The clamour of the alarm clock, insolent, boorish, soul-wrenching, was far more agreeable than the early risings arranged by Magda. I tossed about in bed, scratched the crown of my head, then glanced at the dial. Exactly as I had planned: ten hundred hours. Time to get up. Great deeds await me. Very great ones. But first I have to make one telephone call to the number… Hmm. Where has my notebook got to? Yesterday morning I put it on the chair, then went off to Kushchino, came back at four in the morning, touched nothing with my hands, only shaved and went to bed. And now it’s gone. Strange.
– Hey, Magda, have you seen my notebook?
– I don’t know, there’s something lying by the telephone, have a look.
Sure enough, the notebook was lying on the stand by the telephone. Strange. I couldn’t have left it there. Or then again, maybe I could…
I called Mila at work and, having listened to twenty long drawn-out rings, worked it out: «Saturday! Day off». Nothing for it, I dialled her home number and (I hate goodbyes!):
– Hello, Milok.
– Who do you want? – a drink-sodden male bass knocked me out of my sentimental groove. There you go – you just tune yourself up for a pleasant conversation and immediately run into a rude bloke.
– Er… Could you call Mila to the phone?
– No one of that name here. – The bloke hung up.
A boor and a lout.
I looked at the little display on the telephone. Seemed I’d dialled the right number. Ah. The last two digits need swapping round…
– Hello.
– Sashka?
– Recognised me? Very glad. – I thought: «What else can I say?» An unpleasant, awkward pause arose which I could not, could not, could not break. That drunk had thrown me off. The second’s fright had passed, it seemed: «Ran into the husband! Bad luck!» Everything seemed to be in order again, all normal, but of the warm heartfelt words prepared in advance there remained in my head nothing but disorder and rubbish. What was there to say?
– You know, Milok. I’m shipping out this evening.
– What? For good?
– Well, maybe I’ll be back in two or three weeks. Don’t worry.
– Are you at least going to say goodbye to me?
– Actually I’m trying to do that right now. Anyway, don’t be lonely. Behave like a sweetheart and wait for me.
From the other end of the line came some rustling, then sobs, a sniffing of the nose.
– Now, now, now, Milok. What is it? We’ll see each other again.
Wrong, all wrong. It’s all coming out coarse somehow, badly. That isn’t how I wanted to talk to her, it should have been softer, more tender. But what’s the sense of reasoning now about what’s done? You have to talk, talk, talk, and there are no words. Only one:
– Bye.
I hung up and thought that if it were possible to go back one minute, dial Mila’s number again and say just two words – «I love you. Wait» – then perhaps I wouldn’t feel such a bastard. Still… I glanced at my watch. Two hours remained until the meeting with Mikha, if he didn’t blow me off. Time was short. I shot out of the room and came nose to nose with Magda:
– Eavesdropping, darling?
– As if I need you. I’ve got an urgent call to make, and you gossip like a woman for half an hour.
– Look at yourself, – I gave her that valuable piece of advice, while noting to myself that if she were cleverer she would have thought up a less noticeable method of eavesdropping. Through the extension, for example, or… There was no time to develop the thought further. I got ready quickly, dashed out onto the street, loaded myself into the car and raced off to Kushchino. Mikha, waiting for me, could easily freeze to death in the harsh frost.