The Complete Works of Isaac Babel Reprint Edition by Isaac Babel, Nathalie Babel, Peter Constantine (125 page)

“You’ll have to get rid of that ring, Comrade Zhukov!” Tolmazov said roughly.

“I must say that my inclination is to agree with Comrade Tolmazov on this point,” Polibin’s voice purred.

Zhukov sat down in an armchair, clasped his head in his hands, and shut his eyes.

“Years,” he whispered, jumping up. “A whole decade ... pitfalls ... desperation . . . Am I to be tormented, tormented all my life?”

His thin body began to shake and his eyes filled with pain.

“High priests of science! Archimandrites!” he shouted. “Two fingers, three fingers . . . Old Believers! Followers of Nikon!”*

“Are these the arguments you are proffering?” Tolmazov asked him coldly.

Zhukov closed his eyes and fell silent.

“My argument,” he said with unexpected clarity, “is that the airship we are building, I am building, she is building”—he pointed at Natasha Maltseva—“she over there is building”—he pointed at the cleaning woman—“will fly above your damn clerics’ heads! It will fly higher, faster, and farther than any other airship has ever flown before!”

Tolmazov shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s poetry, not science. In my opinion, the possibility of launching this airship in its present design is completely out of the question.”

“I suggest we call a meeting of our committee of scientists,” Murashko said in his usual, calm voice.

“A complete waste of time, if you ask me,” Tolmazov said, getting up and pushing away his chair.

“This is the first time I find myself in agreement with the highly esteemed Professor,” Zhukov said.

Murashko slowly looked at the others.

“As the results of the aerodynamics experiment were inconclusive,” he said in a completely offhand manner, “we will conduct further experiments once the airship is airborne.”

“In that case, I have a question,” Vasilyev said, dashing toward Murashko. “I have only one very simple question: who will you send up in this flying coffin?”

9.

“The test-flight crew of the airship USSR 1 reporting for duty! Present are: Eliseyev, captain; Friedman, altitude pilot; Petrenko, navigational pilot; Bityugov, airship engineer; Alexeyev, navigator; Asparyan, radio operator; Gulyayev, first flight engineer; and Borisov, second flight engineer!” Eliseyev, the test pilot, announced, saluting Murashko. Lined up next to Eliseyev outside the closed gates of the hangar stood eight men in Aeroflot uniforms.

A bright July morning. The airfield. A formation of airplanes in the

sky.

“Greetings, Comrades!” Murashko said.

“Greetings!” the flight crew replied.

“Which one of you is Friedman?”

Eliseyev took Murashko to a blue-eyed giant.

“This is our altitude pilot Lev Friedman.”

“I see our little boy here has grown into quite a man!” Murashko said.

Friedman blushed.

“I hope my mom hasn’t been kicking up a fuss again,” he said.

The immense gates of the hangar parted. The silver airship USSR 1 hung suspended from girders.

The assembly crew, its foreman the feisty girl with the unruly mop of curls in front, stood by the airship. Next to her stood Natasha, struggling to contain her excitement. Zhukov was sitting in a chair near the stern of the ship.

The pilots walked around the airship, their eyes filled with hungry curiosity. Friedman furtively shook Mop-heads hand as he walked past. Murashko and the pilots walked over to the front of the ship.

“Go on, Natasha, show them the ropes,” Zhukov called out to Maltseva, waving to her to come over. “Im bound to make a mess of things!”

“Comrades! You see before you the airship USSR l
_y
designed by Engineer Zhukov!” Natashas unexpectedly powerful voice rang out. “This design is based on a new concept that will guarantee a considerable increase in speed, range, altitude, and, most importantly, safety and ease of navigation.”

Zhukovs face, as he listened with closed eyes.

•    •    •

The new    mess    hall    bathed    in    light.    Starched tablecloths, scrubbed

floors,    an    abundance    of flowers.

Raisa Friedman, never missing an opportunity to hold a production meeting: “What would you suggest as a first course?” she asked the chief bookkeeper. “Chopped herring or chopped liver?”

“Cabbage soup, my dear Mrs. Raisa!” the bookkeeper said to her with fervor. “When will you make us some plain and simple cabbage soup?

•    •    •

The sun stood high in the sky. The test pilots and construction crew crossed the airfield and walked toward the mess hall. Murashko and Eliseyev, who were both from the same town, were walking next to each other.

“Have you been back home recently?”

“I was just there,” Eliseyev said.

“Hows everyone doing?”

“They re blossoming,” Eliseyev said. “Fedya Kostromi is now secretary of the District Committee.”

“Amazing!”

“ Vitka is a machine tool operator. Word has it that he has managed to produce several times the required quota.”

“What about Varyukha?” Murashko asked.

“She got married. A good fellow, except for Saturday evenings.” “He hits the bottle?”

“And how.”

“What about Ponomaryev?”

Behind them, Mop-head and Friedman, walking next to each other: “If you really want to go out with me,” she said in a didactic tone, “you dont have to come up with anything fancy. Just figure out how you can get your hands on two Anna Karenina tickets, and on Sunday I want to go to Khimki.”
²

Petrenko, a young pilot, and Agniya Konstantinovna walking together: “Personally, I disagree with Volodya Kokkinaki on the speed issue. But when it comes to range, the airship is a winner. Thats what I said to Volodya. . . .”

Borisov, the second flight engineer, a somewhat sad, dour-looking man, was walking next to Vasilyev.

“An interesting machine,” he said thoughtfully. “Very interesting indeed. After all, Tolmazov’s vortex theory doesn’t quite—”

“I disagree with you!” Vasilyev hissed through clenched teeth, quickly looking around. “It’s a coffin! A flying coffin! Though I’m not even sure if it can actually fly!”

Borisov’s lackluster eyes fixed on Vasilyev with dumb astonishment. Vasilyev again quickly looked around.

“Amateurishness! Recklessness!”

“Wait a minute ...” Borisov mumbled, dragging out his words. “You—”

“Later,” Vasilyev said, noticing Natasha and Mop-head approaching.

“Comrade Vasilyev!” Natasha called out to him. “That’s treason! Why, that’s worse than treason! It’s idiocy!”

“I shall call a Komsomol committee meeting this evening,” Mop-head announced, shaking her curls.

Vasilyev flared up: “I will gladly discuss the situation with the Komsomol committee, and I won’t stop there either!”

Natasha looked at him as if this were the first time she had ever set eyes on him.

“Are you really such a blockhead?” she asked him slowly and distinctly, with a probing tone as if she were asking herself the question.

Vasilyev wanted to answer, but managed to restrain himself. He marched off, but then turned and came back.

“Could you please give me a clean handkerchief?”

Natasha gave him a clean handkerchief, took his dirty one, and dropped it into her handbag.

Mop-head stared at them in amazement.

“What a bastard!”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked her, surprised.

“He just gave you his dirty handkerchief!”

“He left home in such a hurry this morning that he didnt have a chance to take a clean one,” Natasha explained. “Once you get married, you too will be thinking of handkerchiefs and such things.”

“Hes your husband?” Mop-head gasped.

“You guessed it!” Natasha said, and laughed out loud. “WeVe been married for over three years now!”

• • •

The entire catering staff stood waiting by the entrance of the mess hall, with Raisa Friedman standing in front.

“Comrade Pilots!” she said to the approaching group, launching into the speech she had prepared. “Allow me to welcome you in the name of the Stakhanovite
³
Mess Hall Collective ...” And then she saw her son. “My son! My daredevil son is here!” Mother Friedman shouted.

“Mama,” Friedman said, annoyed. “I see you’re coasting down the runway again!”

10.

The pilots’ dormitory. The night before the test flight.

Petrenko was holding forth: “I told Mishka straight to his face!”

“Which Mishka?”

“Mishka Gromov. Which Mishka did you think? No, Mishka, I told him, I dont agree with you when it comes to altitude procedures. We can reach quite an altitude without those oxygen masks. As long as we keep a cool head.”

“Youre chattering away when you are about to climb into a coffin,” Borisov, the second flight engineer, commented dryly, sitting on his bed.

“What kind of coffin? A brocaded one?” Friedman asked. “Custom-made! Engineer Zhukov s flying coffin with a ring on its tail! I too studied the vortex theory, and I can tell you for a fact that with the ring adhering to the contiguous stratum of air, the ship will be unnavigable.”

“Well, it would be nice if Vasya heard what you were saying!” Petrenko yelled.

“Which Vasya?” Borisov asked angrily.

“Molokov, who else!”

“Why dont you just leave me alone!” Borisov said gloomily. “A whole scientific theory is falling apart here.”

Eliseyev appeared at the door.

“A committee meeting right before a flight? Off to bed!”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Friedman replied, and stretched himself out on his bed.

“Comrade Captain, I request permission to make a statement!” Borisov said, his eyes blinking nervously. “On the basis of the flight codex of the Soviet Union, I refuse to take part in the flight, on account of the unreliability of the ring steering system.”

Pause.

Silence. Eliseyevs cheekbones rippled, and then froze.

“Fine,” he said. “You have every right to refuse. Any more refusals?”

Silence.

“There are no more refusals,” Friedman said.

“So there are no more refusals,” Eliseyev repeated. “Off to bed, then!” He turned to Borisov: “You will relocate to the Fourth Dormitory.”

Eliseyev left the room.

Borisov quickly gathered his things.

Silence. The silence became unbearable.

“Fair enough,” Borisov muttered, as he continued gathering his things together. “After all, the flight codex wasnt drawn up for laughs!”

• • •

The hydrogen engines were being tested in the hangar. Eliseyev suddenly appeared in front of Murashko.

“The second flight engineer refuses to participate in the test flight on the grounds of the unreliability of the steering system.”

“Comrade Captain,” Mop-head said, her voice trembling. “As I assembled the whole propeller mechanism with my own hands, I would like—”

“I cannot take anyone without pilot’s training on a flight!” Eliseyev said.

“ ‘I cannot take anyone without pilot’s training/ ” Zhukov parroted derisively. “Well, who do you intend to take, if not her? That girl isnt reaching for the clouds, shes reaching for the stars.”

“Reaching for the stars is not one of the specifications in the service regulations,” Eliseyev said with a smile.

“You will go up as a member of the test-flight commission,” Murashko told her firmly.

“You expect a thank-you?” Mop-head muttered.

“I can do without one.”

“She’s reaching for the stars,” Zhukov grumbled. “What more do you want?”

11.

Early morning. The slanted rays of the sun. The launch crew maneuvered the airship out of the hangar. The committee of scientists stood nearby.

“I think one could go so far as to say that the contraption has the most original shape imaginable.”

This phrase could have been uttered by none other than Professor Polibin.

Tolmazov, standing to the side, noticed Vasilyev nearby and lifted his eyebrows in surprise.,

“Aren’t you flying?”

“I officially voiced my opinion about this airship,” Vasilyev said morosely.

The powerful droning of the engines.

“I would say—” Professor Polibin began.

“So go ahead and say it!” Professor Tolmazov interrupted him so brusquely that Polibin remained speechless.

• • •

Eliseyev, Friedman, and Petrenko were in the airship s control room.

The flight engineer and Mop-head were standing next to the engine crew.

Murashko and Natasha walked through the airships inner gangway.

“So we’ll finally get off the ground, Comrade Murashko!” “Though it was tough enough to get the go-ahead,” Murashko said. “Tolmazov and Vasilyev pulled all kinds of strings to have things stopped.”

Eliseyevs command: “Release the lines!”

“Aye-aye, Captain! Releasing the lines!” the starter replied. “Takeoff!” the starter yelled.

“Aye-aye! Taking off!” Eliseyev answered.

The airship soared into the air.

Zhukov stood by the porthole, his beard quivering, then, his unseeing eyes fixed straight ahead, he stumbled toward the control panel.

• • •

“Increase altitude!”

“Aye-aye, Captain! Increasing altitude!”

“Maintain altitude at eight hundred!”

The smooth, powerful drone of the engines.

Mop-heads rapid, nimble, confident movements as she worked the controls.

Eliseyevs voice: “Full speed ahead!”

“Aye-aye, Captain! Full speed ahead!” the pilot s voice came echoing back.

On the ground.

The committee of scientists were following the airships progress. “I think one could go so far as to say,” Professor Polibins voice came filtering through, “that the atmospheric effect is more or less incapable of paralyzing Zhukovs ring.”

• • •

In the airship.

Eliseyevs distant voice: “Keep the course at a hundred and twenty!”

An answer came echoing back immediately: “Aye-aye, Captain! Keeping the course at a hundred and twenty!”

Zhukov glanced at the instruments.

“WeVe reached a speed of three hundred!” he shouted to the airship crew. He slung open his arms, and Mop-head ran and embraced him, kissed him, and hurried back to the engines.