The Town By The Sea

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This Book is dedicated to the memory of the Bolshevik writer Yevgeny Petrovich Petrov, who was killed in action...

There was no home-work that evening and we had come out for a walk round town. Petka Maremukha was bouncing along in his short leather jerkin that smelt of sheep. Sasha Bobir had put on a pair of shiny new galoshes over his battered boots and fastened all the buttons on his long brownish-yellow "raglan," which someone had made for him out of a British army great-coat. I had struggled into my grey chumarka. It was tight across the shoulders and short in the sleeves and the hooks would not fasten properly. Aunt had made it for me out of my father's old coat the year before last, but I

was still very proud of it because all the active Komsomol members went about in chumarkas like mine.

It was Saturday and there were a lot of people about in town. Not all the shops in Post Street were open, but the brightly lit windows splashed long shafts of light on the narrow pavements.

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