7
On the Way to Orsk
The sound of a bugle roused Shevchenko from sleep in the transit barracks. He got up quickly, dressed, had his breakfast, received his travel rations, and packed his personal belongings. At seven sharp he was summoned to the office where a young officer he did not know was waiting for him.
“Shevchenko?” the officer raised his eyes inquiringly.
“Yes, sir!” the poet said, snapping to attention.
“Good morning” the officer said and extended his hand. “I am Ensign Dolgov. I am off to Orsk and am taking you with me. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir!”
Beyond the town the road followed the winding course of the river Ural. The riverside meadows were gray with the dew, and the dust did not whirl about yet on the road. Dolgov shot sidelong glances at his companion, probably stu
