The garden of the central poly clinic adjoined the grounds of the Central Committee Sanatorium.
The patients used it as a short cut on their way home from the beach. Pavel loved to rest here in the shade of a spreading plane tree which grew beside a high limestone1 wall. From this quiet nook he could watch the lively movement of the crowd strolling along the garden paths and listen to the music of the band in the evenings without being jostled by the gay throngs2 of the large health resort.
Today too he had sought his favourite retreat. Drowsy3 from the sunshine and the bath he had just taken, he stretched himself out luxuriously4 on the chaise-lounge and fell into a doze5. His bath towel and the book he was reading, Furmanov's Insurrection, lay on the chair beside him. His first days in the sanatorium had brought no relief to his nerves and his headaches continued. His ailment6 had so far baffled the sanatorium doctors, who were still trying to get to the root of the trouble. Pavel was sick of the perpetual examinations. They wearied him and he did his best to avoid his ward7 doctor, a pleasant woman with the curious name of Yerusalimchik, who had a difficult time hunting for her unwilling8 patient and persuading him to let her take him to some specialist or other.
"I'm tired of the whole business," Pavel would plead with her. "Five times a day I have to tell the same story and answer all sorts of silly questions: was your grandmother insane, or did your great-grandfather suffer with rheumatism9? How the devil should I know what he suffered from? I never saw him in my life! Every doctor tries to induce me to confess that I had gonorrhea or something worse, until I swear I'm ready to punch their bald heads. Give me a chance to rest, that's all I want.
If I'm going to let myself be diagnosed all the six weeks of my stay here I'll become a danger to society."
Yerusalimchik would laugh and joke with him, but a few minutes later she would take him gently by the arm and lead him to the surgeon, chattering10 volubly all the way.
But today there was no examination in the offing, and dinner was an hour away. Presently, through his doze, he heard steps approaching. He did not open his eyes.
"They'll think I'm asleep and go away," he thought. Vain hope! He heard the chair beside him creak as someone sat down.
A faint whiff of perfume told him it was a woman. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dazzling white dress and a pair of bronzed feet encased in soft leather slippers11, then a boyish bob, two enormous eyes, and a row of white teeth as sharp as a mouse's. She gave him a shy smile.
"I haven't disturbed you, I hope?"
Pavel made no reply, which was not very polite of him, but he still hoped that she would go.
"Is this your book?" She was turning the pages of Insurrection.
"It is."
There was a moment of silence.
"You're from the Kommunar Sanatorium, aren't you?"
Pavel stirred impatiently. Why couldn't she leave him in peace? Now she would start asking about his illness. He would have to go.
"No," he replied curtly12.
"I was sure I had seen you there."
Pavel was on the point of rising when a deep, pleasant woman's voice behind him said:
"Why, Dora, what are you doing here?''
A plump, sunburned, fair-haired girl in a beach costume seated herself on the edge of a chair. She glanced quickly at Korchagin.
"I've seen you somewhere, Comrade. You're from Kharkov, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Where do you work?"
Pavel decided13 to put an end to the conversation.
"In the garbage disposal department," he replied. The laugh this sally evoked14 made him jump.
"You're not very polite, are you, Comrade?"
That is how their friendship began. Dora Rodkina turned out to be a member of the Bureau of the Kharkov City Committee of the Party and later, when they came to know each other well, she often teased him about the amusing incident with which their acquaintance had started.
One afternoon at an open-air concert in the grounds of the Thalassa Sanatorium Pavel ran across his old friend Zharky. And curious to relate, it was a foxtrot that brought them together.
After the audience had been treated to a highly emotional rendering16 of Oh, Nights of Burning Passion by a buxom17 soprano, a couple sprang onto the stage. The man, half-naked but for a red top hat, some shiny spangles on his hips18, a dazzling white shirt front and bow tie, in feeble imitation of a savage19, and his doll-faced partner in voluminous skirts. To the accompaniment of a delighted buzz from the crowd of beefy-necked shopowners standing20 behind the armchairs and cots occupied by the sanatorium patients, the couple gyrated about the stage in the intricate figures of a foxtrot. A more revolting spectacle could scarcely be imagined. The fleshy man in his idiotic21 top hat, with his partner pressed tightly to him, writhed22 on the stage in suggestive poses. Pavel heard the stertorous23 breathing of some fat carcass at his back. He turned to go when someone in the front row got up and shouted:
"Enough of this brothel show! To hell with it!"
It was Zharky.
The pianist stopped playing and the violin subsided24 with a squeak25. The couple on the stage ceased writhing26. The crowd at the back set up a vicious hissing27.
"What impudence28 to interrupt a number!"
"All Europe is dancing foxtrot!"
"Outrageous31!"
But Seryozha Zhbanov, Secretary of the Cherepovets Komsomol organisation32 and one of the Kommunar patients, put four fingers into his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. Others followed his example and in an instant the couple vanished from the stage, as if swept off by a gust34 of wind. The obsequious35 compere36 who looked like nothing so much as an old-time flunkey, announced that the concert troupe37 was leaving.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" a lad in a sanatorium bathrobe shouted amid general laughter.
Pavel went over to the front rows and found Zharky. The two friends had a long chat in Pavel's room. Zharky told Pavel that he was working in the propaganda section of one of the Party's regional committees.
"You didn't know I was married, did you?" said Zharky. "I'm expecting a son or a daughter before long."
"Married, eh?" Pavel was surprised. "Who is your wife?"
Zharky took a photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Pavel.
"Recognise her?"
It was a photo of himself and Anna Borhart.
"What happened to Dubava?" Pavel asked in still greater surprise.
"He's in Moscow. He left the university after he was expelled from the Party. He's at the Bauman Technical Institute now. I hear he's been reinstated. Too bad, if it's true. He's rotten through and through. ... Guess what Pankratov is doing? He's assistant director of a shipyard. I don't know much about the others. We've lost touch lately. We all work in different parts of the country. But it's nice to get together occasionally and recall the old times."
Dora came in bringing several other people with her. She glanced at the decoration on Zharky's jacket and asked Pavel:
"Is your comrade a Party member? Where does he work?"
Puzzled, Pavel told her briefly38 about Zharky.
"Good," she said. "Then he can remain. These comrades have just come from Moscow. They are going to give us the latest Party news. We decided to come to your room and hold a sort of closed Party meeting," she explained.
With the exception of Pavel and Zharky all the newcomers were old Bolsheviks. Bartashev, a member of the Moscow Control Commission, told them about the new opposition39 headed by Trotsky, Zinoviev and Kamenev.
"At this critical moment we ought to be at our posts," Bartashev said in conclusion. "I am leaving tomorrow."
Three days after that meeting in Pavel's room the sanatorium was deserted40. Pavel too left shortly afterward41, before his time was up.
The Central Committee of the Komsomol did not detain him. He was given an appointment as Komsomol Secretary in one of the industrial regions, and within a week he was already addressing a meeting of the local town organisation.
Late that autumn the car in which Pavel was travelling with two other Party workers to one of the remote districts, skidded42 into a ditch and overturned.
All the occupants were injured. Pavel's right knee was crushed. A few days later he was taken to the surgical43 institute in Kharkov. After an examination and X-ray of the injured limb the medical commission advised an immediate44 operation.
Pavel gave his consent.
"Tomorrow morning then," said the stout45 professor, who headed the commission. He got up and the others filed out after him.
A small bright ward with a single cot. Spotless cleanliness and the peculiar46 hospital smell he had long since forgotten. He glanced about him. Beside the cot stood a small table covered with a snow-white cloth and a white-painted stool. And that was all.
The nurse brought in his supper. Pavel sent it back. Half-sitting in his bed, he was writing letters.
The pain in his knee interfered47 with his thoughts and robbed him of his appetite.
When the fourth letter had been written the door opened softly and a young woman in a white smock and cap came over to his bed.
In the twilight48 he made out a pair of arched eyebrows50 and large eyes that seemed black. In one hand she held a portfolio51, in the other, a sheet of paper and a pencil.
"I am your ward doctor," she said. "Now I am going to ask you a lot of questions and you will have to tell me all about yourself, whether you like it or not."
She smiled pleasantly and her smile took the edge off her "cross-examination". Pavel spent the better part of an hour telling her not only about himself but about all his relatives several generations back.
... The operating theatre. People with gauze masks over noses and mouths. Shining nickel instruments, a long narrow table with a huge basin beneath it.
The professor was still washing his hands when Pavel lay down on the operating table. Behind him swift preparations were being made for the operation. He turned his head. The nurse was laying out pincets and lancets.
"Don't look, Comrade Korchagin," said Bazhanova, his ward doctor, who was unbandaging his leg. "It is bad for the nerves."
"For whose nerves, doctor?" Pavel asked with a mocking smile.
A few minutes later a heavy mask covered his face and he heard the professor's voice saying:
"We are going to give you an anaesthetic. Now breathe in deeply through your nose and begin counting."
"Very well," a calm voice muffled52 by the mask replied. "I apologise in advance for any unprintable remarks I am liable to make."
The professor could not suppress a smile.
The first drops of ether. The suffocating53 loathsome54 smell.
Pavel took a deep breath and making an effort to speak distinctly began counting. The curtain had risen on the first act of his tragedy.
Artem tore open the envelope and trembling inwardly unfolded the letter. His eyes bored into the first few lines, then ran quickly over the rest of the page.
"Artem! We write to each other so seldom, once, or at best twice a year! But is it quantity that matters? You write that you and your family have moved from Shepetovka to Kazatin railway yards because you wished to tear up your roots. I know that those roots lie in the backward, petty-proprietor psychology55 of Styosha and her relatives. It is hard to remake people of Styosha's type,and I am very much afraid you will not succeed. You say you are finding it hard to study 'in your old age', yet you seem to be doing not so badly. You are wrong in your stubborn refusal to leave the factory and take up work as Chairman of the Town Soviet56. You fought for the Soviet power,didn't you? Then take it! Take over the Town Soviet tomorrow and get to work!
"Now about myself. Something is seriously wrong with me. I have become a far too frequentinmate in hospitals. They have cut me up twice. I have lost quite a bit of blood and strength, but nobody can tell me yet when it will all end.
"I am no longer fit for work. I have acquired a new profession, that of 'invalid57'. I am enduring much pain, and the net result of all this is loss of movement in the joint58 of my right knee, several scars in various parts of my body, and now the latest medical discovery: seven years ago I injured my spine59 and now I am told that this injury may cost me dearly. But I am ready to endure anything so long as I can return to the ranks.
"There is nothing more terrible to me in life than to fall out of the ranks. That is a possibility I refuse to contemplate60. And that is why I let them do anything they like with me. But there is no improvement and the clouds grow darker and thicker all the time. After the first operation I returned to work as soon as I could walk, but before long they brought me back again. Now I am being sent to a sanatorium in Yevpatoria. I leave tomorrow. But don't be downhearted, Artem, you know I don't give in easily. I have life enough in me for three. You and I will do some good work yet, brother. Now take care of your health, don't try to overtax your strength, because health repairs cost the Party far too much. All the experience we gain in work, and the knowledge we acquire by study is far too precious to be wasted in hospitals. I shake your hand.
"Pavel."
While Artem, his heavy brows knitted, was reading his brother's letter, Pavel was taking leave of Dr. Bazhanova in the hospital.
"So you are leaving for the Crimea tomorrow?" she said as she gave him her hand. "How are you going to spend the rest of the day?"
"Comrade Rodkina is coming here soon," Pavel replied. "She is taking me to her place to meet her family. I shall spend the night there and tomorrow she will take me to the station."
Bazhanova knew Dora for she had often visited Pavel in the hospital.
"But, Comrade Korchagin, have you forgotten your promise to let my father see you before you go? I have given him a detailed61 account of your illness and I should like him to examine you.
Perhaps you could manage it this evening."
Pavel agreed at once.
That evening Bazhanova showed Pavel into her father's spacious62 office.
The famous surgeon gave Pavel a careful examination. His daughter had brought all the X-ray pictures and analyses from the clinic. Pavel could not help noticing how pale she turned when her father made some lengthy63 remark in Latin. Pavel stared at the professor's large bald head bent64 over him and searched his keen eyes, but Bazhanov's expression was inscrutable.
When Pavel had dressed, the professor took leave of him cordially, explaining that he was due at a conference, and left his daughter to inform Pavel of the result of his examination.
Pavel lay on the couch in Bazhanova's tastefully furnished room waiting for the doctor to speak. But she did not know how to begin. She could not bring herself to repeat what her father had told her — that medicine was so far unable to check the disastrous65 inflammatory process at work in Pavel's organism. The professor had been opposed to an operation. "This young man is fated to lose the use of his limbs and we are powerless to avert66 the tragedy."
She did not consider it wise either as doctor or friend to tell him the whole truth and so in carefully chosen words she told him only part of the truth.
"I am certain, Comrade Korchagin, that the Yevpatoria mud will put you right and that by autumn you will be able to return to work."
But she had forgotten that his sharp eye had been watching her all the time.
"From what you say, or rather from what you have not said, I see that the situation is grave.
Remember I asked you always to be perfectly67 frank with me. You need not hide anything from me, I shan't faint or try to cut my throat. But I very much want to know what is in store for me."
Bazhanova evaded68 a direct answer by making some cheerful remark and Pavel did not learn the truth about his future that night.
"Do not forget that I am your friend, Comrade Korchagin," the doctor said softly in parting. "Who knows what life has in store for you. If ever you need my help or my advice please write to me. I shall do everything in my power to help you."
Through the window she watched the tall leather-clad figure, leaning heavily on a stick, move painfully from the door to the waiting cab.
Yevpatoria again. The hot southern sun. Noisy sunburned people in embroidered69 skullcaps. A ten-minute drive brought the new arrivals to a two-storey grey limestone building — the Mainak Sanatorium.
The doctor on duty, learning that Pavel's accommodation had been reserved by the Central Committee of the Ukrainian Communist Party, took him up to room No. 11.
"I shall put you in with Comrade Ebner. He is a German and he has asked for a Russian roommate," he explained as he knocked at the door. A voice with a heavy German accent sounded from within. "Come in."
Pavel put down his travelling bag and turned to the fair-haired man with the lively blue eyes who was lying on the bed. The German met him with a warm smile.
"Guten Morgen, Genosse. I mean, good day," he corrected himself, stretching a pale, long-fingered hand to Pavel.
A few moments later Pavel was sitting by his bed and the two were engrossed70 in a lively conversation in that "international language" in which words play a minor71 role, and imagination,gestures and mimicry72, all the media of the unwritten Esperanto, fill in the gaps.
Pavel learned that Ebner was a German worker who had been wounded in the hip15 during the Hamburg uprising of 1923. The old wound had re-opened and he was confined to his bed. But hebore his sufferings cheerfully and that won Pavel's respect for him at once.
Pavel could not have wished for a better room-mate. This one would not talk about his ailments73 from morning till night and bemoan74 his lot. On the contrary, with him one could forget one's own troubles.
"Too bad I don't know any German, though," Pavel thought ruefully.
In a corner of the sanatorium grounds stood several rocking-chairs, a bamboo table and two bath-chairs. It was here that the five patients whom the others referred to as the "Executive of the Comintern" were in the habit of spending their time after the day's medical treatments were over.
Ebner half reclined in one of the bath-chairs. Pavel, who had also been forbidden to walk, in the other. The three other members of the group were Weiman, a thickset Estonian, who worked at a Republican Commissariat of Trade, Marta Laurin, a young, brown-eyed Lettish woman wholooked like a girl of eighteen, and Ledenev, a tall, powerfully-built Siberian with greying temples.
This small group indeed represented five different nationalities — German, Estonian, Lettish,Russian and Ukrainian. Marta and Weiman spoke75 German and Ebner used them as interpreters.
Pavel and Ebner were friends because they shared the same room; Marta, Weiman and Ebner, because they shared a common language. The bond between Ledenev and Korchagin was chess.
Before Ledenev arrived, Korchagin had been the sanatorium chess "champion". He had won the title from Weiman after a stiff struggle. The phlegmatic76 Estonian had been somewhat shaken by his defeat and for a long time he could not forgive Korchagin for having worsted him. But one day a tall man, looking remarkably77 young for his fifty years, turned up at the sanatorium and suggested a game of chess with Korchagin. Pavel, having no inkling of danger, calmly began with a Queen's Gambit, which Ledenev countered by advancing his central pawns78. As "champion", Pavel was obliged to play all new arrivals, and there was always a knot of interested spectators around the board. After the ninth move Pavel realised that his opponent was cramping79 him by steadily80 advancing his pawns. Pavel saw now that he had a dangerous opponent and began to regret that he had treated the game so lightly at the start.
After a three-hour struggle during which Pavel exerted all his skill and ingenuity81 he was obliged to give up. He foresaw his defeat long before any of the onlookers82. He glanced up at his opponent and saw Ledenev looking at him with a kindly83 smile. It was clear that he too saw how the game would end. The Estonian, who was following the game tensely and making no secret of his desire to see Korchagin defeated, was still unaware84 of what was happening.
"I always hold out to my last pawn," Pavel said, and Ledenev nodded approvingly.
Pavel played ten games with Ledenev in five days, losing seven, winning two and drawing one.
Weiman was jubilant.
"Thank you, Comrade Ledenev, thank you! That was a wonderful thrashing you gave him! He deserved it! He knocked out all of us old chess players and now he's been paid back by an old man himself. Ha! Ha!"
"How does it feel to be the loser, eh?" he teased the now vanquished85 victor.
Pavel lost the title of "champion" but won in Ledenev a friend who was later to become very precious to him. He saw now that his defeat on the chessboard was only to have been expected. His knowledge of chess strategy had been purely86 superficial and he had lost to an expert who knew all the secrets of the game.
Korchagin and Ledenev found that they had one important date in common: Pavel was born the year Ledenev joined the Party. Both were typical representatives of the young and old guard of Bolsheviks. The one had behind him a long life of intensive political activity, years of work in the underground movement and tsarist imprisonment87, followed by important government work; the other had his flaming youth and only eight years of struggle, but years that could have burnt up more than one life. And both of them, the old man and the young, were avid88 of life and broken in health.
In the evenings the room shared by Ebner and Korchagin became a sort of club. All the political news emanated89 from here. The room rang with laughter and talk. Weiman usually tried to insert a bawdy90 anecdote91 into the conversation but invariably found himself attacked from two sides, by Marta and Korchagin. As a rule Marta was able to restrain him by some sharp sarcastic92 remark, but when this did not help Korchagin would intervene.
"Your particular brand of 'humour' is not exactly to our taste, you know, Weiman," Marta would say.
"I can't understand how you can stoop to that sort of thing," Korchagin would begin.
Weiman would stick out his thick underlip and survey the gathering93 with a mocking glint in his small eyes.
"We shall have to set up a department of morals under the Political Enlightenment Department and recommend Korchagin as chief inspector94. I can understand why Marta objects, she is the professional feminine opposition, but Korchagin is just trying to pose as a young innocent, a sort of Komsomol babe-in-arms. . . . What's more, I object to the egg trying to teach the hen."
After one heated debate on the question of communist ethics95, the matter of obscene jokes was discussed from the standpoint of principle. Marta translated to Ebner the various views expressed.
"Die erotische Anekdote" he said, "is no good. I agree with Pavel."
Weiman was obliged to retreat. He laughed the matter off as best he could, but told no more smutty stories.
Pavel had taken Marta for a Komsomol member, judging her to be no more than nineteen. He was much surprised when he learned that she had been in the Party since 1917, that she was thirty-one and an active member of the Latvian Communist Party. In 1918 the Whites had sentenced her to be shot, but she had eventually been turned over to the Soviet Government along with some other comrades in an exchange of prisoners. She was now working on the editorial staff of the Pravda and taking a university course at the same time.
Before Pavel was aware of it, a friendship sprang up between them, and the little Lettish woman who often dropped in to see Ebner, became an inseparable member of the "five". Eglit, a Latvian underground worker, liked to tease her on this score. "What about poor Ozol pining away at home in Moscow? Oh Marta, how can you?"
Every morning, just before the bell to rise sounded, a lusty cockcrow would ring out over the sanatorium. The puzzled attendants would run hither and thither96 in search of the errant bird. It never occurred to them that Ebner, who could give a perfect imitation of a cockcrow, was having a little joke at their expense. Ebner enjoyed himself immensely.
Toward the end of his month's stay in the sanatorium Pavel's condition took a turn for the worse.
The doctors ordered him to bed. Ebner was much upset. He had grown very fond of this courageous97 young Bolshevik, so full of life and energy, who had lost his health so early in life.
And when Marta told him of the tragic98 future the doctors predicted for Korchagin, Ebner was deeply distressed99.
Pavel was confined to his bed for the remainder of his stay in the sanatorium. He managed to hide his suffering from those around him, and Marta alone guessed by his ghastly pallor that he must be in pain. A week before his departure Pavel received a letter from the Ukrainian Central Committee informing him that his leave had been prolonged for two months on the advice of the sanatorium doctors who declared him unfit for work. Money to cover his expenses arrived along with the letter.
Pavel took this first blow as years before during his boxing lessons he had taken Zhukhrai's punches. Then too he had fallen only to rise again at once.
A letter came from his mother asking him to go and see an old friend of hers, Albina Kyutsam, who lived in a small port town not far from Yevpatoria. Pavel's mother had not seen her friend for fifteen years and she begged him to pay her a visit while he was in the Crimea. This letter was to play an important role in Pavel's life.
A week later his sanatorium friends gave him a warm send-off at the pier33. Ebner embraced him and kissed him like a brother. Marta was away at the time and Pavel left without saying good-bye to her.
The next morning the horse cab which brought Pavel from the pier drove up to a little house fronted by a small garden.
The Kyutsam family consisted of five people: Albina the mother, a plump elderly woman with dark, mournful eyes and traces of beauty on her aging face, her two daughters, Lola and Taya, Lola's little son, and old Kyutsam, the head of the house, a burly, unpleasant old man resembling a boar.
Old Kyutsam worked in a co-operative store. Taya, the younger girl, did any odd job that came along, and Lola, who had been a typist, had recently separated from her husband, a drunkard and a bully100, and now stayed at home to look after her little boy and help her mother with the housework.
Besides the two daughters, there was a son named George, who was away in Leningrad at the time of Pavel's arrival.
The family gave Pavel a warm welcome. Only the old man eyed the visitor with hostility101 and suspicion.
Pavel patiently told Albina all the family news, and in his turn learned a good deal about the life of the Kyutsams.
Lola was twenty-two. A simple girl, with bobbed brown hair and a broad-featured, open face, she at once took Pavel into her confidence and initiated102 him into all the family secrets. She told him that the old man ruled the whole family with a despotic hand, suppressing the slightest manifestation103 of independence on the part of the others. Narrow-minded, bigoted104 and captious105, he kept the family in a permanent state of terror. This had earned him the deep dislike of his children and the hatred106 of his wife who had fought vainly against his despotism for twenty-five years. The girls always took their mother's side. These incessant107 family quarrels were poisoning their lives.
Days passed in endless bickering108 and strife109.
Another source of family trouble, Lola told Pavel, was her brother George, a typical good-fornothing, boastful, arrogant110, caring for nothing but good food, strong drink and smart clothes.
When he finished school, George, who had been his mother's favourite, announced that he was going to the university and demanded money for the trip.
"Lola can sell her ring and you've got some things you can raise money on too. I need the money and I don't care how you get it."
George knew very well that his mother would refuse him nothing and he shamelessly took advantage of her affection for him. He looked down on his sisters. The mother sent her son all the money she could wheedle111 out of her husband, and whatever Taya earned besides. In the meantime George, having flunked112 the entrance examinations, had a pleasant time in Leningrad staying with his uncle and terrorising his mother by frequent telegraphic demands for more money.
Pavel did not meet Taya until late in the evening of his arrival. Her mother hurried out to meet her in the hallway and Pavel heard her whispering the news of his coming. The girl shook hands shyly with the strange young man, blushing to the tips of her small ears, and Pavel held her strong, calloused113 little hand for a few moments before releasing it.
Taya was in her nineteenth year. She was not beautiful, yet with her large brown eyes, and her slanting114, Mongolian brows, fine nose and full fresh lips she was very attractive. Her firm young breasts stood out under her striped blouse.
The sisters had two tiny rooms to themselves. In Taya's room there was a narrow iron cot, a chest of drawers covered with knick-knacks, a small mirror, and dozens of photographs and postcards on the walls. On the windowsill stood two flower pots with scarlet115 geraniums and pale pink asters.
The lace curtain was caught up by a pale blue ribbon.
"Taya does not usually admit members of the male sex to her room. She is making an exception for you," Lola teased her sister.
The next evening the family was seated at tea in the old couple's half of the house. Kyutsam stirred his tea busily, casting hostile glances over his spectacles at the visitor."I don't think much of the marriage laws nowadays," he said. "Married one day, unmarried the next. Just as you please. Complete freedom."
The old man choked and spluttered. When he recovered his breath he pointed116 to Lola.
"Look at her, she and that fine fellow of hers got married without asking anyone's permission and separated the same way. And now it's me who's got to feed her and her brat117. An outrage30 I call it!" Lola blushed painfully and hid her tear-filled eyes from Pavel.
"So you think she ought to live with that scoundrel?" Pavel asked, his eyes flashing.
"She should have known whom she was marrying."
Albina intervened. Barely repressing her wrath118, she said quickly: "Why must you discuss such things before a stranger? Can't you find anything else to talk about?"
The old man turned and pounced119 on her:
"I know what I'm talking about! Since when have you begun to tell me what to do!"
That night Pavel lay awake for a long time thinking about the Kyutsams. Brought here by chance,he had unwittingly become a participant in this family drama. He wondered how he could help the mother and daughters to free themselves from this bondage120. His own life was far from settled,many problems remained to be solved and it was harder than ever before to take resolute121 action.
There was clearly but one way out: the family had to break up, the mother and daughters must leave the old man. But this was not so simple. Pavel was in no position to undertake this family revolution, for he was due to leave in a few days and he might never see these people again. Was it not better to let things take their course instead of trying to stir these turbid122 backwaters? But the repulsive123 image of the old man gave him no rest. Several plans occurred to Pavel but on second thoughts he discarded them all as impracticable.
The next day was Sunday and when Pavel returned from a walk in town he found Taya alone at home. The others were out visiting relatives.
Pavel went to her room and dropped wearily onto a chair.
"Why don't you ever go out and enjoy yourself?" he asked her.
"I don't want to go anywhere," she replied in a low voice.
He remembered the plans he had thought of during the night and decided to put them before her.
Speaking quickly so as to finish before the others returned, he went straight to the point.
"Listen, Taya, you and I are good friends. Why should we stand on ceremony with each other? I am going away soon. It is a pity that I should have come to know your family just at the time when I myself am in trouble, otherwise things might have turned out differently. If this happened ayear ago we could all leave here together.
There is plenty of work everywhere for people like you and Lola. It's useless to expect the old man to change. The only way out is for you to leave home.
But that is impossible at present. I don't know yet what is going to happen to me. I am going to insist on being sent back to work. The doctors have written all sorts of nonsense about me and the comrades are trying to make me cure myself endlessly. But we'll see about that.... I shall write to mother and get her advice about your trouble here. I can't let things go on this way. But you must realise, Taya, that this will mean wrenching124 yourself loose from your present life. Would you want that, and would you have the strength to go through with it?"
Taya looked up.
-"I do want it," she said softly. "As for the strength, I don't know."
Pavel could understand her uncertainty125.
"Never mind, Taya! So long as the desire is there everything will be all right. Tell me, are you very much attached to your family?"
Taya hesitated for a moment.
"I am very sorry for mother," she said at last. "Father has made her life miserable126 and now George is torturing her. I'm terribly sorry for her, although she never loved me as much as she does George...."
" They had a long heart to heart talk. Shortly before the rest of the family returned, Pavel remarked jokingly:
"It's surprising the old man hasn't married you off to someone by now."
Taya threw up her hands in horror at the thought.
"Oh no, I'll never marry. I've seen what poor Lola has been through. I shan't get married for anything."
Pavel laughed.
"So you've settled the matter for the rest of your life? And what if some fine, handsome young fellow comes along, what then?"
"No, I won't. They're all fine while they're courting."
Pavel laid his hand conciliatingly on her shoulder.
"That's all right, Taya. You can get along quite well without a husband. But you needn't be so hard on the young men. It's a good thing you don't suspect me of trying to court you, or there'd be trouble," and he patted her arm in brotherly fashion.
"Men like you marry girls of a different sort," she said softly.
A few days later Pavel left for Kharkov. Taya, Lola and Albina with her sister Rosa came to the station to see him off. Albina made him promise not to forget her daughters and to help them all to find some way out of their plight127. They took leave of him as of someone near and dear to them, and there were tears in Taya's eyes.
From the window of his carriage Pavel watched Lola's white kerchief and Taya's striped blouse grow smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared.
In Kharkov he put up at his friend Petya Novikov's place, for he did not want to disturb Dora. As soon as he had rested from the journey he went to the Central Committee. There he waited for Akim, and when at last the two were alone, he asked to be sent at once to work. Akim shook his head.
"Can't be done, Pavel! We have the decision of the Medical Commission and the Central Committee says your condition is serious. You're to be sent to the Neu-ropathological Institute for treatment and not to be permitted to work."
"What do I care what they say, Akim! I am appealing to you. Give me a chance to work! This moving about from one hospital to another is killing128 me."
Akim tried to refuse. "We can't go against the decision. Don't you see it's for your own good, Pavel?" he argued. But Pavel pleaded his cause so fervently129 that Akim finally gave in.
The very next day Pavel was working in the Special Department of the Central Committee Secretariat. He believed that he had only to begin working for his lost strength to return to him.
But he soon saw that he had been mistaken. He sat at his desk for eight hours at a stretch without pausing for lunch simply because the effort of going down three flights of stairs to the canteen across the way was too much for him. Very often his hand or his leg would suddenly go numb29, and at times his whole body would be paralysed for a few moments. He was nearly always feverish130. On some mornings he found himself unable to rise from his bed, and by the time the attack passed, he realised in despair that he would be a whole hour late for work. Finally the day came when he was officially reprimanded for reporting late for work and he saw that this was the beginning of what he dreaded131 most in life — he was falling out of the ranks.
Twice Akim helped him by shifting him to other work, but the inevitable132 happened. A month after his return to work he was confined to his bed again. It was then that he remembered Bazhanova's parting words. He wrote to her and she came the same day. She told him what he had wanted to know: that hospitalisation was not imperative133.
"So I don't need any more treatment? That's fine!" he said cheerfully, but the joke fell flat. As soon as he felt a little stronger he went back to the Central
Committee. This time Akim was adamant134. He insisted on Pavel's going to the hospital.
"I'm not going," Pavel said wearily. "It's useless. I have it on excellent authority. There is only one thing left for me — to retire on pension. But that I shall
never do! You can't make me give up my work. I am only twenty-four and I'm not going to be a labour invalid for the rest of my life, moving from hospital to hospital, knowing that it won't do me any good. You must give me something to do, some work suitable to my condition. I can work at home, or I can live in the office. Only don't give me any paper work. I've got to have work that will give me the satisfaction of knowing that I can still be useful."
Pavel's voice, vibrant135 with emotion, rose higher and higher.
Akim felt keenly for Pavel. He knew what a tragedy it was for this passionate-hearted youth, who had given the whole of his short life to the Party, to be torn from the ranks and doomed136 to a life far from the battlefront. He resolved to do all he could to help him.
"All right, Pavel, calm yourself. There will be a meeting of the Secretariat tomorrow and I'll put your case before the comrades. I promise to do all I can."
Pavel rose heavily and seized Akim's hand.
"Do you really think, Akim, that life can drive me into a corner and crush me? So long as my heart beats here" — and he pressed Akim's hand to his chest so that he could feel the dull pounding of his heart — "so long as it beats, no one will be able to tear me away from the Party. Death alone can put me out of the ranks. Remember that, my friend."
Akim said nothing. He knew that this was not an empty phrase. It was the cry of a soldier mortally wounded in battle. He knew that men like Korchagin could not speak or feel otherwise.
Two days later Akim told Pavel that he was to be given an opportunity to work on the staff of a big newspaper, provided, of course, it was found that he could be used for literary work. Pavel was courteously137 received at the editorial office and was interviewed by the assistant editor, an old Party worker, and member of the Presidium of the Central Control Committee of the Ukraine.
"What education have you had, Comrade?" she asked him.
"Three years of elementary school."
"Have you been to any of the Party political schools?"
"No."
"Well, one can be a good journalist without all that. Comrade Akim has told us about you. We can give you work to do at home, and in general, we are prepared to provide you with suitable conditions for work. True, work of this kind requires considerable knowledge. Particularly in the sphere of literature and language."
This was by no means encouraging. The half-hour interview showed Pavel that his knowledge was inadequate138, and the trial article he wrote was returned to him with some three dozen stylistic and spelling mistakes marked in red pencil.
"You have considerable ability, Comrade Korchagin," said the editor, "and with some hard work you might learn to write quite well. But at the present time your grammar is faulty. Your article shows that you do not know the Russian language well enough. That is not surprising considering that you have had no time to learn it.
Unfortunately we can't use you, although as I said before, you have ability. If your article were edited, without altering the contents, it would be excellent.
But, you see, we haven't enough editors as it is."
Korchagin rose, leaning heavily on his stick. His right eyebrow49 twitched139.
"Yes, I see your point. What sort of a journalist would I make? I was a good stoker once, and not a bad electrician. I rode a horse well, and I knew how to stir up the Komsomol youth, but I can see I would cut a sorry figure on your front."
He shook hands and left.
At a turning in the corridor he stumbled and would have fallen had he not been caught by a woman who happened to be passing by.
"What's the matter, Comrade? You look quite ill!"
It took Pavel several seconds to recover. Then he gently released himself and walked on, leaning heavily on his stick.
From that day Pavel felt that his life was on the decline. Work was now out of the question. More and more often he was confined to his bed. The Central Committee released him from work and arranged for his pension. In due time the pension came together with the certificate of a labour invalid. The Central Committee gave him money and issued him his papers, giving him the right to go wherever he wished.
He received a letter from Marta inviting140 him to come to visit her in Moscow and have a rest. Pavel had intended going to Moscow in any case, for he cherished the dim hope that the All-union Central Committee would help him to find work that would not require moving around. But in Moscow too he was advised to take medical treatment and offered accommodation in a good hospital. He refused.
The nineteen days spent in the flat Marta shared with her friend Nadya Peterson flew quickly by.
Pavel was left a great deal to himself, for the two young women left the house in the morning for work and did not return till evening. Pavel spent his time reading books from Marta's well-stocked library. The evenings passed pleasantly in the company of the girls and their friends.
Letters came from the Kyutsams inviting him to come and visit them. Life there was becoming unendurable and his help was wanted.
And so one morning Korchagin left the quiet little flat on Gusyatnikov Street. The train bore him swiftly south to the sea, away from the damp rainy autumn to the warm shores of the southern Crimea. He sat at the window watching the telegraph poles fly past. His brows were knit and there was an obstinate141 gleam in his dark eyes.
中央委员会“公社战士”疗养院的旁边，是中心医院的大花园。疗养院的人从海滨回来，都从这座花园经过。花园的一堵灰色石头砌的高墙附近，长着枝叶茂盛的法国梧桐，保尔喜欢在这里的树荫下休息。这个地方很少有人来。从这里可以观看花园林荫道和小径上络绎不绝的行人；晚上，又可以远远避开大疗养区恼人的喧闹，在这里静听音乐。
今天，保尔又躲到这个角落里来了。他舒适地在一张藤摇椅上躺下，海水浴和日光浴使他疲乏了，他打起瞌睡来。一条厚毛巾和一本没有看完的富尔曼诺夫的小说《叛乱》，放在旁边的摇椅上。到疗养院的最初几天，他仍然处在神经过敏的紧张状态中，头疼的症状始终没有消失。教授们一直在研究他那复杂而罕见的病情。一次又一次的叩诊、听诊，使他感到又腻烦，又疲劳。责任医生是一个大家都愿意接近的女党员，姓耶路撒冷奇克，这个姓很怪。她总要费很大劲，才能找到她的这个病人，然后又耐着性子劝他一起去找这位专家或者那位专家。
“说实在的，这一套真叫我烦透了。”保尔说。“同样的问题，一天得回答他们五遍。什么您的祖母是不是疯子啊，什么您的曾祖父得没得过风湿病啊，鬼才知道他得过什么病，我压根儿就没见过他。而且，他们每个人都想叫我承认得过淋病，或者别的什么更糟糕的病。老实说，为了这个我真想敲敲他们的秃脑袋。还是让我休息一会儿吧！要是这一个半月老这么把我研究来研究去，我就要变成一个社会危害分子了。”
耶路撒冷奇克总是笑着，用玩笑回答他，过不了几分钟，她已经挽着他的胳膊，一路上说着有趣的事，把他领到外科医生那里去了。
今天看样子不会检查了。离吃午饭还有一个小时。保尔在矇眬的睡意中听到了脚步声。他没有睁开眼睛，心想：“也许以为我睡着了，就会走开的。”但是，希望落空了，摇椅嘎吱响了一声，有人坐了下来。飘过来一股清淡的香气，说明坐在旁边的是个女人。保尔睁开眼睛。首先映入他眼帘的是耀眼的白色连衣裙，两条晒得黝黑的腿和两只穿着羊皮便鞋的脚，然后是留着男孩发式的头，两只大眼睛，一排细小的牙齿。她不好意思地笑了笑，说：“对不起，我大概打搅您了吧？”
保尔没有做声。这可有点不礼貌，不过他还是希望这个女人会走开。
“这是您的书吗？”
她翻弄着《叛乱》。
“是我的……”
又是一阵沉默。
“同志，请问您是‘公社战士’疗养院的吗？”
保尔不耐烦地扭了一下。“打哪儿冒出来这么个人？这算什么休息？说不定马上还要问我得的是什么病呢。算了，我还是走吧。”于是他生硬地回答：“不是。”
“可我好像在哪儿见过您。”
保尔已经抬起身子，背后忽然传来一个女人的响亮的声音。
“你怎么钻到这儿来了，朵拉？”
一个晒得黝黑、体态丰满的金发女人，穿着疗养院的浴衣，在摇椅边上坐了下来。她瞥了保尔一眼。
“同志，我好像在哪儿见过您。您是不是在哈尔科夫工作？”
“是的，是在哈尔科夫。”
“做什么工作？”
保尔决心结束这场没完没了的谈话，便回答说：“掏茅房的！”
她们听了哈哈大笑，保尔不由得哆嗦了一下。
“同志，您这种态度，恐怕不能说很有礼貌吧。”
他们的友谊就是这样开始的。哈尔科夫市党委常委朵拉·罗德金娜后来不止一次回忆起他们结识时的可笑情景。
一天午饭后，保尔到海洋疗养院的花园去看歌舞演出，没想到在这里遇见了扎尔基。说来也怪，使他们相逢的竟是一场狐步舞。
一个肥胖的歌女，狂荡地打着手势，唱完了一支《良夜销魂曲》。随后，一男一女跳上了舞台。男的头上戴一顶红色圆筒高帽，半裸着身体，胯骨周围系着五颜六色的扣带，上身却穿着白得刺眼的胸衣，还扎着领带。一句话，装的是野蛮人，看起来却不伦不类。那女的长相倒不错，身上挂着许多布条。他们刚出场，一群站在疗养员的安乐椅和躺床后面的新经济政策暴发户，就伸出他们的牛脖子，齐声喝彩。这一对宝贝在他们的喝彩声中，扭动屁股，踏着碎步，在舞台上跳起了狐步舞。简直难以想象还有比这更加令人作呕的场面了。戴着傻瓜圆筒帽的胖汉子和那个女人，紧紧贴在一起，扭来扭去，做出各种下流猥亵的姿势。保尔身后，一个肥猪似的大胖子乐得呼哧呼哧直喘气。保尔刚要转身走开，紧靠舞台的前排有一个人站了起来，愤怒地喊道：“够了，别卖淫了！见鬼去吧！”
保尔认出这个人是扎尔基。
钢琴伴奏中断了，小提琴尖叫了一声，不再响了。台上的一对男女停止了扭摆。暴发户们从椅子后面发出一片嘘声，气势汹汹地指责方才喊叫的人：“把一出好戏给搅黄了，真他妈的不像话！”
“整个欧洲都在跳啊！”
“简直岂有此理！”
这时候，在“公社战士”疗养院来的一群观众里，共青团切列波韦茨县委书记谢廖沙·日巴诺夫把四个手指夹进嘴里，打了一个绿林好汉式的唿哨，别的人也群起响应。于是，台上那一对宝贝像被风刮走似的不见了。报幕的小丑像一个机灵的堂倌，跑出来向观众宣布，他们的歌舞班子马上就走。
“一条大道朝天，夹起尾巴滚蛋，要是爷爷问你，就说到莫斯科看看！”一个穿疗养衣的小伙子，在一片哄笑声中这样喊着，把报幕人送下了舞台。
保尔跑到前排，找到了扎尔基。他们在保尔房间里坐了很久。扎尔基在一个专区的党委会负责宣传鼓动工作。
“告诉你，我已经结婚了。很快就要抱孩子了。”扎尔基说。
“是吗，你爱人是谁？”保尔惊奇地问。
扎尔基从上衣口袋里掏出一张相片给保尔看。
“还认得出来吗？”
这是他和安娜·博哈特的合影。
“那杜巴瓦哪儿去了呢？”保尔更加惊讶了，又问。
“上莫斯科了。被开除出党以后，他就离开了共产主义大学，现在在莫斯科高等技校学习。听说他恢复了党籍。白搭！这个人是不可救药了……你知道潘克拉托夫在哪儿吗？他现在当了造船厂副厂长。其他人的情况我就不太清楚了，大家都不通音信。咱们分散在各地，能够碰到一起，谈谈过去的事，真叫人高兴。”扎尔基说。
朵拉走进保尔的房间，同她一起进来的还有几个人。一个高个子的坦波夫人关上了门。朵拉看了看扎尔基胸前的勋章，问保尔：“你的这位同志是党员吗？他在哪儿工作？”
保尔不明白是怎么回事，把扎尔基的情况简单地介绍了一下。
“那就让他留下吧。刚才从莫斯科来了几位同志。他们要给咱们讲一讲党内最近的一些情况。我们决定在你屋里开个会，算是个内部会议吧。”朵拉解释说。
在场的人，除了保尔和扎尔基之外，几乎全是老布尔什维克。莫斯科市监委委员巴尔塔绍夫，矮墩墩的个子，五十上下年纪，过去在乌拉尔地区当翻砂工人，他先发言，声音不大：“是的，有事实为证，出了新的反对派，我们原先就有预感，果然发生了。新反对派的领袖人物，除了季诺维也夫和加米涅夫，还有一个，不是别人，正是托洛茨基。他们狼狈为奸，相互打气。如今这个各色反对派拼凑起来的大杂烩开始行动了。”
坦波夫来的检察员插进来说：“第十四次代表大会上我就对同志们说过：‘你们记住我的话吧，季诺维也夫、加米涅夫早晚要同托洛茨基结亲。’当时，季诺维也夫带着一帮列宁格勒代表一个劲儿反对代表大会，托洛茨基一声不吭，净在一边看热闹，心里则在寻思：‘你们这帮狗崽子，因为‘十月革命的教训’一直在攻击我，要把我置之死地，如今自己滑进了同一个泥坑。’有人不同意我的看法，说季诺维也夫和加米涅夫多年来都在跟托洛茨基主义作斗争，在各个转折关头都谴责托洛茨基主义是党内异己派别，他们决不会背叛布尔什维主义，决不会听命于他们长期激烈批判过的人。
“结果怎么样呢？昨天的敌人、思想上的对头今天成了朋友，因为他们都在不择手段地反对布尔什维克党中央，同谁联合都行，牺牲自己的全部原则、放弃原先的立场也行。这些原则和立场如今在他们眼里粪土不如。同托洛茨基结盟会使他们过去布尔什维克的称号蒙上耻辱，可这算得了什么呢？
这个无原则的联盟很像一九一二年的八月联盟。不论是现在还是那个时候，挥舞指挥棒的都是托洛茨基。季诺维也夫和加米涅夫这次的表演，其卑鄙程度不亚于他们在十月武装起义前的畏缩。这号人，”坦波夫人瞥了一眼在座的女同胞朵拉，咽回去一句骂娘话。“呸，差点没说出脏话来！这种乱七八糟的事我还真没见过。”坦波夫人结束了他的发言。
“一切迹象表明，最近期间这个联合的反对派就会向党发动进攻。这些不断冒出来的小集团干的就是一件事——制造混乱，破坏党的统一。我不明白，我们什么时候才能把它们彻底了结。我们太放任太宽容他们了。依我看，应该把这些职业的捣乱分子和反对派一个一个通通清除出党。我们在跟这些反党分子的斗争上浪费了多少时间和精力。”朵拉激烈地说。
老人梅伊兹然默默地听完大家的发言，接着说：“朋友们，我们不能再耽搁，要赶紧回去。疗养院多住两天少住两天无所谓，在这样紧要的关头，我们必须坚守各自的岗位。我明天就动身。”
在保尔房间集会之后三天，疗养员都走光了。保尔也提前出了院。
保尔在团中央没有耽搁很久。他被派到一个工业专区去，担任共青团专区委员会书记。一个星期后，城里的共青团积极分子就听到了他的第一次讲话。
深秋的一天，保尔和两名工作人员乘专区党委会的汽车到离城很远的一个区去，汽车掉进路边的壕沟里，翻了车。
车上的人都受了重伤。保尔的右膝盖压坏了。几天以后，他被送到哈尔科夫外科学院。几个医生会诊，检查了他红肿的膝盖，看了爱克斯光片，主张立即动手术。
保尔同意了。
“那么就明天早晨做吧。”主持会诊的胖教授最后这样说，接着就起身走了。其他医生也都跟着走了出去。
一间明亮的单人小病室，一尘不染，散发着保尔久已淡忘的那种医院特有的气味。他向四周看了看。一只铺着白台布的床头柜，一张白凳子，这就是全部家具。
护理员送来了晚饭。
保尔谢绝了。他半躺在床上写信。伤腿疼得很厉害，影响思考，也不想吃东西。
写完第四封信的时候，病室的门轻轻地打开了。保尔看见一个穿白大褂、戴白帽的年轻女人走到他床前。
在薄暮中，保尔依稀看到她那两道描得细细的眉毛和一对似乎是黑色的大眼睛。她一手提着皮包，一手拿着纸和铅笔。
“我是您这个病室的责任医生，”她说。“今天我值班。现在我向您提一些问题，您呢，不管愿意不愿意，要把您的全部情况都告诉我。”
女医生亲切地笑了笑。这一笑，减轻了“审问”的不快。
保尔整整讲了一个小时，不仅讲了自己的情况，而且连祖宗三代都讲到了。
手术室里，几个人戴着大口罩。
镀镍的手术器械闪着银光，狭长的手术台下面放着一个大盆。保尔躺在手术台上的时候，教授已经快洗完手了。手术前的准备工作正在保尔身后紧张地进行着。保尔回头看了一下，护士在安放手术刀、镊子。责任医生巴扎诺娃给他解开腿上的绷带，轻声对他说：“柯察金同志，别往那边看，看了对神经有刺激。”
“您说的是谁的神经，大夫？”保尔不以为然地笑了笑。
几分钟以后，保尔的脸给蒙上了厚实的面罩，教授对他说：“不要紧张，现在就给您施行氯仿麻醉。请您深呼吸，用鼻子吸气，数数吧。”
面罩下传出了低沉而平静的声音：“好的，我保不住会说出不干不净的话来，那就事先请你们原谅了。”
教授忍不住笑了。
几滴氯仿麻醉剂，散发着一股令人窒息的难闻气味。
保尔深深地吸了一口气，开始数起数来，努力把数字说得清楚些。他的生活悲剧就这样揭开了第一幕。
阿尔焦姆差点把信封撕成两半。他打开信的时候，不知道为什么心情忐忑不安。眼睛一看到信的开头，他就急忙一口气读了下去：
阿尔焦姆！咱们很少通信。一年一次，最多也就是两次吧！但是，次数多少有什么关系呢？你来信说，为了同老根一刀两断，你已经转到卡扎京的机车库工作，带着全家离开了舍佩托夫卡。我明白你的意思，你说的老根就是斯捷莎和她一家的那种小私有者的落后心理，以及诸如此类的东西。改造斯捷莎这一类人是困难的，我担心你未必做得到。你说“上了年纪，学习有困难”，可是你学得并不坏嘛。让你脱产专做市苏维埃主席的工作，你坚决不干，这是不对的。你不是为夺取政权战斗过吗？那你就应该掌握政权。你应该明天就接手市苏维埃的工作，干起来。
现在谈谈我自己。我的情况有点不妙。经常住院，开了两次刀，流了不少血，体力也有很大消耗，而且谁也不告诉我，什么时候是个头。
我离开了工作，给自己找到了一种新的职业——当病号。
我忍受着种种痛苦，而结果呢，是右膝关节不能活动了，身上添了好几个刀口；另外，医生最近发现，我的脊梁骨七年前受过暗伤。现在他们说，这个伤可能要我付出极高的代价。
我准备忍受一切，只要能重新归队就行。
对我的生活来说，没有比掉队更可怕的事情了。我甚至连想都不敢想。正因为这样，我才承受一切，只是一直不见起色，相反，阴云越聚越浓。第一次手术过后，我刚能走动，就恢复了工作，但是很快又被送进了医院。刚才我拿到了叶夫帕托里亚的迈纳克疗养院的入院证，明天就动身。别难过，阿尔焦姆，要我进棺材并不那么容易。我的生命力顶三个人不成问题。咱们还能干一阵呢，哥哥！你要注意身体，别再一下扛十普特了。不然，以后党要付出很大的代价给你修理。
岁月给我们经验，学习给我们知识，而得到这一切，并不是为了到一个又一个医院去做客。握你的手。
保尔·柯察金
就在阿尔焦姆皱着两道浓眉，阅读弟弟来信的时候，保尔正在医院和巴扎诺娃告别。她把手伸给他，问：“您明天就动身到克里木去吗？今天您打算在哪儿过呢？”
保尔回答：“朵拉同志马上就来。今天白天和晚上我都在她家里，明天一早她送我上火车。”
巴扎诺娃认识朵拉，因为她常来看保尔。
“柯察金同志，咱们说过，您临走之前要同我父亲见一面，您还记得吗？我已经把您的病情详细地告诉他了。我很想让他给您检查一下。今天晚上就可以。”
保尔立即同意了。
当天晚上，巴扎诺娃把保尔领到她父亲宽敞的工作室里。
这位著名的外科专家给保尔做了详细检查。巴扎诺娃也在场，她从医院拿来了爱克斯光片和全部化验单。谈话中间，她父亲用拉丁语说了很长一段话，她听了之后，脸色顿时变得煞白，这不能不引起保尔的注意。他盯着教授那秃顶的大脑袋，想从他敏锐的目光中看出点什么来，但是巴扎诺夫教授不露声色，无法捉摸。
等保尔穿好衣服，巴扎诺夫客气地向他告别；他要去参加一个会议，嘱咐女儿把检查结果告诉保尔。
在巴扎诺娃那间陈设雅致的房间里，保尔靠在沙发上，等待她开口。但是她不知道从哪里说起，说些什么；她感到很为难。父亲告诉她，保尔体内的致命炎症正在发展，医学现在还无法控制。教授反对再做任何外科手术，他说：“这个年轻人面临着瘫痪的悲剧，我们却没有能力防止它。”
作为保尔的医生和朋友，巴扎诺娃觉得不能把这一切都和盘托出。她只是用谨慎的措词向他透露了一小部分真情。
“柯察金同志，我相信，叶夫帕托里亚的泥疗一定会使您的病出现转机。秋天您就可以工作了。”
但是她说这些话的时候，忘记了有一对敏锐的眼睛一直在注视着她。
“从您的话里，确切些说，是从您没明说的话里，我已经完全明白了我的病情的严重性。您该记得，我请求过您永远要对我实话实说。什么事情都不要瞒着我，我听了不会晕倒，也不会抹脖子。可是我非常想知道，我今后会怎么样。”保尔说。
巴扎诺娃说了句笑话，把话岔开了。
这天晚上，保尔到底还是没有了解到真实情况，不知道他的明天将会怎样。临分手的时候，巴扎诺娃轻声叮咛他：“柯察金同志，别忘记我对您的友情。您生活里什么情况都可能发生。如果您需要我的帮助，或者希望我出个主意，您就来信。我一定尽全力帮助您。”
她从窗口看着他那穿皮外套的高大身躯，吃力地拄着手杖，从大门口向一辆出租的轻便马车走去。
又到了叶夫帕托里亚。又是南方的炎热和晒得黝黑的、戴绣金小圆帽的、高声喧嚷的人群。小汽车用十分钟的时间就把旅客送到迈纳克疗养院，这是一座用石灰石砌成的二层楼房。
值班医生把新来的人领到各个房间。
“同志，您是哪个单位介绍来的？”他在十一号房间门口停了下来，问保尔。
“乌克兰共产党（布）中央委员会。”
“那就请您住在这儿吧，跟埃勃涅同志一个房间。他是德国人，希望我们给他找一个俄国同伴。”医生解释了一下，就去敲门。从房里传出一句外国腔的俄国话：“请进。”
保尔进了房间，放下提包，朝躺在床上的人转过身去。那个德国人满头金发，长着两只漂亮而灵活的蓝眼睛。他向保尔温厚地微微一笑。
“顾特莫根，盖诺森［德语“早安，同志”的译音。——译者］。我想说：‘你好’。”他改用俄语说，并向保尔伸出一只指头很长的苍白的手。
几分钟以后，保尔已经坐在德国人床边，两个人用一种“国际”语言热烈地交谈起来。用这种语言谈话，词语的作用反而是次要的，弄不懂的地方就靠猜想、手势、表情——总之，用一种无师自通的世界语里的一切方法帮忙。保尔了解到，埃勃涅是个德国工人。
在一九二三年的汉堡起义中，埃勃涅大腿上中了一枪。这回他旧伤复发，又倒在床上。尽管很痛苦，他仍然精神饱满，因而立刻赢得了保尔的尊敬。
同这样好的病友住在一起，保尔是求之不得的。这样的人绝不会因为自己的病痛从早到晚向你诉苦，唉声叹气。相反，同他在一起，你会连自己的病痛也忘得一干二净。
“可惜的是我对德语一窍不通。”保尔这样想。
花园的一角，有几把摇椅、一张竹桌和两把病人坐的轮椅。有五个人，每天治疗完毕，都到这里消磨一整天，病友们管他们叫“共产国际执行委员会”。
一把轮椅上是半躺半坐着的埃勃涅，另一把上是禁止步行的保尔，其余三个人，一个是克里木共和国贸易人民委员部的工作人员、身粗体重的爱沙尼亚人瓦伊曼；另一个是长着两只深棕色眼睛、像十八岁少女一样年轻的拉脱维亚人玛尔塔·劳琳；还有一个是两鬓灰白、身材魁梧的西伯利亚人列杰尼奥夫。这里的确有五个民族：德意志人、爱沙尼亚人、拉脱维亚人、俄罗斯人和乌克兰人。玛尔塔和瓦伊曼懂德语，埃勃涅请他们当翻译。保尔和埃勃涅由于同住一个病室而成了朋友。玛尔塔、瓦伊曼和埃勃涅因为语言相通而亲近起来，使列杰尼奥夫和保尔结交的则是国际象棋。
英诺肯季·帕夫洛维奇·列杰尼奥夫到来之前，保尔是疗养院里的国际象棋“冠军”。他是经过一场顽强的冠军争夺战，才从瓦伊曼手里夺过这个称号的。爱沙尼亚人瓦伊曼平时从来不动感情，这次败在保尔手里，心情却很不平静，一直对他耿耿于怀。不久，疗养院来了一位高个子老头，他虽然五十岁了，看上去却非常年轻。他邀保尔下一盘。保尔没有想到对方是强手，不慌不忙地开了一个后翼弃卒局。列杰尼奥夫不吃弃卒，以挺进中卒相应。保尔作为“冠军”，有义务同每个新来的棋手都下一盘。下棋的时候，总有很多人围着观看。走到第九步上，保尔就发现，列杰尼奥夫那些沉着挺进的小卒在向他步步进逼。保尔这才明白他遇到了劲敌，悔不该对这场比赛掉以轻心。
经过三小时鏖战，尽管保尔聚精会神，使尽一切招数，还是不得不认输了。他比所有看棋的人都更早料到自己必败无疑。保尔看了他的对手一眼。列杰尼奥夫慈祥地微微一笑。显然，他也看出保尔要失败了。爱沙尼亚人瓦伊曼一直紧张地注视着战局，巴不得保尔一败涂地，但是却什么也没有看出来。
“我永远要坚持战斗到最后一卒。”保尔说。这句话只有列杰尼奥夫听得懂，他点了点头，表示赞许。
五天里保尔同列杰尼奥夫下了十盘棋，结果是七负两胜一和。
瓦伊曼兴高采烈地说：“好极了，谢谢您，列杰尼奥夫同志！这回您算把他打得落花流水了！活该！他把我们这帮老棋手全给打败了，可他自己还是在一个老头手里栽了跟头。哈哈哈！……”
接着，他嘲弄这个曾经战胜过他的败将说：“怎么样，吃败仗的滋味不好受吧？”
保尔丢掉了“冠军”称号。他虽然失去了棋坛荣誉，却结识了列杰尼奥夫，后来列杰尼奥夫成了他非常敬爱和亲近的人。保尔这次棋赛败北并不是偶然的，他只知道象棋战略的一些皮毛，一个普通棋手当然要输给精通棋艺的大师。
保尔和列杰尼奥夫有一个共同值得纪念的日期：保尔出生和列杰尼奥夫入党正好在同一年。他们是布尔什维克近卫军老一代和青年一代的典型代表。一个具有丰富的生活经验和政治经验，从事过多年地下斗争，蹲过沙皇监狱，后来一直担任国家的重要行政工作；另一个有着烈火般的青春，虽然只有短短八年的斗争经历，但是这八年却抵得上好几个人的一生。他们两个，一老一少，都有一颗火热的心和被摧毁了的健康。
一到晚上，埃勃涅和保尔的房间便成了俱乐部。所有政治新闻都是从这里传出来的。晚上，十一号房间里很热闹。瓦伊曼动不动就想讲点黄色笑话，对这类东西他总是津津乐道。
但是他马上就会遭到玛尔塔和保尔的夹攻。玛尔塔善于用机巧辛辣的嘲讽堵他的嘴；如果不见效，保尔就出面干预。比如有一回，玛尔塔说：“瓦伊曼，你最好问问大伙，也许你的‘俏皮话’根本不合我们的口味……”
保尔接着用不平静的语气说：“我真不明白，你这样的人怎么会……”
瓦伊曼噘起厚嘴唇，两只小眼睛嘲弄地在大家脸上扫了一下，说：“看来得在政治教育委员会设一个道德督察处，并且推举柯察金当督察长。对玛尔塔我还可以理解，女同志嘛，是当然的反对派，可是柯察金竟想把自己打扮成天真无邪的小孩子，像个共青团小宝宝似的……再说，我根本就不喜欢鸡蛋来教训母鸡。”
在这场关于共产主义伦理的激烈争论之后，说黄色笑话被当做一个原则问题提出来讨论。玛尔塔把各种不同观点翻译给埃勃涅听。
“黄色笑话不很好，我和保夫鲁沙看法一样。”埃勃涅表态说。
瓦伊曼只好退却了。他竭力用开玩笑来打掩护，但是，从此以后再也不讲这类笑话了。
保尔一直以为玛尔塔是个共青团员。他估计她大约只有十九岁。但是有一次他同玛尔塔谈天，吃了一惊，原来她已经三十一岁了，一九一七年就入了党，而且是拉脱维亚共产党的一名积极的工作人员。一九一八年白匪曾将她判处枪决，后来她和另外一些同志被苏维埃政府赎换回来。现在她在《真理报》工作，同时还在大学进修，不久就可以毕业。保尔没有留意他们的友谊是怎样开始的，但是这个常来看望埃勃涅的矮小的拉脱维亚人已经成了他们“五人小组”的不可缺少的成员。
一个叫埃格利特的地下工作者，也是拉脱维亚人，调皮地逗她说：“玛尔塔，你那可怜的奥佐尔在莫斯科怎么过呀？这么下去可不行啊！”
每天早晨响起床铃之前一分钟，疗养院里总有一只公鸡大声啼叫。埃勃涅学鸡叫真是学到家了。院里的工作人员到处寻找这只不知从哪里钻进来的公鸡，但是毫无结果。这使埃勃涅非常得意。
到了月底，保尔的病情恶化了。医生不许他下床。埃勃涅感到很难过。他喜欢这个乐观、开朗、从来不灰心丧气的青年布尔什维克，这个年轻人是这样朝气蓬勃，却又这样早地失去了健康。玛尔塔告诉他，医生们都说保尔的未来是不幸的，埃勃涅听了十分焦急。
直到保尔离开疗养院，医生始终没有允许他下地走动。
保尔向周围的人隐瞒着自己的痛苦，只有玛尔塔根据他那异常苍白的脸色，才猜出了几分。出院前一个星期，保尔收到乌克兰共青团中央的一封信。信里通知他假期延长两个月，并且说，根据疗养院的意见，按他目前的健康状况，不能给他恢复工作。随信还汇来了一笔钱。
保尔经受住了这第一次打击，就像当年向朱赫来学习拳术时，经受住了朱赫来的打击一样；那时他也常常被打倒，但总是立刻就站了起来。
他意外地收到母亲的一封来信。老人家在信里说，她有个老朋友，叫阿莉比娜·丘察姆，住在离叶夫帕托里亚不远的一个港口，她们已经十五年没有见面了，母亲要儿子一定到她家去看一看。这封偶然的来信对保尔的生活产生了重大的影响。
一星期后，疗养院的人全都到码头热情欢送保尔。分别的时候，埃勃涅热烈地拥抱和亲吻保尔，就像送别自己的弟弟一样。玛尔塔不知道躲到哪里去了，保尔没能向她告别就走了。
第二天早晨，一辆敞篷马车把保尔从码头拉到一座带小花园的小房子跟前，停了下来。保尔叫陪送他的人去打听一下，丘察姆家是不是住在这里。
丘察姆一家五口人：母亲阿莉比娜·丘察姆是一个上了年纪的胖妇人，两只黑眼睛抑郁寡欢，衰老的脸上还残留着往日的秀丽；她的两个女儿廖莉娅和达雅，廖莉娅的小男孩，还有那个胖得像猪似的令人厌恶的老头子丘察姆。
老头子在合作社工作，小女儿达雅在外面干些粗活，大女儿廖莉娅原先是个打字员，不久前同丈夫——一个酒鬼和流氓——离了婚，现在失业闲居。她整天在家哄哄孩子，帮助母亲管管家务。
除了两个女儿以外，阿莉比娜还有一个儿子，叫乔治，他现在在列宁格勒。
丘察姆一家殷勤地接待了保尔，只有老头子用不友好的戒备目光仔细打量了客人一番。
保尔把他所知道的自己家的事，耐心地一一讲给阿莉比娜听，顺便也问问她们的生活情况。
廖莉娅二十二岁。她是个心地淳朴的女子，栗色的头发剪得短短的，脸庞宽阔，显得开朗大方。她和保尔一见如故，把家中的私事全都主动告诉了他。保尔从她嘴里了解到，老头子专横暴虐，扼杀一切主动精神，不给人丝毫自由，把全家压得气都透不过来。他心胸狭隘，目光又短浅，还好吹毛求疵，一家人都被他管得死死的，整天提心吊胆，因此，儿女们都极端厌恶他，妻子对他更是恨之入骨，二十五年来一直反对他的暴虐行为。两个女儿总是站在母亲方面。家里不断发生争吵，生活过得很不愉快。成天都为大大小小的事情怄气，没完没了，日子就是这样一天天过去的。
家里的第二个祸害是乔治。从廖莉娅的话里可以知道，他傲慢自负，好吹牛，讲究吃穿，喜欢喝酒，是个地地道道的浪荡公子。中学一毕业，乔治这个母亲的心肝宝贝，就伸手向母亲要钱到京城去。
“我去上大学。叫廖莉娅把戒指卖了，你的东西也卖卖。
反正我得有钱花，你们怎么弄到钱，那我不管。”
乔治摸透了母亲的脾气，知道她对他有求必应，因此恬不知耻地利用她的这个弱点。他对两姐妹很傲慢，看不起她们，认为她们比他低一等。母亲把从老头子那里抠来的钱和达雅的工钱全给儿子寄去。可是他呢，考大学考得一塌糊涂，名落孙山，却逍遥自在地住在叔叔家里，接二连三地打电报吓唬母亲，逼她寄钱。
小女儿达雅，保尔这天很晚才见到。母亲在过道里低声告诉她来了客人。她腼腆地伸出手，同保尔握手问好。在这个陌生的年轻人面前，她羞得脸一直红到耳根。保尔没有立刻放开她那长茧的有力的手。
达雅满十八岁了。她长得不算漂亮，可是一对深棕色的大眼睛、两道蒙古型的细眉毛、端正的鼻子和固执的红嘴唇，使得她很招人喜欢。带条纹的工装上衣，紧紧箍着她那富有弹性的年轻的胸脯。
姐妹俩各住一间狭小的房间。达雅房间里有一张小铁床，一只柜橱，柜橱上放着各种小摆设和一面小镜子，墙上挂着三十来张照片和画片。窗台上摆着两盆花——一盆深红的天竺葵，一盆粉色的翠菊。薄纱窗帘用一条天蓝色的绦带拢在一边。
“达雅从来不欢迎男人进她的房间，可是您看，为您竟破了例。”廖莉娅开妹妹的玩笑说。
第二天晚上，全家在两个老人房间里喝茶。只有达雅留在自己屋里，听大家谈话。丘察姆专心致志地搅着茶杯里的糖。从眼镜上边恶狠狠地打量着坐在他对面的客人。
“还是个乳臭未干的毛孩子，脑袋就打开了花，很明显，是个标准的公子哥儿。第二天了，白吃我的，白喝我的，倒像我该着他的似的。在这儿搞什么名堂？全是阿莉比娜干的好事。得给他们点颜色看看，让他早点滚蛋。这帮党员在合作社里就叫我恶心，什么事都要管，好像主任不是我，倒是他们。这下好，家里又来了一个，鬼知道打哪儿冒出来的。”
他气恼地寻思着。为了给客人找点不痛快，他幸灾乐祸地问：“今天的报纸读了吧？你们的领导在火并呢。就是说，别看他们是高层的政治家，跟我们平头百姓不一样，暗地里却都在拆对方的台。真热闹。先是季诺维也夫和加米涅夫整托洛茨基，后来这两个人降了职，他们几个又联起手来对付那个格鲁吉亚人，哦，叫斯大林的。
“嘿嘿！还是有句老话说得好：老爷们打架，小人们遭殃。”
保尔推开没有喝完的茶杯，两只眼睛冒火似的，盯着老头子。
“你说的老爷们指谁？”他一字一句地问。
“随便说说罢了。我是个非党人士，这些事跟我都不相干。
年轻时候当过一阵子傻瓜。一九○五年扯扯闲谈，蹲了三个月班房。后来看清了——得多替自己着想，别人的事管不了那么多。谁也不会白给你吃闲饭。眼下我是这么个看法：我给你干活——你给钱，谁给的好处多，我就拥护谁。什么社会主义啊，对不起，这些废话全是说给傻瓜听的。还有什么自由啊，你给白痴自由，他还弄不清是怎么回事呢。我对现今的政府不满意，那是因为我看不惯时兴的那套家庭规矩，还有别的一些说道。伦理道德、社会风尚全扔到了脑后。说结婚就结，说离婚就离。一百个自由。”
老头子呛了一下，咳嗽起来。喘过气来以后，他指着廖莉娅，说：“这不是，谁也没问，就跟那个野汉子同居了；跟谁也没商量，又散了伙。现在倒好，还得养活她和一个野孩子。太不像话了！”
廖莉娅痛苦地涨红了脸，藏起满眼的泪水，不让保尔看见。
“照您这么说，她倒应该跟那个寄生虫过下去？”保尔问，两只眼睛燃烧着怒火，直瞪着老头子。
“本该先看好了，要嫁的是个什么人。”
阿莉比娜介入了谈话，她强忍住满腔恼怒，断断续续地说：“我说，老头子，你干吗当着外人的面谈这个呢？谈点别的不行吗？”
老头子猛地凑到她跟前：“该说什么，我自己知道！打哪天起竟教训起我来了？眼下这世道，甭管你说什么，都叫人生气。
“比方昨天吧，我听帕韦尔·安德列耶维奇开导他那几个女儿，对，好像是他，没错。练嘴皮子你是把好手，这我没说的，可除了嘴皮子，总还得喂饱肚子吧。你就这么叫她们去过新生活？这几个傻瓜脑袋什么都能灌得进去。再说廖莉娅这新生活吧，连饭碗都砸了。失业的人多如牛毛。得先把他们喂饱，然后再叫他们洗脑筋，年轻人。你告诉她们再这样生活下去不行。好哇，那你把她们领去，养着去。眼下她们在我这儿，就得听我的。”
阿莉比娜预感到风暴即将降临，她赶快尽量缓和气氛，说：“廖莉娅够苦的啦，老头子，你怎么能再埋怨她？往后她总会找到工作的，她……”
老头子胖乎乎的脖颈上暴起了青筋。他压根儿没想压压自己的火气。
“往后，往后，谁要你的空头支票？到处都是往后，往后。
那是早先的神甫一个劲儿许愿，说往后死了上天堂，如今又来了另一帮神甫。你那个往后顶个屁。到那时候，世界上我这个人都没了，往后还管什么用？叫我受苦受难，让别人过好日子，干吗我？还是让每个人多为自己操点心吧。我看就没有一个人替我使过劲儿，让我过上好日子。我倒要替别人创造什么幸福生活。带着你们的空头支票见鬼去吧！早先每个人都替自己干，攒下钱，要什么有什么。如今这帮人开始建设共产主义，什么都完蛋了。”丘察姆呼噜一声，恶狠狠地喝了一口茶。
保尔坐在丘察姆近旁，对这个胖墩墩汗津津的大肉块产生了一种生理上的厌恶。这老头是旧时代苦役犯世界的缩影，在那个世界里，人和人都是死敌。兽性的利己主义经常暴露出来，不足为怪。保尔把已经到了嘴边的激烈言辞又咽了回去。剩下的愿望只有一个——还是要给这个可恶的生物来个当头棒喝，把他顶回去，顶到他刚才冒出头来的那个老窝的底里去。他松开咬紧的牙关，胸口顶住桌子边沿，说：“波尔菲里·科尔涅耶维奇，你很干脆，请允许我也直言相告。像您这样的人，我们国家是不必征求他们的意见，问他们是不是愿意建设社会主义的。我们有一支伟大的、强有力的建设大军。要阻挡他们史无前例的进军，连国际帝国主义也办不到，而国际帝国主义的力量比你们要大一些。世界上没有任何力量能够阻止这场变革。至于你们这样的人，愿意也罢，不愿意也罢，都将被强制去为建设新社会而工作。”
丘察姆怀着掩饰不住的仇恨，望了望保尔。
“他们要是不服从呢？你知道，暴力会引起反抗。”
保尔把一只手紧紧压在杯子上。
“那我们就……”保尔抓住杯子，猛一使劲，只听咔嚓一声，薄薄的玻璃碎了，剩茶流进了盘子里。
“你手轻点，年轻人。一只杯子八十六个戈比呢。”丘察姆来火了。
保尔慢慢把身子仰靠到椅背上，对廖莉娅说：“请你明天帮我买十只杯子，厚点，带棱的。”
夜里，保尔把丘察姆一家的事情想了很久。一个偶然的机缘使他来到这里，不由自主地卷入了他们的家庭悲剧。他在考虑，怎样才能帮助她们母女冲出牢笼。保尔自己的生活正在刹车，他本人还有许多问题没有解决，眼前要采取果断的行动，比任何时候都困难。
出路只有一条，就是拆散这个家庭，让母女三人永远离开老头子。但是。这件事并不那么简单。发动这场家庭革命，他现在力不从心，再过几天他就要离开这里，而且可能再也见不到这些人了。那么就一切听其自然，不在这低矮窄小的屋子里扬起积尘？但是，老头子那副可憎的模样实在使他不能平静。保尔拟了好几个方案，这些方案似乎又都行不通。他在床上辗转反侧。他的床搭在厨房里，隔壁是达雅的卧室，她想东想西，心神不宁，也没有入睡。她回想起昨天晚上，她、廖莉娅和保尔在她的小房间里，一直谈到深夜。过去庆祝五一节和十月革命节，站在主席台上的那些人，她只是远远地看到过，如今其中的一个就近在眼前，这在她这辈子中还是头一回。这个人似乎来自另一个世界。父亲立下的规矩，使他们一家人离群索居，缩在自己屋子的小天地里，完全脱离了社会生活。
她在码头上缝粮食口袋，下了班必须马上跑回家，一小时以后，又要赶到父亲工作的合作社去打扫房间，擦地板，一直干到半夜。只有礼拜天才有几个钟头空闲时间，她可以呆在自己房间里，有时同小姐妹们去看场电影。
她的生活宛如一条暗淡的灰色带子。母亲只疼爱一个儿子。他长得像母亲。这是一种盲目的、偏心眼的爱。乔治长成了个懒虫。吃的，穿的，最好的都尽他挑。两个女儿母亲一点不放在心上。达雅和廖莉娅怎么也弄不明白母亲对孩子这样偏爱到底是什么原因，不过姐妹俩都是一肚子委屈。尤其苦的是达雅，乔治认为她生来只配做吃力不讨好的粗活重活，而且不单是乔治一个人这样认为。这样一来，干牛马活的特权慢慢就归她专有了。凡是别人不肯干的活，她都得干。
只要她稍有不满情绪流露，乔治马上厚颜无耻地眯起一只右眼——这个表示轻蔑的表情他是从加里·皮尔那里学来的——咂着嘴挖苦她说：“嗬，这脑瓜子也知道有好歹，没想到。”
眼下突然来了这么一个小伙子，带来一股清新而又强劲的风。她告诉他，两年来她几乎没有读过一种报，对共青团只有模模糊糊的认识，而且多半是听父亲说的，而父亲是从来不放过机会臭骂那些他称之为“放荡姑娘”的女共青团员的。达雅向保尔介绍自己的这些情况时，她是多么难以启齿啊。
达雅知道，父亲对保尔的到来极为不满，而母亲因为父亲无理取闹，已经发作了一次心脏病。
“他也许明天就走了。今天跟父亲谈过这场话，他不会再留下。他一走，家里一切都恢复原样。我真傻，想他做什么呢？一个人偶然来了，又走了，再过一天，他什么都忘光了。”
达雅怀着一种莫名的忧伤，想到这里，不知道为什么心里特别难过，一头扎进枕头，痛哭了起来。
第二天是星期日，保尔上街回来，只有达雅一个人在家。
其他人都到亲戚家串门去了。
保尔走进她的房间。他很疲乏，在椅子上坐了下来。
“你怎么不出去走走，散散心呢？”他问她。
“我哪儿也不想去。”她轻声回答。
他想起夜里考虑过的几个方案，决定试探一下，看看她的反应。
为了赶在家里人回来之前结束这场谈话，他开门见山，说：“达雅，你听我说，咱们互相称呼‘你’吧，要那些没用的客套干什么呢？我很快就要走了。真不凑巧，这次到你们家来，正赶上我的处境也十分狼狈，不然的话，情况就一定会两样。要是在一年前，咱们可以一起离开这儿。像你和廖莉娅，都有两只手，一定能找到工作！你们应该跟老头子一刀两断，这号人是不听劝的。但是现在还不能这么干。我连自己将来会怎么样都还不知道。所以说，我是被解除了武装的。那么，现在怎么办呢？我要去力争恢复工作。关于我的身体情况，谁知道大夫都写了些什么，同志们竟要我无限期地治疗下去。但是不管怎么样，这种情况一定能扭转过来……我给我母亲去信联系一下，到时候咱们就用快刀斩断这团乱麻。我反正不能就这样扔下你们不管。只是有一点我要说，达尤莎，你们的生活，特别是你的生活，一定要翻他个底朝天。你有力量和愿望这样做吗？”
达雅抬起垂着的头，小声回答说：“愿望我倒是有，可是有没有力量——我不知道。”
她回答得这样犹豫，保尔是理解的。他说：“没关系，达尤莎！只要有愿望，事情就好办。告诉我，你对这个家庭很留恋吗？”
问题提得太突然，她没有立即回答，过了一会儿才说：“我很可怜我母亲。父亲欺侮了她一辈子，现在乔治又来折磨她，我很可怜她……虽然她对乔治比对我好……”
这天他们谈了很多。家里人快要回来了，保尔开玩笑地说：“真奇怪，老头子怎么还没给你找个婆家，把你打发出去呢？”
达雅惊慌地摆了摆手，说：“我才不结婚呢。廖莉娅受的罪我看够了。我死也不嫁人！”
保尔不以为然地笑了一下，说：“这么说，发誓一辈子不结婚了？要是突然有个小伙子追求你，一句话，是个挺不错的小伙子，盯住你不放，那怎么办呢？”
“那也不干！他们在你窗前转来转去，追求你的时候，全是挺不错的。”
保尔把一只手放在她的肩上，用和解的口气说：“好了。不结婚也可以过得不错。不过你这样对待年轻小伙子，未免太狠心了点儿。好在你还没有疑心我在向你求婚。
不然的话，我可就真下不来台了。”说着，他用冰凉的手亲切地抚摩了一下这位感到难为情的姑娘的手。
“你们这样的人找对象，是不会找我们的。我们对你们有什么用呢？”她小声说。
几天之后，保尔乘火车到哈尔科夫去。达雅、廖莉娅、阿莉比娜和她的妹妹萝扎都到车站送行。临别的时候，阿莉比娜得到他的保证：不忘记那姐妹俩，帮助她们冲出牢笼。她们像是在送别亲人，达雅两眼噙着泪水，车开出好远了，保尔还从窗口看到廖莉娅手中挥动的白手帕和达雅的条纹上衣。
到了哈尔科夫，保尔不愿麻烦朵拉，就住在他的朋友彼佳·诺维科夫那里。稍事休息之后，他乘车来到中央委员会，等了一会儿，见到了阿基姆。当只剩下他们两个人的时候，保尔要求马上给他分配工作。阿基姆摇头拒绝说：“这可办不到，保尔。我们这儿有医务委员会和党中央的决定，上面写着：‘鉴于病情严重，应送神经病理学院治疗，不予恢复工作。’”
“他们什么不能写呀，阿基姆！我求求你——让我工作吧！老是跑医院，有什么用！”
阿基姆还是不同意。
“我们不能违反决定。你要明白，保夫鲁沙，这样对你更好些。”
但是，保尔一再坚决要求，阿基姆实在没有办法，只好答应他。
第二天，保尔就到中央委员会书记处机要科上班了。他本来以为，只要一开始工作，失去的精力就会恢复。但是第一天他就发觉自己想错了。他在科里往往一坐就是八个小时，饭也吃不上，因为他没有力气从三楼下来，到隔壁的食堂去吃饭。不是这只手，就是那只脚，经常麻木。有的时候，他全身都不能动弹，而且发烧。到了上班的时候，他常常会突然起不来床。等这阵发作过去，他才绝望地发现已经迟到一个小时了。他终于因为经常迟到而受到了警告，这时他才意识到，他生活中最可怕的事情开始了——他要被迫离队了。
阿基姆又帮了他两次忙，调动了他的工作。但是不可避免的事情还是发生了：过了一个多月，保尔又卧床不起了。这时候，他想起了巴扎诺娃临别时的叮咛，于是给她写了一封信。她当天就来了，他从她那里了解到一个很重要的情况，就是他不一定非住院不可。
“这么说，我已经健康到不值得一治了。”他本来想开个玩笑，但是这个玩笑并不显得轻松。
体力刚刚有些恢复，保尔又来到中央委员会。这一回阿基姆怎么也不肯通融了。他斩钉截铁地要求保尔去住院，保尔闷声闷气地回答说：“我哪儿也不去。住院没有用。这是权威人士的意见。我的出路只有一条——领抚恤金，退休。但是我绝不走这条路。
你们要我脱离工作，这办不到。我才二十四岁，我不能拿着残废证混一辈子，明知没用还到处去求医问药。你们应该给我找一个工作，适合我的身体条件。我可以把工作拿回家做，或者就住在机关里……只是别叫我当个光管登记发文号码的文书。给我的工作应该使我内心不感到孤独离群。”
保尔越说越激动，声音越来越响亮。
阿基姆了解这个不久前还生龙活虎一般的青年的感情。
他了解保尔的悲剧，知道对他这样一个把自己短暂的生命献给了党的人来说，脱离斗争，退居大后方，是非常可怕的。因此阿基姆决定竭尽全力帮助他。
“好吧，保尔，别着急。明天我们书记处开会，我一定把你的问题提出来，保证尽我的力量给你想办法。”
保尔吃力地站起来，把手伸给他。
“阿基姆，难道你真的以为，生活会把我赶到死胡同里，把我压成一张薄饼吗？只要我的心还在这里跳动，”他一把抓过阿基姆的手，紧贴在自己胸膛上，于是阿基姆清晰地感觉到了他的心脏微弱而急速的跳动。“只要这颗心还在跳动，就绝不能使我离开党。能使我离开战斗行列的，只有死。你记住这个吧，我的老大哥。”
阿基姆没有做声。他知道，这不是漂亮的空话，而是一个身受重伤的战士的呼喊。他理解，这样的人不可能说出另外的话，不可能有另外的感情。
两天以后，阿基姆通知保尔，中央机关刊物的编辑部有一个重要的工作可以让他做，但是要考核一下，看他是不是适合在文学战线上工作。保尔在编辑委员会受到了亲切的接待。副总编辑是个做过多年地下工作的女同志，现在是乌克兰共产党中央监察委员会主席团委员。她向保尔提了几个问题：“同志，您是什么文化程度？”
“小学三年。”
“上过党校和政治学校没有？”
“没有。”
“啊，那没什么，没上过这些学校也可以锻炼成优秀的新闻工作者，这种事是有的。阿基姆同志向我介绍过您的情况。
我们可以给您一个工作在家里干，不一定到这儿来上班，总之，可以给您创造各种方便条件。但是，干这一行需要有广泛的知识，特别是文学和语言方面的知识。”
这些话对保尔来说是一个不祥的预兆。经过半个小时的谈话，证明他的知识不足，在他写的一篇文章里，这位女同志用红铅笔划出了三十多处修辞上的毛病和不少拼写错误。
“柯察金同志！您的根底很厚。要是再好好进修一下，您将来可以成为一个文学工作者，但是您现在写的东西还不够通顺。从这篇文章可以看出，您还没有掌握俄语。这没有什么可奇怪的，因为您一直没有时间学习。非常遗憾的是，我们还不能任用您。我再说一遍：您的根底很厚，您写的这篇东西，只要在文字上加加工，不用改动内容，就可以成为一篇很好的文章。可是，我们需要的是能修改别人文章的人。”
保尔拄着手杖站了起来。右眼眉一下下地抽动着。
“就这样吧，我同意您的意见。我能成为什么文学家呢？！
我以前是个好火夫，也是个不错的电工。我骑马很内行，很会鼓动共青团员，但是，在你们这条战线上，我是个不称职的战士。”
他告别之后，走出了房间。
在走廊拐角的地方，他差点跌倒。一个提公文包的女同志扶住了他。
“您怎么啦，同志？您的脸色很难看！”
保尔镇定了片刻，然后轻轻挣脱那位女同志的手，用力拄着手杖走了。
从这天起，保尔的健康每况愈下。恢复工作是根本谈不上了。越来越多的日子是在病床上度过的。中央委员会解除了他的工作，并且要求社会保险总局发给他抚恤金。他拿到了抚恤金，同时还领到一张残废证。中央委员会另外又发给他一笔钱，个人档案也交他随身携带，他可以到任何他想去的地方。玛尔塔这时来了一封信，邀请保尔到她那里小住和休养。保尔本来就打算到莫斯科去，他仍然怀着一线希望，想在联共中央委员会找到幸福，也就是说，找到用不着走动的工作。但是在莫斯科也一样，大家都劝他治疗，并且答应给他找个好医院。他谢绝了。
保尔不知不觉在玛尔塔和她的女友娜佳·佩捷尔松的寓所里住了十九天。他整天一个人待在屋子里。玛尔塔和娜佳一早就出去，晚上才回来。保尔如饥似渴地读着书，一本接一本——玛尔塔有很多藏书。晚上玛尔塔的许多女友常来看望，有时也有男同志来。
从港口来了几封信。丘察姆家邀请他到她们那里去。生活的绳扣拉得越来越紧。她们盼望着他的帮助。
一天早晨，保尔离开了鹅舍胡同那座宁静的寓所。列车载着他奔向南方，奔向海洋，躲开潮湿多雨的秋天，奔向克里木南部温暖的海岸。他看着电线杆在窗外飞过。他的双眉紧锁着，两只近乎黑色的眼睛里隐藏着顽强的毅力。
收听单词发音 |
1
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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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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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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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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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stertorous
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| adj.打鼾的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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25
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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compere
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| v.主持（节目） | |
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troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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48
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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49
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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50
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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52
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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53
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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54
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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55
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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56
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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57
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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58
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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59
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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60
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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61
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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62
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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63
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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64
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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65
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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66
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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67
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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68
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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69
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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70
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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71
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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72
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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73
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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74
bemoan
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| v.悲叹，哀泣，痛哭；惋惜，不满于 | |
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75
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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76
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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77
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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78
pawns
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| n.（国际象棋中的）兵( pawn的名词复数 )；卒；被人利用的人；小卒v.典当，抵押( pawn的第三人称单数 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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79
cramping
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| 图像压缩 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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81
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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82
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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83
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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84
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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85
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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86
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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90
bawdy
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| adj.淫猥的，下流的；n.粗话 | |
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91
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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92
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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93
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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94
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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95
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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96
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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97
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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98
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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100
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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101
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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102
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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103
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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104
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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105
captious
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| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
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106
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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107
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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108
bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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109
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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110
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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111
wheedle
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| v.劝诱，哄骗 | |
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112
flunked
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| v.( flunk的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）（考试、某学科的成绩等）不及格；评定（某人）不及格；（因不及格而） 退学 | |
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113
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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114
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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115
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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116
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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117
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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118
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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119
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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120
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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121
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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122
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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123
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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124
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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125
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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126
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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127
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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128
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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129
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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130
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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131
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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132
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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133
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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134
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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135
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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136
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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137
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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138
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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139
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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140
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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141
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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