Papanin

This route was called a "round-the-world tour": along the Oka to Nizhny Novgorod, which at that time bore the name of the writer Gorky, and then up the Volga to return to Moscow. Every morning, after breakfast, I went to the salon, where there was a brand new Czech piano, and for sixty minutes struggled with his undeveloped, incredibly hard keyboard: at seven I was supposed to play every day for an hour. Father sat next to him and commanded:
- Gamma in D minor - three minutes ... Gamma in G major - three minutes ... Etude - ten minutes ...
Then I had a listener: Ivan Dmitrievich Papanin in striped pajamas - then this clothes was considered quite decent on vacation. All the passengers knew that Papanin was traveling with us, but he almost did not appear in public - even food he was carried from the restaurant to the cabin. And then suddenly began to visit helpless children's music lessons.
My father, showing an unfamiliar delicacy to me, at the appearance of the admiral left the salon on the deck, and I now received commands through signs through the glass.
Turning one day out of curiosity, I saw that Papanin was crying: he was sitting on the couch, his head bowed and his eyes covered with the palm of his hand, and his cheeks were wet with tears. To admit, I was frightened, wondering what could have upset this heroic man so much. But my father strictly threatened me from behind the window, and it was time for another sketch. My father did not play any instrument and did not have a musical instrument, but he loved music without limit and knew the classics very thoroughly.
I told him about what I saw in the cabin, and asked: "Why?". First he joked, they say, it's from the penetrating performance of scales, chords and arpeggios. But I did not lag behind. And then my father asked me to get used to the idea that not all the questions are answered.
Then, when we had already turned to Moscow, Papanin asked how I knew him.
"I have a stamp," I say.
Then almost all the boys collected postage stamps, and I had a famous stamp with papaninets.
In the evening he knocked at our cabin. Father opened the door, invited me to come in, but he thanked and refused. He handed me his picture with a warm inscription on the back, wished good night and left.
Early in the morning my father woke me up: our ship was rocking, so, not at the pier, but on the ship's run. Some commands came from the bridge. We quickly got dressed, went to the deck. He piled up a boat of military appearance, moored, threw the ladder, and Ivan Dmitrievich Papanin stepped onto the ladder - in the admiral's uniform, with his two Hero Stars. From the side of the boat he waved to us and disappeared into the cabin. The steamer gave a whistle as a farewell, the boat dropped off and headed for the shore, apparently visible in the distance. There, as my father explained to me, there was an institute, which was led by my legendary listener.
And I keep the photo card. A picture with a warm inscription on the back. As a reminder that not all questions are answered.

Archpriest Yaroslav Shipov "142 stories"