Chapter 3 Chapter two

Rodion brought him a mug of warm chocolate drink, along with two papers: the local Good Morning, Folks, and the more serious daily, The People's Voice, again with its many color photographs.In the first paper, he saw frontal photos of his family's house: children looking out from the balcony, his father-in-law from the kitchen window, a photographer from Marth's window.The second newspaper featured the familiar sights seen from Marthe's window: the garden, the apple tree, the open gate, the photographer who had photographed the front of the house.Additionally, he found two snapshots of himself that showed him to be docile in his youth.

The son of an unknown homeless man, Cincinnatus spent his childhood in a large charity on the other side of the Strop River (he met Cecilia C in his twenties when she Teenager, short, youthful-looking, twittery. One night, by the pond group, she understood him).Understanding his own danger by a curious chance, Cincinnatus learned from childhood to carefully conceal a certain eccentricity of his own.Other eyes cannot see through him, so that when he loses his vigilance he gives a grotesque impression, a solitary black barrier in a world where souls are transparent to one another.But he learned to feign translucency, to some extent by employing a complex system of optical illusions—but he never lost his composure as he manipulated the facets and angles of lighting that transformed his soul. A momentary slackening of control can immediately cause people to panic.His peers would suddenly turn away from him when they were having fun with him, as if they felt that his clear eyes and blue temples were a cunning deception, that Cincinnatus was actually opaque.Sometimes the teacher would suddenly fall silent in class, pull all the skin around his eyes abruptly, stare at him for a while, and finally say, "What's the matter with you, Cincinnatus?" and he would regain control , hold ego tightly in your arms, and transfer to a safe place.

With the passage of time, there have been fewer safe places: any place is full of eyesight, and the peephole on the cell door makes the peepers outside the door unobstructed.So, Cincinnatus didn't crumpled up the colorful newspapers and threw them away, but his subconscious self had already done so (the subconscious self, whether you, me, or him, has it all). —doing what we like to do in that moment, but can’t…).Cincinnatus calmly put the newspaper aside and finished his chocolate drink.The brown coating that had once covered the chocolate was now a shriveled scum clinging to his lips.Then Cincinnatus put on a black dressing gown (too long for him) and pom-pom slippers, and a black beanie, and began to walk up and down the cell. He has been doing this since day one.

Childhood on the grass in the suburbs.Children play with balls, jars, blind spiders, jumpbacks, berries, and bags.Cincinnatus is light and quick, but they don't like to play with him.In winter, the slopes in the city are covered with a layer of smooth snow, and sitting on the so-called "glassy" Sabrov sleigh from the top of the slope is full of fun.When I came home from the sledding, it was getting dark quickly... There are wonderful stars, thoughts and sorrows in the sky, and stupid ignorance on the ground.In the cold, metallic darkness, the pantry windows glowed amber and crimson.Women in fox furs over silk dresses walked across the street from house to house.The electric "four-wheeled touring buggy" sped along the snow-powdered track, and a blizzard of cold light was rolled up for a while.

Someone whispered: "Arkady Ilich, look at Cincinnatus..." He wasn't angry with informants, but they multiplied, and as they matured, they became terrifying.Cincinnatus seemed black to them, as if he were cut from the night.The opaque Cincinnatus turned this way and that, trying to catch the light, eager to appear translucent.People around him can understand each other just by the first word, because the words they use will not have unexpected endings, maybe a certain ancient word, becomes a flying bird or a slingshot, and produces wonderful results .They used to take him to that dreary little museum on Second Avenue when he was a kid, and then he went there himself.There was a collection of rare and curious things, but all the townspeople, except Cincinnatus, considered the exhibits limited and transparent, as they perceived each other.Something without a name doesn't exist.Unfortunately, everything has a name.

"Nameless Being, Formless Matter," read Cincinnatus, looking at the wall concealed by the door as it opened. "Those who keep going to the name day celebrations, you can only..." These words were written in another place. Continuing to the left, the writing is strong and beautiful, and there is no extra line: "Be careful, when they speak to you..." The words behind were erased. Next to it, in a child's clumsy handwriting: "I'll fine the writers," signed "The Warden." You can also make out another line, an ancient and confusing one: "Measure me while I'm still alive—before it's too late."

"Anyway, I've been measured," Cincinnatus said, beginning to walk again, tapping his knuckles against the wall. "But how I don't want to die! My soul is already hiding under the pillow. Oh, I don't want to die! It's going to be cold out of my warm body. I don't want to... wait a minute... let me doze a little longer." Twelve, thirteen, fourteen.When Cincinnatus was fifteen, he went to work in a toy factory, where he had been assigned because of his short stature.In the evening, he read ancient books to his heart's content in the floating library on the water, amidst the lazy and charming sound of the lapping of the micro-waves.This floating library was built in memory of Dr. Siniokov, and the site was chosen at the place where he drowned in the city river.The creaking sound of iron chains, the orange lights in the small corridor, the splashing sound of water, the smooth surface of the water seemed to be coated with oil by the moonlight.In the distance, in the dark web of a tall bridge, lights flickered across.Then, however, these precious books began to get wet, and at length the river had to be drained, and all the water brought to the Strop by a specially dug canal.

In the toy factory, he spent a long time doing all kinds of complicated chores, making dolls for girls.Among the minifigures are a furry Pushkin on a fur-armed merchant ship, a rat-like Gogol in a fiery red vest, an old Tolstoy with a fat nose and a peasant smock, and many others, such as Dobrolyubov in his spectacles, all buttoned up.Having formed an artificial taste for the mystical nineteenth century, Cincinnatus was ready to throw himself into the mists of the ancients and find a false refuge in it, but something else disturbed his mind. Marth also worked in that small factory.Her wet lips were partly parted, and she was holding a thread to the eye of a needle. "Hi, Cincinnatic!" And so began a rapturous walk through the great, great Tamara Park (so large that the distant mountains dimmed as they lingered) stand up).For no reason, the willow grove wept and turned into three streams, and the three streams formed three waterfalls, and each waterfall plunged into the lake with its own little rainbow. In the lake, there was a swan arm in arm with its own reflection. And swim.Flat lawn, rhododendrons, oak grove, happy gardener in green boots, busy all day like hide and seek, den, idyllic bench, three funny people on the bench Leaving three neat little piles on the ground (it was a prank—they were imitations of tinplate painted brown), the fawn hopped out onto the road, turning into shivering sunbeams right before your eyes— —The scenery of the park at that time was so beautiful!And Marthe's inarticulate whispers, her white stockings and velvet slippers, her beautiful breasts and her intoxicating kisses that smelt of wild strawberries.If only I could see it from here—at least the treetops, at least the mountains in the distance... Cincinnatus tightened his dressing gown a little.Cincinnatus moved the table and began to pull it back, and the table screamed angrily: it trembled, dragged reluctantly across the stone floor!As he stepped back toward the window (that is, toward the wall, where there was a sloping hole in the high wall that counted as a window), the tremor of the table went to Cincinnatus' fingers and Cincinnatus on the hard palate.A spoon jingled to the ground, a cup began to dance, a pencil began to roll, and one book began to slide onto another.Cincinnatus moved the disobedient chair to the table.At last he climbed up himself.But, of course, he could see nothing but a hot sky and a few sparse white hairs brushed back—remnants of clouds that couldn't tolerate the blue.Cincinnatus could barely reach the iron bars beyond the window openings, and at the end of the windows were more iron bars, whose shadows were reflected on the peeling walls of the stone slope.Written on one side of the window opening, the handwriting was as neat as the half-erased sentences he had seen before, but with a tinge of disdain: "You can't see anything. I tried that too."

Cincinnatus stood on tiptoe and grasped the bars with his little hands, white with the strain.Half of his face is covered with a sunny grid, the yellow beard on the left side is shining brightly, and there is a small golden cage in each of the two mirror-like pupils, and underneath, his heels are too far away from standing on tiptoe. back of the slipper. "Another tiptoe and you're going to fall," said Rodion, who had been standing by for half a minute, gripping the wobbling chair tightly. "It's okay, it's okay, you can climb down now." Rodion had cornflower blue eyes and, as usual, a handsome red beard.This charming Russian countenance looked up at Cincinnatus.Cincinnatus's bare heel was on his face—his shadow, it should be said—on his face, and Cincinnatus himself had dropped from the chair to the table.Rodion carefully carried him down like a baby.Then he dragged the table back to its original place, and the table made a sound like a violin.He sat at the edge of the table, dangling one foot and dragging the other on the floor, imitating the breezy gesture of a tavern libertine humming an opera ditty, while Cincinnatus shook his head. Clothes and belt, trying not to cry out.

Rodion was humming in a bass-baritone voice, rolling his eyes and waving an empty glass.Marth had sung this powerful song before.Tears welled up from Cincinnatus' eyes.On a climactic note, Rodion slammed the cup on the floor and slid off the table.Although he sang alone, it sounded like a chorus.Suddenly, he raised his arms and walked out. Cincinnatus sat on the ground, looking up through his tears, the shadow of the iron bars had shifted position.He tried—for the hundredth time—to move the table, but, God, the legs were already anchored to the ground.He ate a pressed fig and resumed walking around the cell.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.At the age of twenty-two, he transferred to a kindergarten and worked as a teacher in Class F.It was at this time that he married Marthe.No sooner had he started his new job (caring for hyperactive children who were lame, hunched, or squinted) when a second-degree complaint was filed against him by a prominent figure.The other party hinted that he had a preliminary illegal act in the form of careful guessing.The city elders put the memorandum to trial, along with old charges that had been repeatedly made by his more insightful colleagues in the past.The Chairman of the Board of Education and some other officials took turns chaining him up and subjecting him to the various experiments prescribed by law.He was not allowed to sleep for several days, and he was forced to engage in nonsensical quick chats until he was almost insane.He was also compelled to write letters to various objects and natural phenomena, to act out scenes of everyday life, to imitate various animals, various occupations, and various diseases.All this he had done, passed, because he was young, resourceful, full of life, eager to survive, to live with Marthe for a while.They released him reluctantly, and allowed him to continue caring for the lowest category of children, who could be sacrificed, and they did so to see what would happen afterwards.He made the children into pairs and took them out for walks while he turned the handle of a small portable music box that looked like a coffee grinder.During the holidays, he was on the playground swings with the children—the whole group of children motionless and holding their breath on the upward swing, and screaming on the downward swing.He also taught several of the children how to read and write. At the same time, Ma Si began to betray him from the first year of marriage, and had casual sex with others regardless of the occasion.Usually, when Cincinnatus came home, she would put on a disgusting half-smile, her full chin resting on her neck as if reproaching herself, then lift up her honest hazel eyes and whisper softly. Said: "Little Marthy did that again today." At this time, he would stare at her for a few seconds, put his palm on his cheek like a woman, and then cry silently, walking through the eyes full of her. All the rooms of relatives, locked themselves in the bathroom, stomped hard in it, turned on the faucet, and coughed to cover the sound of their crying.Sometimes she would justify herself, explaining to him: "You know, I'm a very kind person: it's such a small thing, but it brings so much comfort to a man." She soon becomes pregnant, but the child is not his.She gave birth to a boy, who immediately became pregnant—again, not his—and gave birth to a girl.The boy was lame and very bad-tempered, the girl was dull, too fat, and nearly blind.Because of these serious defects, the two children ended up in the kindergarten he taught.It was queer to see the nimble, clean, jovial Marthe coming home with a cripple and a fat man.Cincinnatus gradually lost his vigilance completely, and one day, at an open-air meeting in the city park, there was a sudden panic, and someone shouted: "Citizens, there has appeared among us-" A strange, almost forgotten word.The wind was blowing through the locust trees, and Cincinnatus had no choice but to get up and walk away absent-mindedly picking leaves from the shrubs that lined the path.Ten days later, he was arrested. "Tomorrow, maybe," Cincinnatus said to himself as he walked slowly around the cell. "Tomorrow, maybe," Cincinnatus said, sitting up on the bed, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.The afterglow of the setting sun repeats the familiar effect. "Tomorrow, maybe," sighed Cincinnatus. "Today is too quiet, and tomorrow, bright morning..." For a moment, everything was silent—there was an earthen jar of water at the end, and all the prisoners in the world used it to drink water; the walls were shoulder to shoulder, like four people gathered together to discuss an important secret in inaudible whispers; A smooth and soft spider, a bit like Marthe; there are some big black books on the table... "Big misunderstanding," said Cincinnatus, with a burst of wild laughter.He stood up and took off his dressing gown, beanie, and slippers.He took off his linen pants and shirt.He took off his head like a wig; he took off his collarbone like an epaulet; Take off the gloves and throw them into a corner.What was left of him melted away, barely coloring the air.At first, Cincinnatus is literally intoxicated with aloofness; then, completely immersed in his own mystical medium, he begins to freely and blissfully... The iron latch slammed like a bolt from the blue, and Cincinnatus immediately regrew all the parts it had removed, including the beanie.Jailer Rodion brought twelve yellow plums in a round basket decorated with grape leaves, a gift from the warden's wife. Cincinnatus, your criminal practice has revived you.