Chapter 8 Chapter VII

A glamorous morning!It brushed off the previous friction and penetrated freely through the barred panes, which Rodion had scrubbed yesterday.For festive vibes, nothing beats yellow paint on the walls.The table was covered with a clean tablecloth, which was not very ironed because of the air under it.Washed stone floors exude a cleansed freshness. Cincinnatus put on the best clothes he had--he put on the long white silk stockings he had worn as a schoolteacher for festive performances--and Rodion sent a wet vase of cut glass with A large peony from the warden's garden was placed in the center of the table... no, not in the middle.He exited the cell, and soon brought in a stool and an additional armchair, arranging the furniture not casually, but with insight and taste.Several times he came back to his cell, and Cincinnatus did not dare to ask, "Is it coming soon?"--just as people are all dressed up, waiting for their guests, and especially idle--he kept walking up and down, sometimes in an unaccustomed He took a rest in the corner of the garden, sometimes straightened the flowers in the vase, but in the end Rodion took pity on him and said that he would not wait for a long time.

At ten o'clock, Rodrigo Ivanovich arrived, in his best and signature frock coat, with a pompous, nonchalant detachment, emotional but composed.He put down a big ashtray, and went over everything in the room (except Cincinnatus) like a conscientious butler who only cares that the inanimate things are clean and tidy, and the living things are left alone. Work it out on your own.He brought back a green flask with a rubber bulb on it and began spraying pineapple perfume.Cincinnatus inadvertently got in his way and was roughly pushed aside.Rodrigo Ivanovich did not arrange the chairs the way Rodion did, staring wide-eyed at the backs for a long time, and saw that they did not match each other—one was lyre-shaped, the other square.He puffed up his cheeks, whistled as he exhaled, and finally turned to face Cincinnatus.

"What about you? Are you ready?" he asked. "Have you found everything you need? Are your shoes buttoned? Why is it a little wrinkled here or something? That's a shame—let's check your paws. Well, don't get everything dirty. I It doesn't look like you have to wait long." He stepped out of the cell, his sweet, authoritative bass voice echoing down the hallway.Rodion opened the cell door, fastened it in the open position, and spread a brown striped carpet over the threshold. "Here we come," he whispered, blinking, before disappearing again.At this moment, from somewhere, came the sound of a key clinking three times in the lock, and at the same time many confused sounds could be heard, and a gust of wind ruffled the hair on Cincinnatus' head.

He was so emotional that his quivering lips kept making the shape of a smile. "Right here, we've arrived," he could hear the warden's booming voice, and the warden came to the door in an instant, and he politely elbowed in a squat prisoner in a striped jacket, before the prisoner entered. He stopped on the carpet first, and bowed gracefully. "Permit me to introduce you to Monsieur Pierre," said the warden in a cheerful tone, "come in, come in, Monsieur Pierre. You can't imagine how much we look forward to your arrival—to get to know each other, both Gentleman--a long-awaited meeting--an instructive scene... Please be kind to us, Monsieur Pierre, and don't find fault..."

He doesn't even understand what he's talking about - he's so excited, he's doing weird little clumsy gestures, rubbing his hands together, overwhelmed with joy. Mr. Pierre was very calm and calm, walked into the cell, and bowed again. Cincinnatus shook hands with him stiffly, and was eager to withdraw his hand, but was squeezed a little longer than usual by the other party's little soft paws. For a little while—like a gentle elderly physician deliberately prolonging his handshake, very kind and appetizing—he let go. Mr. Pierre said with a pleasant high voice from his throat: "I am also very happy to finally have the opportunity to meet you. Forgive me for being presumptuous, and hope that we will continue to get to know each other better."

"Well said, well said," the warden said loudly, "Oh, please, please sit down...you're welcome...your colleagues are so happy to see you here, I don't know what to say." Mr. El sat down, and it was clearly visible at this moment that his feet could not reach the ground, but this did not hinder his dignity in the slightest, nor did it affect the unique charm that nature bestowed on a few outstanding fat people.His crystal-clear eyes gazed politely at Cincinnatus as Rodrigo Ivanovich sat down at the table, giggling, encouraging, intoxicated with pleasure, watching Looked at this, looked at that, following with keen interest the effect on Cincinnatus of every word of his guests.

"You look very much like your mother," said Mr. Pierre. "I never had the opportunity to meet her, but Rodrigo Ivanovich generously offered to show me her picture." "Happy to oblige," said the warden, "we'll find one for you." M. Pierre went on: "Anyway, besides this, I have been a photographer since I was a child. Now I am thirty years old. How about you?" "He was just thirty," said the warden. "Look, I guessed it right. Since you have this hobby, I can show you—" He quickly took out a bulging wallet from the breast pocket of his pajamas, and took out a large stack of the smallest family snapshot.He flipped through them as quickly as if he were flipping through a deck of cards.He began to lay them out on the table one by one, and Rodrigo Ivanovich, yelling with delight, grabbed each of the photographs and looked at them for a long time, continuing to slowly admire the snapshots in his hand, sometimes stretching out his hand. Go grab the next one and pass the old one on to others—even though everyone present is silent.The photographs are filled with images of Pierre in various poses—some in the garden, holding a giant tomato in his hand, some sitting half-ass on the railing (side view, smoking a pipe), Some are reading in a rocking chair with a glass and a straw beside them...

"Great, great," Rodrigo Ivanovic admired, flattering, shaking his head, admiring each photo, or holding two photos at the same time. open. "Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.wys that's so awesome in this picture! "That's a pet," said Monsieur Pierre. "That's amazing! You know what... and this one... watermelon, oh my!" "Yes," said M. Pierre, "you have passed all of them. Here are some."

"Beautiful, really. Bring the other batch—he hasn't seen it yet..." "This is me juggling three apples," said Monsieur Pierre. "It's marvelous!" said the warden, moving his tongue. "This is a picture of breakfast," said Monsieur Pierre. "This is me, and that is my late father." "Yes, yes, of course I recognize it... what a noble forehead!" "It's on the banks of the Strop," said Mr Pierre. "Have you ever been there?" he asked, turning to Cincinnatus. "I don't think he has been," answered Rodrigo Ivanovitch. "And where was this one taken? Look at the little coat! Shall I tell you the truth, you look older in this one. Wait a minute, I'll have another look at that one, take The one with the watering can."

"Well . . . that's all I've brought," said Pierre, and then to Cincinnatus: "If I had known you were so interested, I would have brought some more—I There are more than a dozen photo albums." "Great, wonderful," repeated Rodrigo Ivanovitch, wiping his eyes with a lavender handkerchief, which were moistened by the incessant giggles and cries of delight. Monsieur Pierre packed the photographs and put them back in his wallet.A deck of cards suddenly appeared in his hand. "You have a card, please, any card," he said, laying out the cards on the table.He pushed the ashtray aside with his elbow and continued to line up the cards.

"We've got one in mind," said the warden cheerfully. After performing some mysterious movements, Monsieur Pierre put his forefinger to his forehead, quickly put away the cards on the table, cracked them skilfully, and suddenly threw out a three of spades. "It's amazing," exclaimed the warden, "it's amazing!" The deck of cards disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.M. Pierre grimaced calmly and said: "A little old woman went to the doctor and said, 'I have a terrible disease, sir doctor,' she said, 'I am very afraid of dying from it...' 'You What are the symptoms?' 'I keep shaking my head, Monsieur Doctor,'" Monsieur Pierre, imitating the little old woman, shook his head while muttering. Rodrig Ivanovich burst into wanton laughter, slammed his fists on the table, nearly fell off his chair, coughed, groaned, and regained control with difficulty. "Monsieur Pierre, you are the darling among us," he said, still weeping, "the darling among us indeed! I have never heard such a ridiculous story in my life!" "We are so sad, so sad," said Monsieur Pierre to Cincinnatus, pursing his lips as if to amuse an angry child. "We remained motionless, but our mustaches were twitching, the veins in our necks were throbbing, our little eyes were blurred with tears..." "It's all for fun," put in the warden quickly, "don't mind." "Yes, it is indeed a happy day, a special day," said Monsieur Pierre, "and I am very excited myself... I don't want to brag, but in me, dear colleague, you will find that That rare combination of Jae's sociability and inner reserve, the art of talking and keeping silent, the banter and the seriousness—who can soothe a sobbing baby and put his broken toys back together? Monsieur Pierre. Who can Mediation for a poor widow? Mr. Pierre. Who can give sober advice, who can recommend a drug, who can bring good news? Who? Who? Mr. Pierre. Whatever it is, Pierre Mister can handle it." "Admirable, rare genius!" exclaimed the prison warden, as if he had just heard a poem, but his eyes were fixed on Cincinnatus from under his frown. "Therefore, I think," continued M. Pierre, "well, by the way, by the way," he interrupted himself, "are you satisfied with your lodging? Are you not cold at night? They give you enough." Is there something to eat?" "He eats as I do," replied Rodrigo Ivanovich, "and the food is excellent." "Aboard," said Monsieur Pierre, wisecrackingly. The warden was about to yell again, but at that moment the door opened and a tall, sad-faced librarian appeared with a stack of books under his arm and a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck.He didn't say hello to anyone, and just put the books on the bed. In an instant, the three-dimensional phantoms of these books made of dust were still suspended in the air, they were suspended, trembling, and scattered. "Wait a minute," said Rodrigo Ivanovitch, "I suppose you haven't met." The librarian nodded without looking directly at the other party, while the polite Mr. Pierre had already stood up from his chair. "Please, Monsieur Pierre," begged the warden, putting his hand on the front of his shirt, "show him your trick!" "Oh, that's nothing--it's really nothing," said M. Pierre modestly, but the superintendent persisted: "That's a miracle! Amazing magic! We all beg you! Yo, you're just going to do it for us... wait, wait a minute," the librarian called to the warden, who was already on his way to the door. "Wait a minute, Monsieur Pierre wants to show you something. Please don't go! Don't go..." "You have a card in mind," declared M. Pierre with mock gravity.After shuffling the cards, he throws the five of spades. "No," the librarian said and left. M. Pierre shrugged one of his little round shoulders. "I'll be right back," muttered the warden, and went out. Cincinnatus and his guest were left alone. Cincinnatus opened a book and began to read it intently, actually going over and over again to the first sentence.Monsieur Pierre looked at him with a kind smile on his face, and put a small hand on the table, palm up, as if he wanted to make peace with Cincinnatus.The warden returned, clutching a woolen scarf. "Perhaps you can use it, Monsieur Pierre," he said, and handing over the scarf, sitting down, panting like a horse, began to examine his thumb carefully, and found that the nail was split in half and the end Prominent, like a small sickle. "What were we talking about?" exclaimed M. Pierre, tactfully and tactfully, as if nothing had happened. "By the way, we were talking about photos. Sometime I'll bring my camera and take pictures of you. It's interesting. What are you reading? Can I take a look?" "You should put the book aside," said the warden in a raspy, angry voice. "You have guests after all. How can that be?" "Oh, let him go," said M. Pierre, smiling. There was a silence. "It's getting late," said the warden, looking at his watch. "Yeah, let's go now... God, still playing tantrums...Look at him, his little lips are trembling... Now the sun may come out from behind the clouds at any moment...Trum, tantrum!  … ..." "Let's go," said the warden, rising. "Wait a minute... I like this place too much to leave...Anyway, my dear neighbor, I will come and visit you as often as you allow, and often—with your permission, of course—you will agree Yes, isn't it? . . . Good-bye then. Good-bye! Good-bye!" Monsieur Pierre made a humorous imitation of someone's bow and withdrew, and the warden took his elbow again, snorting contentedly.They left, but finally heard his voice: "I'm sorry, I forgot something there, I will catch up with you soon," the warden hurried back to the cell.He approached Cincinnatus, and the smile disappeared from his purple face with anger. "I'm ashamed," he said through gritted teeth, "ashamed of you. You acted like... ...I'm coming, I'm coming," he yelled, and the grin spread across his face again.He then grabbed the peony vase from the table, splashing water as he left the cell. Cincinnatus kept his eyes on the book.A drop of water splashed onto the page.Through the water droplets, several letters changed from eight-point movable type to twelve-point movable type, as if a reading magnifying glass was placed on it, and the font became larger.