Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

Kravtsov lay still for a while and then began to dose off.

A gentle knock at the door woke him. The same steward stole into the cabin, put Kravtsov's trunk in a corner, switched off the ceiling light, and noiselessly closed the door behind him.

No, that wouldn't do. That was the way to get demoralized. Kravtsov forced himself to get up. He reeled and was obliged to clutch the writing-desk. Had it got rough? Or was he reeling from fatigue may be? "Dammit!" he thought to himself. "That's enough! Tomorrow I'll make a… damn! I'm beginning to forget words now. Well, what is it… a report."

He took some clean linen and went out into the long grey-carpeted passage. Coming towards him were Bramulla and Stamm, accompanied by a tall man in a light green suit, with a magnificant grey mane and twinkling keen eyes. Kravtsov stood aside and mumbled a greeting. The tall man nodded. Bramulla said to him, "This is engineer Kravtsov."

"Oh!" exclaimed the stranger and gave Kravtsov his hand. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance. Morozov's my name."

Kravtsov, holding the bundle of clothes under his arm, shook the Academician's hand.

"We thought very highly of your work on the rig in Moscow, Comrade Kravtsov," said Morozov. "You put up a splendid performance."

"Thank you."

The bundle dropped on the carpet. Kravtsov bent down to pick it up, but staggered and fell on all fours.

"You'd better get to bed," he heard Morozov saying. "We'll have plenty of time to talk."

Kravtsov straightened himself up and watched the Academician leave.

"You wretch!" he said to himself through clenched teeth. "You can't keep steady on your legs, you clot!"

In the bathroom he surveyed his reflection in the mirror with disgust. He was a nice sight- hair dishevelled, face unshaven and all patchy, for some reason, and eyes sunk in.

He took a bath and stood for a long time under a cool shower. This refreshed him and interest in life came back to him.

It was quiet in the passage and nobody was about; the ceiling lamps shed a gentle light. Outside cabin 27, Kravtsov paused for a moment. Would Will be asleep? The door was very slightly ajar, and he was just about to tap on it, when he suddenly heard a cracked female voice say: "That doesn't matter. But don't imagine I've come for your sake."

"Fine," answered Will. "And now the best thing you can do is go away again."

"Oh no!" the woman laughed. "I'm not going in such a hurry, my dear."

Kravtsov hurried away from the door. "Norma Hampton and Will!" he thought to himself in amazement. "What can there be in common between them? Still, it's not my business."

He went into his cabin. It wasn't a bad little cabin-small, but cosy. He scratched his sparse growth of beard. Should he shave now, or in the morning?

He switched on the light and on the table saw a pile of letters.

Kravtsov awoke with a feeling of happiness. What could it be? Oh, yes, of course, the letters from Marina! He had read and re-read them till three in the morning. What was the time now? Oh-ho! Twenty to ten!

He jumped out of bed, drew the curtain, and opened the porthole. The blue morning rushed into the cabin. He saw the deep blue expanse of the sea, the sky dappled with light tufts of cloud, and, far off on the horizon, the rig, looking like a tiny box topped with a cap of white steam. The sun was dazzling and at first he could not make out the slender black thread stretching up from the eddies of steam and losing itself in the clouds. The mysterious pillar looked less like a thread, indeed, than an insignificant hair on the mighty bosom of the Earth. A mere nothing, not worthy of the sensation it had caused in the world.

Kravtsov's eyes fell on a sheet of paper that was lying on top of the pile of letters. Smiling, he took it up and once again read the words written in crooked printed letters: "Daddy, come home quick, I miss you." Marina had guided Vovka's hand. Underneath he had drawn a house, that was just as crooked, with smoke switling from its chimney. Good old Vovka! He could already hold a pencil in his little fist!

So now it was time to go and have breakfast and then find Morozov. If they didn't need him, than at the first chance…

He started at the ring of a telephone. "Alexander! Have you had breakfast?" he heard Will's muffled voice. "No."

"Oh! then you won't be in time." "What's up, Will?"

"The launch is leaving at ten. You won't be in time. Go and have breakfast."

"I'll be in time all right," said Kravtsov, but Will had already rung off.

Dressing hastily Kravtsov ran out into the corridor. In the spacious lounge he was pounced on by some journalist, but ran on, muttering "Sorry". He found himself in a narrow passage in which a ventilator was roaring and realized he had lost his way. Back again! He asked his way now and, flying out on to the spardeck, immediately saw, far below, the launch dancing on the waves along side of the "Fukuoka". He rushed down a ladder two steps at a time to the upper deck, and came to a halt by a group of men. Standing there, panting, he heard Ali-Ovsad's voice:

"Why have you come? I said not to wake you but let you sleep. Did the Englishman tell you?" "Yes. Where is he?"

Ali-Ovsad pointed to the launch.

"There. Don't go. Rest."

"Rest, rest." Kravtsov waved him aside with annoyance and edged his way through the compact crowd of journalists to Bramulla and Stamm. They were talking by the ladder leading down to the launch to the elderly Japanese he had seen the day before.

Kravtsov was ashamed of having overslept. He greeted them shyly, and Bramulla, taking his hand, pulled him over to the Japanese.

"This is engineer Kravtsov."

The wrinkles on the face of the Japanese smoothed out in a smile. He took a deep breath and said in a high-pitched voice, "Masao Tokunaga," and added in quite good Russian, "Did you have a good rest?"

"Yes, quite good."

So this was the famous Academician! Twenty-five years ago, he had examined the ruins of Hiroshima with the first group of Japanese Scientists and had made a passionate protest against atomic weapons. It was rumoured that he was suffering from radiation sickness and, indeed, he did not look well.

"Mr. Tokunaga," said Kravtsov. "Let me go on the launch."

"Do you know why it's going?"

"No."

Tokunaga laughed softly to himself.

"But I know the rig very well," said Kravtsov, feeling his face flush, "and… I can be of use.

Just then Morozov joined them.

"The latest news, Tokunaga-san," he announced cheerily. "Radar puts the height of the pillar now at around thirty kilometres. It's moving at a speed of eight hundred metres an hour, but that still has to be checked."

"Thirty kilometres!" exclaimed one of the journalists.

"Well, is everything ready?" Morozov stepped on to the ladder. "Are you coming with us, Kravtsov?"

"Oh yes. "

"Come on, then."

They got into the launch and a sailor immediately pushed off from the bottom step. The launch raced along the white hull of the "Fukuoka". Morozov waved, and Tokunaga nodded sadly in response.

Kravtsov greeted Will, Jim Parkinson, and Chulkov.

"So you're here," he said to Chulkov.

"Of course," he answered, grinning. "Wherever you go, I go."

"No breakfast?" asked Will.

"It doesn't matter," said Kravtsov.

Puffing at his pipe, Will looked at him thoughtfully.

Besides the men, there was a fair-haired young man on the launch Kravtsov didn't know, wearing a brightly coloured shirt with a picture of Mount Fujiyama on it. He was busy with some instruments and was talking in a low voice to Morozov. There were five or six instruments, the largest of which resembled a gas cylinder; the smallest was in a wooden case which the young chap held in his arms.