Chapter 2 Section 1 (2)

The inexplicable woman was still playing with cards in her hands, as if she was preoccupied.She has a pointed nose like a bird's beak and a pair of big eyes.At last she raised her girlish hands, stroked her wig-like thick, shaggy gray hair, and said in a girlish voice: George.Did you find Misha? " The man named George pushed me away, sat up immediately and replied, "Didn't he go to Kyiv?" "Yes, he went to Kyiv." She repeated, never taking her eyes off the cards.I get the feeling that she speaks plainly but is cold and unfeeling. "He's back..."

"Really?" "of course it's true." "Really?" she murmured again. Georges, almost naked, jumped off the couch, knelt at the woman's feet and said something in French. "I don't mind that," she replied in Russian. "You know what? I got lost in this snow and the wind and I nearly froze to death," George said nervously to the woman, rubbing her hand gently. George, who looked to be in his forties, with a black mustache and red-lipped face groveling, and his articulation was clear as he clawed at his horse-haired gray hair vigorously.

"Tomorrow we will go to Kyiv." The woman announced as if she was asking, but also as if she had made up her mind. "Okay, that's tomorrow. But now it's time to rest, you go to bed, it's almost midnight..." "Misha won't come back tonight?" "No. Such a big snowstorm... let's go... let's go to sleep..." He held the lamp and helped the woman into the small door behind the bookcase. I stayed in the outer room alone for a long time, listening peacefully George whispered hoarsely.The blizzard seemed to have hairy claws, scratching the window glass from time to time, and the melted snow on the floor shyly reflected the light of the candle flame." The room was packed with furniture, and it was warm and relaxing.

George finally staggered out, the lampshade in his hand bumping against the bulb. "She's asleep." He put the lamp back into the original place, stood in the middle of the room, thoughtful, without looking at me, and said, "How should I put it? If I didn't have you tonight, I would have froze to death... Thank you. what is your job? " He turned his head to one side, listening to the subtle movements in the inner room, his body trembling unceasingly. "Is she your wife?" I whispered. "It's my wife, it's my everything, it's my life." He looked at the floor, his voice was quiet but clear, and began to scratch his hair.

"By the way, do you drink tea?" He walked towards the door slowly, then stopped abruptly. He remembered that the servant had been hospitalized due to fish poisoning. I said I would make the samovar myself, and he agreed.He must have forgotten that he was almost naked, just slapped his bare feet on the floor, and he led me into a tiny kitchen.Turning my back to the fire, I said, "If it weren't for you, I would have died long ago. Thank you so much." Suddenly, his whole body trembled, and his eyes widened in fear. "What if I die, what will she do? God..."

He looked at the door of the dark bedroom and whispered quickly: "She is sick, she has a son who is a musician, and later committed suicide in Moscow, and she is still expecting him to come back, it has been two years..." We drank tea together At that time, he said a lot of strange things incoherently. He told me that this woman turned out to be a landlord and he was a history teacher.The woman left her husband (German, a baron) to earn a living at the opera.Although her husband tried his best, but to no avail, they have always lived a happy cohabitation life. He kept squinting at something in the corner of the kitchen and at the broken floorboard by the stove.He picked up the cup and took a sip of the hot tea, which made his brow wrinkle and his eyes blink.

"What do you do?" he asked me. "Oh, the bakers. Why not? Why?" He was clearly bewildered, looking at me like a bird caught in a net.I briefly told my history. "Oh. That's it." He whispered, "That's it..." For some reason, he suddenly became lively, and he asked me: "Have you heard the story of the ugly duckling? You must have read it?" His face became contorted, and he said angrily in a surprisingly hoarse voice: "What a touching story. When I was your age, I imagined whether I would become a white swan ?Look at me...I should have gone to seminary, but I went to university. My father is a priest, so he disowned me. I was studying the tragic history of human beings-evolution in Paris. Yes, I published it too Article. But. How did this happen..." He jumped up frighteningly, and sat down on the chair again.Listen carefully to the movement in the room, and continue to say: "Evolution, what a nice word. It is invented by people to deceive themselves.

Human beings' existing lives are simply meaningless and unreasonable.There would be no so-called evolution without slavery, no progress in society without a few rulers. "The more we want to improve our living environment and reduce the intensity of labor, the more difficult our life will be and the heavier our labor will be. What could be more stupid than a factory, a machine, and a machine again?There are more and more workers, and fewer and fewer farmers who produce food. What we need is to get food from nature through labor, and we have nothing else to ask for.The less hope, the greater happiness; the more hope, the less freedom. "

He may have said it out of his mouth at the time, but he did say it, and what an incredible thought he had.It's the first time I've heard of such a strange theory.He lost his nerve again, screamed excitedly, looked at the bedroom door shyly, listened for a while, and then muttered indignantly: "People are very easy to satisfy, we don't need much: a piece of bread and Just a woman..." He spoke of women in a mysterious tone, in a language and verse I had never heard before, and he looked like the thief Beshkin. It can be seen that he is an admirer of love, and a series of names that are very unfamiliar to me spit out from his mouth: Belyard, Fiamita, Laura, Niyi... He told me about poets and even kings and the above-mentioned In the love story of beauties, Lang gave a few paragraphs of French lyric poems, and he did not forget to use his slender, bare arms to fold the knots after reciting them.

"Love and hunger rule the world." After listening to his words, I suddenly remembered that this fiery language had appeared under the title of a revolutionary pamphlet "The Hunger King", so I felt that their words were far-reaching. "Humans pursue forgetfulness and enjoyment, not knowledge." His thoughts shook me. I left George's house a few minutes after six in the morning.While trekking through the wind, snow and morning fog, recalling the adventures of last night, George's thoughts touched me, and his words were like fishbone stuck in my throat, making me feel suffocating pain.I didn't want to go back to the bakery, and I didn't want to disturb anyone, so I just let myself wander on the streets of the Tatar district until the sky was bright and people could be seen faintly in the snowy sky.

I haven't seen George since then, and I don't want to see him again.In the days that followed I heard the same point more than once from other people, who were all kinds of people: illiterate wandering monks, wandering children from all over the world, Tolspinists and the like with highly educated people. No matter what, the people in the church, the clerks in the church, the scientists who made dynamite, the biologists who advocated neokineticism, etc., when I heard such thoughts again, they were not as unreasonable as the first time. Just two years ago, more than 30 years after I first heard George's views, I heard almost the same idea from a familiar old worker, and even expressed it in such a similar language. It was a casual heart-to-heart conversation with an old worker who mocked himself as a political old man and said to me with typical Russian candor: "My dear Alexei Maximich, I can tell you what I need Well, research institutes, airplanes, science have nothing to do with me. What I need is a secluded house and a woman I can kiss when I feel like it. Her mind and body belong to me, and that's enough. You are not on the same level as us, you like to think in an intellectual way of thinking, you put theory and ideas above everything else, I even think you are like a Jew: you live to live for Saturday?" "Jews are not like that..." "The devil knows what they think, this strange people." As he said, he threw the cigarette butt into the river and watched it fall into the water. On this moonlit autumn night, we sat on a granite stone bench by the Neva River, thinking hard about how to do something meaningful, the result was in vain, plus the tension of the day Work is exhausting now. "We are together, but our hearts are different. You and us are not the same kind of people. This is what I want to say," he continued while thinking: "Intellectuals are restless, they like to organize party groups to mess around. , like Jesus, for everyone to go to heaven, he started to mess around. These intellectuals are also tossing around under the banner of Utopia. As long as there is a crazy visionary to make a fuss, the gangsters, scoundrels, etc. Rise up and form an alliance with them. These people are dissatisfied with the government because they know that there is no place for them in life. As for the workers' uprising is for revolution, they want to fight for a reasonable distribution of production tools and products. If they seize Regime, do you think they will establish a new country? No way. At that time, people will disperse like birds and beasts, looking for a safe place to stay..." "What good do you say about machines? It will only tighten the rope around our necks and bind our hands and feet more firmly. We don't need machines at all. What we want is to reduce the intensity of labor and live a peaceful life, but factories and science will not give people Quiet. Our request couldn't be more simple. If I only need a small house, why bother to build a city? Everyone gathers in the city, throwing it away, and there are troublesome things like running water, sewer, electricity, etc. Do you think Imagine how much easier life would be without them. Hmm. We have a lot of superfluous stuff here that the intellectuals create. So I think the intellectuals are the black sheep.” Listening to these words, how can I feel in my heart.I am sure that no country in the world dares to deny the meaning of existence as completely as the Russians. The old worker smiled and continued: "Russians' thoughts are absolutely free, but please don't get angry, my thoughts are correct. Thousands of people think the same way, but they are not good at expressing it... Life is difficult. It should be simple, the most comfortable and relaxing..." I knew very well the history of this person's ideological development, and he was not a "Tolstoyist", nor did he have anarchist tendencies. After the conversation, I couldn't help thinking: Could it be that millions of Russian people have gone through untold hardships and participated in the revolution just to reduce labor and pursue happiness?Minimum effort, maximum enjoyment sounds as beautiful and seductive as all utopian and utopian legends. I am reminded of a poem by Ibsen: Am I a conservative?oh no. I'm still me, nothing has changed I don't want to play with chess pieces one by one I'm going to overturn the chessboard There was once a revolutionary revolution it is the wisest revolution in the world It was the flood at the beginning of the century The great flood should have washed everything away However, the devil was once again deceived Noah has once again become the Great Dictator. Oh.if the revolution is real i can help you You go and set off a flood that destroys everything Workers are willing to press mines under the ark Terikov's small grocer was struggling to make ends meet, the income was too low, and there were too many people in need of relief. "We have to think of something." Andre said anxiously to support Hu Shun, who smiled self-consciously and sighed again. Terikov was too hard on his son, he seemed to have sentenced himself to life, and obediently did hard work for people, even though he was very willing to do so, it was still painful. I have asked him in different ways many times: "Why do you want to do this?" He didn't understand the intention of my question, and always hurriedly answered "Why?" He used dry, incomprehensible and blunt words, saying that the people are living in misery, and they must be educated, educated and educated. gain knowledge etc. "Are you saying that people desire and pursue knowledge?" "Of course it is. Don't you think so too?" Yes, this is my hope too, but George's words echoed in my ears at this moment: "Humans pursue forgetting and pleasure, not knowledge." This kind of thinking is very harmful to young people of seventeen, and young people will be saddened by it, and it will not help them. I have the feeling that people like to listen to interesting stories in order to escape the suffering of reality.And the more bizarre the story, the more people like to listen to it. They think that the books full of bizarre plots are the best.It's like I'm walking in fog. I'm really at a loss. After careful planning by the teaching and research section, Terikov decided to open a small bakery. According to preliminary calculations, one ruble could yield thirty-five kopecks of interest.I was entrusted with an important task-promoted as baker's assistant, and as a "confidant".Monitor the bakery for possible theft: stealing flour, eggs, butter and bread. As for me, I was lifted from the dirty basement to this small but neat basement. I was responsible for the cleaning of the store, and it was much cleaner in front of me. There was only one big workshop with 40 people in the past. .He was a man with gray temples, a sallow complexion, a moustache, a pair of gloomy and melancholy eyes, and a mouth that was inexplicably small like a fish. As if to kiss someone.But there was a serious look in his eyes. He is not refined, and naturally he also steals things. On the first night, he couldn't wait to display his talents. He quietly put aside ten eggs, three catties of noodles, and a large piece of butter. "What are these for?" "For a little girl," he answered me calmly, then added, with a shrug of his nose, "a pretty nice girl." I tried to explain to him that stealing is a crime.But it seems that my efforts are in vain, maybe I'm too clumsy, maybe I don't believe in myself, how can I convince others?" The baker lay on the cabinet and looked through the window. The stars in the sky muttered strangely: "He still wants to punish me.Teach people a lesson when they meet for the first time.I'm three times bigger than him, it's a joke. ..." He looked back at me and said, "I seem to have seen you somewhere, where did you do it before?Is it the Seminov family?Or is it the one that caused the riot?Neither right?So, it seems that we met in a dream..." A few days later, I realized that this person has a specialty: sleeping, and his kung fu is quite deep, regardless of the location or posture, and can even fall asleep while standing while burning bread .His sleeping face is still weird, his eyebrows are slightly raised, and he looks like a sarcasm. He likes to tell stories about getting rich and dreams. He said confidently: "This is considered to have seen through the world, it is like a huge Pies, filled with treasures: pots of money, boxes of other things.I also dreamed of places I had been, and once of a bath with a chest of gold and silver vessels buried in a corner.After waking up from the dream, I believed it was true and went to dig all night. After digging a foot and a half, I dug out cinders and dog bones.Look, I dug up this junk. ... At this moment, there was a crash, and the window glass was smashed, followed by a woman's scream: "Come here, catch the thief." 'Fortunately, I escaped quickly, otherwise I would have to be beaten.It's a joke. " "It's a joke" is almost a catchphrase of Ivan Kozmich Butonin, and he doesn't smile when he says this, he just blinks his eyes pleasantly, shrugs his nose, and opens and closes his nostrils It's over. His dream is to think about it every day, see it every day, and dream at night, so it is as boring and boring as real life.I really don't understand why he is so fond of talking about dreams, but he turns a blind eye to the real people in real life and never mentions "a sensational news: the daughter of a tea merchant got married because she was dissatisfied with her marriage." On the same day, thousands of young people were shot at her funeral. College students gave speeches at her grave, and the police dispersed them. At this time, in the room next to our bakery, everyone was arguing about this tragic event. Xiao The large room behind the shop was filled with college students whose angry shouts and frantic debates we could hear in the basement. “我看这个姑娘是小时候欠揍。”布托宁发表了他的看法，接着又说起了他心爱的梦：“我可能是在池子里捉鲫鱼，一个警察猛然大喊：“站祝你What a guts. "I had nowhere to escape, I plunged into the water as soon as I was in a hurry, and then got scared..." Although Butonin didn't care much about the real life around him, even so, he still noticed the small grocery store after a while. unusual.The waiters in the small shop are two amateur girls who love to read, one is the boss's sister and the other is a good friend of the boss's sister. They are tall, with pink cheeks and a pair of gentle and pleasant eyes. College students are frequent customers of this shop. Every time they go to the big house behind the small shop, they argue non-stop, or talk loudly, or whisper in low voices, and sit for a long time.The real shopkeeper doesn't care much, but I act like a shopkeeper. "Are you a relative of the boss?" Butonen asked me, "Or I just want to recruit you as my brother-in-law, right?" It was a joke.Why do those college students keep coming here to make trouble? Looking at the girl? ...Well, maybe it is possible...But those two girls are not that beautiful, so it's not worth it...In my opinion, this group of college students is more enthusiastic about eating bread than watching girls...Almost every morning at five or six o'clock, there will be A short-legged girl appeared punctually in the street outside the bakery window, her body was strangely composed, like a large sphere made of a small sphere, like a bag of pumpkins.As she walked barefoot to the basement window, she yawned and called, "Vassinia." She had curly yellow hair in little rings hanging from her puffy red face and flat forehead, catching her sleepy eyes.She lazily brushes the hair out of her eyes with those baby-like hands" It's funny. What can you do with such a girl?I woke Butonen up, and he opened his eyes and said, "Come?" "Don't you see it?" "Have you slept well?" "Of course." "What did you dream about?" "Can not remember……" At this moment, the whole city is in silence.Only the sound of the scavenger waving the broom came from afar, and the little sparrows who woke up were singing happily, and the windows in the basement were also enjoying the comfort of the sun. I fell in love with such a peaceful morning for ten minutes. The baker greedily stretched out his hairy hands from the window to caress the girl's bare feet, and the girl let it go as if nothing had happened, her two gentle and obedient eyes blinked expressionlessly. "Pishkov. The bread is ready, take it out quickly." I pulled out the grate, and the baker grabbed a dozen or so cookies, donuts, and white buns from it and dropped them into the girl's dress.She poured the hot cookies from her left hand to her right, and brought them to her mouth. She opened her mouth and gnawed with her fine yellow teeth, which made her hum while eating. Butonin looked at his girl obsessively: "Put down the skirt quickly, you not shy girl." After Miss Yuan left, he praised her again: "See? She's like a sheep, and she has curly hair. I'm a boy, boy, and I never hang out with women, only girls. This is my thirteenth girl." , she is Niki Fletch's goddaughter." Listening to his triumphant and satisfied words, I pondered in private: "Do I have to live like this too?" I quickly took the white bread from the oven, picked out ten pieces, maybe ten pieces, put them on a long tray, and took them to Terikov's grocer.When I came back, I hurriedly packed two poods of white bread and butter bread, and carried a basket. Did the seminary deliver breakfast to the students.I stood at the entrance of the seminary dining hall, handing out bread to college students, "keeping the books" or collecting "cash."There was a professor in the seminary named Gusev, a dissident of Leo Tolstoy.So I can still hear their arguments about Toon.I also sometimes engaged in some "underground" work. I put a few pamphlets under the bread and secretly sent them to college students, who often stuffed books or papers into their baskets. Once a week I had to travel far to the asylum, where the psychiatrist Bekhterov gave example lessons to students.I still remember him talking about a manic patient. The patient had already stood at the door of the classroom. He looked weird, dressed in a white hospital gown, tall, with a pointed cap on his head. Seeing him like that, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn't help laughing out.He paused for a moment as he passed me, then gave me a glare.But it frightened me, and I kept shrinking back, as if the light from his black eyes had pierced my heart.While the psychiatrist was giving lectures with the help of a beard, I kept my hand on my face that seemed to be on fire. The patient spoke in a low voice, and stretched out his horribly slender hand from the white hospital gown, with equally horribly slender fingers, as if he was asking for something.Maybe it's my hallucination, I think his whole body is stretching.His black hand seemed to be able to grab my throat at any time, especially the eyes in the black eye sockets on that dry and thin face, emitting a majestic and fierce sharp light. The 20 or so students attending the class looked at the lunatic wearing a strange hat. Several students laughed, and most of the other students were thinking hard.Their plain eyes can't compete with the lunatic's fiery eyes at all.The lunatic is terrible, he has an indescribable arrogance, he is so arrogant. The college students turned into fish that could not speak one by one. There was no sound in the classroom, only the crisp voice of the professor echoed in the classroom. Every time the professor asked a question, the lunatic would scold him in a low voice. His voice seemed to come from under the floor, Or from behind a white, windowless wall.The manner of the madman is dignified, as soothing, dignified, and majestic as an archbishop in a church. That same night, I wrote a poem about a madman. The image of the madman has left an indelible impression on my heart. He disturbed me. In my poem, I call this madman " Chief of kings, honored guest of God". I am very busy with my work, and I have almost no free time to read books.From six o'clock in the evening until noon the next day, I have to catch up on sleep in the afternoon, so I have to steal some time to read. When one ball of dough is kneaded, the other ball has not yet fermented, and the bread has already been put into the oven , I can pick up the book and read it.The baker saw that I had almost started, so he did even less.He also taught me in a kind and weird voice: "You are very capable. In a year or two, you will be an apprentice baker. It is a joke. You are so young, no one listens to you, and no one I value you..." He was extremely opposed to me burying it in the pile of books: "I think you should stop reading, it's better to sleep on it." He often said to me with such concern, but he never asked me to read it. some books. His greatest hobby is to dream all kinds of strange dreams, dreaming of gold and silver treasures buried underground, and being obsessed with that ball-like short-legged girl.The short-legged girl often dated him at night, and when she came he would take her to the doorway where the flour was piled up, and if it was too cold, he would shrug his nose and say, "Go out for half an hour." As I walked outside, I thought: "The way they fall in love is far from what is described in the books..." The owner's sister lived in the small room behind the bakery. I often made a samovar for her but tried my best to avoid talking with her. She met her, because when I saw her, I was embarrassed and unnatural. She always looked at me with embarrassing childlike eyes, just like when we first met, I felt that there was something in her eyes. ridicule my smile. I seem to have endless energy, so I look clumsy and clumsy.The baker saw that I was able to move a five-pound heavy flour bag, and said with regret, "You are as strong as three people, but when it comes to Lingfeng, you are finished. You are so thin and thin." Tall, but still a stupid and stupid cow..." At this time, although I had read a lot of books, I also loved reading poetry and started writing poetry, but I still said: "I am myself". I know this sounds stupid and uneducated, but I always feel that I can express my chaotic thoughts in such rough words. Sometimes, in order to resist those intolerable things, I deliberately speak out Very rude and brutal. A college student in mathematics who taught me said of me: "The devil knows what you're talking about. What you say is nothing, it's like a weight..." Actually, I don't feel very good about myself. I feel ugly and ridiculous, like a Kalmyk, with high cheekbones, and I can't control myself when I speak. Let's take a look at Maria, the boss's sister. She looks like a bird, flying around, light and flexible, but I think her movements are a little out of sync with her chubby figure.From her manner and gait, it was evident that she was a little vain. Every time I hear her happy tone, I wonder: Is she trying to make me forget how sick she was when we first met?But I can't forget that I am very concerned about all things that are different, and I am eager to know and know extraordinary events that may happen or have happened. Sometimes she comes up to me and asks: "What book are you reading?" I replied briefly, and really wanted to ask her back: "What are you asking for?" One night, the baker was having a tryst with the short-legged girl, and he said to me in a nasty tone: "You go out for a while. Hello. You go to Maria's, why are you looking stupidly?You know, those college students..." I told him to shut up, or I would go down and smash his head with a heavy weight. Then I went to the door where the flour was piled up. I heard cloth Toning read: "I'm not angry with him.He just knows how to study, he's a madman..." There was no way to stay in the doorway, hordes of mice were having a carnival here, and the short-legged girl moaned intoxicatedly from the bakery. I had to hide in the yard, outside It was drizzling silently, and I felt very depressed. There was a smell of burnt smoke in the yard, maybe a forest fire broke out somewhere. It's late at night, and there are still a few rooms with dim lights in the house opposite the bakery, and the people inside are humming: the holy stalk and the gold ring shining on their heads, and they can't help but meet in the sky Laughing a lot...I imagine Maria lying on my lap like a short-legged girl on a baker's lap, but I find it ridiculous, even scary. from night to dawn he sings and drinks But he.oops And did that kind of thing... On this "Ouch", they sang very carefully and meaningfully. I put my hands on my knees and leaned over to look at a window. Through the curtains was a square basement.A small table lamp with a blue shade illuminates the gray wall. A girl is writing a letter facing the window. At this moment, she raises her head and straightens her drooping hair with a red pen. A happy event.And slowly folded the letter and stuffed it into the signal envelope, licked the glued edge of the seal with the tip of his tongue to stick the letter, and threw it on the table.Then I stretched out my index finger, which was smaller than my little finger, and pointed a few times, picked up the envelope again, frowned, took out the letter, read it again, put another envelope, and wrote the address.To make the seal dry faster, she held up the envelope and waved it in the air like a white flag.She clapped her hands and turned to the bed, and when she came back, she had already taken off her coat, revealing her plump shoulders like bread, and she disappeared into the corner with the desk lamp in her hand.When you observe someone acting alone, you feel like (she) is crazy. I walked in the yard and thought: It is really strange for this girl to live by herself. The girl I'm talking about is Maria. Every time that red-haired college student came to her, I would feel displeasure in my heart. He lowered his voice to talk to her. Hide behind or put it under the table. I don't like this college student at all, I even hate him. The short-legged girl came out staggeringly wrapped in a headscarf, and she muttered: "You can go back." Butonin was taking dough out of the cupboard, showing to me how understanding and joyful his lover was, and he wouldn't get tired of it even a hundred years ago.I thought to myself: "What should I do in the past?" I have a feeling: at any moment, disaster may fly on me from such a corner. The bakery was thriving, and Terikov planned to find a bigger workshop and hire another assistant. This is not bad news. I have too much work now, and I am exhausted every day. "Go to the new workshop, and you will be a great assistant." The baker made a wish, "I will tell them, Raise your salary to ten rubles." Being a great assistant is harmless to the baker. He doesn't like to work, but I am willing to do it. The tiredness of the body can forget the irritability of the mood and control my lust, but I can't read. "Give the book to the mice to chew on." Butonen said, "Have you never had a dream? Of course, you may not want to say it.It's a joke.Saying that dreams are fine, there is no need to be frightened. ..." The baker spoke to me very kindly, as if showing some respect. He probably thought I was the boss' confidant, but of course this did not prevent him from stealing bread every day. My grandmother died, and seven weeks after her burial I learned the sad news from my cousin, in this short, unreadable letter: Grandmother fell from the door of the church while begging , broke a leg.He died on the eighth day.I found out later that my grandfather relied on begging to support my cousin, cousin, cousin and her children. When my grandmother fell ill, they did not call a doctor.The letter also said: My grandmother was buried in the Petrepavlovsk cemetery. Besides them, there were a group of beggars among the mourners. My grandfather also participated in the funeral. He drove them all away, and cried himself to death in front of the grave. I didn’t cry when I learned about this, but I just shivered. At night, I sat on the firewood pile, depressed, and wanted to find someone to tell about my grandmother. She was so kind and kind, just like mothers all over the world.This desire to bribe someone to talk to me has been buried in my heart for a long time, and I have never had a chance, so it will always sink in my heart. Many years later, I found this feeling again. It was triggered when I read a short story about a coachman by Chekhov. Tells the tragic scene of his son's death. My situation is even sadder. I have neither a horse nor a dog, but a group of mice are active around me, but I don't want to tell them anything. The mice in the bakery have become my relatives and neighbors. I caught the attention of old policeman Niki Fletcher, who was hovering around me like a hawk. Niki Fletch was a healthy, well-proportioned man with short silver-gray hair and a big, well-trimmed beard.He was smacking his lips and staring at me like a goose waiting to be killed at Christmas. "I heard you like reading books, don't you?" "What kind of books do you like to read? For example, biography or the Bible?" He asked me. I have read both books. It seems that my answer was beyond his expectation. He was taken aback and looked confused. "Really? Sure, it's good and legal to read them. I suppose you read Toon, too?" I did read Tolstoy's book, it doesn't seem to be a sensitive book for the police. "Toon's Ling is no different from the works of other writers, but I heard that he has written several books that are outrageous, and he dared to turn against the priest. Hey, you can read this book." I had read the book he was talking about a long time ago, and it was very dull, and I knew very well that there was no need to argue with the police on this issue. I met him on the street and chatted several times while walking, and he invited me to sit there: "Come to my little police station and have a cup of tea." I knew his intentions very well in my heart, but I still wanted to visit him. I am interested in all novel things.After discussing with a few people who knew the general idea, they decided that I would go, because if they ignored his kind invitation, it would be tantamount to self-reporting and deepen his suspicion of the bakery. In this way, I became Niki Fletch's seat.在他的小房间里，作式壁炉就占去了二分之一的地方，还有一张挂花布的双人床下空间里放着一个碗橱、一张桌子、两把椅子，窗子给他挡得严严实实的。他太太坐我身边，她是个胸脯丰满的二十几岁的小娘儿们，阴险、狡诈的灰蓝色眼睛镶在粉红色脸颊上，她讲话时特意翘起两片鲜红的唇，带抱怨似的语气说话。 “听说，我的干闺女常往你们那儿跑，这个下贱的丫头。” “世界上的女人全一个德行，就是贱。” 老警农察的显然触怒了他的太太，她特别问道：“全都是？” “没一个不是。”尼基弗勒奇坚定地答道，他胸前的奖章哗哗直响就像马儿摇响身上的鞍辔一样。他唱口茶又兴致勃勃地说：“从最下等的妓女……到最高无尚的女皇，所有的女人都是下贱的。氏巴女王为所有的女人都是下贱的。氏巴女王为向所罗门颂诉衷情不惜跨越两行千里沙漠，就是叶卡捷琳娜女王，虽称为大帝，可她也不能脱俗……”他以确凿的证据证明了女皇的风流艳事，他仔仔细细地进述了一个宫廷烧茶炉的侍者因和女皇一夜风流而飞黄腾达之事，侍者现在已高居将军之职。他太太听得入了迷，不时地舔舔嘴唇，还用桌下的腿碰我的腿。老警察人老了，口齿却很流利，且思维敏捷，爱用逗人的语言。我没开明白怎么回事呢，他的话题已经转到另一个问题了：“就拿那个大学生普列特涅夫来说吧。” 他太太不无遗憾地叹息一声，站起来说：“可惜他不怎么漂亮，不过人倒蛮不错。” “你说谁好？” “普列特涅夫行生。” “你叫他先生恐怕还为时过早吧。要叫也得等到他毕业呀，他现在不过是千千万万普通大学生中的一员而已。对了，你说他很好是什么意思？” “他快活，有青春气。” “马戏团里的小丑也一样快活……” “那不同，小建成快活为挣钱。” “闭嘴。你记住，老狗也曾经做过年轻的小狗……”“小丑们就像猴子……”“我铡才说让你闭嘴。你没听见吗？” "I heard." “那不结了……” 说服了太太，老警察转过脸建议我： “我说。你应该认识一下普列特涅夫，他挺有意思。” 我猜想他在试探我，我敢肯定他见我们一起在街上走过。 我别无选择，只她说： “我认识他。” “你们早认识？噢……” 他好像很失望，身子突然地抖动着，震得胸前的奖章又响了。我内心十分忧虑，因为我最清楚普列特涅夫正在做什么：印传单。 他太太继续在桌子底下秘密活动：用他的腿碰我的。她故意逗她的老丈夫，老警察像孔雀开屏似的滔滔不绝地炫耀他的能言善辩。他太太弄得我根本没法专心听他的话，不经意间，我发现他讲话的声音更加深沉动人了：“这就像一张看不见的网，你明白吗？皇上就是织网的大蜘蛛……”他不无忧虑地瞪着两只圆眼睛对我说。 “哎呀。你瞧你说些什么呀。”他太太大惊小怪地喊叫道。 “你给我住嘴。蠢娘儿们。我这样说最形象生动，不是蓄意丑化。这个母马，去准备茶炊吧……”老警察眉间紧锁，眯起眼，继续他生动的讲话：“这是一张看不见的网，网从沙皇的心里出发，通过各个环节：各部大臣、县长、各级官吏、直到我，甚至可以绵延到兵士头上。这条条线，蜜蜜匝匝地包裹着，坚不可破，正是它维持着沙皇的统治。可是仍有一些被英国女王收买的波兰人、犹太人、俄罗斯人公然破坏这张网，还打着为人民的旗号。” 他隔着桌子探身靠近我，压低声音带点恐怖地说：“你应该清楚，我今天为什么和你说这些话。你的面包师傅对你挺满意，他说你诚实、聪明、光棍一条。可是你的面包店里总是聚集一大群大学生，他们在捷里柯夫的房间里整夜谈论。如果是单独一个学生去，那可以理解，可是总有很多学生成群结队往那跑就不对劲儿了。我可不敢说大学生什么，他们今天是个普通大学生，明天就可能当上检察官。大学生们是好人，就是太多事，再加上沙皇的政敌私下里鼓以动他们，你明白了吗？我还有话跟你说……”他的话看来是没法说下去了，他家的房门被一个红鼻子小老头打开了，老头儿的卷发用小皮条束着，手中提着瓶伏特加，可能喝醉了。 “咱们杀盘棋吧？”他借着酒劲兴致勃勃地说，他看上去是个很有趣味儿的人。 “这是我岳父。”老警察沮丧地向我介绍说。 几分钟后，我告辞了。尼基弗勒奇的妖艳太太送我出来关门时，捏了我一把，有点献媚地说：“您看那片云彩，像着火似的。” 天空晴朗，那片金色云朵，渐渐消散了。 我不得不给老警一个公正的评价，我也不是想惹我的老师们生气，但是我还要说：警察对当时国情的分析更加鞭辟入里。一只大蜘蛛，通过无数条紧密纠缠和约束生活的无穷不尽的线，编织成一张无形的网。我没多久就发现了许多许多这样那样的网络了。 晚上关了店我被叫到玛丽亚房间里，她一本正经地告诉我：她奉命来了解我和警察的会谈情况。 我一五一十地向她讲述了整个过程，她听完后大吃一惊道：“天呵。我的上帝。”然后她就像只老鼠似的，满地乱转，若有所思，“面包师没向你打听过什么吗？原来他的情人是老警察的亲戚。得把他赶走。” 我站起来靠着门框，她的话激怒了我。她说“情人”这个词说得太顺溜太不负责了，还有就是她干吗要赶走面包师？ “以后您要多加小心。”她说话的方式和往常一样，我的感觉也没有改变，永远的狼狈和尴尬。此时玛丽亚背着手站在我面前说：“您怎么老是那儿郁闷？” “我外祖母刚刚去世了。” 她对这件事好像感了兴趣，于是她面带微笑说：“您爱她？” “当然。您不问别的了吧？” “大问了。” 我离开了老板的妹妹。当晚写了首诗，其中一句依然记忆犹新：你真是爱慕虚荣。 从那以后就决定大学生们少到面包店来，找不到大学生，我的问题就没人解答了，只能把有关问题记在笔记本上，到时候一总儿问。有一次，我累的写着写着就枕在笔记本上睡着了。面饣师偷看了我的本儿，他叫醒了我：“喂。你写的什么呀？加里波得为什么不驱逐皇上，加里波得是谁？他怎么敢驱逐皇上呢？” 他愤愤地把笔记扔到面粉橱上，钻到炉坑烘烤面包去了，他在那儿还喋喋不休地说：“你说你不驱逐皇帝陛下，简直是笑话。最好放弃这个念头，你这个书呆子。我记得五年前在萨拉托夫，宪兵们捉了许多你们这种书呆子。我记得五年前在萨拉托夫，宪兵们捉了许多你们这种书呆子，就像逮老鼠似的，哎。你不知道尼基弗勒奇早就盯上你了，你以为驱逐皇上像赶只鸽子那么轻而易举吗？” 他好心好意劝了我半天，我不能正面回答他，因为店里有令不让我和面包师谈禁区以内的危险话题。 当时有一本小册子在全城传播，读过小册子的人们窃窃私语，议论着什么。我让拉甫洛夫帮忙找本看看，可惜他没有找到。 ”唉，。我说老弟，别抱希望了，早就没了，不过，我倒是听说有个地方近日要宣讲这本小册子，到时候我带你听听去……”那是圣母升天之夜，我和拉甫洛夫一前一后约五十丈远行走在阿尔斯克波尔昏暗的大地上。尽管旷野里人际皆无，我仍然按拉甫洛夫说的去做，我时刻提高警惕，一边走一边吹口哨，唱着小曲，俨然一副醉洒工人的样子。这时旷野上昏暗而寂静，黑色的云朵缓缓地飘动。掠过大地上空，金黄色的落月隐藏在云间，水洼地闪动着银灰色和铁蓝色的光，不时发出沉沉低吼的喀山城被我甩在身后了。 拉甫洛夫停在神学院后边果树园的栅栏边，我赶上去，越过栅栏，穿过杂草丛生的果园。 树枝上有露水，一碰就落下来打湿了衣服。我们来到一幢房子的墙脚轻轻扣击窗板，一个络肋胡打开窗板，他身边一片漆黑和沉寂。 "Who?" “从亚柯夫那儿来的。” "come in." 这个黑洞洞的屋子里，挤了很多人，可以听到衣服的摩擦声，人们的轻咳和议论声，就跟地狱差不多，有人划了一根火柴照照我的脸，一下子有许多黑影投在地板上。 "Is everyone here?" "Done." “挂好窗帘，别让灯光漏出去。” 一个愤怒的声音响起来： “谁这么自以为是，把我们带到这个多少万年没人住的房子里开会？” “小点儿声。” 屋角亮起一盏灯，房间里空空荡荡，只有一条木板架在两个箱子上，上面坐了五个人，就像乌鸦栖息在树枝上一样，小台灯放在一个倒置的箱子上，靠墙处坐了三个人，窗台上也坐着一个人，这人长发，脸色花白而瘦弱，除了他和那会儿打开窗板的络腮胡子，其他人我都认得。 络腮胡子低声说，他下面即给家读那本小册子，它是脱离民主党的普列诺夫撰写的文章，名为《我们的分歧》。 地板上有人气鼓鼓地叫道： “这我们早知道了。” 我喜欢这种秘密的场面，它让我兴奋不已，神秘的诗就是最好的诗。我感觉自个儿仿佛成了做祈祷的教徒，还联想到古罗马时代教徒们在地下室里秘密祈祷的场景。屋子里一直充满了人们的低语声，但听得还很清楚。 “胡说八道。”屋子里不知是谁气忿地吼了一句。 在黑暗的房间里，朦朦胧胧地有什么东西在反光，可能是件铜器，也许是罗马时代骑士们戴的盔甲，我估摸着是炉子通风门上的把手。 房间里纷乱的嘈杂声和朗读声混在一起，也搞不清人们在谈论什么，突然我头上响起一个嘲讽的声音：“咱们还听不听了？” 这是那个长发、苍白的青年在说话。这句话效果不错，屋子里顿时沉寂下来，只剩下孤零零的朗读声了。屋子里有许多红红的火光在闪动，后面一张张深沉思虑的面也，有人大睁着眼，有人使劲儿眯着眼，屋子里乌烟瘅气，硝烟迷漫。 文单太长了，就连我这个对语言通俗、文词流畅、观点鲜明、情有独钟的人都厌烦了。 朗读声猛然停止，立刻响起了一声愤怒的喊叫：“叛徒。” “一纸空文。……” “这分明是在亵读英雄的鲜血。” “这是在喀涅拉罗夫和乌里扬诺夫牺牲之后……”那个苍白的青年又发话了：“先生们，可不可以用正常的言词的反驳而不用咒骂呢？” 我向来讨厌人们争论不休，也不喜欢听，再说要想谷分辩出个所以然来也十分不易，再加上辩论者自视清高的傲气劲儿让人看了怪难受的。 长发青年从窗台上俯身对我说： “您是彼什柯夫？我是弗得塞也夫，我们认识一下好吗？ 说实话，在这儿呆下去没有什么收获，我们离开这儿？ " 我早就听见过这个名字，他是个沉稳庄重的小组头目，我十分喜欢他苍白而生动的脸和他那双深不可测的眼睛。 我们边走边谈，他问了我很多话：有什么工人朋友？读什么书？闲暇时间多不多？他还说：“我知道你们那个面包店，可使我奇怪的是您怎么浪费大好时光去干那些毫无意义的事情呢？” 我跟他说我自个儿也认为自己这样做一无所获，他十分满意我的。一面紧握我的手，一面发出宏亮的笑声。他告诉我后天他要离开这儿三个多星期，等他回来再设法和我见面。 面包店经营的越来越红火，我自个儿的事情却乱成了一团新作坊不但没有减轻我的工作量，反而更加重了。我里里外外的事都得做，除了作坊里的事，就是往外送面包：私人住宅、神学院、贵族女子寄宿学校。 那些女学生们常常趁挑面包的机会，把小纸条塞给我，在那些美丽的信笺上居然写着毫无耻的词句，尽管字写的很幼稚，但思想似乎已经“成熟”了。 每当那一群欢快、洁净、俊秀的贵计算所小姐们娇喘微微，极尽媚态，伸着粉红色小爪子转着我的面包篮转的时候，我就想：到底是哪几位小姐写下这样的信笺呢？她们真的不懂她们写的是什么吗？我不禁联想起“烟花巷”来，自个儿寻思：“难道那条看不见的线从烟花巷延伸到这些贵族小姐身上女学生拦住，她十分紧张地轻声说：“劳驾你把这封信按上面的地址送去，我会你十戈比。 “看着她欲哭还羞的样子：眼里含着泪，紧咬嘴唇，脸和耳朵都红了。我大方地接过信封，没要她的十戈比，把信送给了高院里一位法官的儿子，他脸上的红潮一看就知道是害肺病的，这个身材高大的大学生接过雠就打算给我五十戈比的报酬。他细细地数着钱巾，我告诉他我不收钱，他放钱币时没放进裤兜儿，哗啦啦散落了一地。 他不知所措地看着五戈比、七戈比的铜币在地上翻滚，使劲地搓着双手，指节啪啪直响，然后艰难地咕浓了一句：“怎么办呀。就这样吧。再见了。我得考虑考虑……”我不知道他考虑出了什么结果，可我觉得那个女学生很可怜。没多久她失踪了。十五年后，我又遇见了她，她在克里木当中学老师，得了肺结核，一谈到社会人生就忍不住地悲愤和心酸。 来看看我的工作表排得有多满吧：送完面包睡觉，晚上到作坊帮着烤面包，半夜里要烤好，送到面包店里卖，我们的新面包店在一个剧院旁，夜场的观众经常到店里吃热乎乎的面包圈。除之外，我还得揉按斤卖的面包和法式面包的面团，这可是十五到二十普特重的大面团，是件十分繁重的工作。休息两三十个小时之后，开始送面包。 The days passed like this. 好在这段时间我对社会工作充满了热忱，我非常渴望向周围的人们传播一种永恒、美好的东西，我天生脸备优越条件，喜欢和人打交道，很会讲故事，尤其擅长把自个儿的亲身经历和所读书本中获得的知识编撰起来，成为很有趣的故事，自然我的故事里也藏着那许许多多“看不见的线。” 我认识了许多克罗斯托捕尼柯夫和阿拉甫佐夫工厂的工人，还和织布老工人尼基塔·鲁伯佐夫交上了朋友，他几乎走遍了全俄国的织布工厂，这人很有心计，性情活泼。 “我在世上已经混了五十七年了，阿列克塞·马克西美奇。我的小流浪儿，新鲜的小梭子。”他说话声音瓮声瓮气的。 这个老头有一副很别致的黑眼镜，是他自个儿做的，他用铜丝把有关部位联结起来，因而鼻梁上和耳朵后都染上了铜垢。他的胡子很也很独特，并因此而落得一个雅号，他刮胡子时像德国人似的留下嘴唇上的一撮儿和嘴唇下的一块灰白胡顺，所以人们称他是“德国佬”。 他身材适中，胸脯宽阔，总是面带艰辛的笑容。 “我最喜欢去看马戏”，他甩了一甩凹凸不平的光头说：“马本来是个牲口，你说它是怎么训练的呢？真让人羡慕，由此可见，人也可以训练的聪明起来，马戏团里的牲口是用糖训教出来的，而人需要的糖是善心，而不是从杂货铺里买来的糖。这个意思就是对人要充满善心，我的小伙子，不要动不动就想举棒打人，你说是不是？” 其实他自个儿对人并不好，这些话纯粹是说给别人听。他和别人争论问题时，态度粗暴，蛮横无礼，盛气凌人，平时和人说话也是常带嘲讽的笑容。说起我们的相识，还有段故事：我走进一家啤酒店，看见倔被一群人围打，而且他已不幸地挨了两下，我冲过去劝开了他们。 “您怎么样？痛秋风悲凉的夜晚，我们在夜路上走着。 “呸。这算得了什么？”他一脸的不屑，“唉。你和我说话干吗老是您您的？” 从那以后我们成了朋友最初他还经常嘲讽讽和讥笑我，可是听了我讲的“看不见的网”，他一改常态认真地说：“你真的不笨，一点儿也不笨，对不对？……”他对我真有点父亲的味道儿，而且叫我时也毫不客气地加上父称。 “我的阿列克塞·马克西美奇。我的小梭子。你的观点是正确的，可是没人相信你……”“您信吗？” “我？我和别人不同”。我是个丧家的秃尾巴狗而其他人则是带镣铐的看家狗。他们的尾巴好长好重：老婆孩子、手风琴、棉鞋等等鸡毛蒜皮琐琐碎碎的，看家狗痴迷着自个儿的狗窝，他们才不会信你呢。那次我们在莫列佐夫工厂暴动时就是，出头的椽子先烂，脑门儿可不同于屁股，一但烂了可就让你吃不了兜着走。 " 后来他的这种观点有所变化。那是他认识了克罗托甫尼柯夫工厂的钳工亚柯夫·沙坡什尼柯夫之后，他身患肺病，会弹六弦琴，精通圣经，强烈地反对上帝。亚柯夫谈话狂热而激烈，还不时地往地上吐带血的痰：“上帝根本就是不存在的，道先，我这个人不是按上帝的形象造的。无论聪明才智还是自身体力，都一无所长，况且我一点儿也不仁慈；其次，上帝根本不知道我生活有多艰难，要不就是他知道而不肯帮忙；最后，上帝并非全知全能，而且，根本就不仁慈，让我说，上帝压根就不存在。上帝压根就不存在。纯粹是人们自个儿捏造出来欺骗自个儿的。 “我们的一切生活都是欺骗。” 直把个鲁伯佐夫听得哑口无言，脸色铁青，以至破口骂，亚柯夫不慌不忙，引经据典，说得条条是道，说得鲁伯佐夫低头沉思，无言以对。 亚柯夫的讲话风度简直夫可比拟，那样子十分怕人，尤其那双凶光毕露的眼睛就像躁狂病人的眼光，他的头发黑的像吉卜赛人似的，脸瘦而黑，猛一望过去，漆黑一片，青色的嘴唇里狼牙齿的闪动，说起话来目光炬死死盯住对方的脸。 告别亚柯夫，鲁伯佐夫沉重地说： “世蜀上所有的话我都见识过，就是没听过这种话，居然在我面前诬蔑上帝。这个人活不了多久了，真是个可怜人，他快把自个儿死了。……挺有意思，是不是？老弟。” 可是事情却发生了戏剧性的变化，没几天工夫，他和亚柯夫打得火热，快活得都要燃烧了，一个劲儿地用手擦他的坏眼。 他笑哈哈地说：“喂。这就是说，罢了上帝的职。哈哈。 我亲爱的小钉子沙皇吗？他不妨事。依我看，问题不在沙皇而在老板身上。多才不管是谁当沙皇，伊凡勒帝当也成，只管坐下来统吧。please.我只要惩治板的权力就够了。来来来，让我用一条结实的金链子把你绑在皇帝的宝座上，我要像朝拜沙皇一样朝拜你……”鲁伯佐夫看完《饥饿王》后对我说：“这书中写的没错。 " 他第一次看这种石印小册书，俏皮地说：“喂。这书是谁给你写的？真清楚。麻烦你告诉他一声，我这厢有礼了。” 他对知识的渴求到了贪求到了贪得无厌的地步，他十分投入地听亚柯夫糟踏上帝，一连几个小时听我讲书的故事，他时常被逗得前仰后合，并一迭连声地赞美：“人真是有灵气呀。” 他因为有眼病，自己读收很困难，可这似乎不影响他见多识广，他的博学经常让我吃惊不已，记得一回他说：“德国有个绝顶聪明的木匠被国王认命为参加议员了。” 我追问下去才弄清他说的是倍倍尔。 “您打哪儿才弄清他说的是倍倍尔。 “您打哪儿知道这事儿的？” “知道就是知道。”他随口一句，手指头抓着那个崎岖不平的秃壳。 亚柯夫对周围的现实生活漠不关心，就跟上帝较上劲儿了，一门心思地要消灭上帝，讥讽神父，一副叛者的形象。他尤其痛恨修士。 有一次锝伯佐夫平声静气地问他： “喂。你是不是就会咒骂上帝呀？” 这下可捅了马蜂窝，他发狠似的狂叫道：“就是这个上帝。我恨他。他让我崇拜了二十年，我谨小慎微、担惊受怕、缩手缩脚地度日，因为上帝说凡事不可辩驳，一切由上帝作主，到头来呢，我一无所获，我活得痛苦，压抑、没有自由。当我熟读了《圣经》，我才恍然大悟，这套把戏全是凭空捏造，骗人的。根本就没有什么尼基塔。” 他气愤地挥动着一只胳膊，好像要挣脱什么，说话的声音差不多成了哭腔。 “全是因为这个，我年纪轻轻就快死了。” 这段时间我还认识了几个有意思的人，我想起来就跑回塞米诺夫面包坊看我的老伙计们。他们都欢迎我去，喜欢听我讲故事，可惜鲁伯佐住海军村，亚柯夫又住鞑区，相跑五里之遥，我们几乎不怎么见面，他们不来看我，我也不去看他闪，关键是我没有可以款待他闪的场所。 还有一个重要原因就是新来的面包师是个退伍兵，常和宪睢来往，再加上宪兵同令部的后院和面包店的院子只有一墙之隔，那样扬扈的“制服”经经常翻墙而过。或是为岗卡尔特上校买白面包，或是为自个儿买黑面包。 也不人警告我，不要太出“风头”，以免引起有关方面对面包坊的过分关注。 我的工作越来越没儿了，面包店也快经营不下去了。最近常常发生些可气的事情。有些人很不自觉，经常拿走柜子里钱，有时候弄到没钱买面粉的份上。 捷里柯夫揪起那缕儿可怜的小胡须无可奈何地说：“完了，我们快破产了。” 他的私人生活也变得很糟，娜斯佳怀孕了，脾气大长，整天鼻了，脸不是脸，像一头野猫撞来撞去，那双绿眼睛里充满了怨气。 她使劲儿往安德烈身上撞帮，帮意无视他的存在，此时的安德烈忍气吞声地给他让开路，望着她摇一摇头。 捷里可夫也向我诉过苦： “这些人也是有点像话。太随便了，没有不拿的东西，我买的半打袜子只一天工夫就全拿没了。” 他的家庭也遭遇了不幸，父亲因为怕死后入地狱得了精神抑郁症；小弟弟整日喝酒玩女人；妹妹变得冷若冰霜，看来她和红头发大学生的恋爱没有什么好结果。我经常看见她哭红了双眼。心中更增加了对那个大学生的厌恶。 捷里柯夫的事业也很难支撑下去了，从袜子这个小事儿就可以看出，大家是多么不体应该这个善良人的义举呀。他苦心孤诣地想做一件有意义的事情，太艰难了，他周围那些得到救助的人们不但不关心他的事业，反而去摧毁它安德烈别无所求，他只希望大家能够友善地对待和他的画业。这个可怜的善人呀。 我觉着我喜欢上玛丽亚了，我还喜欢面包店女店员娜捷什塔·社尔巴托娃，她有着健康的肤色和妩媚的笑容。 不论怎么说，我开始恋爱了。我这可不算早熟，无论年龄、个性还有我“丰富多彩”的生活都“逼着我接近女人。我渴望异性的温情，哪怕只是友谊的关後也行。我渴望向人倾诉我自个儿的心事，太需要有人帮我理清纷乱的思绪了。 有生以来我还没有真正意义上的朋友。那些个把我看成“璞玉”人们，并不能触动我的心灵，我不会对他们倾诉衷肠。 要是我讲了他们不感兴趣的话题，他们立刻就会阻止我：“嘿。算了，算了，别往下讲了。” 最近得到了一个坏消息：古利·普列特涅夫被捕入狱，押到了彼得堡的“克罗斯特监狱。 这个消息是从老警察尼基弗勒那儿得知的。那是个早晨，我们在街相遇，他还是一副老样子，胸前挂满奖