Definitely Maybe Read Online Free PDF

listening.”
    Zykov lifted the folder in both hands, crossed his legs, and replacing the folder on his knee, said:
    “Do you know Arnold Pavlovich Snegovoi?”
    Malianov was not surprised by the question. For some reason—some inexplicable reason—he knew that they would ask about either Val Weingarten or Arnold Snegovoi. And so he could answer calmly.
    “Yes. I am acquainted with Colonel Snegovoi.”
    “And how do you know that he’s a colonel?” Zykov inquired immediately.
    “Well, I mean …” Malianov avoided a direct answer. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
    “How long?”
    “Well, five years, I guess. Ever since we moved into this building.”
    “And what were the circumstances of your meeting?”
    Malianov tried to remember. What were the circumstances? Damn. When he brought the key the first time? No, we already knew each other then.
    “Hm,” he said, uncrossing his legs and scratching the back of his head. “You know, I don’t remember. I do remember this. The elevator wasn’t working, and Irina, that’s my wife, was coming back from the store with groceries and the baby.Arnold Snegovoi helped her with the packages and the boy. Well, she invited him to drop in. I think he came over that same evening.”
    “Was he in uniform?”
    “No,” Malianov said with certainty.
    “So. And from that time you became friends?”
    “Well,
friends
is too strong a word. He drops in sometimes—borrows books, lends books, sometimes we have a cup of tea. And when he goes away on business he leaves his keys with us.”
    “Why?”
    “What do you mean, why? You never …”
    But actually, why did he leave the keys? It never even occurred to me to wonder. I guess, just in case, probably.
    “Just in case, probably,” Malianov said. “Maybe his relatives might show up—or someone else.”
    “Did anyone ever come?”
    “No … not that I remember. No one when I was around. Maybe my wife might know something about this.”
    Igor Zykov nodded thoughtfully, then asked:
    “Well, have you ever talked about science, your work?”
    Work again.
    “Whose work?” Malianov asked darkly.
    “His, of course. He was a physicist, wasn’t he?”
    “Haven’t the slightest idea. I thought he was in rocketry.”
    He hadn’t finished the sentence when he broke out in a sweat. What did he mean,
was
? Why the past tense? He didn’t leave his key. God, what had happened? He was ready to scream at the top of his lungs, “What do you mean
was?
” but Zykov knocked him for a loop. With the swift movement of a fencer he shot his arm out and grabbed a notebook out from under Malianov’s nose.
    “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his face suddenly looking older. “Where did you get it?”
    “Just a—”
    “Sit down!” Zykov shouted. His blue eyes ran over Malianov’s face. “How did this data get in your hands?”
    “What data?” Malianov whispered. “What the hell data are you talking about?” he roared. “That’s my calculations.”
    “That is not your calculations,” Zykov answered coldly, also raising his voice. “Where did this graph come from?”
    He showed him the page from afar and pointed to a crooked line.
    “From my head!” Malianov shouted. “Right from here!” He struck his temple with his fist. “That is the relation of the density to the distance from the star!”
    “This is the graph of the growth of crime in our district for the last quarter!” Zykov announced.
    Malianov was dumbfounded. And Zykov, flapping his lips wetly, went on.
    “You didn’t even copy it right. It’s not really like that, it goes this way.” He picked up Malianov’s pencil, jumped up, put the paper on the table, and, pressing heavily with the pencil, drew another line over Malianov’s chart. “There. And over here it goes like this, not like that.” When he was finished, and the pencil point was broken, he threw away the pencil, sat down again, and looked at Malianov with pity. “Eh,