Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen

The voices seemed closer, urgent now, and it would be a sin to disturb them by banging on the walls with questions again.They lasted much later than the night before, when Cincinnatus lay prone on the stone slab, sprawled, as if sunstroked, enjoying the sham show of the senses, seeing the secret passage clearly through the eardrums Every time he dug, it lengthened a little bit, and he felt—as if the secret and tense pain in his chest was relieved—how the stones were loosened one by one. Where it cracked, a crack appeared with a bang. The crackling and rustling were still faintly audible when Rodion walked in.Amy burst in behind him, barefoot in ballet slippers and a plaid dress.She was hiding under a table, squatting on her hip, her fair hair curled up over her face and her knees, even her ankles.As soon as Rodion was gone, she jumped up and went straight to Cincinnatus, who was sitting on the bed.She knocked him over and started crawling all over him.She poked him with cold fingers and warm elbows.She bared her teeth, with fragments of green leaves still stuck to her front teeth.

"Sit still," said Cincinnatus, "I'm exhausted—I've been up all night—sit still and tell me—" Amy couldn't sit still, and buried her forehead in his chest. The curly hair fell down and hung on one side, exposing the upper part of the back. There was a depression that moved with the shoulder blades. The back was evenly covered with golden hair. It looks like it has been symmetrically groomed. Cincinnatus stroked her warm head lightly, trying to lift it up.She took his fingers and pressed them against her sensitive lips. "You spoiled child is a real pest," said Cincinnatus drowsily. "Now, stop it. Tell me--"

But at this moment, her childish madness had already exploded.The muscular kid rolls a Cincinnatus over and over like a puppy. "Stop!" Cincinnatus yelled. "Aren't you ashamed?" "Tomorrow," she said suddenly, hugging him tightly, her eyes fixed on the space between his eyes. "I must die tomorrow?" asked Cincinnatus. "No, I'm going to get you out," said Amy worriedly (as she rode him). "It's great," Cincinnatus said. "Let all the saviors come! This should have come sooner—I'm going crazy. Come down, you're heavy and hot."

"We run away, you want to marry me." "Maybe you'll have to wait until you're older, but I already have a wife." "She's fat and old," said Amy. She jumps out of bed and runs around the room like a ballerina taking quick strides, her hair dangling, then leaps up as if flying, and ends up twirling so fast at one point that you feel like throwing a lot of arm. "School starts again soon," she said, sitting on Cincinnatus' lap.Suddenly, everything else in the world left her mind, and she concentrated on something new—she began to pick at a long, black scab on her shiny shin, which had fallen off halfway and could be seen pink. Color tenderness.

Cincinnatus squinted at her slanted profile, outlined in bright sunlight.He felt tired. "Oh, Amy, remember, remember the promise you made. To-morrow! Tell me, how will you save me?" "Put your ear close," said Amy. She put one arm around his neck and made some warm, wet, completely inaudible sounds in his ears. "I can't hear anything," Cincinnatus said. Impatiently, she pushed the hair back from her face and snuggled up to him again. "Puff...Puff...Puff," her voice was excited, low, and noisy—after she finished speaking, she jumped away and jumped up—stopping on the slightly swaying high-altitude swing, the toes of her feet were stretched together to form a Pointed wedge.

"I still have great hopes for this," Cincinnatus said sleepily, slowly pressing his damp, lingering ear to the pillow. As he drifted off to sleep, he could feel her crawling on top of him, and it seemed to him vaguely that she or someone else was constantly folding some shiny fabric, grasping the corners to fold it, stroking it with the palm of his hand. Flattened, then folded again—for a moment he woke up suddenly, and it was because Rodion dragged her from the cell, and she screamed loudly. Then he thought he heard those precious voices beyond the walls cautiously beginning to ring again...how dangerous!It was broad daylight after all... But they couldn't restrain themselves, they approached him step by step in such a secret way, but he was worried that the guards would hear, so he started walking back and forth, stomping, coughing, humming, waiting for him When the heart beat wildly and sat down at the table, the sound had already stopped.

It seems to have become a habit for Monsieur Pierre to come at dusk.Wearing a brocade beanie, he lay freely on Cincinnatus' bed, lighting a meerschaum pipe carved with bewitching women, propping himself up on one elbow, surrounded by smoke.Cincinnatus sat at the table, chewing with relish the last bits of supper, removing prunes from the brown soup. "Today I powdered my feet," Mr. Pierre said in a relaxed tone. "Please stop complaining and criticizing. Let's continue with yesterday's topic. We are talking about pleasure." "The pleasure of love," said Monsieur Pierre, "is obtained through the most beautiful and healthy movements of the body. I say 'acquire', but perhaps 'extract' would be more apt, for what we are discussing is, How to continuously extract pleasure from the depths of the animal body system that has been repeatedly studied. In the leisure time, the first impression of the manual laborer on the onlooker is the falcon-like eyes, the joyful temperament, and the healthy complexion. Look at the rhythm of my slides. In doing so, we have before us a phenomenon that we can loosely call 'love' or 'erotic pleasure'."

At this moment the warden came in on tiptoe, motioned them to ignore him, and sat down on a stool which he himself had brought. M. Pierre turned to look at him with kindness in his eyes. "Go on, go on," Rodrigo Ivanovich whispered, "I'm here to listen—excuse me, wait a minute—I'll move the stool so it can lean against the wall. See , I'm exhausted. How about you?" "That's because you are not used to it," said M. Pierre. "Permit me to continue. Rodrigo Ivanovitch, we were discussing the joys of life just now, and also about Eros in general."

"I see," said the warden. "I made the following points—sorry, dear colleague, I have to repeat myself, but I want to make it interesting for Rodrigo Ivanovich. I think that Rodrigo Ivan Norwich, the most haunting thing about a condemned man is the woman, the ecstasy of her flesh." "And the poetry of the moonlit night," Rodrigo Ivanovich added, giving Cincinnatus a stern look. "No, please don't interfere with my development of the subject. If you have anything to add, you can talk about it later. Well--then I will go on. There are many other pleasures besides the pleasure of love, and now I will Come on. You may have felt more than once on a lovely spring day, when the flowers were just beginning to bud, the groves were just covered with young leaves, and the plumage of songbirds brought them to life. The first humble little flowers to bloom Peeking out from the grass, as if coquettish, as if to seduce nature lovers, they whisper timidly: 'Oh, don't, don't pick us off, our lives are short.' On days like these, the birds sing their hearts out, some of the trees put forth their first young leaves, and people's hearts are lifted and their breaths deepened. All things are happy, all things are happy."

"You paint April so well," said the warden, with a twitch of his jaw. "I think everybody has it," continued Monsieur Pierre, "but now, now we are all climbing up to the scaffold every day, and the unforgettable memory of such a beautiful spring day will make us cry: 'Oh, come back. , come back and let me do it all over again.'” "'Live it all over again,'" repeated Monsieur Pierre, referring unabashedly to a draft that resembled a student's cheating tape, densely covered with fine print. "Next," said Monsieur Pierre, "then we'll talk about spiritual pleasure. Do you remember those times when, in a beautiful gallery or museum, you stopped suddenly and couldn't take your eyes off a giant statue?" Move away from the provocative nude torsos — my God, in bronze or marble. We may call it the pleasure of art, which has a place in life."

"So do I," said Rodrigo Ivanovitch nasally, looking at Cincinnatus. "And the pleasure of gastronomy," continued M. Pierre. "Look at the branches covered with all kinds of good fruit; look at the butcher and his helpers dragging a pig, squealing like it's being slaughtered; look at the big piece of pig on the delicate plate Oil; look at the table wine and cherry brandy; look at the fish—I don't know what else you like, but I have a soft spot for sunfish." "I like that too," Rodrigo Ivanovic agreed. "Such a good feast must be given up, and many other things must be given up: happy music, favorite gadgets, such as video cameras and pipes; friendly conversation; the pleasure of excretion, which some people associate with love. Pleasure on par; sleeping after dinner; smoking...what else? Beloved gadget...yes, that's already been said" (he takes out the scratch paper again) "Pleasure...I've said it too It's over. In short, there are many other things..." "May I add something?" the warden asked flatteringly, but M. Pierre shook his head and refused: "No, that's enough. I see that I have demonstrated before the mind of my dear colleague the infinite delights of the spheres of the senses..." "I just want to say a few words about the food," the warden said in a low voice. "I think some details can still be mentioned. For example, let's talk about broth... Well, well, I won't say anything," he stopped hurriedly when he met M. Pierre's gaze. "Well," said Monsieur Pierre to Cincinnatus, "what have you to say about all this?" "What have I to say?" said Cincinnatus. "Nasty, imposing nonsense." "There is no cure for him," Rodrigo Ivanovitch exclaimed. "He's pretending," said M. Pierre, with an ominous smile. "Take my word for it, he is fully in touch with the full beauty of the phenomena I describe." "...but there's something he doesn't understand," Rodrigo Ivanovich put in, calmly. "He doesn't understand, if now he can honestly admit his mistakes in style, honestly admit that he likes the same things as you and I—for example, the first course is turtle soup—everyone says it tastes really good— —that is, I just want to see that if he confesses honestly and repents—yes, repents—this is my point of view—he’s still a little hopeless—I don’t want to say hope, but still ..." "I left out the gymnastics," muttered Monsieur Pierre, checking what had been written on his sketch. "it's a pity!" "No, no, you speak very well, very well," Rodrigo Ivanovitch sighed. "It couldn't be better. You awakened all kinds of desires that have been sleeping in my heart for decades. Will you stay a little longer? Or come with me?" "Let's go with you. He's so sullen today that he doesn't even look at you. No matter how well you speak to him, he's still angry and doesn't speak. My request is very low—speak a word and nod. Hey, There's nothing we can do. Let's go, Rodrigo." No sooner had they gone than the lights went out, and Cincinnatus went back to his bed in the dark (finding other people's ashes a nuisance, but having nowhere else to lie).He stretched his limbs and crackled his cartilage and spine to release his depression.He took a breath and held it for more than a quarter of a minute.Probably just a mason repairing something.Perhaps an aural error: this could all have happened far, far away (he exhales).Lying on his back, wiggling his toes protruding from under the blanket, he alternately faces impossible rescue and inevitable execution.Suddenly the lights came on again. Rodion came back to fetch the stool, and kept scratching his red-haired chest with his hands.Seeing what he was looking for, he immediately sat on it, purred loudly, and massaged the lower part of his face with one large palm, apparently about to take a nap. "Isn't he here yet?" asked Cincinnatus. Rodion stood up immediately, picked up the stool and left. There was a snap.It was dark again. Perhaps because a whole period of time had passed since the trial—two weeks, perhaps because the approaching friendly voices brought him the hope of changing his fate, Cincinnatus thought over and over in his heart that night. Time spent in the fortress.The unconscious yields to the temptation of logical development, the unconscious (be careful, Cincinnatus!) forges into a chain everything that would be perfectly harmless apart from one another, so that he makes sense of the meaningless, and makes the inanimate things become alive.Now against a background of total darkness, he let all the people who usually visited appear in the spotlight-it was the first time he had imagined them so proud of them.Among them was the obnoxious little fellow prisoner, with a shining face like the wax apple sent the day before yesterday by Cincinnatus' humorous brother-in-law; there was the stern-looking librarian; there was a portly Rodrigo Ivanovich in a sleek black wig; there was Amy; there was the Marth family; there was Rodion and others. People, vague guards and soldiers—by thinking of them—maybe not trusting them, but remembering them—Cincinnatus gave them the right to exist, supported them with himself, fed them.Added to all this, the possibility that at any moment that exciting pounding might reappear had the effect of an eager anticipation of intoxicating music—the result was that Cincinnatus was in a strange, hypersensitive state. , in a state of peril—a distant clock strikes, the sound more and more cheerful—at this moment these illuminated figures emerge from the darkness, forming a circle hand in hand—they gently move aside Wobbling, rocking side to side, walking slowly, beginning to circle, somewhat jerky and dragging at first, but then gradually becoming more even, more comfortable, faster as they spun seriously, the great shadows of their shoulders and heads rising from the stone The flashes flashed repeatedly on the vault, and the speed became faster and faster.The clown, as a rule, amuses his more restrained companions by kicking his legs high in circles, so that his hideous leaps reflect thick, dark zigzags on the walls.