Anatoly Rybakov - The Dirk

"What if Father drives the engine?"

"You'll get out at Bakhmach then, when they change the engine."

"What'll I do in Moscow?"

"Why, anything you like! You can go to school or you can get a job in a factory."

"How d'you mean-a job in a factory? I don't know how to do a job."

"You mean you don't know what to do in a factory? Rubbish. You'll learn. Just think it over. I'm serious about it."

"You were also serious about the scouts, and I can still feel where I was whacked for that meat."

"Can I be blamed if Nikitsky attacked Revsk? If that hadn't happened we'd have certainly gone as scouts. As soon as we arrive in Moscow we'll volunteer to fight the Whites. Will you go?"

"Where?" Genka asked guardedly.

"First to Moscow, then to the front to fight the Whites."

"If we're going to fight the Whites, then perhaps I might," Genka replied evasively.

When Genka left, Misha lay back in his bed and thought of Polevoy. Why didn't he come? What was the secret of the dirk? There must be a purpose for the wolf, scorpion, and lily on the blade, and the bronze serpent round the handle. What did it all mean?

His thoughts were interrupted by Uncle Senya. He came in, and took off his pince-nez. Without it his eyes were small and red and seemed to have a frightened look.

"How are you feeling, Mikhail?" he asked, fixing on his pince-nez.

"All right. I'm allowed to get up already."

"No, no, please don't get up," Uncle Senya said anxiously when Misha tried to get up. He stood awkwardly for a while, started pacing the room, then stopped in front of the bed again.

"Mikhail, I want to have a talk with you," he said.

"Not about the tube?" Misha wondered.

"I hope you're old enough-hm-so to say-to understand me and to arrive at useful conclusions from what I have to tell you."

"Here it comes!"

"Well," continued Uncle Senya, "I cannot see a prank in the unfortunate incident we had recently. I see it as a premature start in politics."

"What? What did you say?" Misha asked with a surprised stare at Uncle Senya.

"You don't understand me? I'll explain. You were a witness of an act of political struggle, and you, a young person, as yet immature, interfered in this act. And to no purpose."

"What d'you mean?" Misha asked in amazement. "The bandits were going to kill Polevoy and you wanted me to do nothing about it? Is that what you mean?"

"As a person of high morals, you must", of course, champion any sufferer, but only in the event, say, of Polevoy being attacked by robbers in the street. But nothing of the sort happened in the case I'm alluding to. The Reds are fighting the Whites and you're still too small to meddle in politics. Your business is to keep out of it."

"Why should I keep out?" Misha said, touched to the quick. "I'm for the Reds, you know."

"I'm not agitating either for the Reds or for the Whites. But I consider it my duty, as a relative, to warn you against participating in politics."

"Then according to you we should let the bourgeoisie rule?" Misha stretched out on his back and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "No! Just as you like, Uncle Senya, but I don't agree with you."

"No one's asking you whether you agree or not," Uncle Senya said irritably, "you listen to what your elders tell you!"

"That's exactly what I'm doing. Polevoy's my elder. My Father was, too. And Lenin. All of them are against the bourgeoisie. And I'm against them, too."

"You're impossible!" Uncle Senya exclaimed, making a deprecatory gesture with his hand as he stamped out of the room.

Uneasiness grew in Revsk and Mother hurried with the preparations for their departure.

Misha was already up, but as yet Mother would not let him out of the house, only allowing him to sit by the window and watch his friends playing in the street.

Everyone treated him with respect. Even Petka Petukh from Ogorodnaya Street came to see him and gave him a cane ornamented with spirals, rhombs, and squares, and before he left, he said:

"Misha, you can walk in our street as much as you please. Don't be afraid, we won't touch you."

But Polevoy still did not come. Misha thought of the grand times he used to have sitting with him on the porch and listening to amazing stories about seas, oceans, and the vast moving world. He wondered if he should go down to the hospital himself. The doctor there would be sure to let him in if he asked him.

But Misha did not have to go to the hospital. Polevoy came himself and Misha's heart beat excitedly when he caught the sound of his merry voice far down the street. Polevoy came into the house in army uniform and top boots, and brought into Misha's room the sunny freshness of the street and the scents of the warm summer. The chair near Misha's bed creaked plaintively and swayed under Polevoy's weight, withstanding it all the same, and the man and boy looked at each other and smiled.

Then Polevoy patted the blanket and narrowed his eyes slyly.

"Hello, Mikhail Grigoryevich! How are you getting on? All right?"

Misha only smiled happily.

"Will you be up soon?" Polevoy asked.

"Mother's letting me go out of doors to-morrow." "I'm glad to hear that." After a moment's silence Polevoy burst out laughing. "Neat the way you tripped up the other one. Capital! Well done! And got me out of a heap of trouble, too. I'm in your debt, my lad, and I'll settle it when I return from the front."

"From the front?" Misha's voice trembled. "Uncle Seryozha... only don't be angry with me... Take me along. Please, please."

"I think we could arrange it," Polevoy said, knitting his brows as though considering Misha's request. "I'll tell you what we'll do. You'll go in my troop train as far as Bakhmach, and from there I'll send you on to Moscow. Understand?" he concluded with his booming laugh.

"Only to Bakhmach," Misha drawled in disappointment. "You're saying that just to tease me."

"Don't be hurt," Polevoy said, patting the blanket again. "You'll do all the fighting you want when you grow up. Tell me better how you happened to have that dirk?"

Misha flushed.

"Don't be afraid, I shan't eat you," Polevoy laughed.

"I saw it accidentally, honour bright," Misha muttered in embarrassment, "quite accidentally. I took it out to have a look and Grandmother came along! So I hid it under the bed and didn't have time to put it back. I didn't do it on purpose, honest I didn't."

"Did you tell anyone about the dirk?"

"No, I swear I didn't!"

"All right, all right, I believe you," Polevoy calmed him.

"Uncle Seryozha, why's Nikitsky looking for that dirk?"

Polevoy did not reply. He humped his back strangely and stared at the floor.

"Remember I told you about the Empress Maria?" he asked, sighing heavily as though he was coming out of a trance.

"Yes."

"Well, Nikitsky was a lieutenant on board that battleship. He v a regular scoundrel, of course, but that's got nothing to do with the story. Nikitsky shot an officer before the explosion; about three minutes before. I was the only witness. That officer had just joined our ship and I even don't know his name. I happened to be near cabin. It would take a long time to tell why I was there, but I had personal accounts to settle with Nikitsky. Well, I stood there and listened to them arguing. Nikitsky called the officer Vladimir. And then, bang-a shot! I rushed into the cabin. The officer was lying the floor and Nikitsky was pulling the dirk out of a suit-case, fired at me... but missed. After that he snatched up the dirk and went at each other. But before we could have it out a terrific explosion suddenly shook the ship; this was followed by another explosion and I thought the whole world had turned upside down... I came to on deck, everything round me was roaring, smoking, crashing, and found I was holding the dirk. The sheath must have remained w Nikitsky, but he was gone."