The Town By The Sea

MAKING IT UP

Several times the curtain had to be raised while the performers came out on the. stage joining hands with Madame Rogale-Piontkovskaya in the middle.

But the real show did not begin until after this introductory parody.

As usual, the "Blue Blouse Show," which was very popular in those days, performed a few turns.

After that, the milling shop's string orchestra, which was almost entirely composed of young people, performed the Russian folk song The Moon Is Shining and Chaikovsky's Sentimental Waltz.

Then the old workers' choir appeared on the stage. To my great surprise I saw Gladyshev among them. I had been accustomed to seeing him in a rough shirt with short sleeves, and now I could scarcely recognize him. He was wearing a long black dress-coat over a finely-embroidered blue high-necked shirt. Gladyshev turned out to be the leading bass.

The choir sang In Bondage Harsh, then O'er the Wild Steppes of Trans-Baikal and The Red Banner. The old men were loudly applauded and asked for an encore. After whispering together for a moment, they sang By the Don a Young Cossack Roams, then We Are Smiths and Young in Heart. But anyone could see that the songs of exile were the favourites of the old workers, for when they were encored again, they sang Ding-Dong, Hark the Fetters Ring\ While they sang, chains could be heard clanking backstage. And you could just imagine the long road across Russia and a party of revolutionaries tramping through frost and snow to Siberia...

To vary the programme, Golovatsky and the club-manager had invited some singers from the watermen's club. There were only three of them. To show that they were connected with the sea, they came on to the stage in oilskins and sou'westers. One of them I recognized as Kolya, the big sailor from the Life-Saving Society who had offered Angelika a life-buoy when she and I took a boat out together. The singers cleared their throats and to the tune of a bayan sang the gay Taganrog Chastushki. Now and then they stamped their big fishermen's boots that came up to their thighs. I did not know that Azov Sea fishermen were so good at composing comic songs.

Then they sang some comic songs about the sea which can still be heard along the Azov and Black-Sea coasts. Composed in the early years after the Revolution, these songs made fun of the interventionists who helped the Whiteguards to fight against the young Soviet Republic. To the twanging of a pair of balalaikas, the singers ridiculed the black Baron Wrangel, the shaggy-headed Makhno, and the British naval commanders who had taken the Russian grand princes out of the Crimea in their destroyers and been rewarded for their services with the family jewels.

For the first time I heard the sailor's song Spreads the Sea Wide performed by Arkady Ignatievich.

Then the solo dancers came on the stage. There turned out to be a lot of them. No one would have thought that so much talent was hidden among the workers of our plant. A fellow would do a dance sometimes at a wedding, or a christening, or at some other family gathering, he might dance for his friends at "The Little Nook," but no one had ever thought of inviting such people to perform at the club, of giving him the chance to display his aft toy the whole works. Golovatsky was a real brick to have thought of it!

First came fitter Khimenko in a lambskin cap and Cherkess cloak. He made several low bows, then began walking round and round the stage. Gradually the circles grew smaller and smaller, his feet clad in soft chuvyaki moved faster and faster across the boards, and finally he burst into a whirling highland dance, flourishing a dagger.

Stupak, a swarthy refugee from Bessarabia, gave a performance of a dance that was popular in his

country—the zhok. Later this dance became widely known in the Soviet Union, but in those days it was a curiosity.

Misha Osaulenko from the transport department leapt out on to the stage dressed as a sailor. His face was beaming with pleasure.

Osaulenko did all sorts of tricks, now pretending to climb a tall mast, now bending down and hauling on a rope. Then he gave an imitation of a sailor battling with a fierce storm.

I knew that Misha had never been farther out to sea than Belorechenskaya 'Kosa and wondered how such a land-lubber could play the part of a sailor so well.

Arkady Ignatievich's wife, Ludmilla, did a dance too. She was wearing her blue sports frock with red pockets. It was a tap-dance and her little feet moved with wonderful speed and precision. At a sign from Ludmilla the orchestra stopped playing and for a good two minutes she kept up the tune with the tapping of her feet.

At first Golovatsky had not wanted to admit our friend the cabman to the stage on the grounds that he worked for himself, privately, instead of at the plant. But we had persuaded Tolya to change his mind and even shown him Volodya's partisan card. No one had cause to regret Volodya's appearance on the stage. While the band played a lively tune he juggled beautifully with nickel-plated balls, and even did a handstand on two bottles, supporting all his weight with his one sound hand. And after these tricks he danced as well as Ludmilla. His sailor's hornpipe won loud applause. But when Volodya danced the famous Azov chebachok, and then completed his performance with the comic dance tip-top, his success overshadowed that of all the dancers who had performed before him.

The large entrance-hall into which the audience poured after the concert had been hung with caricatures of the regulars at the Rogale-Piontkovskaya dancing-saloon. Above them placards in large letters stretched the full length of the walls: "Down with Charlestons and Foxtrots!" "We will drive bourgeois culture out of our life for ever!" "Give our youth sensible, cheerful amusement!"

At the same time the youth section told its guests what amateur-talent groups they could join. One of the groups was a solo folk dance group. There was also a notice saying that in a few days a class would be started for those who wanted to learn such dances as the waltz, the cracovienne, the mazurka, the vengerka, and the polka.

The instructors at the workers' evening institute had taken advantage of the show to exhibit a notice laying out the conditions of admission to the institute. "Every Worker Can Become an Engineer!" was the heading at the top of the notice.

While the people strolled about the hall, I went outside for a breath of fresh air. At the entrance I met Lika.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," she said, offering me her hand. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Good evening," I pretended not to notice her sarcasm. "Did you like the show?"

"It was very unusual. And funny. There's never been anything like that at the club before... Are you going home?" She looked at me from under her thick eye-lashes and, as if afraid that I might say "no" added quickly: "Do see me home, please. My companion took offence and ran away.""

"I know."

"And now you're gloating? It was rather cruel. Do you think he really enjoyed going to Genoa Street? Everyone goes there because it's so dull at the club. . . Are you going to see me home?"

I looked at Angelika. Her big, rather slanting eyes were so full of appeal that I could not refuse. I went with her.

"What do you mean 'dull,' Lika? That's silly. You talk as if your Zuzya were a little baby who needed a nurse to play with him. Do you think he gets through one book a year?"

"He doesn't," said Lika and laughed. "You're quite right about that."

"There you are!" I said heatedly. "A chap who never bothers to think and keeps his brains in his feet will feel bored everywhere."

"But tell me, Vasil, what made you spare me in this Charlestoniada of yours? All the time I was expecting to see myself among that dreadful lot."

"We wanted ... we thought..." I muttered, trying to avoid the direct answer. And then I blurted out: "It was mainly the young people from the works we wanted to influence."

"What you really mean is that you consider me past any 'education,' don't you?" And Lika looked at me so intently that I felt embarrassed.

"I didn't say that," I muttered, and thought to myself: "There she goes again, trying to make it a personal issue."

We were walking along the deserted street that led to the sea, and I felt annoyed because this was not at all how I'd planned to spend the evening. Had I been polite, I should have tried to amuse the girl walking at my side, but I kept a stubborn silence.

My thoughts were far from Angelika. Still fresh in my mind was the excitement of the days when all of us, a gay team of young workers, helped by the older men from the works, had been making reapers for Nikita Kolomeyets and clearing the space in the foundry for the new machines.

And what a lot of work lay ahead of us! Flegontov had related how Komsomol members in Leningrad were trying to increase productivity. We wanted to make use of their experience. We'll put up a Lost Minutes screen in our foundry and mark on it every single minute lost through inefficiency, then Kolya Zakabluk will count up how much these minutes cost us... We'll plant out trees and flower-beds in the grounds... There's so much to be done!

As if sensing my thoughts Angelika asked quietly: "Am I bothering you?" : "No, why?"

"Why are you trying to avoid me?" "Our outlook on life is too different," I said frankly. "I quite agree with you, but you must admit it's wrong to regard a person only from one angle." "What do you mean?"

"Well, take for instance the way you look at me. 'Here's a silly, whimsical girl who leads an easy life under her father's wing!'— that's what you're thinking, isn't it?" There was a tone of sadness in Angelika's voice.

"But how can I think differently, Lika, if you yourself. . ."

But she did not let me finish and said passionately: "You like to condemn everything irrevocably,

Vasil! You won't try to understand a person who may have a worm eating at his soul. You mustn't "be like that! Thai time on the boat it was enough for me to say, 'I'm waiting for a lucky chance,' and you immediately reproached me. You didn't even try to understand what I really meant. I know very well that you consider me one of those helpless creatures whose sole desire is to get married. But I wish you'd understand that a future like that won't satisfy me. I don't want to be like those fat merchants' wives who only find pleasure in 'stuffing themselves with food, dolling themselves up, and going out with their husbands on Sundays to show off and gossip about other people..."

Lika's frank words knocked me right off my balance.

"What do you want then?" I asked helplessly.

She shook her head and murmured thoughtfully: "If only you knew how I hate this suffocating provincial life!"

"You're wrong again, Lika," I retorted. "It's your own fault if you choose your friends from the dregs. There are good people in the town as well. You shouldn't lump everybody together like that. Take our works, for example. Think how many decent, clever, interesting people there are there. What's 'provincial' about them?"

We sat down on the sea wall, not far from the spot where I had first seen Angelika.

Far out in the bay lay a foreign ship, her portholes gleaming. It was being loaded with grain from big shalandas that had come out from the shore. We could hear the noise of the winches mingled with the sound of the foreign speech and the tramp of sailors' feet on the brightly lit deck.

Lika was the first to speak.

"Look here, Vasil, I know there are quite a lot of interesting people in town who would give me strength and an aim in life if I'd let them. But at the moment I'm talking to you about my own surroundings..." Her voice trembled. "May I be frank with you?"

"You can try, I like frank people."

"And you promise not to spread a lot of talk about what I say?" She looked at me rather strangely and I realized that she wanted to tell me a secret.

"Why should I do that?"

"I trust you, Vasil... You see, Father and Mother think that this isn't going to last ... I mean Soviet power and all that..."

"Well, you do surprise me, Lika! Do you think I didn't know that without you telling me. One talk with your father was enough."

"You realized that, did you? Well, there it is. He was very frank with you. At least, more so than with others...

You see, my parents have convinced themselves that this just can't last, that they've got to sit and wait for it to come to an end, like a shower of rain. And all the people they know think the same. 'Not much longer now. . .' that's what they all say, those gossiping women who come round to see my mother. First they placed their hopes on Wrangel, then on General Kutepov. Once there was a rumour that Petlura had joined forces with Makhno, and that a whole army would be landing in Tavria to save Russia from the Bolsheviks. Mother even started counting up her tsarist government bonds..."

This was too much for me and I said grimly: "That'll never happen, they'll go bald waiting for it, like your Zuzya in our show. They'll just waste their lives and Soviet power will still be here, strong as ever."

"Let's get one thing settled right away, Vasil: Zuzya's no more 'mine' than he is 'yours.' " She sounded hurt. "Let me finish what I was saying..." And she looked at me fixedly.

"Go on then," I said.

"Well, these women spend days on end at our house, gossiping about one thing and another, about the weddings that were held there, how some person called Edwards got married to a Rogalikha, how many glasses the guests broke when they got drunk. Their whole life's a memory! I hear the same thing day in, day out, and I think to myself: 'What has all this got to do with me? They've nothing left except their memories, but I want to live! And I could have a real future.' "

Moved by the sincerity in Lika's tone, I asked more gently: "Why did you argue with me before?"

"Oh, that was just my stupidity! Just to be argumentative."

"That never gets you far," I said.

"Do you think I don't realize that?" she said in the same sincere tone. "Of course I do! That's why I repented and sent you that note. That's why I've come to you now.

It's the first time I've ever admitted myself wrong to anybody, obstinate creature that I am..."

"My opinion, Lika, has always been that it is better to tell a person the truth straight out than to coddle him and pander to all his whims."

"And you're quite right. But now tell me this, are you really convinced that I'm hopeless."

I could see she had been leading up to that question for a long time. She asked it with a slight laugh, then looked at me with her deep, attentive eyes.

"No one thinks that, but it seems to me.. ."

"Don't beat about the bush! Say what you think," Angelika challenged me.

I said it: "Won't you be sorry to leave your comfortable home with your carpets and fairies? You've got rather used to them, haven't you?"

She replied: "Believe me, if I see so much as a gleam of light ahead, I'll find a way out. I'll break with it all for ever."

"Are you quite sure of that?" I asked quickly.

"Absolutely! How utterly fed up with it I am, if you only knew! I used to be a tomboy and now I'm supposed to be a young lady. My mother nearly asked Father Pimen up to the house to teach me the law of God. But what law of God can there be, when millions of people are living by new laws!"

I found it hard to conceal my joy. "So you don't believe in religion?" I said with relief.

She laughed gaily and smacked my arm.

"You are funny sometimes, Vasil. And naive too. Surely you don't think I'm such a hopeless fool? Of course I don't believe in it!"

"Why do you have an icon-lamp in your room then?"

Still smiling, she answered simply: "While I go on living in my parents' house, I can't have rows every day."

"Give them up! Say to hell with all those icon-lamps and gossiping women and fairies. Go and study. And it would be better if you went to another town. Listen, Angelika, I'll tell you something. There used to be a girl at our factory school called Galya Kushnir. She studied with us for two years and never got behind in anything, though she did find it pretty hard sometimes to work the cutters on . a lathe. When we finished at school, she was sent away like the rest of us. And she had a mother and father, and no one would have said anything against her if she had wanted to stay behind. But Galya. did the right thing. 'Aren't I as good as the boys?' she said. Our Galya had guts. She went off with the rest of us. To Odessa. I've just had a letter from her. She's fixed up all right and very glad about it. She earns her own wages and she's not dependent on anyone..."

Lika looked at me questioningly.

"You think I ought to throw everything up? I'd be frightened."

"Why should you be? We had chaps at school who were complete orphans, whose parents had been killed by Petlura. But do you think those chaps came to any harm? They made the grade fine! They're craftsmen now! Of course it was hard to live on a grant of eighteen rubles a month, that's a fact. We had to make do with lentils and hominy for weeks on end. But we got through it. And why can't you live independently, without your father and mother? I honestly advise you to chuck this rotten life and go and

study."

She sat without speaking, tapping her heels on the sea wall. Her gaze rested on the lighthouse that was sweeping the sea with its silvery beam. There was something very pleasant in her thoughtful face at that moment.

"Yes, Vasil, I've made up my mind!" she said turning sharply towards me. "It's a promise. But there's one thing that I'm not going to chuck up—that's music. I want to go and study at the conservatoire. I've got an aunt in Leningrad, I'll go and live with her. She invited me once when she came here."

"Fine!" I said, very moved. "You seem to be a good sort after all!"

"Perhaps.. . I don't know. . ." she answered simply.

I helped her to jump down from the wall and we walked quickly towards the club. The faint sound of music floated to us along the shore.

"Tell me frankly," Lika said falling into step with me. "Were you very offended with my father because of his sarcastic tone?"

"I was more offended about something else."

"Why, have you seen him since?"

"Plenty of times. We had a real tussle over one thing. He wanted to scrap my idea..."

"Daddy did?" Lika exclaimed, as if her father could do no wrong.

"Yes, your father! I had an idea ... it was about heating the moulding slabs automatically... My suggestion was put forward at a foundry production meeting and supported by both the Party organization and the older workers. Then they sent it to your father, as the chief engineer. And do you know what he wrote on my suggestion?"

"He doesn't tell me much about his affairs," Lika said.

"He could just have written 'no' and left it at that. I'd have tried somewhere else. But he put in a crack with it: This young spark is hot enough without heating.' What do you think of that?"

"I recognize Daddy's style," said Lika. "But don't let that worry you. He's got all sorts of cranky ideas. He even eats apples with maggots in them and says: I’ll eat this maggot while I've got the chance, or one day it'll eat me.' "

"But he was just making fun of me!"

"I can tell you this quite frankly, my father's a great egoist and very fond of himself. Very often he enjoys seeing other people's failures. The worse, the better!' that's what he says. Would you like me to try and persuade him to change his decision?" Lika suggested eagerly, and I saw sympathy in her eyes.

"No, don't bother. I'll manage without that."

A band was playing loudly when we walked into the brightly lit entrance-hall of the metal-workers' club. I recognized the old waltz A Forest Tale.

The first thing that struck me when we got near the dancers was the old men waltzing round the hall. They had not gone home, nor had they dropped in at "The Little Nook," as they usually did. Their visit to the youth of the works seemed to have restored their own youth. Even the close-cropped Gladyshev was waltzing gaily, if not very gracefully, with his wife. And the young people were-breaking all records.

There were far more of them here than at Madame's saloon, even on the most popular evenings. A glance at the faces of young workers was enough to tell me that they all felt themselves far more at ease than in the Genoa Street saloon.

Luka Turunda in a blue and white sailor's suit whirled past with his wife, who was wearing an amber

necklace. He winked at me, and then, noticing the engineer's daughter with me, opened his eyes wide in surprise. He knew about the offensive remark Andrykhevich had made on my plan. Luka's comment had been that the engineer was a "devil of the old regime," no wonder he could not understand why I was talking so peaceably to Angelika.

The band struck up a polka. I was about to invite Lika to dance, when I started as if I had been pricked with a pin. On the other side of the hall, not far from Petka, stood Golovatsky, arms folded and watching us intently. Apparently Tolya had not forgotten his joking advice to me "not to get tied up with the neighbours." Now, seeing us together, he was lost in speculation.

"Who cares!" I thought. "I'll tell you all about it afterwards, Tolya." And taking Lika's elbow, I led her on to the floor.

Before we had finished the polka, however, Grisha Kanuk appeared at the entrance. His sweat-stained face showed that he had only just finished work in the foundry.

I wondered why Grisha had not gone home to change, instead of coming to the club in his dirty working clothes. The moment he caught sight of me, he started beckoning me out of the hall.

"Somebody wants to see me, Lika, excuse me," I said and after finding her a seat went straight over to Grisha.

"Golovatsky, you and all the active members of the Komsomol are wanted at the works at once," Kanuk whispered panting. He must have run all the way from the works.

"But there's no one there..." I began bewilderedly.

Luka Turunda touched my elbow as he ran past.

"'Hurry, Mandzhura," he said. "It's a meeting with Rudenko."

By the time we got to the director's office, the room was full of Communists and Komsomol secretaries from the works. By the light of the two green-shaded lamps I recognized Kazurkin, Secretary of the Town Party Committee, our Flegontov, and the OGPU chief whom I had seen when the mine was discovered under the foundations of the blast-furnace.

"We won't wait any longer," Rudenko said looking round when we had all sat down. "Tonight, comrades, making use of the fact that tomorrow would be a day-off, our enemies intended blowing up all the vital sections of our plant. Their plan is in our hands! There it is." Rudenko pointed to a crumpled paper lying before him. "I consider it my duty to thank our comrades, the security men, for discovering this document in time."

Ivan Fyodorovich turned to the security man and gripped his hand warmly. The latter shook his head, as much as to say that neither he nor his assistants deserved any gratitude.

The announcement shocked us, and in the tense silence that followed the director's voice sounded even more impressive.

'The first warning we got of this kind of thing came to us, as you know, during the Komsomol members' voluntary work on Sunday. The despicable hireling of the bourgeoisie who had been entrusted with the task of detonating the mine lost his nerve and failed to carry out this act of sabotage. Then the lads in the foundry spoilt everything for him. Fortunately he has now been arrested, and at the first interrogation turned out to be very talkative. Similar mines planted by the old owner and his assistants in 1919 have been discovered in the stoke-hole and near the furnaces..."

"Who was it, Ivan Fyodorovich?" several voices asked at once.

"The worst worker and the worst drunkard at the plant —Entuta," the director said amid tense silence.

"So that was the man who tried to frighten us with his anonymous letter after we had showed him up!" the thought flashed through my mind.

After a pause the director went on: "Our comrade here will tell you the rest." And again he looked at the benevolent little man in the grey suit, beckoning him to take the chair.

All night, until daybreak, we stood watch in the shops, guarding the works until every fresh mine that had been discovered was rendered harmless.

The fact that the good-for-nothing drunkard Kashket had turned out to be a foreign agent soon lost its novelty. "Wasn't it obvious from the start that the foreign capitalists would recruit their agents among such degraded types!" I reflected as I paced up and down between the cooling furnaces. "People like him who've never had any feeling for their country will do any filthy work to get more money or another bottle of vodka... "

Madame Rogale-Piontkovskaya, about whom the security man had spoken in a restrained but very impressive manner that evening, had known about Kashket's past for a long time, ever since she had agreed to become a resident foreign agent in our town, concealing her secret activities against the Soviet state under the mask of being a dancing-mistress.

The first messenger to arrive on a cargo ship from London met her in secret. Besides handing her a letter from her husband, the sugar-refinery owner who had escaped to England, the messenger presented her with a certain "business document." This document was a list of people who were "still loyal," compiled by Nestor Makhno himself, who was in those days living in Paris and, so it was rumoured, even lectured on his bandit activities at the Staff Academy. With the help of the Entente forces he was hoping to return on his machine-gun carts to the shores of the Azov Sea.

This list included the name of the anarchist Entuta, nicknamed Kashket. Madame had got her plump bejewelled fingers on him back in the days when she still owned the "Little Nook" restaurant. Kashket came to his "mama" to cadge drinks, which thanks to Madame's "kind heart" he rarely paid for. And when at her own dancing-saloon in Genoa Street Madame demanded Kashket’s first signature on a receipt for a hundred rubles received from the British Intelligence Service, Kashket did not hesitate.

For a whole year after that Rogale-Piontkovskaya and her agents were left to themselves.

Connections with London broke down. For a long time no ship flying a British flag entered a Soviet port. Madame's bosses decided to make contact with her by other means.

Had he succeeded in blowing up security headquarters in our town in Podolia, Kozyr-Zyrka was to have visited the Donbas and the Azov coast and handed fresh instructions to other resident secret agents, Rogale-Piontkovskaya among them. Apparently that was the Kozyr-Zyrka's second task, which had baffled Vukovich for so long.

Many things that at first sight seemed trivial had helped Vukovich in his work. One of them was the chance suggestion I had made in my letter to Nikita that the keeper of the dancing-saloon might be a relation of the old countess whom we had seen in the far-off days of our childhood in Zarechye.

Vukovich established a link between Pecheritsa's appearance in the town by the sea and the fact that the engineer "killed at Uman" was passing the time very pleasantly abroad and had even got his name in that strangely named index of celebrities Who's Who.

When Polevoi wounded Kozyr-Zyrka in the loft of security headquarters, Kozyr-Zyrka took refuge in Pecheritsa's flat and entrusted Pecheritsa with this second task.

It was quite possible that had not Vukovich discovered in time where Kozyr-Zyrka was hiding, Pecheritsa might have made a "business trip" to Kharkov, taking in the Azov coast as well. But things

turned out differently. Pecheritsa had to flee and lat the same time carry out the task that he had been landed with by Kozyr-Zyrka.

When Vukovich had laid hands on both Pecheritsa and Kozyr-Zyrka, he was able to tie up all the threads.

Nikita's warning at the station had had a purpose. Any gossip about Rogale-Piontkovskaya might have hindered the exposure of the plot.

Madame's nerve had begun to fail her of late. As soon as she learnt that Kashket had been arrested, she hastily packed her family jewels and with the coming of dusk decided to go "for a boat trip."

While Petka Maremukha was acting her on the stage, Madame was making her way round the breakwater towards the foreign ship, which was finishing loading in the bay.

The town security chief did not tell us that evening that another boat with Soviet security men in it had followed Madame's boat, and that it was they who had prevented Madame from climbing aboard up a conveniently lowered rope ladder... He merely explained what a danger "had threatened the works, and mentioned in passing that "Madame was detained in time."........

I. must admit that many of us were still very puzzled during the night we spent guarding the works. I can write of it all now in such detail because the following days of discussion and thought about this mysterious affair helped us to understand what had happened.