Chapter 11 Chapter Two (6)

However, he himself talked on and on for two hours, then sat down to lunch, and when it was time to go home, he was going to go out with the doctor, but Gordon stopped them when he came.Gordon also came running quickly, and the news he brought was the same. During this time, things moved forward again.There are some new details.Gordon was talking about the shooting intensifying and pedestrians being accidentally killed by stray bullets.According to him, the traffic in the city had been cut off, and it was a miracle to be able to walk into their alley, but the way back was cut off. Nikolai Nikolayevich did not listen to the advice and tried to go outside to find out what was going on, but returned quickly.He said that the alley could not go out at all, bullets were flying, and bricks and walls were knocked down in many corners.There was no one in the street, and the sidewalks were cut off from traffic.

Sashenka has caught a cold these days. "I've said countless times, don't take a child to a burning stove." Yuri Andreevich was angry. "Heat is more harmful than cold." Sashenka had trouble with her throat and started to have a high fever.This child has a very special temper, and is particularly afraid of nausea and vomiting, as if this kind of reaction will appear all the time. He pushed away Yuri Andreevich's hand that was holding the laryngoscope, shut his mouth not to let it go down his throat, yelled and struggled.No matter how much persuasion and intimidation, it will not work.Suddenly, Sashenka accidentally opened his mouth wide and yawned comfortably. Taking this opportunity, the doctor quickly put a small spoon into his son's mouth, pressed his tongue, and hurriedly checked Sashenka's purple-red throat. and suppurated swollen tonsils.What he saw surprised Yuri Andreevich.

After a while, the doctor took a smear from Sashenka's mouth in the same way.Yuri Andreevich himself had a microscope.He took the X-ray film and examined it reluctantly.Fortunately not diphtheria. But on the third night, Sashenka suddenly developed symptoms of pseudogrub laryngitis.He had a high fever, and he was overwhelmed.Yuri Andreevich could not look at the poor boy, but he could not relieve his suffering himself.Antonina Alexandrovna felt that the child was going to die, and walked up and down the room with him in her arms, while Sashenka began to feel better. Should get milk, mineral water or soda water for irrigation.However, this is the peak of street fighting.The firing and shelling did not stop for a minute.Even if Yuri Andreyevich dared to risk his life to cross the fire zone, he would not see a living person on the other side of the line of fire, because life in the city had come to a complete standstill before the situation became clear.

But the situation soon became clear.Word spread everywhere that the workers had gained the upper hand.Groups of cadets, separated and out of touch with their headquarters, were still resisting individually. The Shivtsev district was within the range of action of the soldiers advancing towards the center from the direction of Dorogomirov.Soldiers and young workers from the German War sat in the trenches dug in the streets and alleys. They were already familiar with the residents in the nearby houses, and from time to time they joked with those who looked out or walked out of the gate like neighbors.Traffic has resumed in this part of downtown.

Gordon, who had been a prisoner for three days, and Nikolai Nikolaevich, who had been trapped in Zhivago for three days and nights, were gone by this time.Yuri Andreevich was glad to have them present during the difficult days of Sashenka's illness, and Antonina Alexandrovna forgave them the extra trouble they had caused.In gratitude for the hospitality they both felt obliged to talk incessantly to their hosts, while Yuri Andreyevich was so weary from three days of idle chatter that when parting from them I feel very grateful. According to the information received, they all returned home safely, but it is still too early to judge that hostilities have completely ceased based on this actual test.There are still military operations in different places, some districts are still impassable, and the doctor is temporarily unable to go to the hospital he has missed, where his "Game World" and business notes are still in the desk drawer.

It is only in some urban areas that people go out early in the morning to buy bread not far from their homes. When they meet someone with bottled milk on the road, crowds of people gather around to ask where they got the milk. At times the shooting resumed across the city, again scaring the masses away.Everyone guessed that some kind of negotiation was going on between the two sides, and whether it was going well or not was reflected in the intensity and ebb of the gunfire. Once, at nine o'clock in the evening at the end of October in the old calendar, Yuri Andreevich was walking briskly down the street, intending to see a colleague who lived nearby, but there was nothing special about it. thing.This area used to be quite lively, but now it is sparsely populated, and there are almost no pedestrians.

Yuri Andreevich walked very quickly.The first sparse snowflakes fell in the sky, but the wind became more and more violent, and it turned into a big snowstorm. Yuri Andreevich turned from one alley to another, he did not count how many times he turned, and the snow became thicker and began to turn into a snowstorm.Such a blizzard will roar and spread everywhere in the open fields, but it will circle repeatedly as if lost in the narrow alleys of the city. Whether in the spiritual world or in the physical world, near or far away, on earth or in the sky, what seems to be happening is similar.In some places the gunfire of the last resistance, which has weakened, continued to be heard.On the horizon flickered the faint afterglow of clusters of fire scenes, and at the feet of Yuri Andreyevich, on the wet roads and sidewalks, the wind and snow rolled up the foggy A circle of swirls.

At a crossroads a newsboy ran past him shouting "Latest news!" with a large roll of freshly printed leaflets under his arm. "There's no need for change," said the doctor.The boy struggled to separate a piece of Chaohuhu from the paper roll and stuffed it into the doctor's hand, and then disappeared in the wind and snow in the blink of an eye just as it appeared suddenly just now. The doctor walked up to a lit street lamp two steps away, wanting to glance at the main content at once on the spot. This extra edition, printed only on one side, contained government announcements from Petersburg on the establishment of People's Commissars, the establishment of Soviet power in Russia, and the introduction of the dictatorship of the proletariat.Then came the first decrees of the new regime and various news from telegrams and telephones.

The wind and snow hit the doctor's eyes, and rustling gray snow particles covered the lines of writing on the newspaper from time to time.However, that was not what prevented him from reading.This moment of greatness and eternity shook him so much that he could not come to his senses. In any case, he had to read the news, so the doctor looked around, trying to find a brighter place to shelter from the snow.It turned out that he was back at the crossroads, which he did not understand, and he was standing on the corner of Serebryanny and Morchanovska, next to the entrance of a five-story building with a glazed front door. Electric lights were on in the spacious vestibule.

The doctor entered the building, and read the telegram intently by the light at the far end. Footsteps sounded above him.I don't know who came down the stairs, and often stopped in the middle, seemingly hesitating.Sure enough, the person walking down suddenly changed his business, turned around and ran up again.A door opened somewhere, and there were the sound of two people talking, but the echo was so strong that it was hard to make out whether it was a man or a woman.Then the door was closed with a bang, and the person who had gone downstairs ran down resolutely. Yuri Andreevich's eyes and all his thoughts were absorbed in the paper.He wasn't going to lift his eyes to look at this irrelevant person.But the man ran downstairs and stopped.Yuri Andreevich glanced up at the man who had come down the stairs.

Standing in front of him was a boy of about eighteen years old, wearing a buckskin jacket with fur turned inside out that was often worn in Siberia, and a similar fur cap on his head.The boy had a dark complexion and narrow Kyrgyz eyes.There was something of noble birth in his face, flashes of intelligence and quickness, and concealed a delicate expression which seemed to have been brought from a distant foreign country and is often seen on the faces of people of mixed blood. The boy mistook Yuri Andreevich for someone else and was visibly bewildered.He looked at the doctor shyly and flusteredly, as if he knew who it was, but he hesitated and didn't speak.In order to clear up the misunderstanding, Yuri Andreevich looked him up and down, and with a cold expression repelled his desire to approach. Embarrassed, the boy went toward the gate without a word, looked back there, opened the heavy, loose door, shut it with a crash, and went out into the street. Ten minutes later Yuri Andreevich followed.He had already forgotten about the boy and the colleague he was looking for, and walked towards home with his mind full of what he had just read.Another situation encountered on the road, a trifle of life that was of great significance at the time, attracted all his attention. Not far from home he came across a large pile of planks and logs lying across the sidewalk against the curb.There is some kind of mechanism in the alley there, probably to dismantle a log house in the suburbs and transport it as fuel for the public.The logs would not fit in the yard, so they blocked part of the street.An armed sentry who walked about the yard watched the mass, and now and then came into the alley. Without thinking, Yuri Andreevich seized the brief moment when the sentry returned to the yard and a gust of wind whipped up thick snowflakes in the air.He walked up to the hard wood from the shadowy side where the light couldn't reach, and slowly shook it to loosen a heavy, short and thick stake from the bottom.With difficulty he pulled it out from under the pile and put it on his shoulders, not feeling too heavy (the burden he wanted to bear was not too heavy), and then quietly carried it back to Sif along the shadowed wall. Own home on Tsev Street. It just so happened that the firewood at home had run out.This large piece of wood was sawed open and split into a very large pile of firewood.Yuri Andreevich knelt down to light the stove.He squatted silently in front of the vibrating and rattling furnace door.Alexander Alexandrovitch pushed the armchair up to the stove and sat down to warm himself.Yuri Andreevich took a newspaper from his coat pocket and handed it to his father-in-law, saying: "Have you seen it? Let's enjoy it, look~look." Yuri Andreevich did not get up, and while stirring the wood in the stove with a small shovel, he said aloud to himself: "What a masterful surgical operation! In one fell swoop, a fetid ulcer was cut away deftly! Straight to the point of passing judgment on centuries of injustice, which have accustomed people to worship. "The point is to do it all without intimidation, and there is a long-familiar national intimacy, an impeccable brilliance from Pushkin, the unambiguousness of Tolstoy. loyal to the facts." "Pushkin's? What are you talking about? Wait a minute. I'll finish it right away. I can't do it all at once." Alexander Alexandrovitch interrupted his son-in-law, mistaking Yuri Andreevich's soliloquy was taken to be addressed to him. "The main thing is to see where this brilliant wisdom is manifested. If someone is going to create a new world and start a new era, he must first clear the corresponding territory. He must wait for the old era to end first, and In order to start building a new century, what he needs is an integer, a new paragraph, and a blank sheet of paper that has not been scribbled on. "But now it's done. It's an unprecedented feat, it's a historical miracle, it's a new revelation that comes suddenly despite the hustle and bustle of life's mediocrity. but in the days when the wheels of the ever-running life happen to meet. That is the most wonderful thing. Only the greatest things are so out of place and out of season." Winter came as predicted in advance.It was not quite as frightening as the two subsequent winters, but similar, with the same lack of light and hunger and cold, all in a state where all the habitual foundations of life were being destroyed and reformed, all desperately trying to hold on to what was about to pass away. Life. Three such terrible winters came one after the other, and not all of them happened at the time, as someone who passed from 1917 to 1918 felt, some of them happened later thing.Because these three successive winters have merged into one, it is difficult to distinguish them from each other. The old life and the new order don't quite fit together.There was not yet as much animosity between the two as there had been during the Civil War a year later, but there was a lack of connection.These are two separate opposing parties, but neither can overwhelm the other. In terms of real estate, in various organizations, in public affairs, and in various units serving residents, the reorganization of management agencies is going on everywhere.Their membership changes.All over the place are beginning to appoint commissioners with all-important powers.They are all.Men of iron will, clad in short black leather jackets, armed with all manner of intimidation and pistols, seldom shave and much less sleep. They knew well the tempers of the petty bourgeois and the servile vulgarity of the middle class who owned small denominations of state securities, and spoke to them with a sarcastic smile as mercilessly as to a captured thief. These people are in charge of everything as stipulated in the program, mobilized again and again, united again and again, and gradually formed the Bolshevik team. Holy Cross Hospital is now called the Second Improved Hospital, and internal changes have taken place.Some staff were fired, and more left voluntarily, thinking that it was not worthwhile to continue to serve.These are doctors who have earned a lot of money and have mastered the latest clinical techniques, and they are eloquent sons of heaven.They never forgot to pretend that their resignation for personal gain was an act of protest with civilized reasons, and they began to look down on those who stayed and almost cut ties with the latter, Zhivago among them. At night, the couple often had conversations like this: "Wednesday don't forget to get frozen potatoes from the cellar of the Physician's Association. There are two sacks there. I'll be sure to ask what time I get off work so I can help. It takes two men to haul the sledge." "All right. There's still time, Yurochka. You'd better go to sleep. It's getting late. You can't do everything at once anyway. You need to rest." "Infectious diseases are prevalent. The general weakness of the body affects the resistance. I can't even look at you and Dad. Something should be done. But what can be done? We don't pay enough attention to ourselves. Be more careful. Listen to me. Say. Are you asleep?" "No." "I'm not worried about myself. I'm strong. If I collapse, don't be confused and don't leave me at home. You should go to the hospital immediately." "What's the matter with you, Yurochka! God bless you. Why did you say something unlucky so long ago?" "You have to remember that there are no honest people and friends anymore. Not to mention good doctors. If something happens, the only person you can trust is Pichuzhkin. Of course, if he is safe and sound." .Are you asleep?" "No." "These bastards have taken advantage of themselves, but now they seem to be showing awe-inspiring righteousness and principle. When they met, they reluctantly stretched out a hand. 'Are you still serving them?' Then Eyebrows. 'It's still serving,' I said, and please don't take offense: I'm proud of our plight, and respectful of those who have honored us and given our poverty to us.'” For a long time, the daily food of most people was yellow rice porridge and soup made from herring head.The middle part of the herring is fried and served as a second course.Nourishment is provided by unground rye and hulled wheat, from which porridge is cooked. An acquaintance of the professor taught Antonina Alexandrovna to bake hot bread on the bottom of the Dutch fireplace in her house.A part of it was sold as before, and the weight of the bread increased after drinking water, and the money from the sale could offset the expenses of using this tiled fireplace.In this way, the small iron stove that only smokes, does not burn well, does not keep warm, and is torture can be reused. Antonina Alexandrovna's bread was well baked, but the trade on it was fruitless.Therefore, I had to give up the original plan that could not be realized, and restart the decommissioned small iron stove.The Zhivagos began to suffer again. One morning Yuri Andreevich went to work as usual.There are only two pieces of firewood left at home.Antonina Alexandrovna put on her fur coat, which made her shiver from her weakness even in warm weather, and went out to "shopping." She wandered around the nearby streets and alleys for half an hour, because farmers in the countryside on the outskirts of the city sometimes brought vegetables and potatoes there to sell.These people need to be captured.Peasants with goods are intercepted. Soon she caught a target of her search.Antonina Alexandrovna, accompanied by a sturdy young man in a duffel coat and with a toy-like sleigh, rounded the corner towards the Gromykos' house. Yard came. Under a mat in the bast sleigh was a pile of Zen logs, no thicker than the railings of an old-fashioned manor wall in old photographs.Antonina Alexandrovna knew its value very well--the wood of Zen wood has no appearance, it can be used as firewood without burning it, let alone it is freshly cut, and cannot be used for lighting the stove.But without another option, it is impossible to calculate carefully. The young peasant moved up and down five or six times, bringing her firewood to the upstairs of the occupants; A small cupboard with a mirror, put it on a sled and took it back to his female head. When he came out, he made an agreement to bring some potatoes next time, and the corner of his clothes was hung by the piano standing by the door. Yuri Andreevich did not criticize his wife's purchases when he returned.In fact, it would be more cost-effective to split the small cabinet given to others into fine wood, but they didn't have the heart to do it. "Did you see the note on the table?" asked the wife. "Written by the director of the hospital, right? He told me, I know. He asked me to go to the doctor. I will definitely go. I will go after a short rest. However, the road is quite long. It seems to be near the Arc de Triomphe. I wrote down the address." "It's a strange payment. Do you see it? You'd better see it. The fee is a bottle of Cognac or a pair of women's stockings. It's a little tempting. Who could it be? A rich voice , and doesn't seem to understand what kind of life we're living. Probably some kind of upstart." "Yes, very much like a procurement officer." The titles of those small private owners are the titles of purchasers, contract contractors, and agents.After the government abolished private business, it gave a little relaxation during the economically tense period and signed various supply and marketing contracts and contracts with them. Among these people, there are no longer those big bosses of old brands that have been knocked down.The latter has been unable to make a comeback due to the blow.Today, these are all speculative businessmen who came up from the bottom through war and revolution, outsiders with no roots and no roots. After drinking some milky white saccharine boiled water, the doctor went out to see the patient. From the row of houses on one side of the street to the buildings on the other sidewalks and bridge decks were buried in deep snow.In some places the snow accumulated to the height of the first story.Half-dead figures moved silently across the wide space, dragging or sledging the meager morsels of food.There are almost no people in the car. Occasionally, the original signboards still remain on a few houses, and the consumer product stores and cooperatives have been changed below, but the doors are locked, the windows are fenced or nailed with wooden boards, and the inside is empty. These empty shops are not entirely because there are no products, but because the overall reorganization of life, including commerce, is only the most general stage of generalization, and this kind of closed private shops has not yet been touched. The family to whom the doctor was called turned out to be at the end of Brest Street, near the Tver gate. It was an outdated brick barracks-like building with a courtyard inside and three storeys of wooden corridors connecting the houses along the backyard wall. There was a general meeting of the residents, attended by a woman representative from the District Soviet.Suddenly a military inspection team came to inspect the weapons that had been kept under permission, and confiscated those without permission.The team leader directing the inspection asked the female representative not to leave, assuring that the inspection would not take long, and that the interrupted meeting would be resumed soon after the residents who had finished their work returned one after another. When the doctor came to the gate, the inspection was coming to an end, and the next resident whose turn was to be the one that invited him to see a doctor.The soldiers on guard at the top of the stairs in a corridor, with their rifles tied to their backs, refused to let Yuri Andreevich enter under any circumstances, but the captain of the patrol intervened in the dispute.He did not make it difficult for the doctor, agreeing to pause the examination for a while while he was treating patients. The young owner of the family who received the doctor was gentle and courteous, with two dark and melancholy eyes lining his dull, dark face.His wife's illness, the imminent search, and the unearthly respect for medicine and medical staff—all of these things made him very excited. In order to reduce the doctor's burden and save time, the master wanted to keep his speech as short as possible, but it was because of such a hurry that the speech became long and messy. The furnishings of the house were a mishmash of luxury and cheapness, bought hastily, apparently, to provide a secure home for rapidly depreciating money.Unmatched furniture is also filled with single pieces that cannot be matched. The owner of the house believed that his wife suffered from a nervous system disease due to shock.He couldn't get to the point, and went around talking about an old-fashioned octave clock that someone had sold them cheaply, so broken that it was long gone.They were bought as a rare clockwork (the host also led the doctor into the adjoining room to show him).The couple didn't even believe it could be fixed.But the clock, which had not been wound for many years, suddenly started to run of its own accord, and the little bells in it played a little French minuet, and then stopped again.The wife was terrified, said it was the last moment of her life, and now she just lay there talking nonsense, neither eating nor drinking, and even the husband couldn't recognize him. "You think this is a nerve shock?" Yuri Andreevich asked suspiciously. "Take me to see the patient." They went into an adjoining room with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and two mahogany stools on either side of a large double bed.Lying on one side of the bed was a petite woman, her chin covered by a blanket, revealing two large black eyes.As soon as she saw people coming in, she shook her hands drawn from under the blanket to drive them away, the wide sleeves of her pajamas slid down to the rubber pockets.She couldn't recognize her husband, and she didn't seem to feel that there was anyone else in the room, and then she began to sing softly—a sad song whose name she didn't know.The singing made her feel so sorry for herself, and then she began to cry, sobbing like a child, and begging permission to go home somewhere.No matter which side of the bed the doctor tried to walk to her, she would not allow the examination and turned her back every time. "She should be examined," said Yuri Andreevich, "but that's how I figured it out. It's typhus, and it's quite serious. She's not suffering little, it's pathetic. I suggest taking her to the hospital. It's not for her convenience, it's just that regular medical attention is necessary for a few weeks after the onset of the illness. Can you guarantee transport, a cab driver or at least a cab driver? A porter in the yard to take the patient? Of course, she must be wrapped up well first. I will issue you a medical certificate in a moment." "Yes. I'll do my best. But wait a minute. Is it really typhoid? It's terrible!" "Unfortunately, it is." "If I send her away, I'm afraid of losing her. Can you make as many visits as possible and treat at home? I can give you any kind of compensation." "I've made it clear to you. The important thing is to keep an eye on her. Listen, I've got a good idea. You'll have to get a coachman even from the ground, and I'll drive her Medical certificate. It is best to go through your housing committee here. The certificate needs to be stamped, and there are other procedures.” After questioning and inspection, the residents, wearing warm shawls and leather jackets, returned one by one to the unfired house where the neighborhood committee was located.It used to be a warehouse for storing eggs. There was a desk and some chairs at one end of the room, which certainly wasn't enough for so many people.So, instead of benches, long strips of empty egg crates were placed upside down all around.The boxes were piled up to the ceiling at the other end of the room.In the corner there, the yolk of a broken egg is frozen in a sticky patch against the wall.There was a group of rats screaming and running, sometimes running to the empty brick floor, and then hiding in the pile of broken eggs. At this time, a woman with a loud voice covered in fat would jump screaming on top of a box.She raised her little finger pretentiously to lift up a corner of the hem of her dress, stomped her feet in fashionable high-waisted leather shoes, and shouted in a hoarse voice pretending to be drunk: "Olika, Olika, you are a big rat running around. Look, one of you is running past, you dirty thing! Oh, oh, oh, you understand, you little bastard! Lah. Oh, climb up the box! Don't get under your skirts. It's scary, I'm afraid! Gentlemen, please turn around and look. I'm sorry, I forgot, it's not the time to call you sir, but Comrade Citizen." The noisy woman wore a bulky Karakul sheepskin coat, unbuttoned.Her fat, jelly-like triple-folded chin quivered, and her round bosom and stomach were wrapped tightly under a silk dress.It could be seen that she must have been a well-known courtesan among those third-rate businessmen and accountants.The two pig eyes with slightly swollen eyelids were only opened a crack.I can't remember when a rival in love threw a bottle of sulfuric acid at her, but he didn't hit it right, and only splashed two or three drops on the left cheek, leaving two inconspicuous but charming light spots on the corner of the left mouth. shallow scars. "Stop shouting, Hrapkina. You can't even work," said the woman representative from the District Soviet, elected chairman of the meeting, sitting behind the table. The old residents here have known her for a long time, and she knows them well.Before the meeting, she whispered informally to Fajima, the yard worker.Fajima used to live in a dirty basement with her husband and children, but now she and her daughter moved to two bright rooms on the second floor. "How's it going, Fajima?" the chairwoman asked her. Fajima complained that she could not take care of the large yard with so many people alone, and could not find helpers, and no one took seriously the tasks assigned to each household to clean the yard and streets. "Don't worry, Fajima, I will give them some color, don't worry. What kind of neighborhood committee is this? How can it be understood? There are criminals here, and people of dubious quality who lack documents. They must all Get out and re-elect. I'll be the housekeeper myself, don't you lose heart." The yard girl begged the chairwoman not to do this, but the latter would not listen.She looked at the situation in the room and found that almost everyone had arrived, so she asked everyone to be quiet, and then announced the opening of the meeting with a few opening remarks.After criticizing the inaction of the original neighborhood committee, she proposed to determine the candidates for the election of the new neighborhood committee, and then talked about several other issues. After talking about these, she said: "That's how it is, comrades. Let's talk straight. Your house is large enough to serve as a dormitory. Sometimes delegates from all over the world have nowhere to stay. A decision has been made to place the house at the disposal of the District Soviets." , for people from other places and named after Comrade Divershin, because he lived here before he was exiled. Everyone knows that. Are there any objections? Now let's talk about the vacating of the house. This It’s not something that needs to be done right away, you still have one year to go. For households composed of working people, we provide the living area after relocation. For those who are not working people, I warn you in advance that you have to find a place for yourself, and we will give you 12 month period." "Who among us is not working? There is no one here who is not working! We are all working people." Everyone shouted.One of them said above them all: "It's great power chauvinism! Equality of nations now. I know what you're alluding to!" "Don't say it all at once! I don't know whom to answer. What nationality? What does that have to do with nationality, Citizen Vardyrkin? For example, Hrapkina can't talk about nationality at all, but she has to." move out." "Move out! Let's see how you let me move out. You rotten mattress! It takes up ten shit!" Hrapkina shouted at the peak of the quarrel and sent an inexplicable gift to the female representative. nickname. "What a viper! What a devil! You know no shame!" said the yard-maid angrily. "You don't need to interrupt, Fajima. I can handle it myself. You shut up, Hrapkina. Take a chance, you want to ride on people's necks! Shut up, I said, or I will kill you immediately Send it to an institution, and you don’t have to wait for someone to catch you setting up pots and hiding stolen goods.” The noise had reached its peak, and no one could speak.At this moment the doctor entered the warehouse.He asked the first person he met by the door to point out who belonged to the neighborhood committee, any one would do.The man put his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone, suppressing everyone's clamor and shouted word by word: "Ga-li-u-lin-na! Come here, someone is looking for you." Hearing the name, the doctor couldn't believe his ears.Walking over was a thin, slightly hunchbacked woman, who was the yard worker.The mother and son were so similar in appearance that the doctors were amazed.He didn't let that feeling show, though.He said: "A resident of yours has typhoid fever (give her name at the same time). You need to pay attention to avoid contagion. In addition, the patient should be sent to the hospital. I can make a diagnosis list for her, and the neighborhood committee can prove it." .Where is this going to be done?" The yard worker interpreted this as taking the patient to the hospital instead of going through the certification procedures, so she said: "The District Soviet will come to pick up Comrade Jemin in a carriage. Comrade Jemin is a kind man. I will go with her As soon as I say it, I will give up the car. Don't worry, comrade doctor, you must send your patient away." "Oh, that's not what I was talking about! I was just asking where to get a certificate of admission to the hospital. But if there is still a carriage... Excuse me, are you Galiullin Osip Jimazetkinnovi Lieutenant Kee's mother? I served with him at the front." The female worker trembled all over, and her face turned pale.She took the doctor's hand and said: "Just] go outside, talk in the yard." As soon as she stepped over the threshold, she opened her mouth: "Keep your voice down, God bless no one to hear. Don't entrap me. Yusupka is not on the right track. Tell yourself, who is Yusupka? He was originally an apprentice and had a craft. Yusupka should Understand, ordinary people are much better off now, this is something a blind man can see clearly, needless to say. I don't know what you think, maybe you are okay, but Yusupka is guilty and God is I can’t spare him. Yusupka’s father was a soldier and was killed, not even a whole body was left.” She couldn't go on talking anymore, she waved her hands and waited for her mood to calm down, and then went on: "Come on, let's go to the carriage now. I know who you are. He's been here two days, and he's said it all. He said, you know Lara Kissalova. She's a nice girl. Remember how you used to be到我们这儿来。谁知道现在怎么样了。难道说先生们也能你反对我、我反对你？尤苏普卡真作孽。走吧，咱们要车去。杰明哪同志一定会给的。你知道杰明娜同志是谁吗？就是奥莉妞·杰明娜．在拉拉·吉沙洛娃妈妈的作坊里打过工的，也是从这儿出去的，就是这个院子。走吧。” 天已经全黑了，夜色笼罩着周围的一切。只有杰明娜手电筒的那一小圈光亮在五步开外的一个个小雪堆上跳跃移动，不仅不能给走路的人照亮，反而更让人摸不准方向。四周是漆黑的夜色，那座房屋已经落在身后。当她还是个小女孩子的时候，住在那里的许多人就知道她。听人家说，她后来的丈夫安季波夫也是在那儿从一个小孩子长大成人的。 杰明娜用一种宽容、戏弄的口气对他说： “再往下走您当真不用手电能走到家吗？啊？要不我把电筒给您，医生同志。是的，那时我们都还是小女孩呢，我真的迷恋过她，爱得忘乎所以。她们家有个缝纫作坊，我是她们那儿的徒工。今年我还见到过她。她到我这里来过，是中途路过莫斯科的。我跟她说，你真傻，还要到哪儿去呀？留下来吧，我们住在一起，再给你找个工作。都白说！她不乐意。这是她自己的事。她嫁给帕什卡是凭着理智，可不是顺从自己的心意，从那以后就变得喜怒无常。她到底还是走啦。” “您对她是怎么想的？” “小心，这里很滑。说过多少次了，不要在门前倒脏水，可是丝毫不起作用。我对她是怎么想的？我能想什么？有什么可想的。没有时间。我就是这么活着。我没敢告诉她，她那当军人的弟弟，好像是给处决了。至于她母亲，也就是我先前的老板娘，我还是要帮助的，给她帮点忙。好啦，我到了，再见。” 他们于是分了手。杰明娜的电筒的亮光扫到一条窄小的石砌楼梯，接着往前照亮了逐级向上的肮脏剥蚀的墙壁，把黑暗留给了医生。右边是凯旋花园路，左边是篷车花园路。在远处漆黑的雪地上，这两条夹在石砌楼房当中的街道已经不像是通常意义的路面，倒仿佛是乌拉尔或西伯利亚人迹罕至的密林里的两条林间小道。 家里是又明亮、又温暖。 “怎么这么晚？”安东宁娜·亚历山德罗夫娜问了一句，不等他回答就接着说： “你不在的时候发生了一件怪事，出奇得无法解释。我忘了跟你说。昨天爸爸把闹钟弄坏了，懊丧到了极点。家里就剩这一个了。他翻来覆去地修，怎么也修不好。街角上的修表匠开口就要三磅面包，真是从来没听说过的价钱。该怎么办呢？爸爸简直绝望了。可是突然之间，你想想看，就在一小时以前，清脆震耳的铃声响了！拿过来一看，它又走起来了！” “这是敲响了我要得伤寒病的钟声。”尤里·安德烈耶维奇开玩笑地说，接着就给家里人讲了那位女病人和座钟的事。 不过，他是在这以后又过了很久才得伤寒病的。在这中间，日瓦戈一家的困窘达到了顶点。他们缺吃少穿，身体也快垮了。尤里·安德烈耶维奇找到了那位曾被他救过的遭了抢劫的党员。那人尽其所能为医生做了一切。但是，内战开始了。他的这位庇护人经常出差在外。而且，这个人根据自己的信念认为当时的种种困难是很自然的，但绝不对人说他也在挨饿。 尤里·安德烈耶维奇也试着去找过住在特维尔城门附近的那位来办员。但是，近几个月来此人踪迹沓然，关于他那位病愈的妻子也得不到一点消息。那栋房子里的住户也完全变了。杰明娜上了前线，想找管房子的加利乌林娜也没有找到。 有一次他得到了按官价配给的劈柴，要从温达夫斯基车站拉回来。沿着一眼望不到头的梅山斯卡亚大街，他一路走着伴送车夫和那匹拖运这笔意外财富的劣马。医生突然间觉得梅山斯卡亚大街变得不是原来的样子，自己的身体也跌跌撞撞，两腿支持不住。他知道这下子完了，事情糟了——伤寒病发作。车夫把这个倒下去的人救了起来。医生已经不记得是怎么勉勉强强把他放到劈柴堆上拉回家去的。 整整两个星期他断断续续地处在塘妄状态中。在幻觉中，他看到东尼哑把两条大街摆到书桌上，左边是篷车花园路，右边是凯旋花园路，然后把他那盏温热的桔黄色台灯朝它们跟前推了推。于是街上就变得明亮了，可以工作了，他就写作起来。 他写得兴味正浓，而且十分顺手，内容都是一向想写并且早该写成的东西，只不过从来没有能做到，但现在却一航而就。只是偶尔有个男孩子来打扰他，那孩子长着两只窄小的吉尔吉斯人似的眼睛，穿了一件在西伯利亚或者乌拉尔常见的那种两面带毛的鹿皮袄。 完全没错地，这个男孩子就是他的死神，或者简单说就是他的死亡。不过，这孩子还帮助他写诗，怎么能是死神呢？莫非从死亡当中还能得到好处，死亡还能有助于人？ 他的诗写的不是复活，也不是收殓入棺，而是在这两者之间流过的时光。他写的诗题为《失措》。 他一直想写出，在那三天当中，一阵掌生了蛆虫的黑色泥土的风暴如何从天而降，冲击着不朽的爱的化身，一块块、一团团地甩过去，就像是飞涌跳跃着的潮水把海岸埋葬在自己身下。整整三天，这黑色泥土的风暴咆哮着，冲击着，又怎样退去。 随之而来的是两行有韵脚的诗句： 接触是欢悦的， 醒来也是必须。 乐于接触的是地狱，是衰变，是解体，是死亡，但和它们一起乐于接触的还有春天，还有悔恨失足的女人，也还有生命。而且，醒来也是必须的。应该苏醒并且站立起来。应该复活。 他开始逐渐好起来。最初好像还有些痴呆，他还找不到事物之间的联系，一切都随意放过，什么都不记得，对什么也不感到奇怪。妻子给他吃的是抹了黄油的白面包，喝的是加糖的茶，还有咖啡。他忘记了这些东西现在是不可能得到的，像对待一首诗歌和一篇童话那样欣赏可口的美食，似乎在康复期是理所当然的享受。但是刚刚开始恢复意识，他就问妻子： “你从哪儿弄来的这些？” “都是你的格兰尼亚。” “哪个格兰尼亚？” “格兰尼亚·日瓦戈。” “格兰尼亚·日瓦戈？” “不错，就是在鄂木斯克的你的弟弟叶夫格拉夫。你的异母兄弟。你昏迷不醒的时候，他总是来看我们。” “穿了一件鹿皮袄？” “对，对。这么说，你在昏迷当中看到了？我听说，他在什么地方的一幢房子里的楼梯上遇见过你，他说过。他也认出了是你，本想自我介绍一下，可是你让他觉得非常可怕！他很崇拜你，到了迷恋的程度。是他不知从什么地方搞来的这些东西！大米、葡萄干、白糖。他已经回自己家去了，还让我们也去。真是个让人猜不透的怪人。我觉得他似乎和当权的人有些瓜葛。他说，应该离开大城市到别的随便什么地方去，销声匿迹地呆上一两年。我和他商量过克吕格尔家那地方怎么样。他极力推荐。因为那里可以种菜园子，附近就是森林。决不能就这么像绵羊一样窝窝囊囊地坐以待毙。” 就在这一年的四月，日瓦戈全家出发去遥远的西伯利亚，到尤里亚金市附近原先的领地瓦雷金带去了。