Chapter 7 Chapter Six

What is that - through all that is terrible, dark, ugly - what is that?It was the last to withdraw from the mind, refusing to give in to the great heavy sleeper, and now it was the first to come back--how delightful, delightful--larger and clearer, letting his My heart is full of warmth: Ma Si is coming today! At this moment, Rodion delivered a lavender letter on a tray, the action was the same as in the play.Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cincinnatus read: "Extremely sorry! What an unforgivable mistake! After reviewing the legal text, it turns out that family members are only allowed to meet after a full week of the trial. So we put it off until tomorrow Good health, old chap, greetings. It's all the same here, one trouble after another, the paint sent for the paint booth didn't work, I've written to them about it, But to no avail."

Rodion was clearing away the dishes left on the table yesterday, trying not to look at Cincinnatus.It must have been a gloomy day: the light from above was gray and sympathetic Rodion's black leather looked damp and stiff. "Well, well then," said Cincinnatus, "do as you please, and as you please... I can't do anything anyway." (Another Cincinnatus...is smaller Some, weeping, curled up in a ball.) "Alright, then tomorrow. But I want you to call..." "I'll go right away," Rodion blurted out, readily agreeing, as if he had been looking forward to this sentence for a long time.Just as he was about to rush out, the warden who had been waiting impatiently outside the door came in. Because he was a little early, the two bumped into each other.

Rodrigo Ivanovich was holding a wall calendar in his hand and did not know where to put it. "I am extremely sorry," he cried, "what an unforgivable mistake! After consulting the legal text..." Rodrigo Ivanovich repeated the letter word for word, and in Cincinnatus Sitting down at his feet, he quickly added, "Anyway, you can submit a protest letter, but I have a duty to remind you that the next congress will be held in the fall, and there will be a lot of water--not just water-- Over the levee. Do you know what I mean?" "I don't intend to protest," said Cincinnatus, "but I want to ask you, is there any such thing as keeping promises in the so-called order of things that make up your world?"

"Promise?" the warden asked in amazement, pausing when he was fanning himself with the cardboard portion of the calendar (it was a watercolor painting of the fort at sunset). "What promise?" "My wife's coming tomorrow. It seems you're not willing to make promises about it—but I want to ask the question a little more broadly: Is there any guarantee in this world, any guarantee, is it possible Yes, or is there no such thing as a guarantee here at all?" silence. "But Roman Vissarionovitch is in poor health," said the warden. "Have you heard? He's bedridden with a cold, obviously very serious..."

"My feeling is that you're not going to answer me anyway. And that's logical, because irresponsibility eventually develops its own logic. For thirty years I've lived among a group of people who seemed to have substance to the touch. Among the ghosts, don't let them know that I am a living person, a real person-but now that I have been arrested, there is no reason to pretend to be with you. At least I will personally test all the falsehoods of your world sex." The warden cleared his throat, and continued as if nothing had happened: "It's really serious, and as a doctor, I'm not sure whether he will be able to attend—that is, whether he will recover in time—in short, whether he will be able to attend." No to see your show."

"Go away," Cincinnatus said through clenched teeth. "Don't be so downcast," the warden continued, "tomorrow, tomorrow what you dreamed of will become a reality... But this calendar is still very beautiful, isn't it? It is a work of art. No, it is not for you .” Cincinnatus closed his eyes.When he opened his eyes again, the warden was standing in the middle of the cell, with his back turned to him.The leather apron and red beard were still piled up on the chair, apparently left behind by Rodion. "We've got to give your place an extra clean today," he said, without turning around, "to get ready for tomorrow's meeting... While we're here washing the floors, I'd like you to—"

Cincinnatus closed his eyes again, and the Warden's voice dropped a little, and he continued: "... I would like to invite you to the corridor. It won't take long. Let's do a good job of cleaning, and we can do it tomorrow in a suitable manner. The way, clean and tidy, like a festival..." "Get out," cried Cincinnatus, standing up, trembling. "That's impossible," said Rodion sharply, fiddling with the lace of his apron elaborately. "We've got to clean this place up. Look, it's dusty...you should say thank you." He inspected himself in a pocket mirror, shook his mustache onto his cheeks, and finally went to the bed and handed him Cincinnatus' things.The slippers were pre-stuffed with balls of paper, and the edges of the dressing gown were carefully folded back and fastened with pins.Cincinnatus was a little unsteady, put on his clothes, leaned slightly on Rodion's arm, and walked to the corridor.He sat down on a stool, with his arms tucked into his sleeves, like a sick man.The door of the cell was open, and Rodion began to clean it.The chairs were placed on the table; the sheets were torn from the bed; the bucket jingled; the draft stirred the papers on the table, and one slipped to the floor.

"What are you still dazed about?" Rodion cried, raising his voice above the sound of water, splash, and crash. "You should go for a walk in the hallway . . . Step out, don't be afraid—something happened, and I'm here—you just have to yell." Cincinnatus rose obediently from his stool, but he had just walked along the cold wall--which undoubtedly joined the stone foundation of the prison--he had only taken a few steps (what a step!- —weak, seemingly weightless, terrified), he had left Rodion, the open door, and the bucket behind him, and Cincinnatus felt the tide of freedom rushing in.This surge is on full display when he turns in corners.The bare walls had no decoration but sweat stains and cracks, except in one place where someone had scribbled ocher, like a house painter, "Try the brush, try the—" There was an ugly streak of paint underneath .Unaccustomed to strenuously walking alone, Cincinnatus suffered from a sudden sharp pain in his ribs.

Only then did Cincinnatus stop, look about him as if he had just entered this stony nook, and muster all his courage and all his vitality to try to understand his situation with the most exactness.Accused of a heinous crime, a Gnostic depravity, so rare that it is so unspeakable that devious words like "hard to detect," "opaque," "obliterated" have to be used.Sentenced to death for this crime by beheading, imprisoned in a fortress, awaiting an unknown but imminent and unalterable day (which he clearly anticipated as a violently shaken, pulled, crunched, Tooth, his whole body is a laughing gum, his head is that tooth).Now standing in the corridor of the fortress with a heavy heart—alive, unharmed, still Cincinnatus—Cincinnatus C had a strong desire for freedom, the most ordinary, The liberty of the physical, the physically feasible, while he imagined it, and imagined it with great sensual clarity, like a quivering halo emanating from himself, the shallowing river beyond the town , from any point in that town you could see—sometimes this vista, now that, now as if drawn in crayon, now as in ink—the great fortress in which he was now imprisoned .This wave of freedom surging through him was so strong and so sweet that everything seemed better than it really was: his jailers, and indeed everyone, seemed to be docile; , he used his reason to find a possible way, and some illusion danced in front of his eyes—as if a thousand brilliant needles of light surrounded the dazzling image of the sun in a nickel-plated sphere... standing In the corridor of the fortress, listening to the loud bell, just as the clock started its leisurely count, he imagined the life scene in the city at this early morning hour in the past: Marth came out of the house with an empty basket, eyes downcast Walking along the gloomy sidewalk, followed by a handsome young man with a black mustache, only three steps away from her; a swan-shaped or wind-tailed boat-shaped electric four-wheeled touring buggy, riding in it is like sitting on a spin Like a wooden horse-like cradle, it is constantly gliding on the street in the never-ending traffic; people move out the sofas and armchairs from the furniture warehouse to dry, and the passing students sit on them to rest, and the small handyman's cart Holding their books, he wiped the sweat from his brow like a grown worker; the spring-operated, two-seat "little clocks," as they were called in the area, ticked along the freshly watered sidewalk Going forward (thinking these are cars from the past, degenerate descendants of those nice sleek streamlined sedans... what makes me think so? Ah, yes, those magazine photos); Marth picks some fruit; old Weak, obnoxious horses, used to hellish sights, carried wares from factories to city wholesalers; street bread vendors in white shirts with gilded faces crowed and Juggling with loaves of bread, tossing them in the air, catching them, and spinning them again; by a window overgrown with wisteria, four cheerful telegraph workers are clinking glasses and toasting the health of passers-by: a love of puns The well-known man, a gluttonous old man in a cockscomb hat and red silk trousers, was feasting on fried meat in a kiosk in the group of small ponds; With the accompaniment, dappled sunlight falls on the sloping streets and alleys, and pedestrians hurry; the smell of lime trees, carbon and wet gravel wafts in the air; Spraying and lavishly watering the stone captain, the bas-reliefs on the sides of his giant feet, and quivering roses; Marth, eyes downcast, walked home with a full basket, followed by a fair-haired Dude, just three steps away from her... These were the things Cincinnatus saw and heard through the wall when the bell struck.Although in real life everything in the city seemed lifeless and repulsive compared with the secret life of Cincinnatus and the fire of guilt that burned in his heart, although he knew it well and knew There was no hope, but at this moment he longed to be back on those bright and familiar streets... Just then the clock had rung and the imaginary sky was clouded, and he was back in the reality of the prison.

Cincinnatus held his breath, walked, stopped, and listened carefully: somewhere ahead, at an indeterminate distance, there was a soft knocking sound. The knocking sound was rhythmic, fast, and blunt. Cincinnatus was highly excited, and he heard a kind of attraction from it.He walked on, focused, light on his step, clear-headed; he made countless turns.The tapping stopped, but then it seemed to come back closer, like an invisible woodpecker.Tuk, tuk, tuk.Cincinnatus quickened his pace, and the dark passage turned another corner.It suddenly became brighter—although not as bright as in daytime—and the voice was now more clearly audible, as if I could still hear a little pride in it.In the dim light ahead, Amy was hitting the ball against the wall.

This part of the passage was wider, and Cincinnatus at first thought that there was a large, deep window in the left wall, through which the strange supplementary light streamed in.Amy bent over to pick up the ball, pulling up her sock at the same time, looking at him playfully and shyly.The fine golden-yellow hairs on the arms and shin stood erect.The eyes sparkle between slightly whitish lashes.Now she straightened up and brushed the flaxen curls away from her face with the hand that held the ball. "You don't seem like you're supposed to be walking around here," she said—with something in her mouth rolling behind her cheek and hitting her teeth. "What are you licking in your mouth?" asked Cincinnatus. Amy stuck out her tongue, and there was a red hard candy on the tip of Zizai's dexterous tongue. "I have some more," she said, "and you want one too?" Cincinnatus shook his head. "You don't seem to be walking around here," repeated Amy. "Why?" asked Cincinnatus. She shrugged one shoulder, made a grimace, arched the hand that was holding the ball just now, tensed her calf, jumped up to the place where he thought there was an alcove, a window, and repeatedly adjusted her posture. Thin and long, sat comfortably on a stone protrusion that was smooth as silk. No, it's just like a window, it's actually a glazed recess, a display case, displaying in its false depths - yes, of course, who wouldn't recognize it! - Views from Tamara Park.Smeared with layers of vistas in indecipherable shades of green and illuminated by hidden bulbs, this landscape may suggest a terrarium or some type of theater stage set, but it's more likely It is associated with the background of a brass band playing vigorously.Everything is reproduced fairly accurately as far as clustering and perspective effects are concerned.If it weren't for the drab colors, the still treetops, and the bland lighting, you could squint and imagine yourself looking through a gunshot hole in the fort into the real park.An indulgent eye can make out the avenues, the wavy green groves, the colonnade on the right, the solitary poplar grove, and in the middle of the impossibly blue lake, that pale mass that might have been a swan.In the distance, in the stylized mist, the mountains arched their round backs, and above them the cumulus clouds were motionless under that dark blue-gray sky in which actors play life and death.There was something stale about it all, old and dusty, and there were stains on the pane of glass through which Cincinnatus had looked, some of which, put together, could represent a child's hand. "Will you take me to that place, please?" whispered Cincinnatus, "I beg you." He sat beside Amy on the ledge of the stone, and together they looked through the glass at the artificial distance.She traced the winding paths bewilderingly with her fingers, her hair smelling of vanilla. "Papa's here," she said suddenly in a harsh, urgent voice, and then she jumped to the ground and ran away without a trace. Her words were true: Rodion came, the keys jingling.He was heading in the exact opposite direction from which Cincinnatus had just come (Cincinnatus at first thought it was just a reflection in the mirror). "It's time for you to come back," he joked. The light behind the glass went out, and Cincinnatus took a step, intending to go back the way he had come. "Hey, hey, where are you going?" Rodion called. "Go straight, that road is closer." Only at this time did Cincinnatus realize that after turning so many turns in the corridor, he did not go far, but turned around a polyhedron—now that he turned a turn, he saw himself in the distance The door to the cell, passing the cell for the new prisoners before going there.The door of the cell was open, and the lovely little man he had seen before in his striped pajamas was standing on a chair, about to pin a calendar to the wall: tuk, duk, like a woodpecker. "Don't peep, my pretty little girl," said Rodion, mildly to Cincinnatus. "Go home, go home. We've cleaned your room, eh? We don't have to be ashamed now that we have guests." He seemed particularly proud of the fact that the spider had enthroned a clean and impeccably woven web, which had obviously just been woven.