The octopus1 has a bulging2 eye the size of a cat's head, a glazed3 reddish eye green in the centre with a pulsating4 phosphorescent glow. The octopus is a loathsome5 mass of tentacles6, which writhe7 and squirm like a tangled8 knot of snakes, the scaly9 skin rustling10 hideously11 as they move. The octopus stirs. He sees it next to his very eyes. And now the tentacles creep over his body; they are cold and they sting like nettles12. The octopus shoots out its sting, and it bites into his head like a leech13, and, wriggling14 convulsively, it sucks at his blood. He feels the blood draining out of his body into the swelling15 body of the octopus. And the sting goes on sucking and the pain of its sucking is unbearable16.
Somewhere far far away he can hear human voices:
"How is his pulse now?"
And another voice, a woman's, replies softly:
"His pulse is a hundred and thirty-eight. His temperature 103.1. He is delirious17 all the time."
The octopus disappears, but the pain lingers. Pavel feels someone touch his wrist. He tries to open his eyes, but his lids are so heavy he has no strength to lift them.
Why is it so hot? Mother must have heated the stove. And again he hears those voices: "His pulse is one hundred and twenty-two now." He tries to open his eyelids18. But a fire burns within him. He is suffocating19.
He is terribly thirsty, he must get up at once and get a drink. But why does he not get up? He tries to move but his limbs refuse to obey him, his body is a stranger to him. Mother will bring him some water at once. He will say to her: "I want to drink." Something stirs beside him. Is it the octopus about to crawl over him again? There it comes, he sees its red eyes. . . . From afar comes that soft voice: "Frosya, bring some water!"
"Whose name is that?" But the effort to remember is too much for him and darkness engulfs20 him once more. Emerging presently from the gloom he recalls: "I am thirsty."
And hears voices saying: "He seems to be regaining21 consciousness." Closer and more distinct now, that gentle voice: "Do you want to drink, Comrade?"
"Can it be me they are addressing? Am I ill? Oh yes, I've got the typhus, that's it." And for the third time he tries to lift his eyelids. And at last he succeeds. The first thing that reaches his consciousness through the narrowed vision of his slightly opened eyes is a red ball hanging above his head. But the red ball is blotted23 out by something dark which bends towards him, and his lips feel the hard edge of a glass and moisture, life-giving moisture. The fire within him subsides25.
Satisfied, he whispers: "That's better."
"Can you see me, Comrade?"
The dark shape standing26 over him has spoken, and just before drowsiness27 overpowers him he manages to say: "I can't see, but I can hear. . . ."
"Now, who would have believed he would pull through? Yet see how he has clambered back to life! A remarkably28 strong constitution. You may be proud of yourself, Nina Vladimirovna. You have literally29 saved his life." And the woman's voice, trembling slightly, answers: "I am so glad!"
After thirteen days of oblivion, consciousness returned to Pavel Korchagin. His young body had not wanted to die, and slowly he recovered his strength. It was like being born again. Everything seemed new and miraculous30. Only his head lay motionless and unbearably31 heavy in its plaster cast, and he had not the strength to move it.
But feeling returned to the rest of his body and soon he was able to bend his fingers.
Nina Vladimirovna, junior doctor of the military clinical hospital, sat at a small table in her room turning the leaves of a thick lilac-covered notebook filled with brief entries made in a neat slanting32 handwriting.
August 26, 1920
Some serious cases were brought in today by ambulance train. One of them has a very ugly head wound. We put him in the corner by the window. He is only seventeen. They gave me an envelope with the papers found in his pockets and the case history. His name is Korchagin, Pavel Andreyevich. Among his papers were a well-worn membership card (No. 967) of the Young Communist League of the Ukraine, a torn Red Army identification book and a copy of a regimental order stating that Red Army man Korchagin was coinmended for exemplary fulfilment of a reconnaissance rnission. There was also a note, evidently written by himself, which said: "In the event of my death please write to my relatives: Shepetov-ka, Railway Junction33, Mechanic Artem Korchagin."
He has been unconscious ever since he was hit by a shell fragment on August 19. Tomorrow Anatoli Stepanovich will examine him.
August 27
Today we examined Korchagin's wound. It is very deep, the skull34 is fractured and the entire right side of the head is paralysed. A blood vessel35 burst in the right eye which is badly swollen36. Anatoli Stepanovich wanted to remove the eye to prevent inflammation, but I dissuaded37 him, since there is still hope that the swelling might go down. In doing this I was prompted solely38 by aesthetic39 considerations. The lad may recover; it would be a pity if he were disfigured.
He is delirious all the time and terribly restless. One of us is constantly on duty at his bedside. I spend much of my time with him. He is too young to die and I am determined41 to tear his young life out of Death's clutches. I must succeed.
Yesterday I spent several hours in his ward24 after my shift was over. His is the worst case there. I sat listening to his ravings. Sometimes they sound like a story, and I learn quite a lot about his life.
But at times he curses horribly. He uses frightful42 language. Somehow it hurts me to hear such awful cursing from him. Anatoli Stepanovich does not believe that he will recover. "I can't understand what the army wants with such children," the old man growls43. "It's a disgrace."
August 30
Korchagin is still unconscious. He has been removed to the ward for hopeless cases. The nurse Frosya is almost constantly at his side. It appears she knows him. They worked together once.
How gentle she is with him! Now I too am beginning to fear that his condition is hopeless.
September 2, 11 p.m.
This has been a wonderful day for me. My patient Korchagin regained44 consciousness. The crisis is over. I spent the past two days at the hospital without going home.
I cannot describe my joy at the knowledge that one more life has been saved. One death less in our ward. The recovery of a patient is the most wonderful thing about this exhausting work of mine.
They become like children. Their affection is simple and sincere, and I too grow fond of them so that when they leave I often weep. I know it is foolish of me, but I cannot help it.
September 10
Today I wrote Korchagin's first letter to his family. He writes his wound is not serious and he'll soon recover and come home. He has lost a great deal of blood and is as pale as a ghost, and still very weak.
September 14
Korchagin smiled today for the first time. He has a very nice smile. Usually he is grave beyond his years. He is making a remarkably rapid recovery. He and Frosya are great friends. I often see her at his bedside. She must have been talking to him about me, and evidently singing my praises, for now the patient greets me with a faint smile. Yesterday he asked:
"What are those black marks on your arms, doctor?" I did not tell him that those bruises45 had been made by his fingers clutching my arm convulsively when he was delirious.
September 17
The wound on Korchagin's forehead is healing nicely. We doctors are amazed at the remarkable46 fortitude47 with which this young man endures the painful business of dressing22 his wound.
Usually in such cases the patient groans49 a great deal and is generally troublesome. But this one lies quietly and when the open wound is daubed with iodine50 he draws himself taut51 like a violin string.Often he loses consciousness, but not once have we heard a groan48 escape him.
We know now that when Korchagin groans he is unconscious. Where does he get that tremendous endurance, I wonder?
September 21
We wheeled Korchagin out onto the big balcony today for the first time. How his face lit up when he saw the garden, how greedily he breathed in the fresh air! His head is swathed in bandages and only one eye is open. And that live, shining eye looked out on the world as if seeing it for the first time.
September 26
Today two young women came to the hospital asking to see Korchagin. I went downstairs to the waiting room to speak to them. One of them was very beautiful. They introduced themselves as Tonya Tumanova and Tatiana Buranovskaya. I had heard of Tonya, Korchagin had mentioned the name when he was delirious. I gave them permission to see him.
October 8
Korchagin now walks unaided in the garden. He keeps asking me when he can leave hospital. I tell him—soon. The two girls come to see him every visiting day. I know now why he never groans. I asked him, and he replied: "Read The Gadfly and you'll know."
October 14
Korchagin has been discharged. He took leave of me very warmly. The bandage has been removed from his eye and now only his head is bound. The eye is blind, but looks quite normal. It was very sad to part with this fine young comrade. But that's how it is: once they've recovered they leave us and rarely do we ever see them again.
As he left he said: "Pity it wasn't the left eye. How will I be able to shoot now?"
He still thinks of the front.
After his discharge from hospital Pavel lived for a time at the Buranovskys where Tonya was staying.
Pavel sought at once to draw Tonya into Komsomol activities. He began by inviting53 her to attend a meeting of the town's Komsomol. Tonya agreed to go, but when she emerged from her room where she had been dressing for the meeting Pavel bit his lip. She was very smartly attired54, with a studied elegance55 which Pavel felt would be entirely56 out of place at a Komsomol gathering57.
This was the cause of their first quarrel. When he asked her why she had dressed up like that she took offence.
"I don't see why I must look like everyone else. But if my clothes don't suit you, I can stay at home."
At the club Tonya's fine clothes were so conspicuous58 among all the faded tunics59 and shabby blouses that Pavel was deeply embarrassed. The young people treated her as an outsider, and Tonya, conscious of their disapproval61, assumed a contemptuous, defiant62 air.
Pankratov, the secretary of the Komsomol organisation63 at the shipping64 wharves65, a broad-shouldered docker in a coarse linen66 shirt, called Pavel aside, and indicating Tonya with his eyes,said with a scowl67:
"Was it you who brought that doll here?"
"Yes," Pavel replied curtly68.
"Mm," observed Pankratov. "She doesn't belong here by the looks of her. Too bourgeois69 by half.
How did she get in?"
Pavel's temples pounded.
"She is a friend of mine. I brought her here. Understand? She isn't hostile to us at all, even if she does think too much about clothes. You can't always judge people by the way they dress. I know as well as you do whom to bring here so you needn't be so officious, Comrade."
He wanted to say something sharp and insulting but realising that Pankratov was voicing the general opinion he checked himself, and that only increased his anger at Tonya.
"I told her what to expect! Why the devil must she put on such airs?"
That evening marked the beginning of the end of their friendship. With bitterness and dismay Pavel watched the break-up of a relationship that had seemed so enduring.
Several more days passed, and with every meeting, every conversation they drifted further and further apart. Tonya's cheap individualism became unbearable to Pavel.
Both realised that a break was inevitable70.
Today they had met in the Kupechesky Gardens for the last time. The paths were strewn with decaying leaves. They stood by the balustrade at the top of the cliff and looked down at the grey waters of the Dnieper. From behind the towering hulk of the bridge a tug71 came crawling wearily down the river with two heavy barges72 in tow. The setting sun painted the Trukhanov Island with daubs of gold and set the windows of the houses on fire.
Tonya looked at the golden shafts73 of sunlight and said with deep sadness:
"Is our friendship going to fade like that dying sun?"
Pavel, who had been gazing at her face, knitted his brows sternly and answered in a low voice:
"Tonya, we have gone over this before. You know, of course, that I loved you, and even now my love might return, but for that you must be with us. I am not the Pavlusha I was before. And I would be a poor husband to you if you expect me to put you before the Party. For I shall always put the Party first, and you and my other loved ones second."
Tonya stared miserably74 down at the dark-blue water and her eyes filled with tears.
Pavel gazed at the profile he had come to know so well, her thick chestnut75 hair, and a wave of pity for this girl who had once been so dear to him swept over him.
Gently he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Tonya, cut yourself loose and come to us. Let's work together to finish with the bosses. There are many splendid girls among us who are sharing the burden of this bitter struggle, enduring all the hardships and privation. They may not be so well educated as you are, but why, oh why, don't you want to join us? You say Chuzhanin tried to seduce76 you, but he is a degenerate77, not a fighter. You say the comrades were unfriendly toward you. Then why did you have to dress up as if you were going to a bourgeois ball? It's your silly pride that's to blame: why should I wear a dirty old army tunic60 just because everybody else does? You had the courage to love a workingman, but you cannot love an idea. I am sorry to have to part with you, and I should like to cherish your memory."
He said no more.
The next day he saw an order posted up in the street signed by Zhukhrai, chairman of the regional Cheka. His heart leapt. It was with great difficulty that he gained admission to the sailor's office.
The sentries78 would not let him in and he raised such a fuss that he was very nearly arrested, but in the end he had his way.
Fyodor gave him a very warm welcome. The sailor had lost an arm; it had been torn off by a shell.
The conversation turned at once to work. "You can help me crush the counter-revolution here until you're fit for the front again. Start tomorrow," said Zhukhrai.
The struggle with the Polish Whites came to an end. The Red armies pursued the enemy almost to the very walls of Warsaw, but with their material and physical strength expended79 and their supply bases left far behind, they were unable to take this final stronghold and so fell back. Thus the "miracle on the Vistula", as the Poles called the withdrawal80 of the Red forces from Warsaw, came to pass, and the Poland of the gentry81 received a new lease of life. The dream of the Polish Soviet82 Socialist83 Republic was not yet to be fulfilled.
The blood-drenched land demanded a respite84.
Pavel was unable to see his people, for Shepetovka was again in Polish hands and had become a temporary frontier outpost. Peace talks were in progress.
Pavel spent days and nights in the Cheka carrying out diverse assignments. He was much upset when he learned that his hometown was occupied by the Poles.
"Does that mean my mother will be on the other side of the border if the armistice85 is signed now?"
he asked Zhukhrai.
But Fyodor calmed his fears.
"Most likely the frontier will pass through Goryn along the river, which means that your town will be on our side," he said. "In any case we'll know soon enough."
Divisions were being transferred from the Polish front to the South. For while the republic had been straining every effort on the Polish front, Wrangel had taken advantage of the respite to crawl out of his Crimean lair86 and advance northward87 along the Dnieper with Yekaterinoslav Gubernia as his immediate88 objective.
Now that the war with the Poles was over, the republic rushed its armies to the Crimea to wipe out the last hotbed of counter-revolution.
Trainloads of troops, carts, field kitchens and guns passed through Kiev en route to the South. The Cheka of the regional transport services worked at fever pitch these days coping with the bottlenecks89 caused by the huge flood of traffic. Stations were jammed with trains and frequently traffic would be held up for lack of free tracks.
Telegraph operators tapped out countless90 messages ordering the line cleared for this or that division. The tickers spilled out endless ribbons of tape covered with dots and dashes and each of them demanding priority: "Precedence above all else . ..
this is a military order . . . clear line immediately. . . ." And nearly every message included a reminder91 that failure to carry out the order would entail92 prosecution93 by a revolutionary military tribunal.
The local transport Cheka was responsible for keeping traffic moving without interruption.
Commanders of army units would burst into its headquarters brandishing94 revolvers and demanding that their trains be dispatched at once in accordance with telegram number so-and-so signed by the commander of the army. And none of them would accept the explanation that this was impossible. "You'll get that train off if you croak95 doing it!" And a string of frightful curses
would follow. In particularly serious cases Zhukhrai would be urgently sent for, and then the excited men who were ready to shoot each other on the spot would calm down at once. At the sight of this man of iron with his quiet icy voice that brooked96 no argument revolvers were thrust back into their holsters.
At times Pavel would stagger out of his office onto the platform with a stabbing pain in his head.
Work in the Cheka was having a devastating97 effect on his nerves.
One day he caught sight of Sergei Bruzzhak on a truck loaded with ammunition98 crates99. Sergei jumped down, nearly knocking Pavel off his feet, and flung his arms round his friend. "Pavka, you devil! I knew it was you the minute I laid eyes on you."
The two young men had so much news to exchange that they did not know where to begin. So much had happened to both of them since they had last met. They plied52 each other with questions, and talked on without waiting for answers. They did not hear the engine whistle and it was only when the train began to move out of the station that they became aware of their surroundings.
They still had much to say to each other, but the train was already gathering speed and Sergei, shouting something to his friend, raced along the platform and caught on to the open door of one of the box cars. Several hands snatched him up and drew him inside. As Pavel stood watching him go he suddenly remembered that Sergei knew nothing about Valya's death. For he had not visited Shepetovka since he left it, and in the unexpectedness of this encounter Pavel had forgotten to tell him.
"It's a good thing he does not know, his mind will be at ease," thought Pavel. He did not know that he was never to see his friend again. Nor did Sergei, standing on the roof of the box car, his chest exposed to the autumn wind, know that he was going to his death.
"Get down from there, Seryozha," urged Doroshenko, a Red Army man wearing a coat with a hole burnt in the back.
"That's all right," said Sergei laughing. "The wind and I are good friends."
A week later he was struck by a stray bullet in his first engagement. He staggered forward, his chest rent by a tearing pain, clutched at the air, and pressing his arms tightly against his chest, he swayed and dropped heavily to the ground and his sightless blue eyes stared out over the boundless100 Ukrainian steppe.
His nerve-wracking work in the Cheka began to tell on Pavel's weakened condition. His violent headaches became more frequent, but it was not until he fainted one day after two sleepless101 nights that he finally decided102 to take the matter up with Zhukhrai.
"Don't you think I ought to try some other sort of work, Fyodor? I would like best of all to work at my own trade at the railway shops. I'm afraid there's something wrong with my head. They told me in the medical commission that I was unfit for army service. But this sort of work is worse than the front. The two days we spent rounding up Sutyr's band have knocked me out completely.
I must have a rest from all this shooting. You see, Fyodor, I shan't be much good to you if I can barely stand on my feet."
Zhukhrai studied Pavel's face with concern.
"Yes, you don't look so good. It's all my fault. I ought to have let you go long before this. But I've been too busy to notice."
Shortly after the above conversation Pavel presented himself at the Regional Committee of the Komsomol with a paper certifying103 that he was being placed at the Committee's disposal. An officious youngster with his cap perched jauntily104 over his nose ran his eyes rapidly over the paper and winked105 to Pavel:
"From the Cheka, eh? A jolly organisation that. We'll find work for you here in a jiffy. We need everybody we can get. Where would you like to go? Commissary
department? No? All right.
What about the agitation106 section down at the waterfront? No? Too bad. Nice soft job that, special rations40 too."
Pavel interrupted him.
"I would prefer the railway repair shops," he said. The lad gaped107. "Mm. . . . I don't think we need anybody there. But go to Ustinovich. She'll fit you in somewhere."
After a brief interview with the dark-eyed girl it was decided to assign Pavel as secretary of the Komsomol organisation in the railway shops where he was to work.
Meanwhile the Whites had been fortifying108 the gates of the Crimea, and now on this narrow neck of land that once had been the frontier between the Crimean Tatars and the Zaporozhye Cossack settlements stood the modernised fortified109 line of Perekop.
And behind Perekop in the Crimea, the old, doomed110 world which had been driven here from all corners of the land, feeling quite secure, lived in wine-fuddled revelry.
One chill dank autumn night tens of thousands of sons of the toiling111 people plunged112 into the icy waters of the Sivash to cross the bay under the cover of darkness and strike from behind at the enemy entrenched113 in their forts. Among the thousands waded114 Ivan Zharky, carrying his machine gun on his head to prevent it from getting wet.
And when dawn found Perekop seething115 in a wild turmoil116, its fortifications attacked in a frontal assault, the first columns of men that had crossed the Sivash climbed ashore117 on Litovsky Peninsula to take the Whites from the rear. And among the first to clamber onto that rock coast was Ivan Zharky.
A battle of unprecedented118 ferocity ensued. The White cavalry119 bore down savagely120 on the Red Army men as they emerged from the water. Zharky's machine gun spewed death, never ceasing its lethal121 tattoo122. Men and horses fell in heaps under the leaden spray. Zharky fed new magazines into the gun with feverish123 speed.
Perekop thundered back through the throats of hundreds of guns. The very earth seemed to have dropped into a bottomless abyss, and death carried by thousands of shells pierced the heavens with ear-splitting screams and exploded, scattering124 myriads125 of minute fragments far and wide. The torn and lacerated earth spouted126 up in black clouds that blotted out the sun. The monster's head was crushed, and into the Crimea swept the Red flood of the First Cavalry Army to deliver the final, smashing blow.
Frantic127 with terror, the White-guards rushed in a panic to board the ships leaving the ports.
And the Republic pinned the golden badge of the Order of the Red Banner to many a faded Red Army tunic, and one of these tunics was Ivan Zharky's, the Komsomol machine gunner.
Peace was signed with the Poles and, as Zhukhrai had predicted, Shepetovka remained in Soviet Ukraine. A river thirty-five kilometres outside the town now marked the frontier.
One memorable128 morning in December 1920 Pavel arrived in his native town. He stepped onto the snowy platform, glanced up at the sign Shepetovka I, then turned left, and went straight to the railway yards and asked for Artem. But his brother was not there. Drawing his army coat tighter about him, Pavel strode off through the woods to the town.
Maria Yakovlevna turned when the knock came at the door and said, "Come in." A snow-covered figure pushed into the house and she saw the dear face of her son. Her hand flew to her heart, joy robbed her of speech.
She fell on her son's breast and smothered129 his face with kisses, and tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks. And Pavel, pressing the spare little body close, gazed silently down at the careworn130 face of his mother furrowed131 with deep lines of pain and anxiety, and waited for her to grow calmer.
Once again the light of happiness shone in the eyes of this woman who had suffered so much. It seemed she would never have her fill of gazing at this son whom she had lost all hope of ever seeing again. Her joy knew no bounds when three days later Artem too burst into the tiny room late at night with his kit-bag over his shoulders.
Now the Korchagin family was reunited. Both brothers had escaped death, and after harrowing ordeals132 and trials they had met again.
"What are you going to do now?" the mother asked her sons.
"It's back to the repair shops for me, Mother!" replied Artem gaily133.
As for Pavel, after two weeks at home he went back to Kiev where his work was awaiting him.
章鱼的一只眼睛，鼓鼓的，有猫头大小，周围是暗红色，中间发绿，这只眼睛在闪闪发亮。章鱼的几十条长长的腕足，像一团小蛇似的，蜿蜒地蠕动着，上面的鳞发出讨厌的沙沙声。章鱼在游动。他看见章鱼差不多就贴着自己的眼睛。那些腕足在他身上爬着，它们是冰凉的，像荨麻一样刺人。章鱼伸出的刺针如同水蛭，死叮在他的头上，一下一下地收缩，吮吸着他的血液。他感到他的血液正从自己身上流到已经膨胀起来的章鱼体内去。刺针就这样吸个不停。他头上被叮的地方，疼得难以忍受。
从很远很远的一个地方，传来了说话的声音：“现在他的脉搏怎么样？”
有个女人声音更轻地回答：“脉搏一百三十八，体温三十九度五。一直昏迷，说胡话。”
章鱼消失了，但是被它叮过的地方还很疼。保尔觉得有人把手指按在他的手腕上。他想睁开眼睛，但是眼皮很重，怎么也抬不起来。为什么这样热呢？大概是妈把炉子烧得太旺了。又有人在什么地方说话了：“脉搏现在是一百二十二。”
他竭力想抬起眼皮。可是，心里像有一团火，热得喘不上气来。
想喝水，多么想喝水呀！他恨不得马上就爬起来，喝个够。那为什么又起不来呢？他刚想挪动一下身子，但是，立刻觉得身体是别人的，不是自己的，根本不听使唤。妈马上会拿水来的。他要对她说：“我要喝水。”在他旁边，有个什么东西在动。是不是章鱼又来了？就是它，看它那只红色的眼睛……
远处又传来了轻轻的说话声：“弗罗霞，拿点水来！”
“这是谁的名字呢？”保尔竭力在回想，但是一动脑子，便跌进了黑暗的深渊。他从那深渊里浮上来，又想起：“我要喝水。”
他又听到了说话的声音：“他好像有点苏醒了。”
接着，那温和的声音显得更近、更清晰了：“伤员同志，您要喝水吗？”
“我怎么是伤员呢？也许不是跟我说的吧？对了，我不是得了伤寒吗！怪不得叫我伤员呢！”于是，他第三次试着睁开眼睛，这回终于成功了。从睁开的小缝里，他最先看到的是他面前有一个红色的球，但是，这个球又让一个黑糊糊的东西挡住了。这个黑糊糊的东西向他弯下来，于是，他的嘴唇触到了玻璃杯口和甘露般的液体。心头的那团火逐渐熄灭了。
他心满意足地低声说：“现在可真舒服。”
“伤员同志，您看得见我吗？”
这问话就是向他弯下来的那个黑糊糊的东西发出来的。
这时，他又要昏睡了，不过还来得及回答一句：“看不见，但是能听见……”
“谁能想到他还会活过来呢？可是您看，他到底挣扎着活过来了。多么顽强的生命力啊。尼娜·弗拉基米罗夫娜，您真可以骄傲。这完全是因为您护理得好。”
一个女人的声音非常激动地回答：“啊，我太高兴了！”
昏迷了十三天之后，保尔终于恢复了知觉。
他那年轻的身体不肯死去，精力在慢慢恢复。这是他第二次获得生命，什么东西都像是很新鲜，很不平常。只是他的头固定在石膏箱里，沉甸甸的，他也根本没有力量移动一下。不过身体的感觉已经恢复，手指能屈能伸了。
一间四四方方的小屋里，陆军医院的见习医生尼娜·弗拉基米罗夫娜正坐在小桌子后边，翻看她那本厚厚的淡紫色封面的笔记本。里面是她用纤巧的斜体字写的日记：
１９２０年８月２６日
今天从救护列车上给我们送来一批重伤员。一个头部受重伤的红军战士被安置在病室角上靠窗的病床上。他只有十七岁。我收到一个口袋，里面除了病历，还有从他衣袋里找出来的几份证件。他叫保尔·安德列耶维奇·柯察金。
证件有：一个磨破的乌克兰共产主义青年团第九六七一号团证，上面记载的入团时间是一九一九年；一个弄破的红军战士证；还有一张摘抄的团部嘉奖令，上面写的是：对英勇完成侦察任务的红军战士柯察金予以嘉奖。
此外，还有一张看来是他亲笔写的条子：
如果我牺牲了，请同志们通知我的家属：舍佩托夫卡市铁路机车库钳工阿尔焦姆·柯察金。
这个伤员从八月十九日被弹片打伤以后，一直处于昏迷状态。明天阿纳托利·斯捷潘诺维奇要给他做检查。
８月２７日
今天检查了柯察金的伤势。伤口很深，颅骨被打穿，头部右侧麻痹。右眼出血，眼睛肿胀。
阿纳托利·斯捷潘诺维奇打算摘除他的右眼，以免发炎，不过我劝他，只要还有希望消肿，就先不要做这个手术。他同意了。
我的主张完全是从审美观点出发的。如果这个年轻人能活过来，为什么要摘除一只眼睛，让他破相呢？
他一直说胡话，折腾得很厉害，身边必须经常有人护理。
我在他身上花了很多时间。他这样年轻，我很可怜他。只要力所能及，我一定要把他从死神手里夺过来。
昨天下班后，我在病房里又呆了几个小时。他的伤势最重。我注意听他在昏迷中说些什么。有时候他说胡话就像讲故事一样。我从中知道了他生活中的许多事情。不过，有时候他骂人骂得很凶。这些骂人话都是不堪入耳的。我听了之后，不知道为什么感到很难过。阿纳托利·斯捷潘诺维奇说他救不活了。这老头生气地咕哝说：“我真不懂，他差不多还是一个孩子，部队怎么能收他呢？真是岂有此理。”
８月３０日
柯察金仍然没有恢复知觉。现在他躺在那间专门病室里，那里都是一些快要死的病人。护理员弗罗霞寸步不离地守在他身旁。原来她认识他。很久以前，他们在一起做过工。她对这个伤员是多么体贴入微呀！现在连我也觉得，他已经没有什么希望了。
９月２日
现在是夜里十一点。今天简直是我的节日。我负责的伤员柯察金恢复了知觉，他活过来了。危险期已经过去了。这两天我一直没有回家。
又有一个伤员救活了，现在我的愉快心情是难以形容的。
我们病房里又可以少死一个人。在我个人的繁忙工作中，最愉快的事莫过于看到病人恢复了健康。他们总是像小孩子那样依恋着我。
他们对朋友真挚而淳朴，所以当我们分别的时候，有时我甚至掉了眼泪。这未免有些可笑，然而却是事实。
９月１０日
今天我替柯察金写了第一封家信。他说他受了点轻伤，很快就会治好，然后一定回家去看看；实际上他流了很多血，脸色像纸一样苍白，身体还很虚弱。
９月１４日
柯察金第一次微笑了。他笑得很动人。平时他很严肃，这和他的年龄很不相称。他的身体在复原，速度快得惊人。他和弗罗霞是老朋友。我常常看见她坐在他的病床旁边。看来，她把我的情况都讲给他听了，不用说，是过分地夸奖了我，所以我每次进屋，他总是对我微微一笑。昨天他问我：“大夫，您手上怎么紫一块青一块的？”
我没有告诉他，这是他在昏迷中狠命攥住我的手留下的伤痕。
９月１７日
柯察金额上的伤口看样子好多了。换药的时候，他那种非凡的毅力真叫我们这些医生吃惊。
一般人在这种情况下总要不断地呻吟，发脾气，可是他却一声不吭。给他伤口上碘酒的时候，他把身子挺得像根绷紧了的弦。他常常疼得失去知觉，但是从来没有哼过一声。
现在大家都知道：要是柯察金也呻吟起来，那就是说他昏迷了。他这种顽强精神是从哪里来的呢？我真不明白。
９月２１日
今天柯察金坐着轮椅，第一次被推到医院宽敞的阳台上。
在他看着花园、贪婪地呼吸着新鲜空气的时候，他是一副什么样的神情啊！他的脸上缠着绷带，只露出一只眼睛。这只眼睛闪闪发亮，不停地转动着，观察着周围的一切，就像是第一次看到这个世界似的。
９月２６日
今天有人叫我到楼下的接待室去，那里有两个姑娘等着我。其中一个长得很漂亮。她们要看柯察金。她们的名字是冬妮亚·图曼诺娃和塔季亚娜·布拉诺夫斯卡娅。冬妮亚这个名字我知道，因为柯察金说胡话的时候多次提到过她。我允许她们进去看他。
１０月８日
柯察金第一次不用别人搀扶在花园里散步了。他老向我打听，什么时候可以出院。我告诉他快了。每到探病的日子，那两个姑娘就来看他。现在我才明白，他为什么一直没有呻吟，而且从来也不呻吟。我问他原因，他说：“您读一读《牛虻》就明白了。”
１０月１４日
柯察金出院了。我们十分亲切地互相道别。他眼睛上的绷带已经去掉，只是前额还包扎着。那只眼睛是失明了，不过从外表上看不出来。同这么好的同志分手，我感到十分难过。
向来就是这样：病人好了，就离开我们走了，而且希望不再回来见我们。临别的时候，柯察金说：“还不如左眼瞎了呢，现在我怎么打枪呀？”
他仍然一心想着前线。
保尔出院之后，起初就住在冬妮亚寄宿的布拉诺夫斯基家里。
他立刻试着吸引冬妮亚参加社会活动。他邀请冬妮亚参加城里共青团的会议。冬妮亚同意了。但是，当她换完衣服走出房间的时候，保尔却紧咬着下嘴唇。她打扮得那样漂亮，那样别出心裁，保尔都没法带她到自己的伙伴们那里去了。
于是他们之间发生了第一次冲突。保尔问她，为什么要这样打扮，她生气了，说：“我从来就不喜欢跟别人一个样子；要是你不便带我去，我就不去好了。”
那天，在俱乐部里，大家都穿着退色的旧衣服，唯独冬妮亚打扮得花枝招展。保尔看在眼里，觉得很不痛快。同志们都把她看做外人，她也觉察到了，就用轻蔑的、挑衅的目光看着大家。
货运码头的共青团书记潘克拉托夫，一个宽肩膀、穿粗帆布衬衣的装卸工，把保尔叫到一边，不客气地看了看他，又瞟了冬妮亚一眼，问：“那位漂亮小姐是你带来的吗？”
“是我。”保尔生硬地回答。
“哦……”潘克拉托夫拖长声音说。“可是她那副打扮不像是咱们的人，倒像资产阶级小姐。怎么能让她进来？”
保尔的太阳穴怦怦地跳起来。
“她是我的朋友，我才带她来的。懂吗？她并不是咱们的对头，要说穿戴吗，确实是有点问题，不过，总不能单凭穿戴衡量人吧。什么人能带到这儿来，我也懂，用不着你来挑毛病，同志。”
他本来还想顶撞他两句，但是忍住了，因为他知道潘克拉托夫讲的实际上是大家的意见。这样一来，他一肚子气就都转移到冬妮亚身上去了。
“我早就跟她说了！干吗要出这个风头？”
这天晚上他俩的友谊开始出现了裂痕。保尔怀着痛苦和惊讶的心情看到，那一向似乎是很牢固的友谊在逐渐破裂。
又过去了几天。每一次会面，每一次谈话，都使他们的关系更加疏远，更加不愉快。保尔对冬妮亚的那种庸俗的个人主义愈来愈不能容忍了。
他们两个人都很清楚，感情的最后破裂已经是不可避免的了。
这一天，他们来到黄叶满地的库佩切斯基公园，准备作最后一次谈话。他们站在陡岸上的栏杆旁边；第聂伯河从下面滚滚流过，闪着灰暗的光；一艘拖轮用轮翼疲倦地拍打着水面，拽着两只大肚子驳船，慢腾腾地从巨大的桥孔里钻出来，逆流而上。落日的余辉给特鲁哈诺夫岛涂上了一层金黄色，房屋的玻璃也被它照得火一样通红。
冬妮亚望着金黄色的余辉，忧伤地说：“难道咱们的友谊真的要像这落日，就这样完了吗？”
保尔目不转睛地看着她；他紧皱着眉头，低声说：“冬妮亚，这件事咱们已经谈过了。不用说你也知道，我原来是爱你的，就是现在，我对你的爱情也还可以恢复，不过，你必须跟我们站在一起。我已经不是从前的那个保夫鲁沙了。那时候我可以为了你的眼睛，从悬崖上跳下去，回想起来，真是惭愧。现在我说什么也不会跳。拿生命冒险是可以的，但不是为了姑娘的眼睛，而应该是为了别的，为了伟大的事业。如果你认为，我首先应该属于你，其次才属于党，那么，我绝不会成为你的好丈夫。因为我首先是属于党的，其次才能属于你和其他亲人。”
冬妮亚悲伤地凝视着蓝色的河水，两眼噙着泪水。
保尔从侧面注视着她那熟悉的脸庞和栗色的浓发。过去，这个姑娘对他来说，曾经是那样可爱可亲，此刻他不禁对她产生了一种怜惜之情。
他小心地把手放在她的肩膀上。
“把扯你后腿的那些东西统统扔掉，站到我们一边来吧。
咱们一道去消灭财主老爷们。我们队伍里有许多优秀的姑娘，她们跟我们一起肩负着残酷斗争的全部重担，跟我们一起忍受着种种艰难困苦。她们的文化水平也许不如你高，但是你到底为什么不愿意跟我们在一起呢？你说，丘扎宁曾经想用暴力污辱你，但是他是红军中的败类，不是一个战士。你又说，我的同志们对你不友好，可是，那天你为什么要那样打扮，像去参加资本家的舞会一样呢？你会说：我不愿意跟他们一样，穿上肮脏的军便服。这是虚荣心害了你。你有勇气爱上一个工人，却不爱工人阶级的理想。跟你分开，我是感到遗憾的，我希望你能给我留下美好的印象。”
他不再说下去了。
第二天，保尔在街上看见一张布告，下面的署名是省肃反委员会主席费奥多尔·朱赫来。他的心跳起来了。他去找这个老水兵，但是卫兵不让他进去。他软磨硬泡，弄得卫兵差点把他抓起来。费了好大劲，最后他总算见到了朱赫来。
他们两个人对这次会面都很高兴。朱赫来的一只胳膊已经给炮弹炸掉了。他们马上就把工作谈妥了。朱赫来说：“你既然不能上前线，就在这儿跟我一起搞肃反工作吧。明天你就来上班。”
同波兰白军的战争结束了。红军几乎已经打到华沙城下，只是因为远离后方基地，得不到人力和物力的补充，没能攻破波军的最后防线，就撤了回来。波兰人把红军的这次撤退叫做“维斯瓦河上的奇迹”。这样一来，地主老爷的白色波兰又存在下来了，建立波兰苏维埃社会主义共和国的理想暂时没有能够实现。
到处是血迹的国家需要休息一下。
保尔没有回家去探望亲人，因为舍佩托夫卡又被波兰白军占领了，目前正是双方战线分界的地方。和平谈判正在进行。保尔日日夜夜都在肃反委员会工作，执行各种任务。他就住在朱赫来的房间里。听说舍佩托夫卡被波兰人占领了，他发起愁来。
“怎么办呢，费奥多尔，要是就这么讲和了，我母亲不就划到外国去了吗？”
朱赫来安慰他说：“边界大概会沿哥伦河划分，舍佩托夫卡还在咱们这一边。咱们很快就会知道的。”
许多师团都从波兰前线调往南方。因为正当苏维埃共和国把全部力量集中在波兰前线的时候，弗兰格尔利用这个机会，从克里木半岛的巢穴里爬了出来，沿第聂伯河北上，逼近叶卡捷琳诺斯拉夫省。
现在同波兰的战争已经结束，国家就把军队调到克里木半岛去捣毁这个反革命的最后巢穴。
满载士兵、车辆、行军灶和大炮的军用列车，经过基辅向南开去。铁路肃反委员会的工作忙得不可开交。许多列车源源不断地开来，经常造成堵塞，各个车站都挤得水泄不通，往往因为腾不出线路而使整个交通中断。收报机不断收到最后通牒式的电报，命令给某某师让路。打满密码的小纸带没完没了地从收报机里爬出来，电文一律都是：“十万火急……”而且，几乎每封电报都警告说，违令者交革命军事法庭，依法制裁。
铁路肃反委员会就是负责处理这种“堵塞”的机构。
各个部队的指挥员都闯进来，挥动着手枪，要求根据司令员的某某号电令，立即发走他们的列车。
如果说这个办不到，他们连听都不愿意听，都说：“你豁出命来，也要先把我的车发走！”接着便是一场可怕的争吵。
遇到特别复杂的情况，就赶紧把朱赫来请来。于是，正吵得不可开交，眼看要开枪动武的双方，马上就平静下来。
朱赫来那钢铁般的身躯，沉着冷静的态度，强硬的不容反驳的语气，总能迫使他们把已经拔出来的手枪插回枪套里去。
保尔经常头疼得像针扎一样，但是还得到站台上去。肃反委员会的工作损害着他的神经。
有一天，保尔突然在一节装满弹药箱的敞车上，看见了谢廖沙·勃鲁扎克。谢廖沙从敞车上跳下来，扑到他身上，差一点把他撞倒。他紧紧抱住保尔，说：“保尔，你这鬼家伙！我一下就认出你来了。”
两个朋友都不知道问对方些什么，自己讲些什么才好。他们分别之后，经历过多少事情啊！他们相互问长问短，还没等对方回答，自己就又讲开了。他们连汽笛声都没有听到，直到车轮开始慢慢转动了，才把互相拥抱着的胳膊松开。
有什么办法呢？刚刚会面，又要分别了。火车在加速。谢廖沙怕误了车，最后向他的朋友喊了一句什么，就沿着站台跑去。一节加温车厢的门敞开着，他一把抓住门把手，马上有几只手拽住他，把他拉进了车厢。保尔站在那里目送着远去的列车，直到这时他才想起来，谢廖沙还不知道瓦莉亚已经牺牲的消息。谢廖沙一直没有回过故乡，而保尔又根本没有想到会同他见面，惊喜之下，竟忘了把这件事告诉他。
“他不知道也好，免得一路上难受。”保尔这样想。他万万没有想到，这竟是他们俩最后的一次会面。谢廖沙这时候正站在车顶上，用胸膛迎着秋风，他也没有想到，死神正在前面等着他。
“坐下吧，谢廖沙。”军大衣背上烧了个窟窿的红军战士多罗申科劝他说。
“没关系，我跟风是好朋友，吹一吹更痛快。”谢廖沙笑着回答。
一星期之后，第一次投入战斗，他就在秋天的乌克兰原野上牺牲了。
从远处飞来一颗流弹，打中了他。他哆嗦了一下，向前迈进一步，胸口火辣辣地疼痛。他没有喊叫，身子轻轻一晃，张开两臂又合抱起来，紧紧地捂住胸口，然后弯下腰，像要跳跃的样子，僵硬的身体一下子就摔倒在地上了。那双蓝色的眼睛一动不动地凝视着一望无际的原野。
肃反委员会的工作十分紧张，保尔本来就没有完全复原，现在健康状况又恶化了。受伤后留下的头疼病经常发作，有一次，他连熬了两个通宵，终于失去了知觉。
过后，他去找朱赫来。
“费奥多尔，我想调动一下工作，你看合适不？我很想到铁路工厂搞我的本行去。我总觉得这儿的工作我干不了。医务委员会跟我说，我不适合在部队工作，可是这儿的工作比前线还紧张。这两天肃清苏特里匪帮，简直把我累垮了。我得暂时摆脱这种动刀动枪的工作。费奥多尔，你知道，我现在连站都站不稳，哪能做好肃反工作呢？”
朱赫来关切地看了看他，说：“是啊，你的气色很难看，早就该解除你的工作了，都怪我照顾得不周到。”
这次谈话之后，保尔带着介绍信到团省委去了。介绍信上说，请团省委另行分配他的工作。
一个故意把鸭舌帽拉到鼻梁上的调皮小伙子，看了看介绍信，开心地向保尔挤了一下眼睛，说：“从肃反委员会来的吗？那可是个好地方。好吧，我们马上就给你找个工作。这儿正缺人呢。把你分配到哪儿去呢？省粮食委员会行吗？不去？那就算了。那么，码头上的宣传站去不去？也不去？哟，那你可就错了。那个地方多好啊，头等口粮。”
保尔打断他的话，说：“我想到铁路上去，给我分铁路工厂去吧。”
那个小伙子惊异地看了看他，说：“到铁路工厂去？这个……那儿可不需要人。这么办吧，你去找乌斯季诺维奇同志，让她给你找个地方吧。”
保尔同那个皮肤黝黑的姑娘乌斯季诺维奇谈了不一会儿，就谈妥了：他到铁路工厂去担任不脱产的共青团书记。
就在这个时候，在克里木的大门旁边，在这个半岛通往大陆的狭小的喉管上，也就是在从前克里木鞑靼人同扎波罗什哥萨克分界的那个地方，白匪军重建了一座碉堡林立、戒备森严的要塞——佩列科普。
注定要灭亡的旧世界的残渣余孽，从全国各地逃到克里木半岛来，他们自以为躲在佩列科普后面绝对安全，便整天沉湎在花天酒地之中。
在一个风雨交加的秋夜，数万名劳动人民的子弟兵，跳进了冰冷的湖水，涉渡锡瓦什湖，从背后去袭击龟缩在坚固工事里的敌人。带领他们的是英名盖世的卡托夫斯基和布柳赫尔同志。数万名战士跟随着两位将领无畏地前进，去砸烂最后一条毒蛇的头，这条蛇身子盘踞在克里木半岛，毒舌却伸到了琼加尔近旁。伊万·扎尔基就是这些子弟兵中的一个，他小心翼翼地把机枪顶在头上，在水中前进。
天刚蒙蒙亮，佩列科普像捅开的蜂窝一样乱成了一团，几千名红军战士，越过层层障碍物，从正面猛冲上去。与此同时，在白匪后方，涉渡锡瓦什湖的红军先头部队，也在利托夫斯基半岛登岸了。扎尔基就是最先爬上石岸的战士中的一个。
空前激烈的血战开始了。白军的骑兵像一群狂暴的野兽，向爬上岸的红军战士猛扑过来。扎尔基的机枪不停地喷射着死亡，成堆的敌人和马匹在密集的弹雨中倒了下去。扎尔基用飞快的速度一个接一个地换着子弹盘。
几百门大炮在佩列科普轰鸣着。大地似乎崩坍了，陷进了无底的深渊。成千颗炮弹发出刺耳的呼啸声，穿梭般地在空中飞来飞去，爆裂成无数碎片，向四周散布着死亡。大地被炸得开了花，泥土翻到半空中，团团黑色的烟尘遮住了太阳。
毒蛇的头终于被砸碎了。红色的怒潮涌进了克里木，骑兵第一集团军的各师冲进了克里木，在这最后一次的攻击中，他们杀得敌军失魂丧胆。惊慌失措的白卫军争先恐后地挤上汽船，向海外逃遁。
苏维埃共和国颁发了金质的红旗勋章。勋章佩戴在战士们褴褛的制服上，佩戴在心脏跳动的地方。机枪手、共青团员伊万·扎尔基也荣获了这种奖赏。
对波兰的和约签订了。正像朱赫来预料的那样，舍佩托夫卡仍然属于苏维埃乌克兰，分界线划在离这座小城三十五公里的一条河上。一九二○年十二月，在一个值得纪念的早晨，保尔乘火车回到了他熟悉的故乡。
他踏上铺着白雪的站台，瞥了一眼“舍佩托夫卡车站”的牌子，立刻拐向左边，朝机车库走去。他去找阿尔焦姆，但是阿尔焦姆不在。于是，他裹紧军大衣，快步穿过树林，朝城里走去。
玛丽亚·雅科夫列夫娜听到敲门声，转过身来，喊了一声“请进！”一个满身雪花的人走了进来。她立刻就认出了自己可爱的儿子。她两手捂住心口，高兴得连话都说不出来了。
她把自己瘦小的身体紧紧地贴在儿子的胸前，不停地吻着儿子的脸，流下了幸福的热泪。
保尔也紧紧地拥抱着母亲，看着她那因为忧愁和期待而消瘦了的、满是皱纹的脸。他一句话也没有说，等着她平静下来。
这位受尽苦难的女人，现在眼睛里又闪起了幸福的光芒。
在儿子回来以后的这些天里，她跟他谈多久也谈不完，看他多久也看不够，她真没有想到还能看到他。又过了两三天，阿尔焦姆半夜里也背着行军袋闯进了这间小屋。这时候，她喜上加喜，那股高兴劲就更没法说了。
柯察金家的小房子里，一家人又团聚了。兄弟俩经历过千辛万苦和严峻的考验，都平安地回来了……
“往后，你们俩打算怎么办呢？”玛丽亚·雅科夫列夫娜问。
“还是干我的钳工去，妈。”阿尔焦姆回答。
保尔呢，他在家里住了两个星期，又回到了基辅，因为那里的工作正在等着他。
共青团铁路区委员会调来一位新书记，他就是伊万·扎尔基。保尔是在书记办公室见到他的。首先映入眼帘的是他的勋章。对这次见面，保尔一开头说不上心头是什么滋味，内心深处多少有些妒忌。扎尔基是红军的英雄。正是他，乌曼战斗一打响，就以英勇善战、出色完成战斗任务而著称，是部队里数一数二的人物。如今扎尔基成了区委书记，恰好是他保尔的顶头上司。
扎尔基把保尔当作老朋友，友好地接待了他。保尔对一闪而过的妒意感到惭愧，也热情地同扎尔基打了招呼。
他们一起工作很顺手，成了大家都知道的知心朋友。在共青团省代表会议上，铁路区委有两个人当选为省委委员——保尔和扎尔基。保尔从工厂领到一小间住房，四个人搬了进来，除保尔外，还有扎尔基、厂团支部宣传鼓动员斯塔罗沃伊和团支部委员兹瓦宁，组成了一个公社。他们整天忙于工作，总要到深夜才回到家中。
党要实行新政策的消息传到了共青团省委，不过，起初只是一些零碎的、不成形的说法。过了几天，在第一次学习研讨政策提纲的会上出现了分歧。保尔不完全理解提纲的精神实质。他离开会场的时候心里沉甸甸的，想不通。他在铸造车间遇到杜达尔科夫，一个矮墩墩的工长，共产党员。杜达尔科夫脸朝亮光向保尔眨了眨白不呲咧的眼睛，叫住了他，说：“这到底是怎么回事？真的要让资本家东山再起？听说还要开商店，大做买卖。这倒好，打呀打呀，打到最后，一切照旧。”
保尔没有答理他，可心头的疑虑却越来越重了。
不知不觉中他站到了党的对立面，而一旦卷入反党活动，他便表现得十分激烈。他在共青团省委全会上的第一次发言激起了争论的巨浪。会场上马上形成了少数派和多数派。接下来是痛苦的日日夜夜。整个党组织、团组织，辩论争吵到了白热化的程度。保尔和他的同伙们的死硬立场在省委内造成了一种令人窒息的气氛。
共青团省委书记阿基姆身板结实，高额头，浑身充满活力，政治上也很成熟，他同丽达·乌斯季诺维奇一起找保尔和观点同他相同的人个别谈心，解决他们的问题，但是毫无结果。保尔开门见山，粗鲁而又直截了当地说：“你回答我，阿基姆，资产阶级又有了生存的权利。我弄不清那些高深的理论。我只知道一点：新经济政策是对我们事业的背叛。我们过去进行斗争，可不是为了这个目的，我们工人不同意这么做，要尽全力来反对这种做法。你们大概甘愿给资产阶级当奴才吧？那就悉听尊便。”
阿基姆火冒三丈。
“保尔，你脑子开开窍，你都说了些什么话？你是在侮辱整个党，诽谤党。你得的是狂热病，还固执己见，不想弄明白简单的道理。要是继续执行战时共产主义政策，我们就是葬送革命，就会给反革命分子以可乘之机，发动农民来反对我们。你不想理解这一点。既然你不打算用布尔什维克的方式来探讨解决问题，反而以斗争相威胁，那我们只好奉陪了。”
两个人分别的时候，已反目成仇。
在全区党员大会上，从中央跑来的工人反对派代表发表演说，遭到了多数与会者的痛斥，接着，保尔上台发言，以不可容忍的激烈言辞指责党背叛了革命事业。
第二天，团省委召开紧急全会，决定将保尔和另四名同志开除出省委会。保尔同扎尔基不说话，他们属于两个不同的营垒。保尔在团支部拥有多数，他们在支部会上狠狠整了扎尔基一顿。斗争深入了，结果保尔被开除出区委会，被撤销支部书记职务。此举引起轩然大波，有二十来个人交出团证，宣布退团。最后，保尔和他的同伴被开除出团。
保尔苦恼的日子从此开始了，这是他一生中最黯淡无光的日子。
扎尔基离开公社走了。脱离了生活常规的保尔心情压抑，站在车站的天桥上，无神的目光望着下面来来往往的机车和车辆，却什么都看不见。
有人拍了拍他的肩膀。这是一个叫奥列什尼科夫的共青团员，满脸雀斑和疙疸，善于钻营，又自命不凡。保尔过去就不喜欢他。他是砖瓦厂的团支部书记。
“怎么，把你给开除了？”他问，两只白不呲咧的眼睛在保尔脸上扫来扫去。
“是。”保尔简单地回答说。
“我多次说过，”奥列什尼科夫迫不及待地接上去。“你图个什么呢？遍地都是犹太佬，他们往哪儿都钻，到处都要他们发号施令。他们才巴不得修个商亭呢。上前线打仗是你的事，他们却稳稳当当坐在家里。现在反倒把你给开除了。”他不屑地冷笑了一声。
保尔用充满仇恨的目光瞧着他，预感到要出点乱子。他控制不住自己，劈手揪住奥列什尼科夫的胸脯，怒不可遏地晃来晃去，晃得他东倒西歪。
“你这个白卫分子的鬼魂，卑鄙的妓女，你扯什么淡？你是跟谁讲这些屁话，你这个骨子里的富农？混蛋，我们城里被白军枪毙的布尔什维克，一多半都是犹太工人，你知不知道？你呀，哼！你跟谁说话？你也是反对派一伙的？这帮混蛋都该枪毙。”
奥列什尼科夫挣脱出来，没命似的跑下阶梯。保尔恶狠狠地望着他的背影。“瞧，都是些什么人赞成我们的观点！”
歌剧院里挤满了人。人们一小股一小股从各个入口走进大厅和上面的楼层。全市党团组织的联席会议要在这里举行，对党内斗争进行总结。
剧院的休息室里，大厅的过道上，大家交谈的话题是今天有一批工人反对派的成员要回到党的队伍里来。前排坐着朱赫来、丽达和扎尔基，他们也在议论这个问题。丽达回答扎尔基说：“他们会回来的。朱赫来说，已经出现转机。省委决定，只要他们检讨了错误，愿意回来，我们欢迎所有的人归队，要创造一种同志式的气氛，并且打算在即将召开的省代表大会上吸收柯察金同志参加省委，以此表示党对归队同志的真诚是信任的。我现在很激动，期待着这一刻的到来。”
会议主席摇了好一会儿铃，会场静下来以后，他说：“刚才省党委做了报告，现在由共青团里反对派的代表发言。首先发言的是柯察金同志。”
后排站起一个人，身穿保护色军便服，快步从台阶跑上讲台。他仰起头，走到台口栏杆跟前，用手摸了摸前额，仿佛在回忆什么东西，又固执地晃了晃长着鬈发的脑袋，两只手牢牢扶住栏杆。
保尔看见剧场里人坐得满登登的，他觉得几千双眼睛都在注视着他，宽敞的大厅和五个楼层都静悄悄地在盼望着。
有几秒钟的工夫，他默默地站着，努力控制自己的情绪。
他太激动了，一时不知从何说起。
离讲台不远的前排，在丽达旁边的椅子上，坐着肃反委员会主席朱赫来。他的块头可真算得是庞然大物。他正用殷切的目光望着保尔，突然微微一笑，这笑容是严峻的，又包含着鼓励。这么一副魁伟的身板，上衣的一只袖子却空空如也，因为毫无用处而塞进了口袋里。看到这幅情景，真让人心里沉甸甸的。朱赫来上衣的左口袋上，有一枚四周深红色的椭圆形红旗勋章在闪亮。
保尔把目光从前排移开。大家都在等他，他总得开口。他以临战的姿态调动起全身的精力，响亮地对整个大厅说：“同志们！”他心里涌起了波涛，感到浑身热辣辣的，又似乎大厅里点亮了千百盏吊灯，光芒烧灼着他的身体。他那热烈的话语，犹如厮杀的喊声，在大厅里震荡。话语传到数千听众的耳朵里，他们也随之激动起来。这青春的、激越的、热情洋溢的声音迸发出众多火花，飞溅到圆形屋顶下面的最高楼层的最远位子上。
“我今天想讲一讲过去。你们期待着我，我要讲一讲。我知道，我的话会使有些人心神不宁，可这大概不能叫政治宣传，这是发自内心的声音，是我以及我现在代表的所有人的心声。我想讲讲我们的生活，讲讲那一把革命的烈火，它像巨大炉膛里的煤炭，把我们点燃，使我们燃烧。我们的国家靠这烈火生存，我们的共和国靠这烈火取得了胜利。我们靠这烈火，用我们的鲜血，击溃并消灭了敌人的乌合之众。我们年轻一代和你们一起，被这烈火席卷着，去经风雨，见世面，并且更新了大地。我们一道在我们伟大的、举世无双的、钢铁般的党的旗帜下进行了坚苦卓绝的战斗。两代人，父辈和子辈，一起战死在疆场。现在，两辈人又一起来到了这里。你们期待着我们，而我们作为你们的战友，竟制造动乱来反对自己的阶级，反对自己的党，破坏党的钢铁纪律，犯下了滔天罪行。你们是想得到答案吧？我们正是如此被党赶出自己的营垒，赶到人类生活的后方，赶到偏僻的荒漠去的。
“同志们，怎么会有这样的事——我们经过革命烈火的考验，却走到了背叛革命的边缘？这事怎么发生的呢？你们都清楚我们同你们——党内多数派斗争的经过。我们这些人，在共和国最艰难的岁月里，也没有掉过队，怎么倒发动了暴乱？这究竟是怎么一回事呢？
“我们过去所受的教育，只知道对资产阶级要怀有刻骨的仇恨，所以新经济政策一来，我们便认为是反革命。其实党向新经济政策的过渡，是无产阶级同资产阶级斗争的一种新形式，只是另一种形式，从另外的角度来进行斗争，可我们却把这种过渡看作是对阶级利益的背叛。而在老一辈布尔什维克近卫军中，有那么一些人，我们青年知道他们多年从事革命工作，我们曾跟随他们前进，认为他们是真正革命的布尔什维克，现在他们也起来反对党的决定，我们就更有恃无恐，执迷不悟。显然，单有热情，单有对革命的忠心是不够的，还要善于理解大规模斗争中极其复杂的策略和战略。并非任何时候正面进攻都是正确的，有时这样的进攻恰恰是对革命事业的背叛，应该这样认识问题，我们刚刚才弄明白这一点。我们的领袖列宁同志引导国家走上了一条新的道路，就连他的名字，他的教导，也没能使我们收敛一点，可见我们的头脑发昏到了什么程度。我们为花言巧语所蒙蔽，加入了工人反对派，自以为是在为真正的革命进行正义的斗争，在共青团里大肆活动，动员和纠集力量，反对党的路线。大家知道，经过激烈的较量之后，我们几个团省委委员被开除出省委。我们又把斗争的锋芒转移到各个区里。区委的斗争更为艰苦，但是也把我们击败了。于是我们又到各自的支部去占领阵地，并且把许多青年拉到我们这一边来。特别是我当书记的那个支部，拼命顽抗。末了，我们最后的几个据点也被粉碎了。
“是的，同志们，这些日子对我们来说是沉痛的。一方面，问题弄不明白，脑子晕头转向，经常浮现出这样的想法：你这是在跟谁斗？另一方面，又把矛头指向自己的党。这确实非常痛苦。两面受到夹击，搞这种党内斗争会有什么结果？我回想起一次谈话，内心非常羞愧。朱赫来同志大概记得这次谈话。有一次，他在街上遇见我，叫我上车，到他那儿去。我当时正被斗争冲昏头脑，对他说：‘既然有人出卖革命，我们就要斗，必要的时候，不惜拿起武器。’朱赫来回答得很简单：‘那我们就把你们当作反革命，抓起来枪毙。留神点，保尔，你已经站在最后一级台阶上。再跨出一步，你就到街垒那边去了。’说这话的，是我最亲爱的人，是我的启蒙老师，是以自己的英勇无畏和坚强性格博得我深深敬重的人，是我在肃反委员会工作时的老首长。我没有忘记他说的话。当我们这些死硬派被开除出组织的时候，我们每一个人都明白了，什么叫政治上的死亡，是的，是死亡。因为离开了党，我们没法生存下去。我们以工人的诚朴，公开并且直截了当地对党说：‘请还给我们生命。’我们又重新回到了党的队伍里。这几个月里，我们明白了我们的错误。离开了党就没有我们的生命。这一点，我们每个人都清楚。没有比做一个战士更大的幸福，没有比意识到你是革命军队中的一员更值得骄傲的。我们永远不会再离开无产阶级起义的行列。没有什么宝贵的东西不能献给党。一切的一切——生命、家庭、个人幸福，我们都要献给我们伟大的党。党也对我们敞开大门，我们又回到了你们中间，回到了我们强大的家庭里。我们将和你们一道重建满目疮痍的、血迹斑斑的、贫穷饥饿的国家，重建用我们朋友和同志的鲜血喂养起来的国家。而已经过去的事件，将成为对我们坚定性的最后一次考验。
“让生活长在，我们的双手将和千万双手一起，明天就开始修复我们被毁的家园。让生活长在，同志们！我们会重新建设一个世界！胸中有强大动力的人，难道会战败吗？我们一定胜利！”
保尔哽住了，他浑身颤抖，走下了讲台。大厅轻轻晃动了一下，爆发出震耳欲聋的掌声，仿佛房基塌陷，四围的墙壁向大厅倾倒下来。呼喊的声浪从圆形屋顶奔腾而下，千百只手在挥舞，整个大厅如同滚开的水锅在沸腾。
保尔看不清台阶，他向一个边门走去。血涌向头部。为了不跌倒，他抓住了侧面沉重的天鹅绒帷幕。一双手扶住了他，他感觉到被一个人紧紧搂住了。一个熟悉的声音面向着他悄声说：“保夫鲁沙，朋友，手伸给我，同志！我们牢固的友谊今后再也不会破裂了。”
保尔头疼得要命，差点要失去知觉，但是他仍然聚集起力量，回答扎尔基说：“我们还要一道生活，伊万。一道大踏步前进。”
他们的手紧握在一起，再也没有什么力量能把它们掰开。
使他们团结起来的不单单是友谊……
收听单词发音 |
1
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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8
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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scaly
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| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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14
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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15
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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16
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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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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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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engulfs
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的第三人称单数 ) | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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22
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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24
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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25
subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；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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26
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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27
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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28
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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29
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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34
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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35
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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36
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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37
dissuaded
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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40
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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41
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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42
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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43
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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44
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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45
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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46
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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47
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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48
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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49
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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50
iodine
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| n.碘，碘酒 | |
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51
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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52
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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53
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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54
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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56
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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57
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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58
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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59
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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60
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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61
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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62
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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64
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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66
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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67
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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68
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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69
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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70
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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71
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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72
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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73
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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74
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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75
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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76
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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77
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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78
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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79
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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80
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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81
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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82
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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83
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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84
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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85
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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86
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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87
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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88
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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89
bottlenecks
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| n.瓶颈( bottleneck的名词复数 )；瓶颈路段（常引起交通堵塞）；（尤指工商业发展的）瓶颈；阻碍 | |
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90
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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91
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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93
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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94
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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95
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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96
brooked
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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98
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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99
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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100
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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101
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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102
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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103
certifying
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| （尤指书面）证明( certify的现在分词 )； 发证书给…； 证明（某人）患有精神病； 颁发（或授予）专业合格证书 | |
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104
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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105
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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106
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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107
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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108
fortifying
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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109
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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110
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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111
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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112
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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113
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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114
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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116
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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117
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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118
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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119
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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120
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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121
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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122
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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123
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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124
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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125
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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126
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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127
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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128
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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129
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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130
careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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131
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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133
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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