Anatoly Rybakov - The Dirk

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Foreign Languages Publishing House

Moscow 1954

Translated from the Russian by David Skvirsky

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CONTENTS

Part I REVSK

Chapter 1 The Damaged Inner Tube

Chapter 2 The Boys of Ogorodnaya and Alekseyevskaya Streets

Chapter 3 Affairs and Dreams

Chapter 4 The Punishment

Chapter 5 The Tree Hut

Chapter 6 The Raid

Chapter 7 Mother

Chapter 8 Visitors

Chapter 9 The Battleship Empress Maria

Chapter 10 Departure

Chapter 11 In the Troop Train

Chapter 12 The Railway Guard's Cabin

Chapter 13 Bandits

Chapter 14 Farewell

Part II THE COURT IN ARBAT STREET

Chapter 15 A Year Later

Chapter 16 The Bookcase

Chapter 17 Genka

Chapter 18 Borka, the Skinflint

Chapter 19 Shura Bolshoi

Chapter 20 The Club

Chapter 21 Acrobats

Chapter 22 The "Art" Cinema

Chapter 23 The Dramatic Circle

Chapter 24 The Cellars

Chapter 25 Suspicious Characters

Chapter 26 The Aerial Runway

Chapter 27 The Secret

Chapter 28 The Code

Part III NEW FRIENDS

Chapter 29 Ellen Bush

Chapter 30 The Purchase

Chapter 31 Mikhail Korovin

Chapter 32 Misha Has a Talk with Mother

Chapter 33 The Black Fan

Chapter 34 Aunt Agrippina

Chapter 35 Filin

Chapter 36 In Krasnaya Presnya District

Chapter 37 A Slight Misunderstanding

Chapter 38 Impressions

Chapter 39 Artists

Chapter 40 Experienced Sleuths

Chapter 41 The Performance

Part IV DETACHMENT No 17

Chapter 42 Young Pioneers

Chapter 43 The Playground

Chapter 44 Yura's Bicycle

Chapter 45 The Ribbon

Chapter 46 Plans

Chapter 47 Preparing for Camp

Chapter 48 In Camp

Chapter 49 The Quartermaster General

Chapter 50 The Camp-Fire

Chapter 51 Mysterious Preparations

Chapter 52 The Cart

Chapter 53 The Sheath

Part V GRADE SEVEN

Chapter 54 Auntie Brosha

Chapter 55 Class Meeting

Chapter 56 Lethory

Chapter 57 A Strange Inscription

Chapter 58 The Wall Newspaper

Chapter 59 The Regimental Gunsmith

Chapter 60 A Drawing Lesson

Chapter 61 Boris Fyodorovich

Chapter 62 Grandmother Podvolotskaya and Aunt Sonya

Chapter 63 Letters

Part VI THE COTTAGE IN PUSHKINO

Chapter 64 Slava

Chapter 65 Konstantin Alekseyevich

Chapter 66 Correspondence

Chapter 67 Genka's Birthday Party

Chapter 68 Pushkino

Chapter 69 Nikitsky

Chapter 70 About Father

Chapter 71 Genka's Blunder

Chapter 72 Face to Face with Nikitsky

Chapter 73 The Terentyev Family

Chapter 74 New Members of the Komsomol

Misha got up noiselessly from his bed, dressed, and slipped out to the porch.

The broad, empty street was dozing in the warmth of the early morning sun. Only the crowing of roosters broke the silence, and from the house came an occasional cough and sleepy mumbling-the first sounds of animation in the cool stillness of repose.

Misha screwed up his eyes and shivered. He felt like going back to his warm bed, but the thought of the catapult red-headed Genka had been parading yesterday made him shake off his sleepiness, and he picked his way carefully across the squeaky floor-boards to the store-room.

A narrow ray of light coming from a tiny window near the ceiling fell on a bicycle against the wall. It was an old machine that had been assembled from spare parts; its tyres were flat, the spokes broken and rusty, and the chain cracked. On the wall over the bicycle hung a torn inner tube with patches of every hue and colour; Misha took it down, cut out two thin strips with his penknife, and replaced it so that the cuts were hidden against the wall.

He cautiously opened the door and was about to leave the storeroom, when he suddenly caught sight of Polevoy in the passage, barefooted, in a striped jersey and with his hair all rumpled. Misha softly pulled the door back, leaving it slightly ajar, and watched through the narrow opening.

Polevoy went into the yard, stopped in front of a neglected kennel, and looked about him attentively.

"Why isn't he asleep?" Misha wondered. "And he's behaving queerly, too."

Everyone called Polevoy "Comrade Commissar." He was a tall strongly built man with fair hair and sly, laughing eyes. He had once been a sailor, and he always wore wide black trousers and a jacket that smelled of tobacco, and carried a revolver on a belt under the jacket. All the boys envied Misha because Polevoy lived in his house.

"Why isn't he in bed?" Misha thought. "Now I'll never get out of here!"

Polevoy sat on a log near the kennel and looked round the yard again. His searching gaze swept the opening Misha was peeping through and the windows of the house.

Then he slipped his hand under the kennel, rummaged about a long time evidently feeling for something, and finally straightened up, rose to his feet, and went back to the house. The door of his room made a scraping sound, the bed creaked under his heavy weight, and everything became still again.

Misha wanted to start making a catapult right away, but he also wanted to know what Polevoy had looked for under the kennel. He moved up to it stealthily, then stopped to think.

Should he look? What if someone saw him? Misha sat on the log and eyed the windows. No, it was wrong to be so inquisitive... he scooped out the earth and thrust his hand under the kennel. Of course there was nothing there, Misha told himself. He had simply imagined that Polevoy was looking for something. He rummaged about under the kennel. Nothing, of course! Only earth. He would not take it out and look at it even if something was hidden there; all he wanted was to make sure. His fingers touched something soft like a piece of cloth. So there was something there, after all. Should he take it out? Misha looked at the house again, gave the cloth a tug, scraped away the earth, and pulled out a package.

As he opened the package the steel blade of a dagger flashed in the sunlight. A dirk! Naval officers carried dirks like that. It had three sharp edges and no sheath. Coiled round the yellowed bone handle was a small bronze serpent with open jaws and tongue curled upwards.

It was only an ordinary naval dirk. Why was Polevoy hiding it? Strange. Very strange-Misha inspected the dirk again, then wrapped it in the cloth, put it back under the kennel, covered it with earth, and returned to the porch.

The gates of neighbouring yards were thrown open with a clatter and the cows, their tails swishing, lumbered out importantly to join a passing herd. They were followed by a boy who wore a long ragged coat that came down to his bare heels and a sheepskin cap. He was shouting at the cows and deftly cracking a whip that trailed after him in the dust like a snake.

Misha thought of the dirk as he sat on the porch making the catapult. It was an ordinary one, except for the small bronze serpent. But what was Polevoy hiding it for?

He finished the catapult. It was better than Genka's, he was sure, and, to try it, he picked up a stone and let it fly at some sparrows hopping in the street. The stone missed the target. The sparrows flew off and alighted on the neighbouring fence. Misha wanted to try another shot but was stopped by the sound of steps in the house, the grating of the damper, and the splashing of water in the tub. He hid the catapult under his shirt and went into the kitchen.

Grandmother was moving large baskets of cherries that stood on a bench. She was wearing a greasy dressing-gown, the pockets weighed down with keys. Her plump face was careworn and furrowed with wrinkles, and near-sightedness made her blink her small, slightly squinting eyes.