"Those of you who came to my house to be examined before the Easter holidays, stand up!"The speaker, a corpulent man in the garb1 of a priest, with a heavy cross dangling2 from his neck,fixed the class with a baleful glare.
His small hard eyes seemed to bore through the six children—four boys and two girls—who rose from their seats and looked at the man in the robe with apprehension3.
"You sit down," the priest said, motioning to the girls.
The girls hastily complied, with sighs of relief.
Father Vasili's slits4 of eyes focussed on the other four.
"Now then, my fine lads, come over here!"
Father Vasili rose, pushed back his chair and walked up to the group of boys who stood huddled5 close together.
"Which of you young ruffians smokes?"
"We don't smoke, father," the four answered timidly.
The blood rushed to the priest's face.
"You don't smoke, eh, you scoundrels? Then who put the tobacco in the dough6? Tell me that!
We'll see whether you smoke or not. Now then, turn out your pockets! Come on, turn them out, I say!"
Three of the boys proceeded to empty the contents of their pockets onto the table.
The priest inspected the seams carefully for grains of tobacco, but found nothing, whereupon he turned to the fourth lad, a dark-eyed youngster in a grey shirt and blue trousers patched at the knees.
"What are you standing7 there for like a dummy8?"
The lad threw a look of silent hatred9 at his questioner.
"I haven't any pockets," he replied sullenly11, running his hands over the sides of his trousers.
"No pockets, eh? You think I don't know who could have played such a scoundrelly trick as to spoil my dough?
You think I'm going to let you off again? Oh no, my boy, you shall suffer for this. Last time I allowed you to stay in this school because your mother begged me to keep you, but now I'm finished with you. Out with you!" He seized the boy painfully by the ear and threw him out into the corridor, slamming the door after him.
The class sat silent, cowed. None of the children could understand why Pavel Korchagin had been ejected, none but Sergei Bruzzhak, who was Pavel's closest friend. He had seen him sprinkle a fistful of home-grown tobacco into the Easter cake dough in the priest's kitchen where six backward pupils had waited for the priest to come and hear them repeat their lesson.
Now Pavel sat down on the bottom step of the school-house and wondered dismally12 what his mother would say when he told her what had happened, his poor hard-working mother who toiled13 from morning till night as cook at the excise15 inspector's.
Tears choked him.
"What shall I do? It's all because of that damned priest. What on earth made me go and put that tobacco in his dough? It was Seryozhka's idea. 'Let's play a trick on the old beast,' he says. So we did. And now Seryozhka's got off and I'll likely be kicked out."
His feud16 with Father Vasili was of long standing. It dated back to the day he had a scrap17 with Mishka Levchenkov and in punishment was kept in after lessons. To keep the lad out of mischief18 in the empty classroom, the teacher took him to the second grade to sit in at a lesson.
Pavel took a seat at the back. The teacher, a wizened19 little man in a black jacket, was telling the class about the earth and the heavenly bodies, and Pavel gaped20 with amazement21 when he learned that the earth had been in existence for millions of years and that the stars too were worlds. So startled was he by what he had heard that he barely refrained from getting up and blurting22 out:
"That isn't what the Bible says!" But he was afraid of getting into more hot water.
The priest had always given Pavel full marks for Scripture23. He knew almost the whole prayer book practically by heart, and the Old and New Testament24 as well. He knew exactly what God had created on each day of the week. Now he resolved to take the matter up with Father Vasili. At the very next lesson, before the priest had time to settle himself properly in his chair, Pavel raised his hand and, having obtained permission to speak, he got up.
"Father, why does the teacher in the second grade say the earth is millions of years old, instead of what the Bible says, five thou. . . ." A hoarse25 cry from Father Vasili cut him short.
"What did you say, you scoundrel? So that's how you learn your Scripture!"
And before Pavel knew what had happened the priest had seized him by the ears and was banging his head against the wall. A few minutes later, shaken with fright and pain, he found himself outside in the corridor.
His mother too had given him a good scolding that time. And the following day she had gone to the school and begged Father Vasili to take him back. From that day Pavel hated the priest with all his soul. Hated and feared him. His childish heart rebelled against any injustice26, however slight.
He could not forgive the priest for the undeserved beating, and he grew sullen10 and bitter.
Pavel suffered many a slight at the hands of Father Vasili after that. The priest was forever sending him out of the classroom; day after day for weeks on end he made him stand in the corner for trifling27 misdemeanours and never called on him to answer questions, with the result that on the eve of the Easter holidays Pavel had to go with the backward boys to the priest's house to be reexamined. It was there in the kitchen that he had dropped the tobacco into the dough.
No one had seen him do it, but the priest had guessed at once who was to blame.
The lesson ended at last and the children poured out into the yard and crowded round Pavel, who maintained a gloomy silence. Sergei Bruzzhak lingered behind in the classroom. He felt that he too was guilty, but he could do nothing to help his friend.
Yefrem Vasilievich, the headmaster, poked28 his head out of the open window of the common room and shouted: "Send Korchagin to me at once!" Pavel jumped at the sound of the headmaster's deep bass29 voice, and with pounding heart obeyed his summons.
The proprietor30 of the railway station restaurant, a pale middle-aged31 man with faded, colourless eyes, glanced briefly32 at Pavel. "How old is he?" "Twelve."
"All right, he can stay. He'll get eight rubles a month and his food on the days he works. He'll work twenty-four hours at a stretch every other day. But mind, no pilfering33."
"Oh no, sir. He won't steal, I'll answer for that," the mother hastened fearfully to assure him.
"Let him start in today," ordered the proprietor and, turning to the woman behind the counter, said: "Zina, take the boy to the kitchen and tell Frosya to put him to work instead of Grishka."
The barmaid laid down the knife with which she had been slicing ham, nodded to Pavel and led the way across the hall to a side door opening into the scullery. Pavel followed her. His mother hurried after him and whispered quickly into his ear: "Now Pavlushka, dear, do your best, and don't disgrace yourself."
With sad eyes she watched him go, and left. Work in the scullery was in full swing; plates, forks and knives were piled high on the table and several women were wiping them with towels flung over their shoulders. A boy slightly older than Pavel, with a shaggy mop of ginger34 hair, was tending two huge samovars.
The scullery was full of steam that rose from the large vat35 of boiling water in which the dishes were washed, and Pavel could not see the faces of the women at first. He stood waiting uncertainly for someone to tell him what to do.
Zina., the barmaid, went over to one of the dishwashers and touched her shoulder.
"Here, Frosya, I've brought you a new boy to take Grishka's place. You tell him what he's to do."
"She's in charge here," Zina said to Pavel, nodding toward the woman she had called Frosya.
"She'll tell you what you have to do." And with that she turned and went back to the buffet36.
"All right," Pavel replied softly and looked questioningly at Frosya. Wiping her perspiring37 brow she examined him critically from head to foot, then, rolling up her sleeve which had slipped over her elbow, she said in a deep and remarkably38 pleasant voice:
"It's not much of a job, dearie, but it will keep you busy enough. That copper39 over there has to be heated in the morning and kept hot so there's boiling water all the time; then there's the wood to chop and the samovars to take care of besides. You'll have to clean the knives and forks sometimes and carry out the slops. There'll be plenty to do, lad," she said, speaking with a marked Kostroma accent laying the stress on the "a's". Her manner of speaking and her flushed face with the small turned-up nose made Pavel feel better.
"She seems quite decent," he concluded, and overcoming his shyness, said: "What am I to do now,Auntie?"
A loud guffaw40 from the dishwashers met his words.
"Ha! Ha! Frosya's gone and got herself a nephew. . . ."
Frosya herself laughed even more heartily41 than the others.
Through the cloud of steam Pavel had not noticed that Frosya was a young girl; she was no more than eighteen.
Much embarrassed, he turned to the boy and asked:
"What do I do now?"
But the boy merely chuckled42. "You ask Auntie, she'll tell you all about it. I'm off." Whereupon he darted43 through the door leading to the kitchen.
"Come over here and help dry the forks," said one of the dishwashers, a middle-aged woman.
"Stop your cackling," she admonished44 the others. "The lad didn't say anything funny. Here, take this." She handed Pavel a dish towel. "Hold one end between your teeth and pull the other end tight. Here's a fork, run it up and down the towel, and see you don't leave any dirt between the prongs. They're very strict about that here. The customers always inspect the forks and if they find a speck45 of dirt, they make a terrible fuss, and the mistress will send you flying out in a jiffy."
"The mistress?" Pavel echoed. "I thought the master who hired me was in charge."
The dishwasher laughed.
"The master, my lad, is just a stick of furniture around here. The mistress is the boss. She isn't here today. But if you work here a while you'll see for yourself."
The scullery door opened and three waiters entered carrying trays piled high with dirty dishes.
One of them, a broad-shouldered cross-eyed man with a heavy, square jaw46, said: "You'd better look lively. The 12 o'clock is due any minute, and here you are dawdling47 about."
He looked at Pavel. "Who's this?" he asked.
"That's the new boy," said Frosya.
"Ah, the new boy," he said. "Well, listen, my lad." He laid his heavy hands on Pavel's shoulders and pushed him over to the samovars. "You're supposed to keep them boiling all the time, and look, one of them's out, and the other is barely going. Don't let it happen again or I'll beat the stuffings out of you!"
Pavel busied himself with the samovars without a word.
Thus began his life of toil14. Never had Pavka worked so hard as on that first day. He realised that this was not home where he could afford to disobey his mother. The cross-eyed waiter had made it quite plain that if he did not do as he was told, he would suffer for it.
Placing one of his top-boots over the chimney and using it as a bellows48, Pave! soon had the sparks flying from the large pot-bellied samovars. He picked up the slop pail and rushed out to the garbage dump, added firewood to the water boiler49, dried the wet dish towels on the hot samovars —in a word, did everything he was told to do. Late that night when he went off wearily to the kitchen, Anisia, the middle-aged dishwasher, with a glance at the door that had closed behind him,remarked: "Something queer about that boy, look at the way he dashes about like mad. Must have been a good reason for putting him to work."
"He's a good worker," said Frosya. "Needs no speeding up."
"He'll soon cool off," was Lusha's opinion. "They all try hard in the beginning. . . ."
At seven o'clock the next morning, Pavel, utterly50 exhausted51 after a whole night spent on his feet,turned the boiling samovars over to the boy who was to relieve him. The latter, a puffy-faced youngster with a mean look in his eyes, examined the boiling samovars, and having assured himself that all was in order, thrust his hands into his pockets and spat52 through his teeth with an air of scornful superiority.
"Now listen, snotnose!" he said in an aggressive tone, fixing Pavel with his colourless eyes. "See you're on the job here tomorrow at six sharp."
"Why at six?" Pavka wanted to know. "The shift changes at seven, doesn't it?"
"Never mind when the shift changes. You get here at six. And you'd better not blab too much or I'll smash your silly mug for you. Some cheek, only started in today and already putting on airs."
The dishwashers who had just finished their shift listened with interest to the exchange between the two boys. The blustering53 tone and bullying54 manner of the other enraged55 Pavel. He took a step toward his tormentor56 and was about to lash57 out at him with his fists when the fear of losing his newly acquired job stopped him.
"Stop your noise," he said, his face dark with rage, "and keep off or you'll get more than you bargained for. I'll be here at seven tomorrow, and I can use my fists as good as you can. Maybe you'd like to try? I'm game."
His adversary58 cowered59 back against the boiler, gaping60 with surprise at the bristling61 Pavel. He had not expected such a determined62 rebuff.
"All right, all right, we'll see," he muttered.
Pavel, his first day at work having passed without mishap63, hurried home with a sense of having honestly earned his rest. Now he too was a worker and no one could accuse him of being a parasite64.
The morning sun was already climbing above the sprawling65 buildings of the sawmill. Before long the tiny house where Pavel lived would come into view, just behind the Leszczinski garden.
"Mother must have just got up, and here I am coming home from work," Pavel thought, and he quickened his pace, whistling as he went. "It turned out not so bad being kicked out of school.
That damned priest wouldn't have given me any peace anyway, and he can go to hell now for all I care. As for that gingerhead," he said to himself as he opened the gate, "I'll punch his face for certain."
His mother, who was lighting66 the samovar in the yard, looked up at her son's approach and asked anxiously:
"Well, how was it?"
"Fine," Pavel replied.
His mother was about to say something when through the open window Pavel caught a glimpse of his brother Artem's broad back.
"Artem's come home?" he asked, worried.
"Yes, he came last night. He's going to stay here and work at the railway yards."
With some hesitation68 Pavel opened the front door.
The man seated at the table with his back to the door turned his huge frame as Pavel entered and the eyes under the thick black brows looked stern.
"Ah, here comes the tobacco lad. Well, how goes it?"
Pavel dreaded69 the forthcoming interview.
"Artem knows all about it already," he thought. "I'm in for a good row and hiding to boot." Pavel stood somewhat in awe71 of his elder brother.
But Artem evidently had no intention of beating him. He sat on a stool, leaning his elbows on the table, and studied Pavel's face with a mingled72 expression of amusement and scorn.
"So you've graduated from university, eh? Learned all there is to learn and now you're busying yourself with slops, eh?"
Pavel stared down at a nail sticking out of a floor board. Artem got up from the table and went into the kitchen.
"Looks as if I won't get a thrashing after all," Pavel thought with a sigh of relief.
Later on at tea Artem questioned Pavel about the incident at school. Pavel told him all that had happened.
"What will become of you if you grow up to be such a scamp," the mother said sadly. "What shall we do with him? Who does he take after, I wonder? Dear God, to think of all I've had to suffer from that boy," she complained.
Artem pushed his empty cup away and turned to Pavel.
"Now listen to me, mate," he said. "What's done can't be undone73. Only now take care and do your work properly and no monkey business, because if you get yourself kicked out of this place I'll give you a proper thrashing. Remember that. You've given mother enough trouble as it is. You're always getting into some sort of mess. Now that's got to stop. When you've worked for a year or thereabouts I'll try and get you taken on at the railway yards as an apprentice74, because you'll never amount to anything if you mess about with slops all your life. You've got to learn a trade. You're a bit too young just now, but in a year's time I'll see what I can do, maybe they'll take you. I'll be working here now. Ma won't need to go out to work any more. She's slaved enough for all sorts of swine. Only see here, Pavel, you've got to be a man."
He stood up, his huge frame dwarfing75 everything about him, and putting on the jacket that hung over the chair, said to his mother: "I've got to go out for an hour or so," and went out, stooping in the doorway76.
Passing by the window on his way to the gate, he looked in and called out to Pavel: "I've brought you a pair of boots and a knife. Mother will give them to you."
The station restaurant was open day and night.
Six different railway lines met at this junction77, and the station was always packed with people;only for two or three hours at night during a gap between trains was the place comparatively quiet.
Hundreds of trains passed through this station bringing maimed and crippled men from the front and taking back a constant stream of new men in monotonous78 grey overcoats.
Pavel worked there for two years—two years in which he saw nothing more than the scullery and kitchen. The twenty odd people employed in the huge basement kitchen worked at a feverish79 pace.
Ten waiters scurried80 constantly back and forth70 between the restaurant and the kitchen.
By now Pavel was receiving ten rubles instead of eight. He had grown taller and broader in these two years, and many were the trials that fell to his lot. For half a year he had worked as a kitchen boy but had been sent back to the scullery again by the all-powerful chef who had taken a dislike to him—you never knew but what the unruly cub81 might stick a knife into you if you beat him too often. Indeed Pavel's fiery82 temper would have lost him the job long since had it not been for his tremendous capacity for hard work. For he could work harder than anyone else and he never seemed to get tired.
During rush hours he would dash with loaded trays up and down the kitchen stairs like a whirlwind, taking several steps at a time.
At night, when the hubbub83 in both halls of the restaurant subsided84, the waiters would gather downstairs in the kitchen storerooms and wild, reckless card games would begin. Pavel often saw large sums of money lying on the tables. He was not surprised, for he knew that each waiter received between thirty and forty rubles a shift in ruble and half ruble tips, which they spent later in drinking and gambling85. Pavel hated them.
"The damned swine!" he thought. "There's Artem, a first-class mechanic, and all he gets is forty-eight rubles a month, and I get ten. And they rake in all that money in one day, just for carrying trays back and forth. And then they spend it all on drink and cards."
To Pavel the waiters were as alien and hostile as his employers. "They crawl on their bellies86 here, the pigs, but their wives and sons strut87 about town like rich folk."
Sometimes their sons came, wearing smart Gymnasium uniforms, and sometimes their wives, plump and soft with good living. "I bet they have more money than the gentry88 they serve," Pavel thought. Nor was the lad shocked any longer by what went on at night in the dark corners of the kitchen or in the storerooms. He knew very well that no dishwasher or barmaid would hold her job long if she did not sell herself for a few rubles to those who held the whip hand here.
Pavel, avid89 of life, had a glimpse of its bottom-most depths, the very sump of its ugly pit, and a musty, mouldy stench, the smell of swamp rot, rose up to him.
Artem was unable to get him hired as an apprentice at the railway yards; they would not take anyone under fifteen. But Pavel was drawn90 to the huge soot-blackened brick building, and he looked forward to the day when he could get away from the restaurant.
He went to see Artem at the yards frequently, and would go with him to look over the carriages, helping91 him whenever he could.
He felt particularly lonely after Frosya left. With the gay, laughing girl gone, Pavel felt more keenly than ever how much her friendship had meant to him. Now when he came in the morning to the scullery and listened to the shrill92 quarrelling of the refugee women he felt a gnawing93 sense of emptiness and solitude94.
During a slack period at night, as he squatted95 beside his boiler, adding firewood and staring at the flames, he fell to think of Frosya, and a scene he had recently witnessed rose before his mind's eye.
During the night interval96 on Saturday Pavel was on his way downstairs to the kitchen, when curiosity prompted him to climb onto a pile of firewood to look into the storeroom on the lower landing where the gamblers usually assembled.
The game was in full swing. Zalivanov, flushed with excitement, was keeping the bank.
Just then footsteps sounded on the stairs. Looking around, Pavel saw Prokhoshka coming down,and he slipped under the staircase to let the man pass into the kitchen. It was dark there under the stairs and Prokhoshka could not see him.
As Prokhoshka passed the turning in the stairs, Pavel caught a glimpse of his broad back and hugehead. Just then someone else came hurrying lightly down the steps after the waiter and Pavel heard a familiar voice call out:
"Prokhoshka, wait!"
Prokhoshka stopped and turned around to look up the stairway.
"What d'you want?" he growled97.
The footsteps pattered down and soon Frosya came into sight.
She seized the waiter by the arm and spoke98 in a broken, choking voice.
"Where's the money the Lieutenant99 gave you, Prokhoshka?"
The man wrenched100 his arm away from her.
"What money? I gave it to you, didn't I?" His tone was sharp and vicious.
"But he gave you three hundred rubles," Frosya's voice broke into muffled101 sobs102.
"Did he now? Three hundred!" Prokhoshka sneered103. "Want to get it all, eh? Flying high for a dishwasher, aren't you, my fine young lady? The fifty I gave you is plenty. Girls a damn sight better than you, educated too, don't take that much. You ought to be thankful for what you got—fifty rubles clear for a night is damn good. All right, I'll give you another ten, maybe twenty, that's all— and if you're not a fool you can earn some more. I can help you." With this Prokhoshka turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Scoundrel! Swine!" Frosya screamed after him and, leaning against the woodpile, sobbed104 bitterly.
It is hard to describe what Pavel felt as he stood in the darkness under the staircase watching Frosya beat her head against the logs of wood. But he did not show himself; only his fingers spasmodically gripped the cast-iron supports of the staircase.
"So they've sold her too, damn them! Oh Frosya, Frosya. . . ."
His hatred for Prokhoshka seared deeper than ever and everything around him was revolting and hateful to him. "If I had the strength I'd beat the scoundrel to death! Why am I not big and strong like Artem?"
The flames under the boiler flared105 up and died down, their trembling red tongues intertwining into a long bluish spiral; it seemed to Pavel that some jeering106, mocking imp67 was showing its tongue at him.
It was quiet in the room; only the fire crackled and the tap dripped at measured intervals107.
Klimka put the last pot, scrubbed until it shone, on the shelf and wiped his hands. There was no one else in the kitchen. The cook on duty and the kitchen help were asleep in the cloakroom. Quiet settled over the kitchen for the three night hours, and these hours Klimka always spent upstairs with Pavel, for a firm friendship had sprung up between the young kitchen boy and the dark-eyed boiler attendant. Upstairs, Klimka found Pavel squatting108 in front of the open firebox. Pavel saw the shadow of the familiar shaggy figure cast against the wall and said without turning around:
"Sit down, Klimka."
The boy climbed onto the woodpile, stretched out on it and looked at the silent Pavel.
"Trying to tell your fortune in the fire?" he asked, smiling.
Pavel tore his gaze away from the licking tongues of flame and turned on Klimka two large shining eyes brimming over with sadness. Klimka had never seen his friend look so unhappy.
"What's wrong with you today, Pavel?" After a pause he asked: "Anything happened?" Pavel got up and sat next to Klimka. "Nothing's happened," he replied in a low voice. "Only I can't stand it here, Klimka." And his hands resting on his knees clenched109 into fists.
"What's come over you today?" Klimka insisted, propping110 himself up on his elbows.
"Today? It's been like this ever since I got this job. Just look at this place! We work like horses and instead of thanks we get blows—anyone can beat you and there's nobody to stick up for you.
The masters hire us to serve them, but anyone who's strong enough has the right to beat us. After all, you can run yourself ragged111 but you'll never please everybody and those you can't please always have it in for you. No matter how you try to do everything right so that nobody could find fault, there's always bound to be somebody you haven't served fast enough, and then you get it in the neck just the same. . . ."
"Don't shout like that," Klimka interrupted him, frightened. "Somebody might walk in and hear you." Pavel leapt to his feet.
"Let them hear, I'm going to quit anyway. I'd rather shovel112 snow than hang around this . . . this hole full of crooks113. Look at all the money they've got! They treat us like dirt, and do what they like with the girls. The decent girls who won't do what they want are kicked out, and starving refugees who have no place to go are taken on instead. And that sort hang on because here at least they get something to eat, and they're so down and out they'll do anything for a piece of bread."
He spoke with such passion that Klimka, fearing that someone might overhear, sprang up to close the door leading to the kitchen, while Pavel continued to pour out the bitterness that burned inside him.
"And you, Klimka, take the beatings lying down. Why don't you ever speak up?"
Pavel dropped onto a stool at the table and rested his head wearily on the palm of his hand.
Klimka threw some wood into the fire and also sat down at the table.
"Aren't we going to read today?" he asked Pavel.
"There's nothing to read," Pavel replied. "The bookstall's closed."
"Why should it be closed today?" Klimka wondered.
"The gendarmes114 picked up the bookseller. Found something on him," Pavel replied.
"Picked him up? What for?"
"For .politics, they say."
Klimka stared at Pavel, unable to grasp his meaning.
"Politics. What's that?"
Pavel shrugged115 his shoulders.
"The devil knows! They say it's politics when you go against the tsar."
Klimka looked startled.
"Do people do that sort of thing?"
"I dunno," replied Pavel.
The door opened and Glasha, her eyelids116 puffed117 from sleepiness, walked into the scullery.
"Why aren't you two sleeping? There's time for an hour's nap before the train pulls in. You'd better take a rest, Pavel, I'll see to the boiler for you."
Pavel quit his job sooner than he expected and in a manner he had not foreseen.
One frosty January day when Pavel had finished his shift and was ready to go home he found that the lad who was to relieve him had not shown up. Pavel went to the proprietor's wife and announced that he was going nevertheless, but she would not hear of it. There was nothing for him to do but to carry on, exhausted though he was after a day and night of work. By evening he was ready to drop with weariness. During the night interval he had to fill the boilers118 and have them ready for the three-o'clock train.
Pavel turned the tap but there was no water; the pump evidently was not working. Leaving the tap open, he lay down on the woodpile to wait, but fatigue119 got the better of him, and he was soon fast asleep.
A few minutes later the tap began gurgling and hissing120 and the water poured into the boiler, filling it to overflowing121 and spilling over the tiled floor of the scullery which was deserted122 at this hour.
The water flowed on until it covered the floor and seeped123 under the door into the restaurant.
Puddles124 of water gathered under the bags and bundles of the dozing125 passengers, but nobody noticed it until the water reached a passenger lying on the floor and he jumped to his feet with a shout. There was a rush for luggage and a terrific uproar126 broke out.
And the water continued to pour in.
Prokhoshka, who had been clearing the tables in the second hall, ran in when he heard the commotion127. Leaping over the puddles he made a dash for the door and pushed it open violently.
The water dammed behind it burst into the hall.
There was more shouting. The waiters on duty rushed into the scullery. Prokhoshka threw himself on the sleeping Pavel.
Blows rained down on the boy's head, stunning128 him.
Still half asleep, he had no idea of what was happening. He was only conscious of blinding flashes of lightning before his eyes and agonising pain shooting through his body.
Pavel was so badly beaten that he barely managed to drag himself home.
In the morning Artem, grim-faced and scowling129, questioned his brother as to what had happened.
Pavel told him everything.
"Who beat you?" Artem asked hoarsely130.
"Prokhoshka."
"All right, now lie still."
Without another word Artem pulled on his jacket and walked out.
"Where can I find Prokhor, the waiter?" he asked one of the dishwashers. Glasha stared at the stranger in workingman's clothes who had burst into the scullery.
"He'll be here in a moment," she replied.
The man leaned his enormous bulk against the door jamb.
"All right, I can wait."
Prokhor, carrying a mountain of dishes on a tray, kicked the door open and entered the scullery.
"That's him," Glasha nodded at the waiter.
Artem took a step forward and laying a heavy hand on Prokhor's shoulder looked him straight in the eye.
"What did you beat up my brother Pavka for?"
Prokhor tried to shake his shoulder loose, but a smashing blow laid him out on the floor; he tried to rise, but a second blow more terrible than the first pinned him down.
The frightened dishwashers scattered131 on all sides.
Artem turned and walked out.
Prokhoshka lay sprawled132 on the floor, his battered133 face bleeding.
That evening Artem did not come home -from the railway yards.
His mother learned that he was being held by the gendarmes.
Six days later Artem returned late at night when his mother was already asleep. He went up to Pavel, who was sitting up in bed, and said gently:
"Feeling better, boy?" Artem sat down next to Pavel. "Might have been worse." After a moment's silence he added: "Never mind, you'll go to work at the electric station; I've spoken to them about you. You'll learn a real trade there."
Pavel seized Artem's powerful hand with both of his.
“节前上我家去补考的，都给我站起来！”
一个脸皮松弛的胖神甫，身上穿着法衣，脖子上挂着沉甸甸的十字架，气势汹汹地瞪着全班的学生。
六个学生应声从板凳上站了起来，四个男生，两个女生。
神甫两只小眼睛闪着凶光，像要把他们一口吞下去似的。孩子们惊恐不安地望着他。
“你们俩坐下。”神甫朝女孩子挥挥手说。
她们急忙坐下，松了一口气。
瓦西里神甫那对小眼睛死盯在四个男孩子身上。
“过来吧，宝贝们！”
瓦西里神甫站起来，推开椅子，走到挤作一团的四个孩子跟前。
“你们这几个小无赖，谁抽烟？”
四个孩子都小声回答：“我们不会抽，神甫。”
神甫脸都气红了。
“混帐东西，不会抽，那发面里的烟末是谁撒的？都不会抽吗？好，咱们这就来看看！把口袋翻过来，快点！听见了没有？快翻过来！”
三个孩子开始把他们口袋里的东西掏出来，放在桌子上。
神甫仔细地检查口袋的每一条缝，看有没有烟末，但是什么也没有找到，便把目光转到第四个孩子身上。这孩子长着一对黑眼睛，穿着灰衬衣和膝盖打补丁的蓝裤子。
“你怎么像个木头人，站着不动弹？”
黑眼睛的孩子压住心头的仇恨，看着神甫，闷声闷气地回答：“我没有口袋。”他用手摸了摸缝死了的袋口。
“哼，没有口袋！你以为这么一来，我就不知道是谁干的坏事，把发面糟蹋了吗？你以为这回你还能在学校待下去吗？没那么便宜，小宝贝。上回是你妈求情，才把你留下的，这回可不行了。你给我滚出去！”他使劲揪住男孩子的一只耳朵，把他推到走廊上，随手关上了门。
教室里鸦雀无声，学生一个个都缩着脖子。谁也不明白保尔·柯察金为什么被赶出学校。只有他的好朋友谢廖沙·勃鲁扎克知道是怎么回事。那天他们六个不及格的学生到神甫家里去补考，在厨房里等神甫的时候，他看见保尔把一把烟末撒在神甫家过复活节用的发面里。
保尔被赶了出来，坐在门口最下一磴台阶上。他想，该怎么回家呢？母亲在税务官家里当厨娘，每天从清早忙到深夜，为他操碎了心，该怎么向她交代呢？
眼泪哽住了保尔的喉咙。
“现在我可怎么办呢？都怨这该死的神甫。我给他撒哪门子烟末呢？都是谢廖沙出的馊主意。他说，‘来，咱们给这个害人的老家伙撒上一把。’我们就撒进去了。谢廖沙倒没事，我可说不定要给撵出学校了。”
保尔跟瓦西里神甫早就结下了仇。有一回，他跟米什卡·列夫丘科夫打架，老师罚他留校，不准回家吃饭，又怕他在空教室里胡闹，就把这个淘气鬼送到高年级教室，让他坐在后面的椅子上。
高年级老师是个瘦子，穿着一件黑上衣，正在给学生讲地球和天体。他说地球已经存在好几百万年了，星星也跟地球差不多。保尔听他这样说，惊讶得张大了嘴巴。他感到非常奇怪，差点没站起来对老师说：“圣经上可不是这么说的。”
但是又怕挨骂，没敢做声。
保尔是信教的。她母亲是个教徒，常给他讲圣经上的道理。世界是上帝创造的，而且并非几百万年以前，而是不久前创造的，保尔对此深信不疑。
圣经这门课，神甫总是给保尔打满分。新约、旧约和所有的祈祷词，他都背得滚瓜烂熟。上帝哪一天创造了什么，他也都记得一清二楚。保尔打定主意，要向瓦西里神甫问个明白。等到上圣经课的时候，神甫刚坐到椅子上，保尔就举起手来，得到允许以后，他站起来说：“神甫，为什么高年级老师说，地球已经存在好几百万年了，并不像圣经上说的五千……”
他刚说到这里，就被瓦西里神甫的尖叫声打断了：“混帐东西，你胡说什么？圣经课你是怎么学的？”
保尔还没有来得及分辩，神甫就揪住他的两只耳朵，把他的头往墙上撞。一分钟之后，保尔已经鼻青脸肿，吓得半死，被神甫推到走廊上去了。
保尔回到家里，又挨了母亲好一顿责骂。
第二天，母亲到学校去恳求瓦西里神甫开恩，让她儿子回班学习。从那时起，保尔恨透了神甫。他又恨又怕。他不容许任何人对他稍加侮辱，当然也不会忘掉神甫那顿无端的毒打。他把仇恨埋在心底，不露声色。
保尔以后又受到瓦西里神甫多次小的侮辱：往往为了鸡毛蒜皮的小事，把他赶出教室，一连几个星期，天天罚他站墙角，而且从来不问他功课。因此，他不得不在复活节前，和几个不及格的同学一起，到神甫家里去补考。就在神甫家的厨房里，他把一把烟末撒到过复活节用的发面里了。
这件事谁也没有看到，可是神甫马上就猜出了是谁干的。
……下课了，孩子们一齐拥到院子里，围住了保尔。他愁眉苦脸地坐在那里，一声不响。谢廖沙在教室里没有出来，他觉得自己也有过错，但是又想不出办法帮助他的伙伴。
校长叶夫列姆·瓦西里耶维奇的脑袋从教员室的窗口探了出来，他那低沉的声音吓得保尔一哆嗦。
“叫柯察金马上到我这儿来！”他喊道。
保尔朝教员室走去，心怦怦直跳。
车站食堂的老板是个上了年纪的人，面色苍白，两眼无神。他朝站在一旁的保尔瞥了一眼。
“他几岁了？”
“十二岁。”保尔的母亲回答。
“行啊，让他留下吧。工钱每月八个卢布，当班的时候管饭。顶班干一天一宿，在家歇一天一宿，可不准偷东西。”
“哪儿能呢，哪儿能呢，我担保他什么也不偷。”母亲惶恐地说。
“那让他今天就上工吧。”老板吩咐着，转过身去，对旁边一个站柜台的女招待说：“济娜，把这个小伙计领到洗刷间去，叫弗罗霞给他派活，顶格里什卡。”
女招待正在切火腿，她放下刀，朝保尔点了点头，就穿过餐室，朝通向洗刷间的旁门走去。保尔跟在她后面。母亲也赶紧跟上，小声嘱咐保尔：“保夫鲁沙，你可要好好干哪，别丢脸！”
她用忧郁的目光把儿子送走以后，才朝大门口走去。
洗刷间里正忙得不可开交。桌子上盘碟刀叉堆得像座小山，几个女工肩头搭着毛巾，在逐个地擦那堆东西。
一个长着乱蓬蓬的红头发的男孩，年纪比保尔稍大一点，在两个大茶炉跟前忙碌着。
洗家什的大木盆里盛着开水，满屋子雾气腾腾的。保尔刚进来，连女工们的脸都看不清。他站在那里，不知道该干什么，甚至不知道站在哪里好。
女招待济娜走到一个正在洗家什的女工跟前，扳着她的肩膀，说：“弗罗霞，这个新来的小伙计是派给你的，顶格里什卡。你给他讲讲都要干些什么活吧。”
济娜又指着那个叫弗罗霞的女工，对保尔说：“她是这儿的领班，她叫你干什么，你就干什么。”说完，转身回餐室去了。
“嗯。”保尔轻轻答应了一声，同时看了看站在面前的弗罗霞，等她发话。弗罗霞一面擦着额上的汗水，一面从上到下打量着他，好像要估量一下他能干什么活似的，然后挽起从胳膊肘上滑下来的一只袖子，用非常悦耳的、响亮的声音说：“小朋友，你的活不难，就是一清早把这口锅烧开，一天别断了开水。当然，柴也要你自己劈。还有这两个大茶炉，也是你的活。再有，活紧的时候，你也得擦擦刀叉，倒倒脏水。
小朋友，活不少，够你出几身汗的。”她说的是科斯特罗马方言，总是把“ａ”音发得很重。保尔听到这一口乡音，看到她那红扑扑的脸和翘起的小鼻子，不禁有点高兴起来。
“看样子这位大婶还不错。”他心里这样想，便鼓起勇气问弗罗霞：“那我现在干些什么呢，大婶？”
他说到这里，洗刷间的女工们一阵哈哈大笑，淹没了他的话，他愣住了。
“哈哈哈！……弗罗霞这回捡了个大侄子……”
“哈哈！……”弗罗霞本人笑得比谁都厉害。
因为屋里全是蒸汽，保尔没有看清弗罗霞的脸，其实她只有十八岁。
保尔感到很难为情，便转身同那个男孩：“我现在该干什么呢？”
男孩只是嬉皮笑脸地回答：“还是问你大婶去吧，她会统统告诉你的，我在这儿是临时帮忙。”说完，转身朝厨房跑去。
这时保尔听见一个上了年纪的女工说：“过来帮着擦叉子吧。你们笑什么？这孩子说什么好笑的啦？给，拿着，”她递给保尔一条毛巾。“一头用牙咬住，一头用手拉紧。再把叉齿在上头来回蹭，要蹭得干干净净，一点脏东西也没有才成。咱们这儿对这种事挺认真。那些老爷们很挑剔，总是翻过来覆过去，看了又看，只要叉子上有一点脏东西，咱们可就倒霉了，老板娘马上会把你撵出去。”
“什么老板娘？”保尔不解地问，“雇我的老板不是男的吗？”
那个女工笑了起来：“孩子，我们这儿的老板是摆设，他是个草包。什么都是他老婆说了算。她今天不在，你干几天就知道了。”
洗刷间的门打开了，三个堂倌，每人捧着一大摞脏家什，走了进来。
其中有个宽肩膀、斜眼、四方大脸的堂倌说：“加紧点干哪，十二点的车眼看就要到了，你们还这么磨磨蹭蹭的。”
他看见了保尔，就问：“这是谁？”
“新来的。”弗罗霞回答。
“哦，新来的。”他说。“那好吧，”他一只手使劲按住保尔的肩膀，把他推到两个大茶炉跟前，说：“这两个大茶炉你得烧好，什么时候要水都得有，可是你看，现在一个已经灭了，另一个也快没火星了。今天饶了你，要是明天再这样，就叫你吃耳刮子，明白吗？”
保尔一句话也没有说，便烧起茶炉来。
保尔的劳动生涯就这样开始了。他是第一天上工，干活还从来没有这样卖过力气。他知道，这个地方跟家里不一样，在家里可以不听母亲的话，这里可不行。斜眼说得明白，要是不听话，就得吃耳刮子。
保尔脱下一只靴子，套在炉筒上，鼓起风来，能盛四桶水的大肚子茶炉立即冒出了火星。他一会儿提起脏水桶，飞快跑到外面，把脏水倒进坑里；一会儿给烧水锅添上劈柴，一会儿把湿毛巾搭在烧开的茶炉上烘干。总之，叫他干的活他都干了。直到深夜，保尔才拖着疲乏的身子，走到下面厨房去。有个上了年纪的女工，名叫阿尼西娅的，望着他刚掩上的门，说：“瞧，这孩子像个疯子似的，干起活来不要命。一定是家里实在没办法，才打发来的。”
“是啊，挺好个小伙子，”弗罗霞说。“干起活来不用催。”
“过两天跑累了，就不这么干了，”卢莎反驳说。“一开头都很卖劲……”
保尔手脚不停地忙了一个通宵，累得筋疲力尽。早晨七点钟，一个长着胖圆脸、两只小眼睛显得流里流气的男孩来接班，保尔把两个烧开的茶炉交给了他。
这个男孩一看，什么都已经弄妥了，茶炉也烧开了，便把两手往口袋里一插，从咬紧的牙缝里挤出一口唾沫，摆出一副不可一世的架势，斜着白不呲咧的眼睛看了看保尔，然后用一种不容争辩的腔调说：“喂，你这个饭桶，明天早上准六点来接班。”
“干吗六点？”保尔问。“不是七点换班吗？”
“谁乐意七点，谁就七点好了，你得六点来。要是再罗嗦，我立马叫你脑瓜上长个大疙疸。你这小子也不寻思寻思，才来就摆臭架子。”
那些刚交了班的女工都挺有兴趣地听着两个孩子的对话。那个男孩的无赖腔调和挑衅态度激怒了保尔。他朝男孩逼近一步，本来想狠狠揍他一顿，但是又怕头一天上工就给开除，才忍住了。他铁青着脸说：“你老实点，别吓唬人，搬起石头砸自己脚。明天我就七点来，要说打架，我可不在乎你，你想试试，那就请吧！”
对手朝开水锅倒退了一步，吃惊地瞧着怒气冲冲的保尔。
他没有料到会碰这么大的钉子，有点不知所措了。
“好，咱们走着瞧吧。”他含含糊糊地说。
头一天总算平安无事地过去了。保尔走在回家的路上，感到自己已经是一个用诚实的劳动挣得了休息的人。现在他也工作了，谁也不能再说他吃闲饭了。
早晨的太阳从锯木厂高大的厂房后面懒洋洋地升起来。
保尔家的小房子很快就要到了。瞧，就在眼前了，列辛斯基庄园的后身就是。
“妈大概起来了，我呢，才下工回家。”保尔想到这里，一边吹着口哨，一边加快了脚步。“学校把我赶出来，倒也不坏，反正那个该死的神甫不会让你安生，现在我真想吐他一脸唾沫。”保尔这样思量着，已经到了家门口。他推开小院门的时候，又想起来：“对，还有那个黄毛小子，一定得对准他的狗脸狠揍一顿。要不是怕给撵出来，我恨不得立时就揍他。早晚要叫他尝尝我拳头的厉害。”
母亲正在院子里忙着烧茶炊，一看见儿子回来，就慌忙问他：“怎么样？”
“挺好。”保尔回答。
母亲好像有什么事要关照他一下，可是他已经明白了。从敞开的窗户里，他看到了阿尔焦姆哥哥宽大的后背。
“怎么，阿尔焦姆回来了？”他忐忑不安地问。
“昨天回来的，这回留在家里不走了，就在机车库干活。”
保尔迟疑不决地打开了房门。
身材魁梧的阿尔焦姆坐在桌子旁边，背朝着保尔。他扭过头来，看着弟弟，又黑又浓的眉毛下面射出两道严厉的目光。
“啊，撒烟末的英雄回来了？好，你可真行！”
保尔预感到，哥哥回家后的这场谈话，对他准没个好。
“阿尔焦姆已经都知道了。”保尔心里想。“这回说不定要挨骂，也许要挨一顿揍。”
保尔有点怕阿尔焦姆。
但是，阿尔焦姆并没有打他的意思。他坐在凳子上，两只胳膊支着桌子，目不转睛地望着保尔，说不清是嘲弄还是蔑视。
“这么说，你已经大学毕业，各门学问都学到手了，现在倒起脏水来了？”阿尔焦姆说。
保尔两眼盯着一块破地板，专心地琢磨着一个冒出来的钉子头。可是阿尔焦姆却从桌旁站起来，到厨房去了。
“看样子不会挨揍了。”保尔松了一口气。
喝茶的时候，阿尔焦姆平心静气地详细询问了保尔班上发生的事情。
保尔一五一十地讲了一遍。
“你现在就这样胡闹，往后怎么得了啊。”母亲伤心地说。
“唉，可拿他怎么办呢？他这个样子究竟像谁呢？我的上帝，这孩子多叫我操心哪！”母亲诉苦说。
阿尔焦姆推开空茶杯，对保尔说：“好吧，弟弟。过去的事就算了，往后你可得小心，干活别耍花招，该干的都干好；要是再从那儿给撵出来，我就要你的好看，叫你脱一层皮。这点你要记住。妈已经够操心的了。你这个鬼东西，到哪儿都惹事，到哪儿都得闯点祸。现在该闹够了吧。等你干上一年，我再求人让你到机车库去当学徒，老是给人倒脏水，能有什么出息？还是得学一门手艺。现在你年纪还小，再过一年我求求人看，机车库也许能收你。我已经转到这儿来了，往后就在这儿干活。妈再也不去伺候人了。见到什么样的混蛋都弯腰，也弯够了。可是保尔，你自己得争气，要好好做人。”
他站起来，挺直高大的身躯，把搭在椅背上的上衣穿上，然后关照母亲说：“我出去个把钟头，办点事。”说完，一弯腰，跨出了房门。他走到院子里，从窗前经过的时候，又说：“我给你带来一双靴子和一把小刀，妈会拿给你的。”
车站食堂昼夜不停地营业。
有六条铁路通到这个枢纽站。车站总是挤满了人，只有夜里，在两班火车的间隙，才能安静两三个钟头。这个车站上有几百列军车从各地开来，然后又开到各地去。有的从前线开来，有的开到前线去。从前线运来的是缺胳膊断腿的伤兵，送到前线去的是大批穿一色灰大衣的新兵。
保尔在食堂里辛辛苦苦地干了两年。这两年里，他看到的只有厨房和洗刷间。在地下室的大厨房里，工作异常繁忙，干活的有二十多个人。十个堂倌从餐室到厨房穿梭般地来回奔忙着。
保尔的工钱从八个卢布长到十个卢布。两年来他长高了，身体也结实了。这期间，他经受了许多苦难。在厨房打下手，烟熏火燎地干了半年。那个有权势的厨子头不喜欢这个犟孩子，常常给他几个耳光。他生怕保尔突然捅他一刀，所以干脆把他撵回了洗刷间。要不是因为保尔干起活来有用不完的力气，他们早就把他赶走了。保尔干的活比谁都多，从来不知道疲劳。
在食堂最忙的时候，他脚不沾地地跑来跑去，一会儿端着托盘，一步跨四五级楼梯，下到厨房去，一会儿又从厨房跑上来。
每天夜里，当食堂的两个餐室消停下来的时候，堂倌们就聚在下面厨房的储藏室里大赌特赌，打起“二十一点”和“九点”来。保尔不止一次看见赌台上堆着一沓沓钞票。他们有这么多钱，保尔并不感到惊讶。他知道，他们每个人当一天一宿班，能捞到三四十个卢布的外快，收一次小费就是一个卢布、半个卢布的。有了钱就大喝大赌。保尔非常憎恶他们。
“这帮该死的混蛋！”他心里想。“像阿尔焦姆这样的头等钳工，一个月才挣四十八个卢布，我才挣十个卢布；可是他们一天一宿就捞这么多钱，凭什么？也就是把菜端上去，把空盘子撤下来。有了钱就喝尽赌光。”
保尔认为，他们跟那些老板是一路货，都是他的冤家对头。“这帮下流坯，别看他们在这儿低三下四地伺候人，他们的老婆孩子在城里却像有钱人一样摆阔气。”
他们常常把穿着中学生制服的儿子带来，有时也把养得滚圆的老婆领来。“他们的钱大概比他们伺候的老爷还要多。”
保尔这样想。他对夜间在厨房的角落里和食堂的仓库里发生的事情也不大惊小怪。保尔清楚地知道，任何一个洗家什女工和女招待，要是不肯以几个卢布的代价把自己的肉体出卖给食堂里每个有权有势的人，她们在这里是干不长远的。
保尔向生活的深处，向生活的底层看去，他追求一切新事物，渴望打开一个新天地，可是朝他扑面而来的，却是霉烂的臭味和泥沼的潮气。
阿尔焦姆想把弟弟安置到机车库去当学徒，但是没有成功，因为那里不收未满十五岁的少年。保尔期待着有朝一日能摆脱这个地方，机车库那座熏黑了的大石头房子吸引着他。
他时常到阿尔焦姆那里去，跟着他检查车辆，尽力帮他干点活。
弗罗霞离开食堂以后，保尔就更加感到烦闷了。
这个爱笑的、快乐的姑娘已经不在这里了，保尔这才更深地体会到，他们之间的友谊是多么深厚。现在呢，早晨一走进洗刷间，听到从难民中招来的女工们的争吵叫骂，他就会产生一种空虚和孤独的感觉。
夜间休息的时候，保尔蹲在打开的炉门前，往炉膛里添劈柴；他眯起眼睛，瞧着炉膛里的火。炉火烤得他暖烘烘的，挺舒服。洗刷间就剩他一个人了。
他的思绪不知不觉地回到不久以前发生的事情上来，他想起了弗罗霞。那时的情景又清晰地浮现在眼前。
那是一个星期六。夜间休息的时候，保尔顺着楼梯下厨房去。在转弯的地方，他好奇地爬上柴堆，想看一看储藏室，因为人们通常聚在那里赌钱。
那里赌得正起劲，扎利瓦诺夫坐庄，他兴奋得满脸通红。
楼梯上传来了脚步声。保尔回过头，看见堂倌普罗霍尔从上边走下来。保尔连忙躲到楼梯下面，等他走过去。楼梯下面黑洞洞的，普罗霍尔看不见他。
普罗霍尔转了个弯，朝下面走去，保尔看见了他的宽肩膀和大脑袋。
正在这时候，又有人从上面轻轻地快步跑下来，保尔听到了一个熟悉的声音：“普罗霍尔，你等一下。”
普罗霍尔站住了，掉头朝上面看了一眼。
“什么事？”他咕哝了一句。
有人顺着楼梯走了下来，保尔认出是弗罗霞。
她拉住堂倌的袖子，压低声音，结结巴巴地说：“普罗霍尔，中尉给你的钱呢？”
普罗霍尔猛然挣脱胳膊，恶狠狠地说：“什么？钱？难道我没给你吗？”
“可是人家给你的是三百个卢布啊。”弗罗霞抑制不住自己，几乎要放声大哭了。
“你说什么，三百个卢布？”普罗霍尔挖苦她说。“怎么，你想都要？好小姐，一个洗家什的女人，值那么多钱吗？照我看，给你五十个卢布就不少了。你想想，你有多走运吧！就是那些年轻太太，比你干净得多，又有文化，还拿不到这么多钱呢。陪着睡一夜，就挣五十个卢布，你得谢天谢地。哪儿有那么多傻瓜。行了，我再给你添一二十个卢布就算了事。只要你放聪明点，往后挣钱的机会有的是，我给你拉主顾。”
普罗霍尔说完最后一句话，转身到厨房去了。
“你这个流氓，坏蛋！”弗罗霞追着他骂了两句，接着便靠在柴堆上呜呜地哭起来。
保尔站在楼梯下面的暗处，听了这场谈话，又看到弗罗霞浑身颤抖，把头往柴堆上撞，他心头的滋味真是不可名状。
保尔没有露面，没有做声，只是猛然一把死死抓住楼梯的铁栏杆，脑子里轰的一声掠过一个清晰而明确的想法：“连她也给出卖了，这帮该死的家伙。唉，弗罗霞，弗罗霞……”
保尔心里对普罗霍尔的仇恨更深更强了，他憎恶和仇视周围的一切。“唉，我要是个大力士，一定揍死这个无赖！我怎么不像阿尔焦姆那样大、那样壮呢？”
炉膛里的火时起时落，火苗抖动着，聚在一起，卷成了一条长长的蓝色火舌；保尔觉得，好像有一个人在讥笑他，嘲弄他，朝他吐舌头。
屋子里静悄悄的，只有炉子里不时发出的哔剥声和水龙头均匀的滴水声。
克利姆卡把最后一只擦得锃亮的平底锅放到架子上之后，擦着手。厨房里已经没有别人了。值班的厨师和打下手的女工们都在更衣室里睡了。夜里，厨房可以安静三个小时。
这个时候，克利姆卡总是跑上来跟保尔一起消磨时间。厨房里的这个小徒弟跟黑眼睛的小烧水工很要好。克利姆卡一上来，就看见保尔蹲在打开的炉门前面。保尔也在墙上看到了那个熟悉的头发蓬松的人影，他头也不回地说：“坐下吧，克利姆卡。”
厨房的小徒弟爬上劈柴堆，躺了下来。他看了看坐在那里闷声不响的保尔，笑着说：“你怎么啦？对火作法吗？”
保尔好不容易才把目光从火苗上移开。现在这一对闪亮的大眼睛直勾勾地望着克利姆卡。克利姆卡从他的眼神里看见了一种无言的悲哀。他还是第一次看到伙伴这种忧郁的神情。
“保尔，今天你有点古怪……”他沉默了一会儿，又问保尔：“你碰到什么事了？”
保尔站起来，坐到克利姆卡身旁。
“没什么，”他闷声闷气地回答。“我在这儿呆着很不痛快。”他把放在膝上的两只手攥成了拳头。
“你今天是怎么了？”克利姆卡用胳膊支起身子，接着问。
“你问我今天怎么了？我从到这儿来干活的那天起，就一直不怎么的。你看看，这儿是个什么地方！咱们像骆驼一样干活，可得到的报答呢，是谁高兴谁就赏你几个嘴巴子，连一个护着你的人都没有。老板雇咱们，是要咱们给他干活，可是随便哪一个都有权揍你，只要他有劲。就算你有分身法，也不能一下子把人人都伺候到。一个伺候不到，就得挨揍。你就是拼命干，该做的都做得好好的，谁也挑不出毛病，你就是哪儿叫哪儿到，忙得脚打后脑勺，也总有伺候不到的时候，那又是一顿耳刮子……”
克利姆卡吃了一惊，赶紧打断他的话头：“你别这么大声嚷嚷，说不定有人过来，会听见的。”
保尔抽身站了起来。
“听见就听见，反正我是要离开这儿的。到铁路上扫雪也比在这儿强，这儿是什么地方……是地狱，这帮家伙除了骗子还是骗子。他们都有的是钱，咱们在他们眼里不过是畜生。对姑娘们，他们想怎么干就怎么干。要是哪个长得漂亮一点，又不肯服服帖帖，马上就会给赶出去。她们能躲到哪儿去？她们都是些难民，吃没吃的，住没住的。她们总得填饱肚子，这儿好歹有口饭吃。为了不挨饿，只好任人家摆布。”
保尔讲起这些事情，是那样愤愤不平，克利姆卡真担心别人会听到他们的谈话，急忙站起来把通向厨房的门关好，可是保尔还是只管倾吐他那满腔的积愤。
“拿你来说吧，克利姆卡，人家打你，你总是不吭声。你为什么不吭声呢？”
保尔坐到桌旁的凳子上，疲倦地用手托着头。克利姆卡往炉子里添了些劈柴，也在桌旁坐下。
“今天咱们还读不读书啦？”他问保尔。
“没书读了，”保尔回答。“书亭没开门。”
“怎么，难道书亭今天休息？”克利姆卡惊讶地问。
“卖书的给宪兵抓走了，还搜走了一些什么东西。”保尔回答。
“为什么抓他？”
“听说是因为搞政治。”
克利姆卡莫名其妙地瞧了保尔一眼。
“政治是什么呀？”
保尔耸了耸肩膀，说：“鬼才知道！听说，谁要是反对沙皇，这就叫政治。”
克利姆卡吓得打了个冷战。
“难道还有这样的人？”
“不知道。”保尔回答。
洗刷间的门开了，睡眼惺忪的格拉莎走了进来。
“你们怎么不睡觉呢，孩子们？趁火车没来，还可以睡上一个钟头。去睡吧，保尔，我替你看一会儿水锅。”
保尔没有想到，他这样快就离开了食堂，离开的原因也完全出乎他的意外。
这是一月的一个严寒的日子，保尔干完自己的一班，准备回家了，但是接班的人没有来。保尔到老板娘那里去，说他要回家，老板娘却不放他走。他虽然已经很累，还是不得不留下来，连班再干一天一宿。到了夜里，他已经筋疲力尽了。大家都休息的时候，他还要把几口锅灌满水，赶在三点钟的火车进站以前烧开。
保尔拧开水龙头，可是没有水，看来是水塔没有放水。他让水龙头开着，自己倒在柴堆上歇一会儿，不想实在支持不住，一下就睡着了。
过了几分钟，水龙头咕嘟咕嘟地响了起来，水流进水槽，不一会儿就漫了出来，顺着瓷砖滴到洗刷间的地板上。洗刷间里跟往常一样，一个人也没有。水越来越多，漫过地板，从门底下流进了餐室。
一股股水流悄悄地流到熟睡的旅客们的行李下面，谁也没有发觉。直到水浸醒了一个躺在地板上的旅客，他一下跳起来，大喊大叫，其他旅客才慌忙去抢自己的行李。食堂里顿时乱作一团。
水还是流个不停，越流越多。
正在另一个餐室里收拾桌子的普罗霍尔听到旅客的喊叫声，急忙跑过来。他跳过积水，冲到门旁，用力把门打开，原来被门挡住的水一下子全涌进了餐室。
喊叫声更大了。几个当班的堂倌一齐跑进了洗刷间。普罗霍尔径直朝酣睡的保尔扑过去。
拳头像雨点一样落在保尔头上。他简直疼糊涂了。
保尔刚被打醒，什么也不明白。眼睛里直冒金星，浑身火辣辣地疼。
他周身是伤，一步一步地勉强挪到了家。
早晨，阿尔焦姆阴沉着脸，皱着眉头，叫保尔把事情的经过告诉他。
保尔从头到尾讲了一遍。
“谁打的？”阿尔焦姆瓮声瓮气地问弟弟。
“普罗霍尔。”
“好，你躺着吧。”
阿尔焦姆穿上他的羊皮袄，一句话也没有说，走出了家门。
“我找堂倌普罗霍尔，行吗？”一个陌生的工人问格拉莎。
“请等一下，他马上就来。”她回答。
这个身材魁梧的人靠在门框上。
“好，我等一下。”
普罗霍尔端着一大摞盘子，一脚踢开门，走进了洗刷间。
“他就是普罗霍尔。”格拉莎指着他说。
阿尔焦姆朝前迈了一步，一只有力的手使劲按住堂倌的肩膀，两道目光紧紧逼住他，问：“你凭什么打我弟弟保尔？”
普罗霍尔想挣开肩膀，但是阿尔焦姆已经狠狠一拳，把他打翻在地；他想爬起来，紧接着又是一拳，比头一拳更厉害，把他钉在地板上，他再也起不来了。
女工们都吓呆了，急忙躲到一边去。
阿尔焦姆转身走了出去。
普罗霍尔满脸是血，在地上挣扎着。
这天晚上，阿尔焦姆没有从机车库回家。
母亲打听到，阿尔焦姆被关进了宪兵队。
六天以后，阿尔焦姆才回到家里。那是在晚上，母亲已经睡了，保尔还在床上坐着。阿尔焦姆走到他跟前，深情地问：“怎么样，弟弟，好点了吗？”他在弟弟身旁坐了下来。
“比这更倒霉的事也有的是。”沉默了一会儿，又接着说：“没关系，你到发电厂去干活吧。我已经替你讲过了，你可以在那儿学门手艺。”
保尔双手紧紧地握住了阿尔焦姆的大手。
收听单词发音 |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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excise
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| n.(国产)货物税；vt.切除，删去 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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21
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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22
blurting
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的现在分词 ) | |
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23
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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24
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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25
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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26
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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27
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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28
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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29
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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30
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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31
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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32
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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33
pilfering
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的现在分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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34
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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35
vat
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| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
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36
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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37
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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38
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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39
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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40
guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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41
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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42
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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44
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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45
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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46
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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47
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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48
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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49
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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50
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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51
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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52
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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53
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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54
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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55
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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56
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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57
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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58
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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59
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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60
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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61
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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64
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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65
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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66
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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67
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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68
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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69
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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70
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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71
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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72
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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73
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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74
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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75
dwarfing
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| n.矮化病 | |
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76
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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77
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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78
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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79
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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80
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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82
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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83
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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84
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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85
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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86
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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87
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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88
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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89
avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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90
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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91
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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92
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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93
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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94
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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95
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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96
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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97
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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98
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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99
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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100
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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101
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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102
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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103
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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105
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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107
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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108
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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109
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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111
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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112
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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113
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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115
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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116
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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117
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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118
boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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119
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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120
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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121
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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122
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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123
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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124
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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125
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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126
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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127
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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128
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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129
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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130
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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131
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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132
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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133
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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