522
PARTISAN REVIEW
heaven knows how long it's been since they've seen each other. I've
known them a long time, I'll vouch for her- she's a trustworthy soul,
has her own house on Polianka."
"All the same, we can't let you in ."
At this point, unable to hold back: "And who are
you?"
"We're the house security guard."
"I'm so and so, the wife of my husband and the mother of my
children . Let me in, I'll go in anyway ."
And, half admitted, half pushing- I fly up six flights - to the
seventh.
* * *
(And so it has remained with me, my first VISIOn of the
bourgeoisie in the Revolution: ears hiding in fur hats, souls hiding in
fur coats, heads hiding in necks, eyes hiding behind glasses . In the
light of a sputtering match - a blinding vision of cowardly
hides.)
* *
*
From below, the voice of the maid: God bless!
I knock. They open.
"Seriozha's sleeping? Where's his room?"
And, a second later, from the threshold:
"Seriozha! It's me! I just arrived . The people downstairs- are
vile . But the Cadets won all the same! Are you here or not?"
It's dark in the room. Having reassured myself:
"I travelled three days. I brought you some bread. I'm sorry it's
stale. The sailors - are vile! I met Pugachov . Seriozhenka, you're
alive and .. . . "
* * *
The evening of the same day we leave for the Crimea: S., his
friend G-tsev, and
1.
* * *
A Little Piece of the Crimea.
The arrival in a mad snow storm in Koktebel. The gray-haired
sea. The enormous, almost physically burning joy of Max
V .
2
at the
sight of Seriozha alive . Enormous loaves of white bread .
* * *
The apparition of Max
V .
on the steps of the tower, with a
volume by Taine on his knees, frying onions. And while the onions
are frying, reading aloud to S. and me , the destinies of Russia
tomorrow and beyond.
2. The Russian poet Maximilian Voloshin , 1877-1932 .
