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PARTISAN REVIEW
year filled with dedicated labor. We truly have something to remember.
We've had our sorrows and our joys. Our successes and our failures. But
all
in
all,
I wish to say, the newspaper has accomplished significant things.
More and more we're publishing serious, striking, and profound mate–
rial. And we are making fewer and fewer mistakes. I am convinced that
in the coming year we'll work even more harmoniously and cohesively.
Today I got a telephone call from the Central Committee . Ivan
Gustavovich Kabin sends you his congratulations. Permit me to join him
from the depths of my heart. Happy New Year, my friends!"
Then came a whole series of toasts. We drank to the editor-in-chief
and to the director of the Secretariat. And to those humblest of workers
- the copyreaders and typists. To the temporary reporters and to the
worker-correspondents. Someone mentioned political vigilance.
Someone else suggested starting up a soccer team. The office informer,
Igor Gaspl, called for comradeship. Mishka Shablinsky offered a toast to
our charming women. The room filled with smoke. People drifted to–
ward the corners with their wine glasses. The food melted away. Lyuba
Torshina, from the local-news department, tried to get everyone to sing.
Fima Bykover paid off all his debts. And then Hilda, the cleaning
woman, made her appearance.
It
was time to leave the building.
"Ten more minutes," said the editor, and he personally handed Hilda
a glass of champagne.
Then Zoyka Semyonovna, the editor's wife, appeared at the door–
holding a huge German silver tray filled with trembling cups of coffee.
Until that moment Busch had been sitting motionless. He had placed his
wine glass on the lid of the record-player. On his knees lay the open ref–
erence book. Now he stood up . Smiling broadly, he walked over to
Zoyka Semyonovna. And suddenly he let loose a stream of words. Then,
with a mighty kick from one of his patent-leather shoes, he knocked the
tray out of the stunned woman's hands. An uproar filled the room. The
people who'd been scalded gave out piercing yelps. Lyuba Torshina
screamed, then fainted. Four part-time reporters grabbed Busch by the
arms. He did not resist. A blissful smile was frozen on his face. Someone
had already called the police; someone else, an ambulance.
Three days later, Busch was examined by a psychiatric commission.
They found him completely sane. So he was tried for hooliganism. He
got two years - suspended on condition of good behavior. It was also
helpful that the editor did not demand more severe punishment. That is,
Busch got off easy. Of course, he had to give up any idea of working as
a journalist now. I did not see him for a month. I had gone to
Leningrad to straighten out my family affairs. When I got back, I called
him, but his telephone was out of order. However, I did not forget him.
I hoped to run into him downtown some time. And finally I did. He
