Probably a careerist to judge from his expression, but what the hell.'
'I don't quite know what to do in your case ... at the present moment' - the colonel laid heavy stress on the word 'present' - 'as I say, at the present moment, our immediate task is the defence of the City and the Hetman against Petlyura's bands and, possibly, against the Bolsheviks too.
After that we shall just have to see . . .
May I ask, doctor, where you have served to date?'
'In 1915, when I graduated from university I served as an extern in a venereological clinic, then as a Junior Medical Officer in the Belgrade Hussars. After that I was a staff medical officer in a rail-borne mobile field hospital.
At present I am demobilised and working in private practice.'
'Cadet!' exclaimed the colonel, 'ask the executive officer to come here, please.'
A head disappeared into the pit, followed by the appearance of a dark, keen-looking young officer.
He wore a round lambskin fur hat with gold rank-stripes crosswise on its magenta top, a long gray coat like Myshlaevsky's tightly belted at the waist, and a revolver.
His crumpled gold shoulder-straps indicated that he was a staff-captain.
'Captain Studzinsky,' the colonel said to him, 'please be kind enough to send a message to headquarters requesting the immediate transfer to my unit of Lieutenant . . . er . . .'
'Myshlaevsky,' said Myshlaevsky, saluting.
'. . . Lieutenant Myshlaevsky from the second infantry detachment, as he is a trained artillery officer.
And another request to the effect that Doctor . . . er?'
Turbin.'
'. . . Doctor Turbin is urgently required to serve in my unit as regimental medical officer.
Request their immediate appointment.'
'Very good, colonel', replied the officer, with a noticeable accent, and saluted.
'A Pole', thought Turbin.
'There is no need for you, lieutenant, to return to your infantry outfit' (to Myshlaevsky).
'The lieutenant will take command of Number 4 Battery' (to the staff-captain).
'Very good, sir.'
'Very good, sir.'
'And you, doctor, are on duty as of now.
I suggest you go home and report in an hour's time at the parade ground in front of the Alexander I High School.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Issue the doctor with his uniform at once, please.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Mortar Regiment headquarters?' shouted a deep bass voice from the pit.
'Can you hear me?
No, I said: no ...
No, I said ...' came a voice from behind the screen.
Rrring . . . peep, came the bird-like trill from the pit.
'Can you hear me?' #
' Voice of Liberty, Voice of Liberty!
Daily paper - Voice of Liberty!' shouted the newsboys, muffled up past their ears in peasant women's headscarves. 'Defeat of Petlyura!
Black troops land in Odessa!
Voice of Liberty!'
Turbin was home within the hour.
His silver shoulder-straps came out of the dark of the desk drawer in his little study, which led off the sitting-room.
White drapes over the glass door on to the balcony, desk with books and ink-well, shelves of medicine bottles and instruments, a couch laid with a clean sheet.
It was sparse and cramped, but comfortable.
'Lena my dear, if I'm late for some reason this evening and someone comes, tell them that I'm not seeing anyone today.
I've no regular patients at the moment . . .
Hurry, child.'
Hastily Elena opened the collar of his service tunic and sewed on the shoulder-straps . . .
Then she sewed a second pair, field-service type, green with black stripes, on to his army greatcoat.
A few minutes later Alexei Turbin ran out of the front door and glanced at his white enamel plate:
Doctor A. V. Turbin
Specialist in venereal diseases