Chapter 28 ending (2)

Marina can be a diva.Her voice is pure and sonorous, high-pitched.Marina's voice is not high, but her voice is much stronger than it needs to be, and it doesn't fit in with Marina and has an independent meaning.It seemed to come from another room behind her.The voice was her talisman, her angel of protection.No one wants to insult a woman with such a voice and break her heart. After the Sunday of fetching water, a friendship developed between the doctor and Marina.She often goes to his place to help him with housework.One day she stayed with him and never went back to the porter.She thus became the third wife of Yuri Andreevich who was not registered at the household registration office.Because Yuri Andreevich had not divorced his first wife.They have a baby.Marina's parents proudly called their daughter the doctor's wife.Markle complained that Yuri Andreyevich did not hold a wedding with Marina and did not register it. "Are you out of your wits?" his wife retorted. "How could that be done while Antonina was alive? Bigamy?" "You're the fool yourself," Markle shot back. What are you doing. Tonya is dead. There is no law protecting her,"

Yuri Andreyevich joked that their romance was twenty buckets of water, like the romance in a novel of twenty chapters or twenty letters. Marina forgave the doctor for his eccentric temper and his depravity at this time, and for his self-willedness after realizing his depravity, and for making the house dirty and messy.She put up with his nagging, mean words, and tantrums. Her self-sacrifice didn't stop there.When they got into a voluntary, self-inflicted predicament through his fault, Marina quit her job so as not to leave him alone at such a moment.The Telegraph Bureau thought highly of her and was willing to let her go back after she was forced to leave.She succumbed to the fantasies of Yuri Andreevich, and went with him to do odd jobs from house to house.They saw pieces of wood for the tenants who lived on each floor.Some people, especially businessmen who made a fortune in the early days of the New Economic Policy and people who were close to the government and engaged in science and art, began to build their own houses and purchase furniture.Once Marina and Yuri Andreyevich carefully carried the leftover wood into the study of the owner of the house, for fear that the felt shoes would carry the sawdust from the outside to the carpet.The owners of the houses ignored the men and women sawing wood, and indulged themselves arrogantly in their reading.The hostess talks to them about working conditions and pays them wages.

"What book is this fat pig concentrating on reading?" The doctor was curious. "Why is he trying so hard to mark books?" He glanced over the reader's shoulder as he walked around his desk with the wood in his arms.On the table was a pamphlet by Yuri Andreevich, which Vasya had previously printed at the State Higher School of Arts and Crafts. Marina lived with the doctor in Spiridon Street, and Gordon rented a room in the nearby Klein Bronnaya Street.Marina and the doctor have two daughters, Kapaca and Kraska.Capitolina, or Kapaca, was just over six years old, and Klavdina, born not long ago, was six months old.

The early summer of 1929 was very hot.Acquaintances visit each other across two or three streets without hats or coats. Gordon's room was of an odd construction.It was originally a workshop of a fashion store, with two single rooms, upper and lower.A whole piece of glass showcases the two rooms together from the side facing the street.The tailor's name and his occupation were written in italic gold letters on the window-pane.There is a spiral staircase leading from downstairs to upstairs in the window. Now the workshop is divided into three rooms. Between the two floors there was a wooden mezzanine with a window that seemed odd for a house.The windows are a meter high and reach all the way to the floor. "It covers the rest of the gold letters. Through the gaps between them the legs of the occupants can be seen, all the way to the knees. Gordon lived in the room. Zhivago, Dudorov and Marina took He sat in his room with the children. The children, unlike the grown-ups, could see the whole body from the window. Marina took the little girls away after a while. There were only three men left in the room.

They were chatting, the sort of languid schmoozing between old schoolmates over the summer, friendships between old friends outgrown.How do they usually chat? Whoever has enough vocabulary can speak and think naturally and coherently.Only Zhivago has this condition. His friends lack the necessary means of expression.Both of them lack eloquence.Their vocabulary is so scant, they walk around the room as they talk, they smoke incessantly, they wave their hands, and they repeat the same thing several times in succession (“It’s dishonest, dude; that is, no Honest; yes, yes, not honest"). They do not realize that this excessive tension in their conversations does not indicate warmth and openness of character, but, on the contrary, reveals their imperfections and defects.

Gordon and Dudorov belonged to the circle of educated professors.They have lived their lives among good books, good thinkers, good composers, and good yesterday, good today, good forever, good music.But they do not understand that poverty of mediocre taste is worse than poverty of vulgar taste. Gordon and Dudorov did not understand that even their accusations against Zhivago were not motivated by loyal feelings for a friend and a desire to influence him, but simply by an inability to think freely and to control him according to his own will. Just talk.And talk, like a wild horse, takes them where they don't want to go.They couldn't turn their horses around, and they were bound to bump into something eventually.They rammed Yuri Andreevich violently with all their sermons.

He saw through their excited motives, their shaky concerns, and the mechanics of their opinions.And yet he could not say to them: "My dear friends, how hopelessly mediocre are you and the circle you represent, and the talent and art of the names and authorities you love. The vivid and shining thing is that you fIJ live in the same era as me and know me." How can you be honest with your friends to this extent!In order not to upset them, Yuri Andreevich listened obediently to their lectures. Shdorov had recently served his first term of exile, regained his temporarily deprived rights, and was allowed to resume teaching at the university.

Now, he pours out to his friends what he felt while in exile.He spoke to them sincerely and without falsehood.His opinions were not expressed out of cowardice or any other consideration. He said that the grounds for the charges, the way he was treated in prison and after his release, and especially the private interviews with investigators, had cleared his mind, re-educated him politically, opened his eyes, and made him a People mature. The reason why Dudorov's remarks caught Gordon's mind was that they were the words he had heard by heart.He nodded sympathetically to Innokenti, agreeing with him.It was precisely what was formulaic in Dudorov's words and feelings that struck Gordon.He regards the imitation of the same feeling as the commonality of all human beings.

Innokenti's ethical rhetoric is in keeping with the spirit of the times.But it was the regularity and transparency of their hypocrisy that annoyed Yuri Andreevich.The unfree man glorifies his life of slavery.This happened in the Middle Ages, and the Jesuits often took advantage of it.It was the political mysticism of the Soviet intelligentsia that Yuri Andreevich could not stand, considering it the highest achievement or, as they said at the time, the "spiritual ceiling of the age."Yuri Andreevich avoided, quarreled with his friends, and kept this feeling to himself. But he was attracted by something else entirely, the story Dudorov told about Boniface Orrezov.Orretsov was Innokenty's fellow prisoner, a priest, and a Tikhonite.The man had a six-year-old daughter named Khristina.Her father's arrest and his subsequent fate had been a shock to her. Terms such as "religious person" and "disenfranchised person" were smudges on her.She may have sworn in her fiery childlike heart that she must wash away this stain on her loving father's name.So early on, and with such unshakable determination, she is still a childlike fanatical follower of everything she considers most unquestionable in communism.

"I'm going," said Yuri Andreevich. "Don't blame me, Misha. It's stuffy in the house and hot in the street. I can't breathe." "Look, the ventilation window on the floor is open. I'm sorry, but we smoke too much. We keep forgetting that you shouldn't smoke when you're around. What can I do if the house is so badly built. Help me find another room." house." "I'm leaving, Gordosha. We've talked enough. Thank you for your concern, my dear fellows. I didn't mean to disappoint you. It's a disease, cardiovascular sclerosis. The heart muscle wall It's worn down and worn down, and it's going to crack someday. And I'm not yet forty. I'm not a drunk or a libertine."

"It's too early for you to say your last prayers. Don't be silly. You've got work to do." "Microcardiac haemorrhages are common in our time. They are not all fatal. In some cases people survive. It is a modern disease. I think it happens because of the moral order. Ask us to Most people fall into a system that is officially promoted against conscience. Day in and day out, make yourself behave the opposite of what you feel, which cannot but affect your health. Praise what you don't like, feel bad for what only brings misfortune Pleased. Our nervous system is not empty words, it is not fabricated. It is composed of nerve fibers of the human body. Our soul occupies a certain position in space, it exists in us, just like teeth exist in the mouth. It cannot be ignored Endlessly exerting pressure with impunity. Innokenj, it hurts me to hear you talk about how you were raised and re-educated in exile. It's like a horse talking about how it trains itself in the riding arena Own." "I'm sorry for Dudorov. You're just not used to human languages. You can't comprehend them." "Perhaps so, Misha. But I'm sorry, you'd better let me go. I'm having trouble breathing. Really, I'm not exaggerating." "Wait a minute. This is all a pretext. We won't let you go until you give us a straight and honest answer. Do you agree or disagree that you should change and correct your views? What are you going to do in this regard? You should clarify Your relationship with Tony Ji, your relationship with Marina. These are living people, women, who feel and suffer, not some ethereal concept thrown together at random and twirled in your head. Besides, like you It is a disgrace for a man to waste himself in vain. You must wake up from your sleep and indolence, cheer up, and correct your baseless arrogance. Yes, yes, your impermissible arrogance towards everything around you , hold the position, and practice medicine as usual." "Well, I answer you. I've been thinking the same way a lot lately, so I can make you some promises without blushing. I think everything will work out, and fairly quickly. You'll see, yes, Really, everything will be fine. I want to live so badly, and living means struggling to move forward, to strive for perfection, and to achieve it. "Gordon, I'm glad you defend Marina as you always protected Tonya. But I haven't had any quarrels with them, I haven't had any quarrels with anyone. You blamed me first, and she and I speak 'you', I speak 'you' to her, and she addresses me with a paternal title, as if I don't find it awkward. But the deep disorder in this unnatural attitude has long been removed, and there is no barrier whatsoever. No, they are equal to each other. "I can also tell you good news. They have started writing to me from Paris again. The children are grown up and very happy among their French peers. Shura is about to finish primary school, and he goes to junior school." , Manina is going to this school too. But I have never met my own daughter. I don't know why I believe that although they are naturalized in France, they will be back soon and everything will be in some subtle way Completely resolved. "From many indications, my father-in-law and sister Toni knew about Marina and the girls. I did not write to them myself. The information probably reached them indirectly. Alexandr Alexandrovitch felt insulted, hurt his father's feelings He felt sorry for Tonya.This can be explained by the fact that we have not corresponded for five years.When I first returned to Moscow, I had a period of correspondence with them.They suddenly stopped writing to me.Everything is broken. "I got letters from them again not long ago, letters from everyone, even children. Kind and warm letters. I don't know how they've softened. Maybe something happened to Tony, she made new friends, God bless her. I can't tell. I write them sometimes too. But really, I can't stay any longer. I'm going, or I'll be damned. Good-bye." The next morning, the half-dead Marina came to Gordon's house.There was no one in the family to help her look after the children, so she wrapped the youngest Klasska in a quilt, put one arm on her chest, and with the other held Kapaca who followed her and refused to come in. "Is Yura with you, Misha?" she asked, her voice changing. "Did he not come home last night?" "No." "It must be at Innokenti." "I've been there. Innokenti went to school. But the neighbors know Yura. He hasn't been there." "Then where did he go?" Marina put Krasa wrapped in the quilt on the sofa and cried hysterically. Gordon and Zdorov did not leave Marina for two days.They took turns taking care of her, not daring to leave her alone at home.They looked around for a doctor while taking care of Malina.They went to every place he might go, to Flour Town and his house on Sivtsev Street, to the Palace of Thought and the House of Consciousness where he had worked, and to all the old people they knew and had addresses. Acquaintances, but looking for a long time still no results. They didn't report it to the police because they didn't want to draw the attention of the authorities. Although he has a registered permanent residence and has never been sentenced, he is far from a model citizen in today's concept.Only report to the police station for tracing as a last resort. On the third day, at different times Marina, Gordon and Dudorov received letters from Yuri Andreevich.The letter expresses deep regret for causing them panic and uneasiness.He begged them to forgive him, to be at ease, and begged them not to look for him any more, since he would not be found anyway. He told them that in order to change his destiny completely as soon as possible, he wanted to stay alone for a while so that he could concentrate on doing things. Once he settled down in the new field and firmly believed that after the transformation, he would not go back to his old ways, he would leave the secret hiding place. Back to Marina and the kids. In the letter, he informed Gordon to transfer the money sent to his name to Marina.He asked Gordon to hire a nanny for the children in order to free Marina from domestic duties and make it possible for her to return to work at the telegraph office.He explained that he did not send the money directly to her because he was worried that the amount on the money order would expose her to robbery. The money arrived shortly after, exceeding the doctor's standards and the means of his friends.Hired a nanny for the kids.Malina returned to the telegraph office.She had always been worried, but she had gotten used to Yuri Andreyevich's previous eccentricities, and finally tolerated his eccentric behavior this time.Despite his pleas and warnings not to look for him, the friends and the woman he was close to continued to search for him, but at the same time came to believe that his prophecy was good.They didn't find him. In fact he lived a few steps from them, conspicuously under their noses, within the smallest circle they were looking for. On the day of his disappearance, before dusk, when it was still daylight, he walked out of Gordon's house, walked to Bronnaya Street, and walked towards his home, Spiridon Street, before walking a hundred paces. , and bumped into his half-brother Yevgraf Zhivago who was walking towards him.Yuri Andreevich had not seen him for more than three years, and had not heard from him at all.It turned out that Yevgraf came to Moscow by chance not long ago.He dropped from the sky, as usual, and couldn't ask him any questions, and he avoided everything with a silent smile or a joke.But he bypassed the trivialities of life, asked Yuri Andreevich two or three questions, immediately understood all his sorrows and troubles, and walked around them and towards them at the narrow corner of the street. Among the crowded crowd, he made a plan on how to help and save his brother.The disappearance and concealment of Yuri Andreevich was his idea, his invention. He rented a room for him in a street then called Kamelgorski next to the Art Theater.He offered him money, arranged for a doctor an errand with broad scientific practice, and would one day place him in a hospital.He protects his brother in every aspect of his daily life.Finally, he assured his brother that his family's precarious situation in Paris would finally be over.Either Yuri Andreevich went to them, or they came back to him.Yevgraf volunteered to set it all right.Yuri Andreevich was encouraged by the support of his younger brother.As before, his power remains an unexplained mystery.Yuri Andreyevich did not want to explore this secret either. The room he lives in faces south.The two windows faced the roof of the opposite theatre, behind which the summer sun hung high above Ojotney Street, and the cobbled pavement of the street was covered by the roof from the sun. For Yuri Andreyevich, the room is not only a studio, not only his study.In this period completely engulfed by work, when the pile of notebooks on the table can no longer accommodate his plans and ideas, and the images he conceived and dreamed are quietly floating in the air, it seems that the studio is full of piles that have just begun. At this time, the doctor's room becomes a spiritual banquet hall, a crazy storage room and a warehouse of inspiration. Fortunately, Yevgraf's negotiations with the hospital leadership dragged on for a long time, and the day to go to work was nowhere in sight.Just use the time to postpone work to write. Yuri Andreyevich began to sort out the fragments of poems he had written earlier, which he could still remember, as well as the manuscripts that Yevgraf had obtained for him from where, some of which he had copied out himself. Yes, part of it was reprinted by someone unknown.Arranging messy material made it even more difficult for Yuri Andreyevich, who was naturally messy, to concentrate.Soon he dropped the job and moved from revising unfinished works to writing new ones, immersing himself in fresh manuscripts. He first quickly typed out the draft of the article, as he did for the first time in Valekin, writing the fragments of poems that popped up in his mind, writing whatever came to mind at the beginning, end or middle.Sometimes his pen couldn't keep up with the rush of thoughts, and he jotted down initial letters and abbreviations in shorthand, but his hands still couldn't keep up. He hastily wrote down.Whenever his imagination got tired and he couldn't write, he would draw on the edge of the paper and use pictures to stimulate his imagination.And so there were forest trails and city intersections on the edge of the paper, with a billboard in the middle of the intersection: "Morrow and Wetchinkin Co. Sells Planters and Threshers." Articles and poems are the same subject.Its object of description is the city. A note was later found among his manuscripts:
When I returned to Moscow in 1922, I found it desolate, half Almost in ruins.It has become this pair after it has survived the test of the first revolution It looks like this to this day.Decreased population, no construction of new dwellings, old The house has never been repaired. But even in this way, it is still a modern big city, modern art nouveau The only real inspiration. jumbled together seemingly incompatible things and concepts, As if out of the capriciousness of the author, like the symbolists Bullock, Verhaeren, Like Whitman, it is not rhetorical randomness at all.this is the impression The new structure is discovered from life and copied from reality. Just as they drive a series of images on the line, the line itself expands Spread out, drive the crowd away from us, like a carriage from the end of the nineteenth century on the city streets of the city, and later, like the electric carriages and Like subway cars driving through the city. In such an environment, how can the simplicity of the countryside exist.its false simplicity Is a literary fake, unnatural posturing, the situation in the book, not to From the countryside, but from the shelves of the library of the Academy of Sciences.vivid, natural The language that forms and fits the spirit of today is the language of urbanism. I live at a crossroads where people come and go.summer shining brightly Moscow, the glowing asphalt pavement between the courtyards, reflected on the upper window frames Spots of light, smelling of street and dust, swirl around me, making my head spin Dazed, and want me to dazzle other people's brains by praising Moscow.for For this purpose it educated me and made me dedicate myself to art. The noisy street outside the wall day and night is so closely connected with the soul of contemporary people dense, like the prelude to the beginning, full of darkness and mystery, not yet risen, but already Like a red curtain illuminated by footlights.There is constant commotion and noise outside the door and window The city is a huge and boundless prelude for each of us to live.i was thinking Describe the city from this perspective.
There is no such poem in the preserved Zhivago's poems.Maybe "Hamlet" belongs to this kind of poetry? One morning at the end of August, Yuri Andreyevich got on a tram at the corner of Gazetny Street in the direction of Nikita Street, going from the University to Kudrinskaya Street.The first day he went to work at the Botkin Hospital, which was then called the Soldaginkov Hospital, it was probably the first time he had been there for a job. Yuri Andreevich was unlucky.He gets on a faulty tram that has accidents every day.Either the wheels of the big cart got stuck in the tramway and blocked the tram, or the insulators under the car or on the roof failed and shorted out, crackling and sparking. The trolley driver used to get out of the front door of a stopped tram with a wrench in hand, look around the tram, and crouch down under the car to repair the parts between the wheel and the rear door. An unlucky tram blocked all traffic.The street is already crowded with trams blocked by it, and the trams behind are still coming continuously, all crowded together.The tail of this long dragon has reached the training ground, and it is still getting longer.Passengers got out of the car behind and ran to the trolley ahead of the accident, as if it would be an advantage to change cars.It was stuffy and hot in the crowded compartment on a hot morning.Over the heads of a group of passengers running across the cobbled road from the Nikita Gate, a dark purple cloud rose higher and higher.It's going to rain heavily. Yuri Andreevich sat on the single seat on the left side of the carriage, squeezed against the window.The sidewalk of Nikita Street, where the Conservatory was located, was always in front of him.He looked at the people on foot and in the car on this side, and he didn't miss any of them, but his mind was involuntarily and casually thinking about the other person. A woman in a pale yellow straw hat wrapped with daisy and cornflower flowers made of linen and in a vintage lilac-colored tight dress walks on the sidewalk, panting from exhaustion, holding A flat packet that I was wearing kept fanning itself.Wearing a tight corset, she was sluggish from the heat, her face was covered with sweat, and she wiped her wet brows and lips with a lace handkerchief. She walked parallel to the tram tracks.As soon as the repaired tram moved, it passed her.Several times she disappeared from Yuri Andreevich's sight.When the tram broke down again and stopped, the lady overtook the tram and caught the doctor's eyes several times. Yuri Andreyevich remembered the middle school arithmetic problem, calculating the time and sequence of trains moving at different speeds at different times.He tried to recall the usual calculations, but couldn't recall anything.He didn't think of a calculation method, so he jumped from these memories to other memories, and fell into more complicated thoughts. He thought of the growing people next to him, one by one walking forward at different speeds, and he thought that in life, who would have a better fate than the other, and who would live longer than the other.He thought of something like the principle of relativity in the arena of life, but at last his mind got confused and he dropped the analogy. There was a flash in the sky, and there was a burst of thunder.The unfortunate tram was stuck on the descent from Kudrinskaya Street to the zoo.The lady in the lavender dress reappeared out of the window after a while, walked past the tram, and gradually walked away.The first heavy rain fell on the pavement, the flagstones, and the lady.A dusty wind swept through the trees on the sidewalk, turned the leaves, stirred the lady's hat, rolled up her dress, and stopped suddenly. The doctor felt dizzy and his limbs became weak.He forced himself to stand up from the seat, desperately pulling the window strap up and down, trying to open the window of the carriage.But he couldn't pull it away. Someone shouted to the doctor that the windows were nailed shut, but he was struggling with dizziness and panic, so he didn't think it was a shout to himself, and he didn't understand the shouting.He continued to open the window, pulled the sling up and down two or three times, and pulled it violently on himself, suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest that he had never felt before.He knew right away that something had been pulled internally, a fatal mistake had been made, and it was all over.At this moment the tram started, but stopped after a few steps on Presner Street. With superhuman determination, Yuri Andreyevich pushed his way past the passengers standing between the rows of stools to the rear door of the car.People wouldn't let him pass and scolded him loudly.He felt refreshed by the influx of fresh air, and that perhaps he would be better if it wasn't over yet. He pushed his way through the crowd at the back door, causing another round of cursing, kicking, and fury.Regardless of the shouts of the passengers, he squeezed his way out of the crowd, stepped from the pedals of the tram to the stone road, took one step, two steps, three steps, fell to the stone slab with a slight grunt, and never got up again. There was an uproar, and the passengers scrambled for ideas.Several passengers descended from the rear door and surrounded the fallen man.They quickly concluded that he was no longer breathing and his heart had stopped beating.People on the sidewalk also came to the crowd around the dead body, some comforted, some disappointed that the man had never been run over, his death had nothing to do with the tram.There are more and more people.The lady in the lavender dress also walked up to the crowd, stood there for a while, looked at the dead man, listened to others' comments for a while, and then walked forward again.She was a foreigner, but she understood that some people advocated putting the body on a tram and transporting it to the hospital ahead, while others said that the police should be called.She walked forward without waiting for their decision. The lady in the purple dress was Mademoiselle Fleury, a Swiss citizen from Meliuzievo.She is very old.For twelve years, she has been applying in writing for permission to return to her home country.Not long ago her application was approved.She came to Moscow to collect her exit passport.That day she went to her country's embassy to collect her passport, and what she used as a fan was the rolled-up certificate tied with ribbons.She walked forward, had passed the tram ten times, but had no idea that she had passed Zhivago and outlived him. A corner of the room could be seen from the corridor leading to the door, where a table was placed at an angle.On the table stood a coffin, with its low, narrow end like a rough-hewn canoe, facing the door.The legs of the deceased were pressed tightly against the coffin.This desk was Yuri Andreevich's former desk.There are no other tables in the room.The manuscripts were put in drawers, and the table was placed under the coffin.The pillows were so high that the body lay in the coffin as if on a hill. Around the coffin were many flowers, clusters of lilacs which were rare at the season, cyclamen and clawwort in pots or vases.Flowers block the light from the window.The faint light shone through the flowers on the table, on the sallow face and hands of the deceased, and on the wooden boards of the coffin.The beautiful flower shadows fell on the table, as if they had just stopped swaying. Cremation was already common at that time.In order for the children to receive subsidies, to ensure that they can go to middle school in the future and that Malina's work in the telegraph office will not be affected, it was decided not to hold a requiem mass, but to implement ordinary cremation.Reported to the relevant authorities.Waiting for the arrival of the relevant representatives. While waiting for them, the house was empty, as if the old tenant had moved out and the new tenant had not yet moved in.The silence of the room was only broken by the cautious footsteps of those who bid farewell to the dead and the scuffing of shoes on the ground.Not many people came, but much more than expected.News of the barely-named man's death spread rapidly through their circles.There was a gathering of people who at various times had known the dead man, who at various times had lost contact with him or had been forgotten by him.His academic thoughts and poetry have gained more strangers, who have never met him before, but are attracted by him, and now they come to see him for the first time and see him for the last time. In this moment of shared silence without any ceremony, when the silence weighs down everyone's heart with an almost palpable loss, only flowers take the place of the song and the ceremony that was missing in the room. The flowers and trees are only in full bloom, exuding fragrance, as if all the flowers have exhausted their fragrance together, so as to accelerate their own withering, give the power of fragrance to everyone, and accomplish a certain feat. It's easy to imagine the kingdom of plants as a close neighbor of the kingdom of death.Here, in this green land, among the trees in the cemetery, and among the flower seedlings emerging from the flower beds, perhaps there are secrets of great changes and mysteries of life that we are trying to explore.At first Mary did not recognize Jesus walking out of the coffin, mistaking him for the gardener of the cemetery. When the deceased was transported from his last place of residence to his apartment on Kamergoskiy Street, friends, stunned by the news of his death, accompanied Marina, who was insane from the news, through the door into the open room.She has been unable to control herself, rolling on the floor and banging her head on the long wooden cabinet with the seat and back.Bodies rest on wooden cabinets until the coffins ordered arrive and the messy room is tidied up.She was weeping like rain, talking in a low voice for a while, and shouting and screaming for a while, sobbing, and half of her words were howling unconsciously.She wailed like someone crying to death in the countryside, she didn't care about anyone, she couldn't see anyone.Marina clung to the body and could hardly pull her away so that it could be carried to another room that had been cleaned and everything else removed, to be washed before the mortuary.This all happened yesterday.Today, the tide of her grief has calmed down and become insensitive, but he still can't control himself, says nothing, and his nerves have not yet returned to normal. She has been sitting here all night since yesterday, without leaving the room.Klaska was brought here to be nursed, as was Kapaca and the young nurse, and then they were taken away. She was accompanied by close people, Dudorov and Gordon, who were as sad as she was.Father Markle sat down next to her on a bench, weeping softly and sniffling loudly.Her mother and sisters also came to her crying. There were two persons, a man and a woman, very different from all the mourners.They did not emphasize that their relationship to the deceased was closer than that of the above-mentioned persons.They didn't want to compete with Marina, her daughters, and the friends of the deceased for grief, and give them the priority of grief.These two men had no excessive demands, but had their own, special right to mourn the dead.They all somehow have unreasonable silent rights, and no one violates their rights or contests their rights.These were the two men who seemed to be the ones who had been doing the funerals in the first place, taking care of things quietly, as if doing them gave them some kind of pleasure.Their lofty spiritual realm attracted everyone's attention, and everyone had a strange impression of them.It seemed as though these two persons had been involved not only in the burial but in the death, without being the perpetrator or indirect cause of the doctor's death.They seem to be the people who promised to undertake the funeral after the incident, and take care of the funeral with peace of mind.Not many people know them, some people guess who they are, but most people know nothing about them. 但当那位长着一双既表示好奇又引起旁人好奇的吉尔吉斯人的细眼睛的男人，和这位并未精心打扮便很漂亮的女人走进安放着棺材的屋子时，所有坐着、站着或走动的人，包括马林娜在内，都顺从地让出地方，仿佛他们之间有过默契似的，，躲在一旁，从沿墙的一排椅子和凳子上站起来，互相拥挤着从房间里走进走廊和前厅，只有这位男人和这位女人留在掩上的门后面，仿佛两个鉴定人，在无人打扰的安静的环境中，被请来完成同殡葬直接有关的事，并且是极为紧要的事、现在的情形正是如此。只有他们两人留下来，坐在两把靠墙的凳子上，谈起正事来： “办得怎么样了，叶夫格拉夫·安德烈耶维奇？” “今天下午火葬。半小时后医务工作者工会派人来拉遗体，运到工会俱乐部。四点钟举行追悼会。没有一份证件合用。劳动手册过时了，旧的工会会员证没换过，几年没缴纳会费。这些事都得办。所以拖延了半天。在把他抬出之前——顺便说一句，抬他的人马上就要到了——还得做些准备，我遵照您的请求，把您一个人留在这儿。再见。您听见了吗？电话铃响了。我出去一下。” 叶夫格拉夫走进走廊。走廊里挤满医生陌生的同事、中学的同学、医院的低级职员和书店的店员，还有马林娜和孩子们。她搂着两个孩子，用技在肩上的大衣襟裹着她们（那天很冷，冷风从大门口吹进来），坐在凳子边上等待房门什么时候再打开，就像探监的女人，等待守卫把她放进探监室。走廊里光线很暗，装不下所有吊丧的人，打开了通楼梯的门。很多人站在前厅和楼道上抽烟，不时走来走去。其余的人站在楼梯下面的台阶上，越靠近大街，说话的声音越大，越随便。在一片压低声音的低语中，叶夫格拉夫费劲地听电话里的声音，尽量把声音压低到符合吊丧的气氛，用一只手遮住听筒，在电话里回答对方的问题，大概是有关安葬的程序和医生死亡情况的问题。他又回到房间，同那个女人继续谈下去。 “火化之后请别离开，拉里莎·费奥多罗夫娜。我对您有个过分的请求。我不知道您下榻在什么地方。告诉我在什么地方能找到您。我想在最近，明天或者后天，便着手整理哥哥的手稿。我需要您的帮助。您知道那么多他的事，大概比所有的人知道得都多。您刚才顺便提到，您刚从伊尔库茨克到这儿，并不准备在莫斯科久留，您上这儿来是出于别的原因，偶尔来的，并不知道哥哥死前的几个月住在这里，更不知道这里出了什么事儿。您说的有些话我不明白，但我并不要求您解释，可您别离开，我不知道您的住宅在哪儿。最好在整理他的手稿的几天里，我们呆在一间房间里，或两间房间里，但不要隔得太远。这能办到。我认识房管会的人。”