第 66 页

Never before had Pavel Korchagin been so profoundly, so stirringly conscious of the grandeur and might of the Revolution, and an indescribable surge of pride and joy swept over him at the thought that life had brought him, a fighter and builder, to this triumphant rally of the young guard to Bolshevism.

The Congress claimed all of his time from early morning until late at night, so that it was not until one of the final sessions that Pavel met Rita again. She was with a group of Ukrainians.

"I am leaving tomorrow as soon as the Congress closes," she told him. "I don't know whether we will have another chance for a talk, and so I have prepared two old notebooks of my diary for you, and a short note. Read them and send them back to me by post. They will tell you all that I have not told you."

He pressed her hand and gave her a long look as if committing her features to memory.

They met as agreed the following day at the main entrance and Rita handed him a package and a sealed letter. There were people all around and so their leave-taking was restrained, but in her slightly misted eyes Pavel read a deep tenderness tinged with sadness.

The next day their trains bore them away in different directions. The Ukrainian delegation occupied several carriages of the train in which Pavel travelled. He shared a compartment with some delegates from Kiev. In the evening, when the other passengers had retired and Okunev on the neighbouring berth was snoring peacefully, Pavel moved the lamp closer and opened the letter.

"Pavel, my darling! I might have told you all this when we were together, but it is better this way.

I wish only one thing: that what we spoke of before the Congress should leave no scar on your life. I know you are strong and I believe that you meant what you said. I do not take a formal attitude to life, I feel that one may make exceptions — though rarely — in one's personal relationships, provided they are founded on a genuine and deep attachment. For you I would have made that exception, but I rejected my impulse to pay tribute to our youth. I feel that there would be no true happiness in it for either of us. Still, you ought not to be so harsh to yourself, Pavel. Our life is not all struggle, there is room in it for the happiness that real love brings.

"As for the rest, the main purport of your life, I have no fears for you. I press your hand warmly."Rita."

Pavel tore up the letter reflectively; he thrust his hand out of the window and felt the wind tearingthe scraps of paper out of his hand.

By morning he had read both notebooks of Rita's diary, wrapped them up and tied them ready for posting. At Kharkov he left the train with Okunev and Pankratov and several other delegates.

Okunev was going to Kiev to fetch Talya, who was staying with Anna. Pankratov, who had been elected member of the Central Committee of the Ukrainian Komsomol, also had business in Kiev.

Pavel decided to go on with them to Kiev and pay a visit to Dubava and Anna. By the time he emerged from the post-office at the Kiev station after sending off the parcel to Rita, the others had gone, so he set off alone. The tram stopped outside the house where Anna and Dubava lived. Pavel climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked at the door on the left,Anna's room. No one answered. It was too early for her to have gone to work. "She must be sleeping," he thought. The door of the neighbouring room opened and a sleepy-eyed Dubava came out on the landing. His face was ashen and there were dark circles under his eyes. He exuded a strong smell of onions and Pavel's sharp nose caught a whiff of alcohol. Through the half-open door he caught a glimpse of the fleshy leg and shoulders of some woman on the bed.

Dubava, noticing the direction of his glance, kicked the door shut.

"You've come to see Comrade Borhart, I suppose?" he inquired hoarsely, evading Pavel's eyes.

"She doesn't live here any more. Didn't you know that?"

Korchagin, his face stern, looked searchingly at Dubava.

"No, I didn't. Where has she gone?"

Dubava suddenly lost his temper.

"That's no concern of mine!" he shouted. He belched and added with suppressed malice: "Come to console her, eh? You're just in time to fill the vacancy. Here's your chance. Don't worry, she won't refuse you. She told me many a time how much she liked you ... or however those silly women put it. Go on, strike the iron while it's hot. It will be a true communion of soul and body."

Pavel felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. Restraining himself with difficulty, he said in a low voice:

"What are you doing to yourself, Mityai! I never thought you'd fall so low. You weren't a bad fellow once. Why are you letting yourself go to the dogs?"

Dubava leaned back against the wall. The cement floor evidently felt cold to his bare feet, for he shivered.

The door opened and a woman's face with swollen eyes and puffy cheeks appeared.

"Come back in, duckie, what're you standing out there for?"

Before she could say any more, Dubava slammed the door to and stood against it.

"A fine beginning," Pavel observed. "Look at the company you're keeping. Where will it all end?"

But Dubava would hear no more.

"Are you going to tell me who I should sleep with?" he shouted. "I've had enough of yourpreaching. Now get back where you came from! Run along and tell them all that Dubava has taken to drinking and whoring."

Pavel went up to him and said in a voice of suppressed emotion:

"Mityai, get rid of that woman. I want to talk to you, for the last time...."

Dubava's face darkened. He turned on his heel and went back into the room without another word.

"The swine!" Pavel muttered and walked slowly down the stairs.

Two years went by. Time counted off the days and months, but the swift colourful pageant of life filled its seeming monotony with novelty, so that no two days were alike. The great nation of one hundred and sixty million people, the first people in the world to have taken the destiny of their vast land with its untold riches into their own hands, were engaged in the Herculean task of reviving their war-ravaged economy. The country grew stronger, new vigour flowed into its veins,and the dismal spectacle of smokeless abandoned factories was no longer to be seen.

For Pavel those two years fled by in ceaseless activity. He was not one to take life calmly, to greet each day with a leisurely yawn and retire at the stroke of ten. He lived at a swift tempo, grudging himself and others every wasted moment.

He allowed a bare minimum of time for sleep. Often the light burned in his window late into the night, and within, a group of people would be gathered around the table engrossed in study. They had made a thorough study of Volume III of Capital in these two years and the subtle mechanics of capitalist exploitation were now revealed to them.

Razvalikhin had turned up in the area where Korchagin now worked. He had been sent by the Gubernia Committee with the recommendation that he be appointed Secretary of a district Komsomol organisation. Pavel happened to be away when Razvalikhin arrived and in his absence the Bureau had sent the newcomer to one of the districts. Pavel received the news on his return without comment.

A month later Pavel made an unexpected visit to Razvalikhin's district. There was not much evidence, but what there was turned out to be sufficiently damning: the new secretary drank, he had surrounded himself with toadies and was suppressing the initiative of the conscientious members. Pavel submitted the evidence to the Bureau, and when the meeting voted administering Razvalikhin a severe reprimand, Pavel surprised everyone by getting up and saying:

"I move that he be expelled and that his expulsion be final."

The others were taken aback by the motion. It seemed too severe a measure under the circumstances. But Pavel insisted.

"The scoundrel must be expelled. He had every chance to become a decent human being, but he has remained an outsider in the Komsomol." And Pavel told the Bureau about the Berezdov incident.

"I protest!" Razvalikhin shouted. "Korchagin is simply trying to settle personal scores. What he says is nothing but idle gossip. Let him back up his charges with facts and documents. Suppose I were to come to you with a story that Korchagin had gone in for smuggling, would you expel him on the strength of that? He's got to submit written proof."

"Don't worry, I'll submit all the proofs necessary," Korchagin replied.

Razvalikhin left the room. Half an hour later Pavel persuaded the Bureau to adopt a resolution expelling Razvalikhin from the Komsomol as an alien element.

Summer came and with it the vacation season. Pavel's fellow workers left for their well-earned holiday one after another. Those whose health demanded it went to the seaside and Pavel helped them to secure sanatorium accommodations and financial assistance. They went away pale and worn, but elated at the prospect of their coming holiday. The burden of their work fell on Pavel's shoulders and he bore the added load without a murmur. In due time they returned sunburned and

full of life and energy, and others went off. Throughout the summer the office was short-handed.

But life did not lessen its swift pace, and Pavel could not afford to miss a single day's work.

The summer passed. Pavel dreaded the approach of autumn and winter for they invariably brought him much physical distress.

He had looked forward with particular eagerness to the coming of summer that year. For painful though it was for him to admit it even to himself he felt his strength waning from year to year.

There were only two alternatives: to admit that he could not endure the intensive effort his work demanded of him and declare himself an invalid, or remain at his post as long as he could. He chose the latter course.

One day at a meeting of the Bureau of the Regional Committee of the Party Dr. Bartelik, an old Party underground worker now in charge of public health in the region, came over and sat down beside him.

"You're looking rather seedy, Korchagin. How's your health? Have you been examined by the Medical Commission? You haven't? I thought as much. But you look as if you were in need of an overhauling, my friend. Come over on Thursday evening and we'll have a look at you."

Pavel did not go. He was too busy. But Bartelik did not forget him and some time later he came for Pavel and took him to the commission in which he participated as neuropathologist. The Medical Commission recommended "an immediate vacation with prolonged treatment in the Crimea, to be followed by regular medical treatment. Unless this is done serious consequences are unavoidable."

From the long list of ailments in Latin that preceded this recommendation Pavel understood only one thing — the main trouble was not in his legs, but in his central nervous system, which was seriously impaired.

Bartelik put the commission's decision before the Bureau, and the motion that Korchagin be released at once from work evoked no opposition. Korchagin himself, however, suggested that his vacation be postponed until the return of Sbitnev, Chief of the Organisational Department. He did not want to leave the Committee without leadership.

The Bureau agreed, although Bartelik objected to the delay.

And so in three weeks' time Pavel was to leave for his holiday, the first in his life.

Accommodation had already been reserved for him in a Yevpatoria sanatorium and a paper to that effect lay in his desk drawer.

He worked at even greater pressure in this period; he held a plenary meeting of the Regional Komsomol and drove himself relentlessly to tie up all loose ends so as to be able to leave with his mind at rest.

And on the very eve of his departure for his first glimpse of the sea, a revolting, unbelievable thing happened.

Pavel had gone to the Party propaganda section after work that day to attend a meeting. There was no one in the room when he arrived and so he had sat down on the windowsill by the open window behind the bookcase to wait for the others to assemble. Before long several people came in. He could not see them from behind the bookcase but he recognised one voice. It belonged to Failo, the man in charge of the Regional Economic Department, a tall, handsome fellow with a dashing military bearing, who had earned himself a reputation for drinking and running after women.

Failo had once been a partisan and never missed an opportunity to brag laughingly of the way he had sliced off the heads of Makhno men by the dozen. Pavel could not stand the man. One day a Komsomol girl had come weeping to Pavel with the story that Failo had promised to marry her, but after living with her for a week had left her and now did not even greet her when they met.

When the matter came up before the Control Commission, Failo wriggled out of it since the girl could give no proofs. But Pavel had believed her. He now listened while the others, unaware of his presence, talked freely.

"Well, Failo, how goes it? What have you been up to lately?"

The speaker was Gribov, one of Failo's boon companions. For some reason Gribov was considered a propagandist although he was ignorant, narrow-minded and stupid.

Nevertheless he prided himself on being called a propaganda worker and made a point of reminding everyone of the fact on all and every occasion.

"You can congratulate me, my boy. I made another conquest yesterday. Korotayeva. You said nothing would come of it. That's where you were mistaken, my lad. If I go after a woman you may be sure I'll get her sooner or later," Failo boasted, adding some obscenities.

Pavel felt the nervous chill that always seized him when he was deeply roused. Korotayeva was in charge of the Women's Department and had come to the Regional Committee at the same time as he had. Pavel knew her for a pleasant, earnest Party worker, kind and considerate to the women who came to her for help and advice, and respected by her fellow workers in the Committee. Pavel knew that she was not married, and he had no doubt that it was of her that Failo had spoken.

"Go on, Failo, you're making it up! It doesn't sound like her." "Me, making it up? What do you take me for? I've broken in harder cases than that. You only have to know how. Got to have the right approach. Some of them will give in right away, but that kind aren't worth the trouble. Others take a whole month to come to heel.

The important thing is to understand their psychology. The right approach, that's the thing. Why, man, it's a whole science, but I'm a regular professor in such matters. Ho! Ho! Ho!"