Chapter 16 Chapter fifteen

The morning passed quietly, but at about five o'clock in the afternoon, the sound of digging hard sounded again: whoever he was, he was working like crazy, digging desperately continuously, making a crisp sound, but in fact since yesterday It hasn't come close since. Suddenly, an extraordinary thing happened: some obstacle in the wall collapsed, and the sound became clear and powerful (suddenly passed from the background to the foreground to the footlights), and it was obviously close at hand: They were close at hand, only separated by a thin wall, which was melting like ice and could be pierced at any moment.

At this point, the prisoner decided it was time to act.He was in a hurry and trembling all over, but he still tried his best to control himself.He got out of bed and put on galoshes, linen pants and the same jacket he was wearing when he was arrested.He found a handkerchief, two handkerchiefs, three handkerchiefs (a vision of several sheets tied together flashed before him).Just in case, he put in his pocket a piece of rope he had found by chance, still attached to the wooden handle, that he used to carry the package (couldn't get it all in - the end was still hanging out of the pocket).He rushed back to the bed, intending to fluff up the pillows and cover them with blankets, so that it would look as if he was still sleeping alone.Instead, he rushed to the table, intending to take away what he had written, but changed direction halfway, for the jubilant, frenzied thud had thrown his thoughts into disarray... He stood upright with his hands hanging down at the seams of his trousers.And now his dream came true, when the yellow wall about a yard from the ground cracked like a bolt of lightning, and immediately bulged out of it, bursting wide open.

Mr. Pierre crawled out of the black hole, surrounded by rubble, with a pickaxe in his hand, covered in white dust, writhing and flapping in the dust like a fat fish, laughing.Rodrigo Ivanovich came out right after him, but he showed his back like a crab first, his jacket was torn and white cotton wool stuck out.He was shirtless, covered in assorted debris, and was equally grinning.After the two of them rolled out of the hole, they sat on the floor, laughing without restraint, from a big laugh to a soft laugh, and then to a loud laugh, with pitiful screams between the two laughs, and at the same time Constantly pushing each other, throwing each other to the ground...

"We did it, it was us, it was us," said M. Pierre at last with difficulty, turning his chalky face to Cincinnatus, when, with a comical whistle, His small yellow wig stood up, then fell back into place. "It is indeed us," Rodrigo Ivanovich said in an unusual falsetto, and began to laugh again, throwing up his limp legs in the grotesque shoes of a clumsy circus clown cover. Monsieur Pierre suddenly fell silent, said "Ho!" He got up from the floor, clapped one palm with the other, and looked back at the hole in the wall: "We have done a lot of work." , Rodrigo Ivanovich! Come on, stand up, my good friend, that's enough. Well done! Here we go, we can now use this luxurious tunnel... Allow me to invite you, dear neighbor, to come and have a cup of tea with me."

"If you dare touch me..." Cincinnatus muttered.At this moment, on one side of him stood Mr. Pierre, covered in gray and sweating profusely, ready to hug him and push him into the tunnel, and on the other side was Rodrigo Ivanovich, He also opened his arms, his shoulders were bare, and the fake collar was loosened and tilted to the side. Both of them held their strength and pressed towards him.Cincinnatus had no choice but to go in one direction, and that was the tunnel before him.Monsieur Pierre gently pushed him from behind and helped him climb into the mouth of the tunnel. "Come with us," he said to Rodrigo Ivanovic, but the latter refused on the grounds that he was disheveled.

Cincinnatus lay flat, eyes closed, and crawled in on all fours, Monsieur Pierre behind him.The darkness was full of crashes and cracks, pressing against Cincinnatus from all directions, pressing down on his spine, stinging his palms and knees.Many times Cincinnatus found himself crawling into a dead end, when Monsieur Pierre pulled him hard by the calf to pull him out of the dead end.There are corners and sharp protrusions all the time, and he can't figure out what it is, which makes his head hurt.In short, he was overwhelmed with such a dreadful and unabated depression that he would have lain down and died had it not been for the constant headbutting of a panting companion behind him.However, after crawling for a long time in the narrow darkness (in one place, a red lantern beside it gave a dim light to the darkness), and after the closeness, the darkness, and the oppressive heat, they finally came to a turning. and finally climbed to the exit.Clumsily and timidly, Cincinnatus fell through the hole in the wall, onto the stone floor which turned out to be M. Pierre's sunny cell.

"Welcome," said the master, crawling out after him.He immediately took out a clothesbrush and began to brush the dust off the blinking Cincinnatus expertly, especially gently on the possible sensitive parts.As he brushed, he bent over and circled Cincinnatus, as if trying to wrap him in something.Cincinnatus stood motionless, shocked by a thought so simple, not exactly by the idea, but by the fact that he hadn't thought of it earlier. "If you don't mind, I want to change clothes," said Mr. Pierre, taking off his dusty woolen vest.For a moment, he pretended to inadvertently bend his arms, squinting at his turquoise and white biceps, and exhaled his characteristic stench.Around his left nipple is an imaginative tattoo—two green leaves—so that the nipple itself looks like a rosebud (made of marzipan and sugared angelica).

"Sit down, please," he said, and put on an arabesque robe. "I only have this one dress, but it's mine after all. As you can see, my place is almost identical to yours. The only difference is that I keep it clean and I decorate it... I do my best to decorate it." (He gasps slightly, as if unable to control his excitement.) I do decorations.On the wall was a calendar with a watercolor painting of the fort at sunset, with crimson numbers.The bed was covered with a patchwork-style blanket.Above it hung obscene photographs and ceremonial photographs of Monsieur Pierre, fastened with thumbtacks.A folded paper fan emerges in corrugated folds from behind the edge of the skeleton.On the table was a crocodile photo album, the face of a golden travel clock gleamed, and half a dozen velvety round pansies poked their heads from the polished rim of a large china cup painted with German scenes. Come and look around.In one corner of the cell, there was a large case that probably contained some kind of musical instrument.

"I am delighted to see you here in my place," said Monsieur Pierre, pacing up and down, the dirt and dust still dancing in the beams of the slanting sunlight each time he passed. "I think it's very rare for a week that we've become close friends and get on well and treat each other with genuine sincerity. I can see that you're dying to know what's in the box Stuff. Let me (he takes a breath), let me finish first, and then I'll show you..." "Our friendship," continued M. Pierre, still panting slightly as he paced, "had blossomed in the hothouse atmosphere of a prison, nurtured by common worries and common hopes. I think , now I know you better than anyone in the whole world, and certainly better than your wife. So I find it especially painful when you show malicious or inconsiderate feelings toward others...for example, Just now, when we went to see you with great joy, Rodrigo Ivanovich surprised you with good intentions and enthusiasm, and you pretended to be indifferent, which is another insult to him—— Don't forget that he is not young anymore, and he himself has very troubled things. No, I don't want to talk about these now...I just want to confirm that no matter how small your emotional changes are, you can't escape my eyes. Therefore, I personally think, That well-known accusation is not very fair... In my eyes, you are transparent. Please forgive me for using an unconventional metaphor-just like a blushing bride is transparent to the eyes of a seasoned groom. I don't know what's going on, I'm having trouble breathing--sorry, it's gone in a minute. But if I've gotten so far into you--why keep it a secret?--and I've grown to like, very much I like you. In this case, you must also know me and get used to getting along with me-not only that, but you should also attach to me, just like I attach to you. To obtain such a friendship-this is My first task, I seem to have succeeded. Well done. Now we shall have tea. Why they haven't brought it up is beyond comprehension."

Clutching his chest, he sat down at the table opposite Cincinnatus, but jumped up again, and took a moroccan leather wallet from under his pillow, and a soft leather sheath from the wallet, Take a key out of the sheath and go to the enlarged chest in the corner. "I can see that you are amazed at my agility," he said, carefully laying down the standing box, which looked heavy and heavy. "But you see, cleanliness can add color to a lonely bachelor's life, and he can prove to himself that . . . " He opened the box.Inside the chest lay a broad, shiny ax on black velvet.

"... prove to himself that he really has a little nest... a little nest," continued M. Pierre, locking the box again, leaning it against the wall, while he himself bent Lower body, "a little nest he should have, built by himself, full of his enthusiasm... All in all, there is an important philosophical problem here, but there are certain signs that I think you and I Same, not in the mood to talk about these things right now. Do you know what to do? I have a suggestion: we'll talk about our tea together later, but for now you should go to your room, lie down and rest—just So, you go. We're both young - you shouldn't be here any longer. They'll explain it to you tomorrow, but please go now. I'm excited too, and I can't quite control myself, you Should understand this..." Cincinnatus fiddled with the locked door without saying a word. "No, no—you should use our tunnel. It's not for nothing that we've worked so hard. Climb in, climb in. I've made some decorations for the opening, or it wouldn't be pretty. You go." "I'll go by myself," said Cincinnatus. He crawled in from the dark hole, and his knees were hurt again, so he began to use his hands and feet to crawl deeper into the narrow dark passage.Monsieur Pierre shouted after him about tea, and then apparently drew the curtain, for Cincinnatus felt himself cut off from the bright cell he had just been in. Breathing hard in the stale air, bumping into sharp protrusions—feeling the tunnel might collapse at any moment, but not particularly frightened—Cincinnatus groped his way blindly through the winding passage and found himself climbing At a stone cul-de-sac, he backed away like some patient animal, figured out the direction of the tunnel, and continued to crawl forward.He can't wait to lie down on something soft, even if it's just his bed, with the covers covering his head and thinking about nothing.This return trip was delayed for a long time, and he was always worried about climbing into a dead end, but he continued to climb forward desperately despite the skin on his shoulders.The narrowness of the space made him dizzy, and he decided to stop, lie on his back, imagine himself lying on the bed, and fall asleep peacefully, when the plane he was climbing suddenly began to tilt, and he noticed a reddish light from a crack in front of him, smelled a The damp and musty smell, as if I have entered a natural cave from the depths of the fortress wall. The cave is not high, and there are many curled bats hanging on the top, like crumpled fruits. Down, waiting for their signal.In the strong light, the crack opened suddenly, and the fresh evening air rushed in, and Cincinnatus climbed through a rock crack into the realm of freedom. He found himself on a turf-covered slope. The slopes were like dark green waves, undulating at different heights among the rocks and the defensive earthen walls of the fortress.At first, dazed by the sudden freedom, the altitude, and the emptiness around him, he clung to the wet turf and saw little but the screeching of swallows at dusk cutting the colorful sky with their black scissors. Didn't notice.The sunset has dyed half of the sky red, and behind his head stands a hazy, steep, and precipitous stone fortress. He is like a drop of water just seeping out of the fortress. mist. He finally recovered, getting used to the blinding light, the shaking of his own body and the freedom that surged from his heart and echoed in the distance.He leaned his back against the rock, lost in thought facing the hazy scenery.Looking down the mountain, the twilight was getting thicker, and the mist was lingering, and he could hardly see the ornately decorated arch bridge.Farther away, on the other side, is an indistinct blue city, and the windows are like embers of coals. If it is not reflected by the afterglow of the setting sun, the city has lit the lights at its own expense.As the lamps in Stipe Street were lit one by one, he could see them joining together like bright beads—there was a particularly clear and elegant arch at the upper end of the street.Beyond the city, everything tends to be hazy, blurred, and even disappear.But over Unseen Park, in the rosy depths of the sky, there was a chain of translucent fiery shards, rimmed by a long line of purple clouds with gaps in the middle—Cincinnatus farther Farther out, the oak-covered hills shone with Venetian green, gradually darkening. He was intoxicated, he was weak, he slipped on the rough turf, regained his balance, and began to descend the slope.At this moment, a black thorn bush rustled suddenly, as if giving some kind of warning, and immediately Amy sprinted from behind a ledge in the defensive wall and rushed towards him. The face and legs were dyed pink by the setting sun.She grabbed his hand tightly and dragged him forward.There was excitement and frantic haste in all her movements. "Where are we going? Downhill?" Cincinnatus stammered, laughing anxiously.She led him swiftly along the keep wall.A small green door in the wall opened.The stairs going down are hard to see and walk underfoot.Another door creaked, leading into a dim passageway with boxes, a wardrobe, a ladder leaning against the wall, and the smell of kerosene.It was clear now that they entered the warden's suite through the back door.Amy no longer gripped his fingers tightly, in fact let them go carelessly.She led him into the dining-room, where they all drank tea around a lighted oval table.Rodrigo Ivanovich, with a large napkin wrapped around his chest, and his wife—thin, freckled, with white eyelashes—handing a pretzel to Monsieur Pierre, wearing a Russian shirt , embroidered with a rooster pattern.Next to the samovar, there are balls of yarn of various colors and shiny knitting needles in a basket.An ugly old crone with a pointed nose, a turbaned house hat and a black shawl was sitting hunched over at the end of the table. The warden was stunned when he saw Cincinnatus, with saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Bah, you naughty boy!" said the warden's wife to Amy, with a slightly German accent. Monsieur Pierre was stirring the tea, with his head bowed solemnly. "What do you mean by playing such a prank?" said Rodrigo Ivanovich, dripping melon juice from his mouth. "Not to mention that doing so violates all the rules!" "Leave them alone," said M. Pierre without raising his eyes. "They're both children after all." "Her vacation is almost over, so she wanted to play a trick," interjected the warden's wife. Amy sat down at the table, making the chair legs screech against the floor on purpose, licking her lips in a fidgety manner, forgetting about Cincinnatus, and began pouring sugar (the sugar immediately appeared orange) spread out on a piece of downy melon, then gnawed into it, grasping the ends of the melon with both hands, the slices almost touching the ears, and banging their elbows on their neighbors.Her neighbor continued to sip his tea, holding the teaspoon protruding from the cup between his second and third fingers, but he quietly put his left hand under the table. "Whew!" Amy screamed out of tickle, but her mouth didn't leave the melon. "You just sit there for a while," the warden said to Cincinnatus, pointing to a covered armchair with a paring knife, which stood alone beside the pleated curtains. "I'll take you home after we've had tea. I tell you to sit down. What's the matter with you? What's the matter with him? What a stupid fellow!" Monsieur Pierre leaned towards Rodrigo Ivanovitch and said something to him, blushing a little. There was a thunderous sound from the latter's throat as usual. "Okay, congratulations, congratulations," he said, trying not to burst out of his voice. "That's great news!—you should have told him—we all..." He glanced at Cincinnatus, and was about to begin the formal— "No, come on, my friend, don't embarrass me," whispered M. Pierre, touching his sleeve. "You're not going to refuse another cup of tea anyway," Rodrigo Ivanovic said jokingly, and after some thought and chewing, he told Cincinnatus. "Hey, don't stand there, you can use this time to look at the photo album. Boy, give him the photo album. She" (gesturing with a fruit knife) "is going back to school, our dear The guest made it especially for her—for her—excuse me, Pyotr Petrovich, I forgot what you called it." "It's a photographic fortune-telling book," said M. Pierre a little timidly. "Should the lemon still be in the tea?" asked the warden's wife. The high-hanging kerosene lamp does not reach the rear of the dining room (where there is only a pendulum, flickering a little light as the seconds pass), but it paints the room with a domestic light. The comfortable table was brightly lit, and the lights gradually faded to the tinkling of tea-drinking etiquette.