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rial offices in Tallinn. I arranged some freelance jobs. I interviewed a
metalworker. Wrote a story on an industrial exposition. I got Shablinsky
to lend me twenty-five rubles until I was paid. The possibility of death
due to hunger receded.
As it turned out, I was a huge success. If in Leningrad I had been
considered an ordinary journalist, here I was almost a coryphaeus. I was
given responsible assignments. I reviewed new books and plays, wrote a
daily column under the rubric, "Another Opinion," composed feuil–
letons. And the feuilleton, as we' all know, is the newspaper genre in
shortest supply. In brief, I moved ahead fast. They began to invite me to
editorial meetings. And, a month later, to management parties. My sto–
ries were talked about by the Central Committee of the Estonian
Communist Party. By that time, I had long since left Busch and Galina's
place. My editors had gotten me a room on Tompi Street, following
which they upgraded me to permanent staff. The editor told me, "You
have a fantastic sense of humor. I know many of your aphorisms by
heart. For instance, 'When the brave are silent, the cowardly hold their
tongues'."
The atmosphere at that time was relatively liberal, especially in the
Baltic area. Also, my impertinent style was both considered and clever.
One of my friends referred to it as "respectful familiarity." By this time I
was making two hundred rubles a month. I even managed to pay a little
alimony. My new friends were of the expected sort - young writers,
artists, scholars, physicians. They were highly regarded people earning
good salaries. We went to theaters and restaurants together, traveled out
to the islands. In short, we led the kind of life appropriate to the cre–
ative intelligentsia. Busch was not envious of my success. On the con–
trary, he was enthusiastic. "Way to go, old man! We must get our peo–
ple into key government posts!"
I loaned him money. Once I paid a twenty-ruble tab for him at the
Mundi Bar. That is to say, I did what I could for him. As for Busch
himself, he was determined not to give in to the system. I swear I did
not avoid him. It was just that we no longer ran in the same circles. I
did, however, manage to arrange for him to be taken on again as a part–
time reporter. Needless to say, he was not given any assignments that in–
volved politics. He wrote human-interest stories, pieces on sports and
cultural events. I tried to praise each of his stories at the editorial meet–
ings. Around this time, he began to look rather seedy. His trousers
bagged at the knees, and his jacket needed cleaning. But the older
women (and there are a lot of them in any editorial office) still blushed
in painful confusion whenever Busch walked by - a sure indication that
his power came from within and not from external details. He con–
ducted himself correctly and modestly in the editorial office. To his su-
