sure I remember you!"

And we go into his room, and I begin my story, feeling more excited

than ever at the thought that he has remembered me.

It was at this meeting with C. that he gave me his photograph, writing

across it the words: "If it's worth doing at all, do it well." He said I

belonged to the breed who have "a long-distance ticket". He heard me

out and said that he would telephone the N.S.R.A. the next day and

speak to the Chief about my plan.

217

CHAPTER TWELVE

ROMASHKA

It was a little past eleven when I took my leave of C and returned to

my hotel. Rather a late hour for visitors. But a visitor there was for me,

though an uninvited one.

The man at the desk said: "Someone to see you."

And Romashka rose to meet me.

He must have prepared himself for this visit in body as well as in soul,