The Red forces were pressing down hard on "Chief Ataman" Petlyura's units, and Golub's regiment1 was called to the front. Only a small rearguard detachment and the Commandant's detail were left in the town.
The people stirred. The Jewish section of the population took advantage of the temporary lull2 to bury their dead, and life in the tiny huts of the Jewish quarter returned to normal.
On quiet evenings an indistinct rumble3 was carried from the distance; somewhere not too far off the fighting was in progress.
At the station, railwaymen were leaving their jobs to roam the countryside in search of work.
The Gymnasium was closed.
Martial4 law was declared in town.
It was a black, ugly night, one of those nights when the eyes, strain as they might, cannot pierce the gloom, and a man gropes about blindly expecting at any moment to fall into a ditch and break his neck.
The respectable citizen knows that at a time like this it is safer to sit at home in the dark; he will not light a lamp if he can help it, for light might attract unwelcome guests. Better the dark, much safer. There are of course those who are always restless—let them venture abroad if they wish,that's none of the respectable citizen's business. But he himself will not risk going out—not for anything.
It was one of those nights, yet there was a man abroad.
Making his way to the Korchagin house, he knocked cautiously at the window. There was no answer and he knocked again, louder and more insistently5.
Pavel dreamed that a queer creature, anything but human, was aiming a machine gun at him; he wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to go, and the machine gun had broken into a terrifying chatter6.
He woke up to find the window rattling7. Someone was knocking.
Pavel jumped out of bed and went to the window to see who it was, but all he could make out was a vague dark shape.
He was all alone in the house. His mother had gone on a visit to his eldest9 sister, whose husband was a mechanic at the sugar refinery10. And Artem was blacksmithing in a neighbouring village,wielding the sledge11 for his keep.
Yet it could only be Artem.
Pavel decided12 to open the window.
"Who's there?" he said into the darkness.
There was a movement outside the window and a muffled13 bass14 replied:
"It's me, Zhukhrai."
Two hands were laid on the windowsill and Fyodor's head came up until it was level with Pavel's face.
"I've come to spend the night with you. Any objections, mate?" Zhukhrai whispered.
"Of course not," Pavel replied warmly. "You know you're always welcome. Climb in."
Fyodor squeezed his great bulk through the opening.
He closed the window but did not move away from the window at once. He stood listening intently, and when the moon slipped out from behind a cloud and the road became visible he scanned it carefully. Then he turned to Pavel.
"We won't wake up your mother, will we?"
Pavel told him there was nobody home besides himself. The sailor felt more at ease and spoke15 in a louder voice.
"Those cutthroats are after my hide in earnest now, matey. They've got it in for me after what happened over at the station. If our fellows would stick together a bit more we could have given the greycoats a fine reception during the pogrom. But folks, as you see, aren't ready to plunge16 into the fire yet, and so nothing came of it. Now they're looking for me, twice they've had the dragnet out —today I got away by the skin of my teeth. I was going home, you see, by the back way of course, and had just stopped at the shed to look around, when I saw a bayonet sticking out from behind a tree trunk. I naturally cast off and headed for your place. If you've got nothing against it I'll drop anchor here for a few days. All right, mate? Good."
Zhukhrai, still breathing heavily, began pulling off his mud-splashed boots.
Pavel was glad he had come. The power plant had not been working latterly and Pavel felt lonely in the empty house.
They went to bed. Pavel fell asleep at once, but Fyodor lay awake for a long time smoking.
Presently he rose and, tiptoeing on bare feet to the window, stared out for a long time into the street. Finally, overcome by fatigue17, he lay down and fell asleep, but his hand remained on the butt18 of the heavy Colt which he had tucked under the pillow.
Zhukhrai's unexpected arrival that night and the eight days spent in his company influenced the whole course of Pavel's life. From the sailor Pavel learned much that was new to him, and that stirred him to the depths of his being.
Driven into hiding, Zhukhrai made use of his enforced idleness to pass on to the eager Pavel all his passionate19 fury and burning hatred20 for the Ukrainian Nationalists who were throttling21 the area.
Zhukhrai spoke in language that was vivid, lucid22 and simple. He had no doubts, his path lay clearly before him, and Pavel came to see that all this tangle23 of political parties with high-sounding names—Socialist-Revolutionaries, Social-Democrats, Polish Socialists—was a collection of vicious enemies of the workers, and that the only revolutionary party which steadfastly24 fought against the rich was the Bolshevik Party.
Formerly25 Pavel had been hopelessly confused about all this.
And so this staunch, stout26-hearted Baltic sailor weathered by sea squalls, a confirmed Bolshevik, who had been a member of the Russian Social-Democratic Labour Party (Bolsheviks) since 1915, taught Pavel the harsh truths of life, and the young stoker listened spellbound.
"I was something like you, matey, when I was young," he said. "Just didn't know what to do with my energy, a restless youngster always ready to kick over the traces. I was brought up in poverty.
And at times the very sight of those pampered27, well-fed sons of the town gentry28 made me see red.
Often enough I beat them up badly, but all I got out of it was a proper trouncing-from my father.
You can't change things by carrying on a lone8 fight. You, Pavlusha, have all the makings of a good fighter in the workingman's cause, only you're still very young-and you don't know much about the class struggle. I'll put you on the right road, matey, because I know you'll make good. I can't stand the quiet, smug-sort. The whole world's afire now. The slaves have risen and the old life's got to be scuttled29. But to do that we need stout fellows, not sissies, who'll go crawling into cracks like so many cockroaches30 when the fighting starts, but men with guts31 who'll hit out without mercy."
His fist crashed down on the table.
He got up, frowning1, and paced up and down the room with hands thrust deep in his pockets.
His inactivity depressed32 him. He bitterly regretted having-stayed behind in this town, and believing any further stay to be pointless, was firmly resolved to make his way through the front to meet the Red units.
A group of nine Party members would remain in town to carry on the work.
"They'll manage without me. I can't sit around any longer doing- nothing1. I've wasted ten months as it is," Zhukhrai thought irritably33.
"What exactly are you, Fyodor?" Pavel had asked him once.
Zhukhrai got up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He did not grasp the meaning of the question at first.
"Don't you know?"
"I think you're a Bolshevik or a Communist," Pavel said in a low voice.
Zhukhrai burst out laughing, slapping his massive chest in its tight-fitting striped jersey34.
"Right enough, matey! It's as much a fact as that Bolshevik and Communist are one and the same thing." Suddenly he grew serious. "But now that you've grasped that much, remember it's not to be mentioned to anyone or anywhere, if you don't want them to draw and quarter me. Understand?"
"I understand," Pavel replied firmly. Voices were heard from the yard and the door was pushed open without a preliminary knock. Zhukhrai's hand slipped into his pocket but emerged again when Sergei Bruzzhak, thin and pale, with a bandage on his head, entered the room, followed by Valya and Klimka.
"Hullo, old man," Sergei shook Pavel's hand and smiled. "Decided to pay you a visit, all three of us. Valya wouldn't let me go out alone, and Klimka is afraid to let her go by herself. He may be a redhead but he knows what he's about."
Valya playfully clapped her hand over his mouth. "Chatterbox," she laughed. "He won't give Klimka any peace today."
Klimka showed his white teeth in a good-natured grin. "What can you do with a sick fellow?
Brain pan's damaged, as you can see." They all laughed.
Sergei, who had not yet recovered from the effects of the sabre blow, settled on Pavel's bed and soon the young people were engaged in a lively conversation. As he told Zhukhrai the story of his encounter with the Petlyura bandit, Sergei, usually so gay and cheerful, was quiet and depressed.
Zhukhrai knew the three young people, for he had visited the Bruzzhaks on several occasions. He liked these youngsters; they had not yet found their place in the vortex of the struggle, but the aspirations35 of their class were clearly expressed in them. He listened with interest to the young people's account of how they had helped to shelter Jewish families in their homes to save them from the pogrom. That evening he told the young folk much about the Bolsheviks, about Lenin, helping36 them to understand what was happening.
It was quite late when Pavel's guests left. Zhukhrai went out every evening and returned late at night; before leaving town he had to discuss with the comrades who would remain in town the work they would have to do.
This particular night Zhukhrai did not come back, When Pavel woke up in the morning he saw at a glance that the sailor's bed had not been slept in.
Seized by some vague premonition, Pavel dressed hurriedly and left the house. Locking the door and putting the key in the usual place, he went to Klimka's house hoping that the latter would have some news of Fyodor. Klimka's mother, a stocky woman with a broad face pitted with pockmarks,
was doing the wash. To Pavel's question whether she knew where Fyodor was she replied curtly37: "You'd think I'd nothing else to do but keep an eye on your Fyodor. It's all through him—the devil take him— that Zozulikha's house was turned upside down. What've you got to do with him? A queer lot, if you ask me. Klimka and you and the rest of them. . . ." She turned back in anger to her washtub.
Klimka's mother was an ill-tempered woman, with a biting tongue. . . .
From Klimka's house Pavel went to Sergei's where he voiced his fears.
"Why should you be so worried?" said Valya. "Perhaps he stayed over at some friend's place." But her words lacked confidence.
Pavel was too restless to stop at the Bruzzhaks for long, and although they tried to persuade him to stay for dinner he took his leave.
He headed back home in hopes of finding Zhukhrai there.
The door was locked. Pavel stood outside for a while with a heavy heart; he couldn't bear the thought of going into the deserted38 house.
For a few minutes he stood in the yard deep in thought, then, moved by an impulse, he went into the shed. He climbed up under the roof and brushing away the cobwebs reached into his secret hiding place and brought out the heavy Mannlicher wrapped in rags.
He left the shed and went down to the station, strangely elated by the feel of the revolver weighing down his pocket.
But there was no news of Zhukhrai at the station. On the way back his step slowed down as he drew alongside the now familiar garden of the forest warden39. With a faint flicker40 of hope, he looked up at the windows of the house, but it was as lifeless as the garden. When he had passed the garden he turned back to glance at the paths now covered with a rusty41 crop of last year's leaves. The place seemed desolate42 and neglected—no industrious43 hand had laid a visible imprint44 here—and the dead stillness of the big old house made Pavel feel sadder still.
His last quarrel with Tonya had been the most serious they had had. It had all happened quite unexpectedly, nearly a month ago.
As he slowly walked back to town, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Pavel recalled how it had come about.
They had met quite by chance on the road and Tonya had invited him over to her place.
"Dad and mother are going to a birthday party at the Bolshanskys, and I'll be all alone. Why don't you come over, Pavlusha? I have a very interesting book we could read—Leonid Andreyev's Sashka Zhigulyov. I've already finished it, but I'd like to reread it with you. I'm sure it would be a nice evening. Will you come?"
Her big, wide-open eyes looked at him expectantly from under the white bonnet45 she wore over her thick chestnut46 hair.
"I'll come."
At that they parted.
Pavel Hurried to his machines, and the very thought that he had a whole evening with Tonya to look forward to, made the flames in the firebox seem to burn more brightly and the burning logs to crackle more merrily than usual.
When he knocked at the wide front door that evening it was a slightly disconcerted Tonya who answered.
"I have visitors tonight. I didn't expect them, Pavlusha. But you must come in," she said.
Pavel wanted to go and turned to the door.
"Come in," she took him by the arm. "It'll do them good to know you." And putting her arm around his waist, she led him through the dining room into her own room.
As they entered she turned to the young people seated there and smiled.
"I want you to meet my friend Pavel Korchagin."
There were three people sitting around the small table in the middle of the room: Liza Sukharko, a pretty, dark-complexioned Gymnasium student with a pouting47 little mouth and a fetching coiffure,a lanky48 youth in a well-tailored black jacket, his sleek49 hair shining with hair-oil, and a vacant look in his grey eyes, and between them, in a foppish50 school jacket, Victor Leszczinski. It was him Pavel saw first when Tonya opened the door.
Leszczinski too recognised Korchagin at once and his fine arched eyebrows51 lifted in surprise.
For a few seconds Pavel stood silent at the door, eyeing Victor with frank hostility52. Tonya hastened to break the awkward silence by asking Pavel to come in and turning to Liza to introduce her.
Liza Sukharko, who was inspecting the new arrival with interest, rose from her chair.
Pavel, however, turned sharply and strode out through the semidark dining room to the front door.
He was already on the porch when Tonya overtook him and seized him by the shoulders.
"Why are you running off? I especially wanted them to meet you."
Pavel removed her hands from his shoulders and replied sharply:
"I'm not going to be put on a show before that dummy53. I don't belong to that crowd—you may like them, but I hate them. If I'd known they were your friends I'd never have come."
Tonya, suppressing her rising anger, interrupted him:
"What right have you to speak to me like that? I don't ask you who your friends are and who comes to see you."
"I don't care whom you see, only I'm not coming here any more," Pavel shot back at her as he went down the front steps. He ran to the garden gate.
He had not seen Tonya since then. During the pogrom, when he and the electrician had hidden several Jewish families at the power station, he had forgotten about the quarrel, and today he wanted to see her again.
Zhukhrai's disappearance54 and the knowledge that there was no one at home depressed Pavel. The grey stretch of road swung to the right ahead of him. The spring mud had not yet dried, and the road was pitted with holes filled with brown mire55. Beyond a house whose shabby, peeling facade56 jutted57 out onto the edge of the pavement the road forked off.
Victor Leszczinski was saying good-bye to Liza at the street intersection58 opposite a wrecked59 stand with a splintered door and an inverted60 "Mineral Water" sign. He held her hand in his as he spoke, pleadingly gazing into her eyes.
"You will come? You won't deceive me?"
"Of course I shall come. You must wait for me," Liza replied coquettishly.
And as she left him she smiled at him with promise in her misty61 hazel eyes.
A few yards farther down the street Liza saw two men emerge from behind a corner onto the roadway. The first was a sturdy, broadchested man in worker's clothes, his unbuttoned jacket revealing a striped jersey underneath62, a black cap pulled down over his forehead, and brown, low-topped boots on his feet. There was a blue-black bruise63 under his eye.
The man walked with a firm, slightly rolling gait.
Three paces behind, his bayonet almost touching64 the man's back, came a Petlyura soldier in a grey coat and two cartridge65 pouches66 at his belt. From under his shaggy sheepskin cap two small, wary67 eyes watched the back of his captive's head. Yellow, tobacco-stained moustaches bristled68 on either
side of his face.
Liza slackened her pace slightly and crossed over to the other side of the road. Just then Pavel emerged onto the highway behind her.
As he passed the old house and turned to the right at the bend in the road, he too saw the two men coming toward him.
Pavel stopped with a start and stood as if rooted to the ground. The arrested man was Zhukhrai.
"So that's why he didn't come back!"
Zhukhrai was coming nearer and nearer. Pavel's heart pounded as if it would burst. His thoughts raced madly as his mind sought vainly to grasp the situation. There was not enough time for deliberation. Only one thing was clear: Zhukhrai was caught.
Stunned69 and bewildered Pavel watched the two approach. What was to be done?
At the last moment he remembered the revolver in his pocket. As soon as they passed him he would shoot the man with the rifle in the back, and Fyodor would be free. With that decision reached on the spur of the moment his mind cleared. After all, it was only yesterday that Fyodor had told him: "For that we need stout fellows. . . ."
Pavel glanced quickly behind him. The street leading to town was deserted; there was not a soul in sight. Ahead a woman in a light coat was hurrying across the road. She would not interfere70. The second street branching off at the intersection he could not see. Only far away on the road to the station some people were visible.
Pavel moved over to the edge of the road. Zhukhrai saw him when they were only a few paces apart.
Zhukhrai looked at him from the corner of his eye and his thick eyebrows quivered. The unexpectedness of the encounter made him slow down his step. The bayonet pricked71 him in the back.
"Lively, there, or you'll get a taste of this butt!" cried the escort in a screechy72 falsetto.
Zhukhrai quickened his pace. He wanted to speak to Pavel, but refrained; he only waved his hand as if in greeting.
Fearing to attract the attention of the yellow-moustached soldier, Pavel turned aside as Zhukhrai passed, as if completely indifferent to what was going on.
But in his head drilled the anxious thought: "What if I miss him and the bullet hits Zhukhrai. . . ."
But there was no time to think.
When the yellow-moustached soldier came abreast73 of him, Pavel made a sudden lunge at him and seizing hold of the rifle struck the barrel down.
The bayonet hit the pavement with a grating sound.
The attack caught the soldier unawares, and for a moment he was dumbfounded. Then he violently jerked the rifle toward himself. Throwing the full weight of his body on it, Pavel managed to retain his grip. A shot crashed out, the bullet striking a stone and ricocheting with a whine74 into the ditch.
Hearing the shot, Zhukhrai leapt aside and spun75 around. The soldier was wrenching77 at the rifle fiercely in an effort to tear it out of Pavel's hands. Pavel's arms were painfully twisted, but he did not release his hold. Then with a sharp lunge the enraged78 Petlyura man threw Pavel down on the ground, but still he could not wrench76 the rifle loose. Pavel went down, dragging the soldier down with him. Nothing could have made him relinquish79 the rifle at this crucial moment.
In two strides Zhukhrai was alongside the struggling pair. His iron fist swung through the air and descended80 on the soldier's head; a second later the Petlyura man had been wrenched81 off Pavel and,sagging under the impact of two smashing blows in the face, his limp body collapsed82 into the wayside ditch.
The same strong hands that had delivered those blows lifted Pavel from the ground and set him on his feet.
Victor, who by this time had gone a hundred paces or so from the intersection, walked on whistling La donna e mobile, his spirits soaring after his meeting with Liza and her promise to see him at the abandoned factory the next day.
Among the Gymnasium youths Liza Sukharko had the reputation of being rather daring in her love affairs. That arrogant83 braggart84 Semyon Zalivanov had once declared that Liza had surrendered to him, and although Victor did not quite believe Semyon, Liza nevertheless intrigued85 him. Tomorrow he would find out whether Zalivanov had spoken the truth or not.
"If she comes I shan't be bashful. After all, she lets you kiss her. And if Semyon is telling the truth. . . ." Here his thoughts were interrupted as he stepped aside to let two Petlyura soldiers pass.
One of them was astride a dock-tailed horse, swinging a canvas bucket—evidently on his way to water the animal. The other, in a short jacket and loose blue trousers, was walking alongside,resting his hand on the rider's knee and telling him a funny story.
Victor let them pass and was about to continue on his way when a rifle shot on the highway made him stop in his tracks. He turned and saw the mounted man spurring his horse toward the sound,while the other soldier ran behind, supporting his sabre with his hand.
Victor ran after them. When he had almost reached the highway another shot rang out, and from around the corner came the horseman galloping86 madly. He urged on the horse with his heels and the canvas bucket, and leaping to the ground at the first gateway87 shouted to the men in the yard:
"To arms! They've killed one of our men!"
A minute later several men dashed out of the yard, clicking the bolts of their rifles as they ran.
Victor was arrested.
Several people were now gathered on the road, among them Victor and Liza, who had been detained as a witness.
Liza had been rooted to the spot from fright, and hence had a good view of Zhukhrai and Korchagin when they ran past; much to her surprise she realised that the lad who had attacked the Petlyura soldier was the one Tonya had wanted to introduce to her.
The two had just vaulted88 over the fence into a garden when the horseman came galloping down the street. Noticing Zhukhrai running with a rifle in his hands and the stunned soldier struggling to get back on his feet, the rider spurred his horse towards the fence.
Zhukhrai, however, turned around, raised the rifle and fired at the pursuer, who swung around and beat a hasty retreat.
The soldier, barely able to speak through his torn lips, was now telling what had happened.
"You dunderhead, what do you mean by letting a prisoner get away from under your nose? Now you're in for twenty-five strokes for sure."
"Smart, aren't you?" the soldier snapped back angrily. "From under my nose, eh? How was I to know the other bastard89 would jump on me like a madman?"
Liza too was questioned. She told the same story as the escort, but she omitted to say that she knew the assailant. Nevertheless they were all taken to the Commandant's office, and were not released until evening.
The Commandant himself offered to see Liza home, but she refused. His breath smelled of vodka and the offer boded90 no good.
Victor escorted Liza home.
It was quite a distance to the station and as they walked along arm in arm Victor was grateful for the incident.
"You haven't any idea who it was that freed the prisoner?" Liza asked as they were approaching her home.
"No, I haven't. How can I?"
"Do you remember the evening Tonya wanted to introduce a certain young man to us?"
Victor halted.
"Pavel Korchagin?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, I think his name was Korchagin. Remember how he walked out in such a funny way? Well,it was he."
Victor stood dumbfounded.
"Are you sure?" he asked Liza.
"Yes. I remember his face perfectly91."
"Why didn't you tell the Commandant?"
Liza was indignant.
"Do you think I would do anything so vile92?"
"Vile? You call it vile to tell who attacked the escort?"
"And do you consider it honourable93? You seem to have forgotten what they've done. Have you any idea how many Jewish orphans94 there are at the Gymnasium, and yet you'd want me to tell them about Korchagin? I'm sorry, I didn't expect that of you."
Leszczinski was much surprised by Liza's reply. But since it did not fit in with his plans to quarrel with her, he tried to change the subject.
"Don't be angry, Liza, I was only joking. I didn't know you were so upright."
"The joke was in very bad taste," Liza retorted dryly.
As he was saying good-bye to her outside the Sukharko house, Victor asked:
"Will you come then, Liza?"
"I don't know," she replied vaguely95.
Walking back to town, Victor turned the matter over in his mind. "Well, mademoiselle, you may think it vile, but I happen to think differently. Of course it's all the same to me who freed whom."
To him as a Leszczinski, the scion96 of an old Polish family, both sides were equally obnoxious97. The only government he recognised was the government of the Polish gentry, the Rzecz Pospolita, and that would soon come with the Polish legions. But here was an opportunity to get rid of that scoundrel Korchagin. They'd twist his neck sure enough.
Victor was the only member of the family to have remained in town. He was staying with an aunt,who was married to the assistant director of the sugar refinery. His family had been living for some time in Warsaw, where his father Sigismund Leszczinski occupied a position of some importance.
Victor walked up to the Commandant's office and turned into the open door.
Shortly afterwards he was on his way to the Korchagin house accompanied by four Petlyura men.
"That's the place," he said quietly, pointing to a lighted window. "May I go now?" he asked the Khorunzhy.
"Of course. We'll manage ourselves. Thanks for the tip."
Victor hurried away.
The last blow in the back sent Pavel reeling into the dark room to which they had led him, and his outstretched arms collided with the opposite wall. Feeling around he found something like a bunk98,and he sat down, bruised99 and aching in body and spirit.
The arrest had come as a complete surprise. How had the Petlyura crowd found out about him? He was sure no one had seen him. What would happen next? And where was Zhukhrai?
He had left the sailor at Klimka's place. From there he had gone to Sergei, while Zhukhrai remained to wait for the evening in order to slip out of town.
"Good thing I hid the revolver in the crow's nest," Pavel thought. "If they had found it, it would have been all up with me. But how did they find out?" There was no answer to the question that tormented100 him.
The Petlyura men had not got much out of the Korchagin house although they made a thorough search of its every corner. Artem had taken his best suit and the accordion101 to the village, and his mother had taken a trunk with her, so that there was little left for them to pick up.
The journey to the guardhouse, however, was something Pavel would never forget. The night was pitch black, the sky overcast102 with clouds, and he had blundered along, blindly and half-dazed,propelled by brutal103 kicks from all sides.
He could hear voices behind the door leading into the next room, which was occupied by the Commandant's guard. A bright strip of light showed under the door. Pavel got up and feeling his way along the wall walked around the room. Opposite the bunk he discovered a heavily barred window. He tried the bars with his hand— they were immovable. The place had obviously been a storeroom.
He made his way to the door and stood there for a moment listening. Then he pressed lightly on the handle. The door gave a sickening creak and Pavel swore violently under his breath.
Through the narrow slit104 that opened before him he saw a pair of calloused105 feet with crooked106 toes sticking out over the edge of a bunk. Another light push against the handle and the door protested louder still. A dishevelled figure with a sleep-swollen face now rose up in the bunk and fiercely scratching his lousy head with all five fingers burst into a long tirade107. When the obscene flow of abuse ended, the creature reached out to the rifle standing108 at the head of the bunk and added phlegmatically109:
"Shut that door and if I catch you looking in here once more I'll bash in your. . . ."
Pavel shut the door. There was a roar of laughter in the next room.
He thought a great deal that night. His initial attempt to take a hand in the fight had ended badly for him. The very first step had brought capture and now he was trapped like a mouse.
Still sitting up, he drifted into a restless half-sleep, and the image of his mother with her peaked, wrinkled features and the eyes he loved so well rose before him. And the thought: "It's a good thing she's away—that makes it less painful."
A grey square of light from the window appeared on the floor.
The darkness was .gradually retreating. Dawn was approaching.
红军步步紧逼，不断向大头目佩特留拉的部队发动进攻。
戈卢勃团被调上了前线。城里只留下少量后方警卫部队和警备司令部。
人们又走动起来。犹太居民利用这暂时的平静，掩埋了被杀的亲人。犹太居民区的那些小屋里又出现了生机。
寂静的夜晚，隐隐约约可以听到枪炮声。战斗就在不远的地方进行。
铁路工人都离开了车站，到四乡去找活干。
中学关门了。
城里宣布了戒严。
这是一个黑沉沉的、阴郁的夜。
乌云犹如远方大火腾起的团团浓烟，在昏暗的天空缓慢浮动，移近一座佛塔，便用浓重的烟雾把它遮掩起来。佛塔变得模糊了，仿佛抹上了一层污泥，而逼近的乌云仍在不断给它着色，越着越深。昏黄的月亮发出微微颤抖的光，也沉没在乌云之中，如同掉进了黑色的染缸。
在这样的时刻，即使你把眼睛睁得滴溜圆，也难以穿越这重重夜幕。于是人们只好像瞎子走路，张开手去摸，伸出脚去探，而且随时都有跌进壕沟、摔得头破血流的危险。
在这样的时刻，一个人鬼迷心窍迈出家门，到大街上去乱跑，头破血流的事还少得了吗？更何况又是在一九一九年四月这样的岁月，脑袋或者身上让子弹钻个把窟窿，嘴里让铁枪托敲落几颗牙齿，本来就是稀松平常的事。
小市民都知道，这种时候得坐在家里，最好也别点灯。灯可是个惹祸的货色。这不，有人不是不请自到，奔灯光去了？
真是，硬是自个儿给自个儿找麻烦。屋里黑洞洞的，最保险。
要是有人耐不得寂寞，非要出门，那就让他去好了。确实有那么一些人，没个老实的时候。那好，悉听尊便，见鬼去吧。
这跟小市民有什么相干？小市民自己才不出去乱跑呢。放心好了，绝不会出去的。
可就是在这样一个深夜，却有一个人匆匆地在街上行走。
他双脚不时陷进泥里，遇到特别难走的地方，嘴里骂骂咧咧地吐出几句脏话。
他走到柯察金家的小屋前，小心翼翼地敲了敲窗框。没有人应声。他又敲了敲，比第一次更响些，也更坚决些。
保尔正在做梦。他梦见一个似人非人的怪物用机枪对着他，他想逃，可是又无处可逃。那挺机枪发出了可怕的响声。
外面还在固执地敲着窗子，震得玻璃直响。
保尔跳下床，走到窗前，想看看是谁在敲。但是，外面只有一个模糊的人影，根本看不清是谁。
家里只有他一个人。母亲到他姐姐家去了。他姐夫在一家糖厂开机器。阿尔焦姆在邻近的村子里当铁匠，靠抡大锤挣饭吃。
敲窗的人一定是阿尔焦姆。
保尔决定打开窗子。
“谁？”他朝人影问了一声。
窗外的人影晃了一下，用压低了的粗嗓门说：“是我，朱赫来。”
接着，他两手按住窗台，纵身一跳，头就同保尔的脸一般高了。
“我到你家借宿来了，小弟弟，行吗？”他小声地问。
“当然行，那还用说！”保尔友好地回答。“你就从窗口爬进来吧。”
朱赫来粗壮的身体从窗口挤了进来。
他随手关好窗户，但是没有立刻离开那里。
他站在窗旁，倾听着窗外有没有动静。月亮从云层里钻出来，照亮了大路。他仔细观察了路上的情形，然后才转过身来，对保尔说：“咱们会把你母亲吵醒吗？她大概睡了吧？”
保尔告诉他，家里只有他一个人，水兵朱赫来这才放心，提高了嗓音说：“小弟弟，那帮吃人的野兽正在到处抓我。为了车站上最近发生的事，他们要找我算帐。虐杀犹太人的时候，要是大伙心再齐点，本来可以给那帮灰狗子一点厉害看的。可是人们还没有下火海的决心，所以没有干成。现在敌人正盯着我，已经两次设埋伏要抓我了。今天差点给逮住。刚才，我正回住处，当然啦，是从后门走的。走到板棚旁边一瞧，有个家伙藏在院子里，身子紧贴大树，可是刺刀露在外面，让我看见了。不用说，我转身就跑。这不是，一直跑到你家来了。小弟弟，我打算在你家抛锚，停几天船。你不反对吧？行。那就好了！”
朱赫来吭哧着，脱下那双沾满泥的靴子。
朱赫来的到来使保尔十分高兴。最近发电厂停工，他一个人呆在家里，冷冷清清的，觉得非常无聊。
两个人躺到床上。保尔马上就入睡了，朱赫来却一直在抽烟。后来，他又从床上起来，光着脚走到窗前，朝街上看了很久，才回到床上。他已经十分疲倦，躺下就睡着了。他的一只手伸到枕头底下，按在沉甸甸的手枪上，枪柄被焐得暖烘烘的。
朱赫来突然深夜到保尔家借宿，同保尔一起住了八天，这件事成了保尔生活中的一件大事。保尔第一次从水兵朱赫来嘴里听到这么多重要的、令人激动的新鲜道理。这八天对年轻锅炉工的成长，有着决定的意义。
水兵朱赫来已经两次遇险，他像关进铁笼的猛兽一样，暂时呆在这间小屋里。他对打着蓝黄旗蹂躏乌克兰大地的匪帮充满了仇恨。现在他就利用这段迫不得已而闲着的时间，把满腔怒火和憎恨都传给如饥似渴地听他讲话的保尔。
朱赫来讲得鲜明生动，通俗易懂。他对一切问题都有明确的认识。他坚信自己走的道路是正确的。保尔从他那里懂得了，那一大堆名称好听的党派，什么社会革命党、社会民主党、波兰社会党等等，原来都是工人阶级的凶恶敌人；只有一个政党是不屈不挠地同所有财主作斗争的革命党，这就是布尔什维克党。
以前保尔总是被这些名称弄得糊里糊涂的。
费奥多尔·朱赫来，这位健壮有力的革命战士，久经狂风巨浪的波罗的海舰队水兵，一九一五年就加入俄国社会民主工党的坚强的布尔什维克，对年轻的锅炉工保尔讲述着严峻的生活真理。保尔两眼紧紧地盯着他，听得入了神。
“小弟弟，我小时候跟你差不多，”朱赫来说。“浑身是劲，总想反抗，就是不知道力气往哪儿使。我家里很穷。一看见财主家那些吃得好穿得好的小少爷，我就恨得牙痒痒的。我常常狠劲揍他们。可是有什么用呢，过后还得挨爸爸一顿痛打。单枪匹马地干，改变不了这个世道。保夫鲁沙，你完全可以成为工人阶级的好战士，一切条件你都有，只是年纪还小了点，阶级斗争的道理，你还不大明白。小弟弟，我看你挺有出息，所以想跟你说说应该走什么路。我最讨厌那些胆小怕事、低声下气的家伙。现在全世界都燃起了烈火。奴隶们起来造反了，要把旧世界沉到海里去。但是，干这种事，需要的是勇敢坚强的阶级弟兄，而不是娇生惯养的公子哥儿；需要的是坚决斗争的钢铁战士，而不是战斗一打响就像蟑螂躲亮光那样钻墙缝的软骨头。”
朱赫来紧握拳头，有力地捶了一下桌子。
他站起身来，两手插在衣袋里，皱着眉头在屋里大步走来走去。
朱赫来闲得太难受了。他后悔不该留在这个倒霉的小城里。他认为再呆下去已经没有什么意义，所以，毅然决定穿过火线，找红军部队去。
城里还有一个九个人的党组织，可以继续进行工作。
“没有我，他们照样可以干下去。我可不能再在这儿闲呆着。已经浪费了十个月，够了。”朱赫来生气地想。
“费奥多尔，你到底是干什么的？”有一天，保尔问他。
朱赫来站起来，把手插在衣袋里。他一时没有弄明白这句话的意思。
“难道你还不知道我是干什么的吗？”
“我想你一定是个布尔什维克，要不就是个共产党。”保尔低声回答。
朱赫来哈哈大笑起来，逗乐似的拍拍被蓝白条水手衫紧箍着的宽胸脯。
“小弟弟，这是明摆着的事。不过布尔什维克就是共产党，共产党就是布尔什维克，这也是明摆着的事。”他接着严肃地说：“既然你已经知道了，你就应当记住：要是你不愿意他们整死我，那你不论在什么地方，不论对什么人，都不能泄漏这件事。懂吗？”
“我懂。”保尔坚定地回答。
这时，从院子里突然传来了说话声，没有敲门，人就进来了。朱赫来急忙把手伸到衣袋里，但是立刻又抽了出来。进来的是谢廖沙，他头上缠着绷带，脸色苍白，比以前瘦了。瓦莉亚和克利姆卡跟在他后面。
“你好，小鬼头！”谢廖沙笑着把手伸给保尔。“我们三个一道来看你。瓦莉亚不让我一个人来，不放心。克利姆卡又不放瓦莉亚一个人来，也是不放心。别看他一脑袋红毛，傻呵呵的，活像马戏团的小丑，倒还懂点好歹，知道让一个人独自到哪儿去有危险。”
瓦莉亚笑着捂住谢廖沙的嘴，说：“尽胡扯！今天他一直跟克利姆卡过不去。”
克利姆卡憨厚地笑着，露出洁白的牙齿。
“对病人只能将就点了。脑瓜子挨了一刀，难怪要胡说八道。”
大家都笑了。
谢廖沙还没有完全复原，就靠在保尔床上。朋友们随即热烈地交谈起来。谢廖沙一向高高兴兴，有说有笑，今天却显得沉静、抑郁，他把佩特留拉匪兵砍伤他的经过告诉了朱赫来。
朱赫来对来看保尔的这三个青年都很了解。他到勃鲁扎克家去过多次。他喜欢这些青年人。在斗争的漩涡中他们虽然还没有找到应该走的道路，但是却已经鲜明地表现出他们的阶级意识。朱赫来认真地听这些年轻人讲，他们每个人怎样把犹太人藏在自己家里，帮助他们躲过虐犹暴行。这天晚上，朱赫来也给青年们讲了许多关于布尔什维克和列宁的事情，帮助他们认识当前发生的种种事件。
保尔把客人送走的时候，天已经很晚了。
朱赫来每天傍晚出去，深夜才回来。他正忙着在离开之前，同留在城里的同志们商量今后的工作。
有一天，朱赫来一夜没有回来。保尔早上醒来，看见床铺还空着。
保尔模糊地预感到出了什么事情，慌忙穿好衣服，走了出去。他锁好屋门，把钥匙藏在约定的地方，就去找克利姆卡，想打听朱赫来的消息。克利姆卡的母亲是一个大脸盘、生着麻子的矮胖妇女，正在洗衣服。保尔问她知道不知道朱赫来在什么地方，她没好气地说：“怎么，我没事干，专给你看着朱赫来的？就是为了这个家伙，佐祖利哈家给翻了个底朝天。你找他干什么？你们凑在一起，倒真是好搭档，克利姆卡、你……”她一边说，一边狠狠地搓着衣服。
克利姆卡的母亲一向就是嘴皮子厉害，爱唠叨。
保尔从克利姆卡家出来，又去找谢廖沙。他把自己担心的事告诉了他。瓦莉亚在一旁插嘴说：“你担什么心呢？他也许在熟人家里住下了。”可是她的语气并不怎么自信。
保尔打算走了。瓦莉亚知道，保尔这几天在饿肚子，家里能卖的东西，全卖掉换吃的了，再也没有什么可卖的。她强迫保尔留下吃饭，否则便不再和他好。保尔也确实感到饥肠辘辘，于是留下饱餐了一顿。
保尔走近家门的时候，满心希望能在屋里看到朱赫来。
但是，屋门还是紧锁着。他心情沉重地站住了，真不愿走进这间空屋子。
他在门口站了几分钟，左思右想，一种说不出的力量推着他向板棚走去。他拨开蜘蛛网，把手伸到棚顶下面，从那个秘密的角落里掏出一支用破布包着的沉重的曼利赫尔手枪。
保尔从板棚出来，朝车站走去。口袋里装着那支沉甸甸的手枪，他心里有些紧张。
在车站上也没有打听到朱赫来的下落。回来的路上，刚好经过林务官家那熟悉的花园，他放慢了脚步，怀着连自己也不明白的希望，瞧着房子的窗户。但是花园里和房子里都没有人。走过去之后，他又回头朝花园的小径看了一眼。只见遍地都是去年的枯叶，整个花园显得十分荒凉。显然，那位爱护花草的主人已经好久没有侍弄过这座花园了。古老的大房子，冷落而又空荡的景象，更增添了保尔的愁思。
他和冬妮亚最后一次拌嘴，比以往任何一次都厉害。这是一个月以前突然发生的事。
保尔两手深深插在衣袋里，漫步朝城里走去，一面回忆着他和冬妮亚争吵的经过。
那天，他和冬妮亚偶然在路上相遇。冬妮亚邀他到家里去玩。
“我爸和我妈就要到博利尚斯基家去参加命名礼。只有我一个人在家。保夫鲁沙，你来吧，咱们一起读列奥尼德·安德列耶夫［列·安德列耶夫（１８７１—１９１９），俄国作家。——译者］的《萨什卡·日古廖夫》。这本小说很有意思。我已经看过了，可是非常愿意和你一起再读一遍。晚上你来，咱们一定可以过得很愉快。你来吗？”
一顶小白帽紧紧扣住她那浓密的栗色头发，帽子下面那双大眼睛期待地望着保尔。
“我一定来。”
他们分手了。
保尔急忙去上班。一想到他要和冬妮亚在一起度过整整一个晚上，炉火都显得分外明亮，木柴的噼啪声也似乎格外欢畅。
当天黄昏，冬妮亚听到他的敲门声，亲自跑来打开宽大的正门。她有点抱歉地说：“我来了几个客人。保夫鲁沙，我没想到他们会来，不过你可不许走。”
保尔转身想走，但是冬妮亚拉住他的袖子，说：“进来吧。让他们跟你认识认识，也有好处。”说着，就用一只手挽着他，穿过饭厅，把他带到自己的住室。
一进屋，她就微笑着对在座的几个年轻人说：“你们不认识吧？这是我的朋友保尔·柯察金。”
房间里的小桌子周围坐着三个人：一个是莉莎·苏哈里科，她是个漂亮的中学生，肤色微黑，生着一张任性的小嘴，梳着风流的发式；另一个是保尔没有见过的青年，他穿着整洁的黑外衣，细高个子，油光光的头发梳得服服帖帖的，一双灰眼睛现出寂寞忧郁的神情；第三个坐在他们两个人中间，穿着非常时髦的中学制服，他就是维克托·列辛斯基。冬妮亚推开门的时候，保尔第一眼看到的就是他。
维克托也立刻认出了保尔，他诧异地扬起尖细的眉毛。
保尔在门口一声不响地站了几秒钟，用充满敌意的眼光盯着维克托。冬妮亚急于打破这种令人难堪的僵局，一边请保尔进屋，一边对莉莎说：“来，给你介绍一下。”
莉莎好奇地打量着保尔，欠了欠身子。
保尔一个急转身，大步穿过半明半暗的饭厅，朝大门走去。冬妮亚一直追到台阶上才赶上他。她两手抓住保尔的肩膀，激动地说：“你为什么要走呢？我是有意叫他们跟你见见面的。”
但是保尔把她的手从肩上推开，不客气地说：“用不着拿我在这些废物跟前展览。我跟这帮家伙坐不到一块。也许你觉得他们可爱，我可是恨他们。我不知道他们是你的朋友，早知道这样，我是决不会来的。”
冬妮亚压住心头的火气，打断他的话头说：“谁给你的权利这样对我说话？我可是从来没问过你，你跟谁交朋友，谁常到你家去。”
保尔走下台阶，进入花园。一边走，一边斩钉截铁地说：“那就让他们来好了，我反正是不来了。”说完，就朝栅栏门跑去。
从那以后，他再没有见到冬妮亚。在发生虐犹暴行期间，保尔和电工一道忙着在发电厂藏匿犹太人家属，把这次口角忘掉了。但是今天，他却又很想见到冬妮亚。
朱赫来失踪了，家里等待着保尔的是孤独寂寞，一想到这里，他的心情就特别沉重。春天化冻以后，公路上的泥泞还没有全干，车辙里满是褐色的泥浆。整个公路像一条灰色的带子，拐到右边去了。
紧挨着路边有一座难看的房子，墙皮已经剥落，像长满疥癣一样。公路拐过这所房子，分成了两股岔道。
公路十字路口上有一个废弃的售货亭，门板已经毁坏，“出售矿泉水”的招牌倒挂着。就在这个破售货亭旁边，维克托正在同莉莎告别。
他久久握着莉莎的手，情意缠绵地看着她的眼睛，问：“您来吗？您不会骗我吧？”
莉莎卖弄风情地回答：“来，我一定来。您等我好了。”
临别的时候，莉莎那双懒洋洋的脉脉含情的棕色眼睛又对他微笑了一下。
莉莎刚走出十来步，就看见两个人从拐角后面走出来，上了大路。走在前面的是一个矮壮的、宽肩膀的工人，他敞着上衣，露出里面的水手衫，黑色的帽子低低地压住前额，一只眼睛又青又肿。
这个工人穿着一双短筒黄皮靴，腿略微有点弯屈，坚定地朝前走着。
在他后面约三步远，是一个穿灰军装的佩特留拉匪兵，腰带上挂着两盒子弹，刺刀尖几乎抵着前面那个人的后背。
毛茸茸的皮帽下面，一双眯缝着的眼睛警惕地盯着被捕者的后脑勺。他那给马合烟熏黄了的胡子朝两边翘着。
莉莎稍微放慢了脚步，走到公路的另一边。这时，保尔在她的后面也走上了公路。
当他向右转，往家走的时候，也发现了这两个人。
他马上认出了走在前面的是朱赫来。他的两只脚像在地上生了根一样，再也挪不动了。
“怪不得他没回家呢！”
朱赫来越走越近了。保尔的心猛烈地跳动着。各种想法一个接一个地涌上心头，简直理不出个头绪来。时间太紧迫了，一时拿不定主意。只有一点是清楚的：朱赫来这下子完了！
他瞧着他们走过来，心里乱腾腾的，不知道怎样办才好。
“怎么办？”
在最后一分钟，他才骤然想起口袋里的手枪。等他们走过去，朝这个端枪的家伙背后放一枪，朱赫来就能得救。一瞬间作出了这样的决定之后，他的思绪立即变得清晰了。他紧紧地咬着牙，咬得生疼。就在昨天，朱赫来还对他说过：“干这种事，需要的是勇敢坚强的阶级弟兄……”
保尔迅速朝后面瞥了一眼。通往城里的大路上空荡荡的，连个人影也没有。前面的路上，有一个穿春季短大衣的女人急急忙忙地走着。她不会碍事的。十字路口另一侧路上的情况，他看不见。只是在远处通向车站的路上有几个人影。
保尔走到公路边上。当他们相距只有几步远的时候，朱赫来也看见了保尔。
朱赫来用那只好眼睛看了看他，两道浓眉微微一颤，他认出了保尔，感到很意外，一下子愣住了。于是刺刀尖立刻杵着了他的后背。
“喂，快走，再磨蹭我就给你两枪托！”押送兵用刺耳的假嗓子尖声吆喝着。
朱赫来加快了脚步。他很想对保尔说几句话，但是忍住了，只是挥了挥手，像打招呼似的。
保尔怕引起黄胡子匪兵的疑心，赶紧背过身，让朱赫来走过去，好像他对这两个人毫不在意似的。
正在这时，他的脑子里突然又钻出一个令人不安的想法：“要是我这一枪打偏了，子弹说不定会打中朱赫来……”
那个佩特留拉匪兵已经走到他身旁了，事到临头，难道还能多想吗？
接下来发生的事是这样：当黄胡子押送兵走到保尔跟前的时候，保尔猛然向他扑去，抓住他的步枪，狠命向下压。
刺刀啪嗒一声碰在石头路面上。
佩特留拉匪兵没有想到会有人袭击，愣了一下。他立刻尽全力往回夺枪。保尔把整个身子的重量都压在枪上，死也不松手。突然一声枪响，子弹打在石头上，蹦起来，落到路旁的壕沟里去了。
朱赫来听到枪声，往旁边一闪，回过头来，看见押送兵正狂怒地从保尔手里往回夺枪。那家伙转着枪身，扭绞着少年的双手。但是保尔还是紧紧抓住不放。押送兵简直气疯了，猛一使劲，把保尔摔倒在地。就是这样，枪还是没有夺走。保尔摔倒的时候，就势把那个押送兵也拖倒了。在这样的关头，简直没有什么力量能叫保尔撒开手里的武器。
朱赫来两个箭步，蹿到他们跟前，他抡起拳头，朝押送兵的头上打去。紧接着，那个家伙的脸上又挨了两下铅一样沉重的打击。他松手放开躺在地上的保尔，像一只装满粮食的口袋，滚进了壕沟。
还是那双强有力的手，把保尔从地上扶了起来。
维克托已经从十字路口走出了一百多步。他一边走，一边用口哨轻声吹着《美人的心朝三暮四》。他仍然在回味刚才同莉莎见面的情景，她还答应明天到那座废弃的砖厂里去会面，他不禁飘飘然起来。
在追逐女性的中学生中间有一种传言，说莉莎是一个在谈情说爱问题上满不在乎的姑娘。
厚颜无耻而又骄傲自负的谢苗·扎利瓦诺夫有一次就告诉过维克托，说他已经占有了莉莎。维克托并不完全相信这家伙的话，但是，莉莎毕竟是一个有魅力的尤物，所以，他决意明天证实一下，谢苗讲的话是不是真的。
“只要她一来，我就单刀直入。她不是不在乎人家吻她吗？要是谢苗这小子没撒谎……”他的思路突然给打断了。迎面过来两个佩特留拉匪兵，维克托闪在一旁给他们让路。一个匪兵骑着一匹秃尾巴马，手里晃荡着帆布水桶，看样子是去饮马。另一个匪兵穿着一件紧腰长外套和一条肥大的蓝裤子，一只手拉着骑马人的裤腿，兴致勃勃地讲着什么。
维克托让这两个人过去以后，正要继续往前走，公路上突然响了一枪。他停住了脚步，回头一看，骑马的士兵一抖缰绳，朝枪响的地方驰去。另一个提着马刀，跟在后面跑。
维克托也跟着他们跑过去。当他快跑到公路的时候，又听到一声枪响。骑马的士兵惊慌地从拐角后面冲出来，差点撞在维克托身上。他又用脚踢，又用帆布水桶打，催着马快跑。跑到第一所士兵的住房，一进大门，就朝院子里的人大喊：“弟兄们，快拿枪，咱们的人给打死了！”
立刻有几个人一边扳动枪机，一边从院子里冲出来。
他们把维克托抓住了。
公路上已经捉来了好几个人。其中有维克托和莉莎。莉莎是作为见证人被扣留的。
当朱赫来和保尔从莉莎身旁跑过去的时候，她大吃一惊，呆呆地站住了。她认出袭击押送兵的竟是前些日子冬妮亚打算向她介绍的那个少年。
他们两人相继翻过了一家院子的栅栏。正在这个时候，一个骑兵冲上了公路，他发现了拿着步枪逃跑的朱赫来和挣扎着要从地上爬起来的押送兵，就立即驱马向栅栏这边扑来。
朱赫来回身朝他放了一枪，吓得他掉头就跑。
押送兵吃力地抖动着被打破的嘴唇，把刚才发生的事说了一遍。
“你这个笨蛋，让犯人从眼皮底下跑了！这回不打你屁股才怪，少不了二十五通条。”
押送兵恶狠狠地顶了他一句：“我看就你聪明！从眼皮底下跑了，是我放的吗？谁知道哪儿蹦出来那么一个狗崽子，像疯了一样扑到我的身上？”
莉莎也受到了盘问。她讲的和押送兵一样，只是没有说她认识袭击押送兵的那个少年。抓来的人都被带到了警备司令部。
直到晚上，警备司令才下令释放他们。
警备司令甚至要亲自送莉莎回家，但是她谢绝了。他酒气熏人，要送她回家，显然是不怀好意的。
后来由维克托陪她回家去。
从这里到火车站有很长一段路。维克托挽着莉莎的手，心里为这件偶然发生的事情感到乐滋滋的。
快要到家的时候，莉莎问他：“您知道救走犯人的是谁吗？”
“不知道，我怎么会知道呢？”
“您还记得那天晚上冬妮亚要给咱们介绍的那个小伙子吗？”
维克托停住了脚步。
“您说的是保尔·柯察金？”他惊奇地问。
“是的，他好像是姓柯察金。您还记得吗，那天他多么古怪，转身就走了？没错，就是他。”
维克托站在那里呆住了。
“您没认错人吧？”他又问莉莎。
“不会错的。他的相貌我记得很清楚。”
“那您怎么不向警备司令告发呢？”
莉莎气愤地说：“您以为我能干出这种卑鄙的事情来吗？”
“怎么是卑鄙呢？告发一个袭击押送兵的人，您认为就是卑鄙？”
“那么照您说倒是高尚的了？您把他们干的那些事都忘记了？您难道不知道学校里有多少犹太孤儿？您还让我去告发柯察金？谢谢您，我可真没想到。”
维克托想不到她会这样回答。他并不打算同莉莎争吵，所以就尽量把话题岔开。
“您别生气，莉莎，我是说着玩的。我不知道您竟会这样认真。”
“您这个玩笑开得可不怎么好。”莉莎冷冷地说。
在莉莎家门口分手的时候，维克托问：“莉莎，您明天来吗？
他得到的是一句模棱两可的回答：“再说吧。”
在回城的路上，维克托心里思量着：“好嘛，小姐，您尽可以认为这是卑鄙的，我可有我的看法。当然喽，谁放跑了谁，跟我都不相干。”
他，列辛斯基，一个波兰的世袭贵族，对冲突的双方都十分厌恶。反正波兰军队很快就要开来。到了那个时候，一定会建立一个真正的政权——正牌的波兰贵族政权，眼下，既然有干掉柯察金这个坏蛋的好机会，当然也不必错过。他们会马上把他的脑袋揪下来的。
维克托一家只有他一个人留在这座小城里。他寄居在姨母家，他的姨父是糖厂的副经理。维克托的父亲西吉兹蒙德·列辛斯基在华沙身居要职，母亲和涅莉早就跟着父亲到华沙去了。
维克托来到警备司令部，走进了敞开的大门。
过了一会儿，他领着四名佩特留拉匪兵向柯察金家走去。
他指着那个有灯光的窗户，低声说：“就是这儿。”然后，转身问他身旁的哥萨克少尉：“我可以走了吗？”
“您请便吧，我们自己能对付。谢谢您帮忙。”
维克托急忙迈开大步，顺人行道走了。
保尔背上又挨了一拳，被推进了一间黑屋子，伸出的两手撞在墙壁上。他摸来摸去，摸到一个木板床似的东西，坐了下来。他受尽了折磨和毒打，心情十分沉重。
保尔完全没有想到会被捕。“佩特留拉匪徒怎么会知道的呢？压根儿没人看见我呀！现在该怎么办呢？朱赫来在哪儿呢？”
保尔是在克利姆卡家同水兵朱赫来分手的。他又去看了谢廖沙，朱赫来就留在克利姆卡家，好等天黑混出城去。
“幸亏我把手枪藏到老鸹窝里去了，”保尔想。“要是让他们翻到，我就没命了。但是，他们怎么知道是我呢？”这个问题叫他伤透了脑筋，就是找不到答案。
佩特留拉匪徒并没有从柯察金家里翻到什么有用的东西。衣服和手风琴被哥哥拿到乡下去了。妈妈也带走了她的小箱子。匪兵们翻遍各个角落，捞到的东西却少得可怜。
然而，从家里到司令部这一路上的遭遇，保尔却是永远忘不了的。漆黑的夜，伸手不见五指。天空布满了乌云。匪兵们推搡他，从背后或两侧对他不停地拳打脚踢，毫不留情。
保尔昏昏沉沉地木然向前走着。
门外有人在谈话。司令部的警卫就住在外间屋。屋门下边透进一条明亮的光线。保尔站起身来，扶着墙壁，摸索着在屋里走了一圈。在板床对面，他摸到了一个窗户，上面安着结实的参差不齐的铁栏杆。用手摇了一下——纹丝不动。看样子这里以前是个仓库。
他又摸到门口，停下来听了听动静。然后，轻轻地推了一下门把手。门讨厌地吱呀了一声。
“妈的，真活见鬼！”保尔骂了一句。
从打开的门缝里，他看见床沿上有两只脚，十个脚趾叉开着，皮肤很粗糙。他又轻轻地推了一下门把手，门又毫不留情地尖叫起来。一个睡眼惺忪、头发蓬乱的家伙从床上坐了起来。他用五个手指头恶狠狠地挠着生满虱子的脑袋，懒洋洋地扯着单调的嗓音破口大骂起来。骂过一通之后，摸了一下放在床头的步枪，有气无力地吆喝说：“把门关上！再往外瞧，就打死你……”
保尔掩上门，外面房间里响起了一阵狂笑声。
这一夜保尔翻来覆去想了许多。他柯察金第一次参加斗争，就这么不顺利，刚刚迈出第一步，就像老鼠一样让人家捉住，关在笼子里了。
他坐在那里，心神不宁地打起瞌睡来。这时候，母亲的形象在脑海中浮现出来：她面孔瘦削，满脸皱纹，那双眼睛是多么熟悉，多么慈祥啊！他想：“幸亏妈不在家，少受点罪。”
从窗口透进来的光线照在地上，映出一个灰色的方块。
黑暗在逐渐退却。黎明已经临近了。
收听单词发音 |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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refinery
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| n.精炼厂，提炼厂 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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14
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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15
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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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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throttling
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| v.扼杀( throttle的现在分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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27
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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33
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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34
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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35
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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36
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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37
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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38
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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40
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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41
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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42
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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43
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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44
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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45
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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46
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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47
pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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48
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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49
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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50
foppish
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| adj.矫饰的，浮华的 | |
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51
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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52
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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53
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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54
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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55
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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58
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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60
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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62
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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63
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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screechy
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| adj.声音尖锐的，喜欢尖声喊叫的 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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74
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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75
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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76
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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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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79
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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80
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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81
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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82
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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83
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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84
braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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85
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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86
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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87
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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88
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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89
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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90
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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92
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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93
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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94
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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95
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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96
scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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97
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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98
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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99
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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100
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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101
accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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102
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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103
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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104
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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105
calloused
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| adj.粗糙的，粗硬的，起老茧的v.（使）硬结，（使）起茧( callous的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）冷酷无情 | |
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106
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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107
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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108
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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109
phlegmatically
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