Looks like Talberg was doing the right thing after all by getting out in time . . .
Flames dancing on the floor.
Once everything was so peaceful and the world was full of wonderful places.
There never was such a hideous monster as that red-bearded janitor.
They all hate us, of course, but he's like a mad dog.
Tried to twist my arm behind my back.' *
Outside, gunfire began again.
Nikolka jumped up and ran to the window.
'Did you hear that? Did you? And that?
It could be the Germans.
Or maybe the Allies come to help us at last?
Who is it?
Petlyura wouldn't be shelling the City if he's already taken it.'
Elena folded her arms across her chest and said:
'It's no good, Nik, I'm not letting you go.
I beg you not to go out.
Don't be crazy.'
'I only wanted to go as far as the little square in front of St Andrew's church. I could look and listen from there.
It overlooks the whole of Podol.'
'All right, go.
If you feel like leaving me alone at a moment like this, then go.'
Nikolka looked embarrassed.
'Well, then I'll just go out into the yard and listen.'
'And I'll go with you.'
'But Lena, suppose Alexei comes back while we're both in the yard? We won't hear the front door bell out there.'
'No, we won't.
And it'll be your fault.'
'Very well, Lena, I give you my word of honor I won't move a step outside the yard.'
'Word of honor?'
'Word of honor.'
'You won't go past the gate?
You won't climb up the hill?
You promise to stay in the yard?'
'I promise.'
'All right, go then.' *
The City was swathed in the deep, deep snow of December 1918.
Why were those unidentified guns firing at nine o'clock at night -and only for a quarter of an hour?
The snow was melting on
Nikolka's collar, and he fought the temptation to climb up the snow-covered hillside.
From the top he would be able to see not only Podol but part of the Upper City, the seminary, hundreds of rows of lights in big apartment houses, the hills of the city dotted with countless flickering lights.
But no one should break his word of honor, or life becomes impossible.
So Nikolka believed.
At every distant menacing rumble he prayed:
'Please, God . . .'
Then the gunfire stopped.
'Those were our guns', Nikolka thought miserably.
As he walked back from the gate he glanced in at the Shcheglovs' window.
The white blind was rolled up and through the little window in their wing of the house he could see Maria Petrovna Shcheglov giving her little boy Peter his bath.
Peter was sitting up naked in the tub and soundlessly crying because the soap was trickling into his eyes. Maria Petrovna squeezed out a sponge over Peter.
There was some washing hanging on a line and Maria Petrovna's bulky shadow passed back and forth behind, occasionally bending down.