again headed for Karlov’s lectures. The astronomy course lasted one school year. Karlov always began his course with a new stream of third-year students. I again plunged into the introductory lectures with pleasure. I closed my eyes. And I
hung there
imagining the huge star Betelgeuse. Auditorium No. 8 became my second home. I stopped going to other lectures entirely.
And once, when I was
hanging
, someone touched me on the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” a woman’s voice asked me.
I opened my eyes. The auditorium was already empty. A girl sat next to me. She had short black hair and slightly slanted eyes that looked at me with amusement.
“Do you work at night or something? Don’t get enough sleep?”
“N o... ” I parted with
my
stupor with displeasure.
“I always watch you, how you doze during the lectures,” she grinned.
“I’m not dozing,” I answered, looking into her eyes.
She stopped grinning.
“Whic h... class are you in?”
“I’m a second year,” I answered.
“Then why do you come to our lectures?”
“I truly love the Universe,” I admitted openly.
She looked at me with interest. We got to talking. Her name was Masha Dormidontova. She had been observing me for a whole month. The student who always sat in lectures with closed eyes and an aloof expression interested her. Leaving the physics and mathematics building, we walked along the embankment. Masha asked me questions. I answered absentmindedly. She was animated, with quick reactions and a lively mind. Her father served in the navy. She was studying physics and was enthralled by a fashionable science — meteoritics. Walking around the city with her and listening to her rapid, emotional speech, at first I believed that her only passion was indeed meteorites. Her slanted eyes shining, she spoke enthusiastically about meteorite showers, zodiacal light, iron meteorites with Widmanstätten patterns and stone figures — chondrites and achondrites. But fairly soon it became clear that behind meteoritics there was a specific person, “bold, smart, and decisive,” who was presently searching for the largest meteorite in Siberia. She talked about this person with obvious excitement. His name was Leonid Kulik. He was a senior scientific worker at the Mining Institute. Clearly, Masha was far from indifferent to him. I asked about the meteorite that Kulik was searching for. She said that it was an enormous fireball, which had fallen twenty years ago and had caused a sensation throughout Siberia. Still talking, we eventually came to her home on Ligovka Street, near the Moscow station. Masha said goodbye to me affably, adding: “See you tomorrow!”
And I made my way back home to the Moika. The meeting with Masha changed nothing in me. I continued attending Karlov’s lectures, collapsing inwardly and
hanging
. This intrigued Masha. She always sat next to me. At first she tried to ask me funny questions in a whisper. But I didn’t answer. And she stopped. But after Karlov’s last words, she would poke me in the shoulder and say, “
Finita!
” And I would open my eyes.
Karlov’s lecture was always last. If Masha didn’t stay in the department on Komsomol business or didn’t go off to see Kulik at the Mining Institute, I would walk her home. We went on foot or took the tram. I always accompanied her home. She accepted this as a matter of course. She stopped expecting masculine attention from me, deciding, most likely, that I was “a bit touched.” Having assigned me the role of confidant of the male sex, she would pour out her soul to me on our walks, telling me her innermost secrets. She enjoyed this. She spoke about Kulik very cautiously, though always with excitement. When Kulik set off for a three-month expedition looking for the mysterious meteorite, Masha begged “desperately” to go with him, but there was an iron rule on expeditions: no women allowed. The expedition didn’t find the meteorite. But it did determine the
hung there
imagining the huge star Betelgeuse. Auditorium No. 8 became my second home. I stopped going to other lectures entirely.
And once, when I was
hanging
, someone touched me on the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” a woman’s voice asked me.
I opened my eyes. The auditorium was already empty. A girl sat next to me. She had short black hair and slightly slanted eyes that looked at me with amusement.
“Do you work at night or something? Don’t get enough sleep?”
“N o... ” I parted with
my
stupor with displeasure.
“I always watch you, how you doze during the lectures,” she grinned.
“I’m not dozing,” I answered, looking into her eyes.
She stopped grinning.
“Whic h... class are you in?”
“I’m a second year,” I answered.
“Then why do you come to our lectures?”
“I truly love the Universe,” I admitted openly.
She looked at me with interest. We got to talking. Her name was Masha Dormidontova. She had been observing me for a whole month. The student who always sat in lectures with closed eyes and an aloof expression interested her. Leaving the physics and mathematics building, we walked along the embankment. Masha asked me questions. I answered absentmindedly. She was animated, with quick reactions and a lively mind. Her father served in the navy. She was studying physics and was enthralled by a fashionable science — meteoritics. Walking around the city with her and listening to her rapid, emotional speech, at first I believed that her only passion was indeed meteorites. Her slanted eyes shining, she spoke enthusiastically about meteorite showers, zodiacal light, iron meteorites with Widmanstätten patterns and stone figures — chondrites and achondrites. But fairly soon it became clear that behind meteoritics there was a specific person, “bold, smart, and decisive,” who was presently searching for the largest meteorite in Siberia. She talked about this person with obvious excitement. His name was Leonid Kulik. He was a senior scientific worker at the Mining Institute. Clearly, Masha was far from indifferent to him. I asked about the meteorite that Kulik was searching for. She said that it was an enormous fireball, which had fallen twenty years ago and had caused a sensation throughout Siberia. Still talking, we eventually came to her home on Ligovka Street, near the Moscow station. Masha said goodbye to me affably, adding: “See you tomorrow!”
And I made my way back home to the Moika. The meeting with Masha changed nothing in me. I continued attending Karlov’s lectures, collapsing inwardly and
hanging
. This intrigued Masha. She always sat next to me. At first she tried to ask me funny questions in a whisper. But I didn’t answer. And she stopped. But after Karlov’s last words, she would poke me in the shoulder and say, “
Finita!
” And I would open my eyes.
Karlov’s lecture was always last. If Masha didn’t stay in the department on Komsomol business or didn’t go off to see Kulik at the Mining Institute, I would walk her home. We went on foot or took the tram. I always accompanied her home. She accepted this as a matter of course. She stopped expecting masculine attention from me, deciding, most likely, that I was “a bit touched.” Having assigned me the role of confidant of the male sex, she would pour out her soul to me on our walks, telling me her innermost secrets. She enjoyed this. She spoke about Kulik very cautiously, though always with excitement. When Kulik set off for a three-month expedition looking for the mysterious meteorite, Masha begged “desperately” to go with him, but there was an iron rule on expeditions: no women allowed. The expedition didn’t find the meteorite. But it did determine the
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