Chapter 17 Chapter Sixteen

Let's calm down.The spider had sucked a downy moth and three houseflies dry on its marbled forelimbs, but it was still hungry and staring at the door.Let's calm down.Cincinnatus was bruised and bruised all over his body.Calm down, nothing happened.When they brought him back to his cell last night, the two employees were nearly finishing plastering the newly dug opening.The only feature of the place now was that the swirls of paint were rounder and thicker than elsewhere.He felt breathless at the sight of the walls returning to their blind and deaf impenetrability. Another trace of the previous day was the crocodile-skin album with silver-gray monograms, which he had inadvertently brought along yesterday in a moment of cowardice, a unique photographic collection assembled by the scheming M. Pierre. A fortune-telling book, that is, a series of photographs showing the natural course of a person's entire life.How is it made?Here's what it turned out to be: a full retouching of various snapshots of Amy's present face, supplemented by photos of other people—for costumes, furniture, and setting—to create entire sets and stage props for her future life.The photographs were taped one after the other into small polygonal frames made of gold-edged cardboard, dated in small print.These clear-cut, at first glance very realistic photographs show Amy in her current condition; fourteen, briefcase in one hand; sixteen, in tights and a skirt, Gas-like wings sprouting from their backs, sitting relaxed at a table, raising a glass of wine, hanging out with a bunch of swingers; and then eighteen, flirtatiously dressed, standing by the railing above a waterfall; After that... oh, there are many more photos, with different looks and different postures, and the last photo lying on the back is no exception.

Through retouching and various other camera tricks, Amy's face was progressively transformed (by the way, the magician used a photo of her mother).But as long as you look closely, you will feel disgusted. These imitations of time change are all old-fashioned and obviously nothing new.Emmy was leaving the stage in a fur dress with flowers stuck to her shoulders, but her feet had never danced.Another photo shows that she has put on the bride's wedding dress, and the groom next to her is tall and thin, but has a small round face like Mr. Pierre.At the age of thirty, she already had what looked like wrinkles on her face, but they were painted on, meaningless, lifeless, and ignorant of the real meaning of wrinkles, which seemed ridiculous to experts. It's like equating shaking a tree's branches to sign language for the deaf.At forty, Amy is dying—and with that said, allow me to congratulate you on a reverse mistake: her lifeless face never passes for a dead face!

Rodion took the album away, muttering that the lady was going away, but when he reappeared he felt it necessary to make it official: (sighs) "Go, go..." (to the spider) "Enough, you've had enough..." (opens palm) "I don't have anything for you to eat." (to Cincinna again Tess) "It's going to be dull in the future, it's going to be dull here without our little girl...she's running around, she's flying like a fly, and she's making great music, this spoiled darling, she's Our golden flower." (Pause. Then in a different tone) "Why, my lord sir, why don't you ask those difficult questions any more? Ah? Well, well," said Rodion convincingly. Asked and answered by himself, put on a dignified appearance and left.

After dinner, Monsieur Pierre arrived, this time in a well-groomed manner, replacing his prison uniform with a velvet jacket, an arty bow tie, new high-heeled boots, boots The creaking sound is suspicious, and the boot shaft is shiny and shiny (which makes him a bit like a lumberjack in an opera).Rodrigo Ivanovitch came in after him, respectfully letting Monsieur Pierre go ahead, let him speak first, and let him do everything.At the same time a lawyer came in with a briefcase.The three sat alone on the wicker chairs at the table (the chairs had been brought from the waiting room), while Cincinnatus paced up and down the cell, battling the fear of shame alone, but soon he too sat down. down.

The lawyer fiddled with the briefcase clumsily (but it was practiced clumsiness) and jerked the black cheeks open half on his knees and half against the edge of the table—not on the knee side, Just slide down by the side of the table—take out a large legal pad, lock the briefcase, or buckle it more precisely, and because the folder is too obedient, it doesn't buckle on the chuck this time.He was about to put it on the table, but then changed his mind, grabbed it by the handles, and let it hang to the floor, leaning against a chair leg, like a limp drunk.Then he took a patent leather pencil from his lapel, opened the legal pad, and began to fill the loose-leaf pages with an even handwriting as if no one else was there, but it was his very demeanor that made him all the more visible. The relationship between the quick movement of the pencil under the hand and everyone gathering here for the meeting.

Rodrig Ivanovich was sitting in the easy chair, leaning back a little, the chair creaking under the pressure of his firm back, with one bruised hand on the armrest and the other in the armrest. Enter the dress coat chest.Every once in a while, he shakes his sagging cheeks and chin, which powders like a piece of Turkish delight dusted with powdered sugar, as if trying to shake off something sticky and clingy. Monsieur Pierre sat in the middle, poured himself a glass of water from the flask, and carefully placed his hands on the table, fingers intertwined (on the little finger a synthetic sapphire shone).He lowered his eyes for about ten seconds, thinking very carefully about how to begin his speech.

"Great gentlemen," said M. Pierre at last, without lifting his eyes, "first and foremost, allow me to summarize in a few words the task I have accomplished." "Go on, we beg you," said the warden in a booming voice, and the chair creaked harshly as he moved. "Of course gentlemen know why the traditions of our profession require an interesting procedure of demystification. You say that if I had revealed my identity at the outset and at the same time been friendly to Cincinnatus C. What is the result? Gentlemen, this must have disgusted him, frightened him, filled him with hostility—in short, I have made a fatal mistake."

The speaker took a sip of water from the glass and carefully set it aside. He went on, fluttering his eyelashes: "I need not explain how important that atmosphere of intimacy and warmth is to the success of our common cause. With patience and tolerance, this atmosphere has been adopted by both the condemned and the executors." Gradually formed between. Looking back on those long barbaric days, it is difficult if not impossible not to tremble, two people, utterly unknown to each other, utter strangers to each other, forced to be bound together by the ruthless law, until before the sacrament They were forced to meet each other at the last moment. Now, all this has changed, like the ancient barbaric wedding, it is more like a sacrifice of a living person-the obedient virgin is pushed by her parents into a stranger tents — that has changed over time."

(Cincinnatus finds a foil-wrapped bar of chocolate in his pocket and begins to squeeze it.) "Therefore, gentlemen, in order to establish the most friendly relations with the condemned man, I moved into a cell as gloomy as his, and disguised myself as a prisoner like him, if not more like him. My well-intentioned deceit can only succeed, so I don't feel any remorse, but I do hope that our cup of friendship is not poisoned by an iota of pain. Although there are witnesses and I know I am Absolutely right, I still ask" (he holds out a hand to Cincinnatus) "your forgiveness."

"You're rightly resourceful," whispered the warden, his frog eyes moist with excitement.He took out a folded handkerchief and was about to wipe his quivering eyelids, but changed his mind on reflection, and fixed Cincinnatus with stern, expectant eyes.The lawyer glanced at him too, but only in passing.At the same time his lips moved soundlessly, as if he were writing, that is to say, he did not break the connection with the lines which, although separated from the paper, were ready to continue writing at any moment. . "Put your hand out!" growled the warden, and he slapped the table so hard that he hurt his thumb.

"Don't do that, don't force him if he doesn't want to," said M. Pierre gently. "It's just a formality after all. Let's get on with it." "Oh, you're an honest man," said Rodrigo Ivanovitch, his voice trembling with emotion, and he gave M. Pierre an affectionate look, as kind as a kiss. "Let us go on," said M. Pierre. "During this time, I have managed to form a close friendship with my neighbor. We have spent time together..." Cincinnatus looked under the table.For some reason Monsieur Pierre lost color, began to fidget, and cast a sidelong glance down.The warden raised a corner of the tarpaulin, looked down too, and fixed Cincinnatus suspiciously again.The lawyer probes, looks around at everyone, and goes on.Cincinnatus straightened up. (Nothing special—his little tinfoil ball dropped to the floor.) "We passed it together," said M. Pierre in an aggrieved tone, "long nights, talking to each other, playing games and various amusements. We competed like children. I, poor little Pierre." Mr. Nature, oh, nature is no match for my strong contemporaries. We talk about everything—such as sex and other noble subjects. Hours fly like minutes, minutes like hours. Sometimes, in In the peaceful silence..." At this moment, Rodrigo Ivanovich suddenly giggled. "Fine, 'natural,'" he murmured, a little late in understanding the joke. "...sometimes, in peaceful silence, we sit side by side, almost in each other's arms, each brooding on his own dim thoughts, and when we speak, our thoughts flow together like a river. I put myself I shared with him my love affairs, taught him chess, and kept him entertained by telling anecdotes every now and then. This is how we lived, and the result is before you. We have feelings for each other, and now I have feelings for Cincinnati He knew the anatomy of his soul as well as the anatomy of his neck, so that it would be no longer a dreadful stranger but a dear friend to help him up the bloody steps, and he would be able to Put yourself at my disposal without fear—forever, even by death. Let the public will be done!" (He rises, the warden rises, and the lawyer, busy with his writing, only bows.) "Okay. Now, Rodrigo Ivanovich, I want you to officially declare my title and introduce me." The warden quickly put on his glasses, carefully looked at a piece of paper, and said loudly to Cincinnatus as if using a megaphone: "Well—this is Monsieur Pierre. In short, he is the executioner. . . It is my great honor," he added, sitting back in his chair with a look of astonishment. "Come, your presentation wasn't very good," said M. Pierre displeased. "There are, after all, some formal forms of procedure which must be strictly followed. I am by no means a pedantic man, but at such an important moment . Sit down, that's enough. Now let's go on. Roman Vissarionovich, where's the schedule?" "I gave it to you," said the lawyer without hesitation. "But..." He began to rummage through the briefcase. "I've found it, don't worry about it," said Monsieur Pierre, "so ... the execution is scheduled for the day after tomorrow ... and the place is the Place des Rieles. The place they chose could not have been better... wonderful! (Continues to read, muttering under his breath) "Adults are allowed... Circus booking stubs will be recognized... And, and, and... Executioners wear red trousers... Next net It's nonsense--they've gone too far, usually..." (to Cincinnatus) "The day after tomorrow, it's fixed. Do you understand--? Tomorrow, by admirable custom, you and I must go together Calling on the city elders - I think you should have the list, don't you, Rodrigo Ivanovic?" Rodrig Ivanovich began to slap his padded body all over, rolled his eyes, and stood up for some reason.The list was finally found. "That's all," said Monsieur Pierre, "put it in your file, Roman Vissarionovitch. I see the matter is settled. By law, the right to speak now belongs to—" "Oh, no, there's no need to do that..." Rodrigo Ivanovich interrupted hastily. "It's an old law after all." "By law," repeated Monsieur Pierre firmly, turning to Cincinnatus, "you may speak now." "What an honest man!" said the warden in an explosive voice, his aspic-like jaw shaking. Then there was a silence.The lawyer wrote quickly, the pencil flickering blindingly. "I could wait a whole minute," said Monsieur Pierre, putting a thick watch on the table in front of him. The lawyer breathed in and out of breath, and began to tidy up the densely packed paper. A minute passed. "The meeting is over," said Mr. Pierre. "Let's go, gentlemen. Roman Vissarionovich, you'll let me go over the details again before you take the mimeograph, won't you? No, it'll have to wait a while - my eyes are too tired now .” "I must admit," said the warden, "that sometimes I can't help feeling sorry that I don't use that anymore..." He leaned towards the door and whispered in M. Pierre's ear. "What are you talking about, Rodrigo Ivanovitch?" asked the lawyer warily.The warden repeated it to him again in a low voice. "Yes, you're right," the lawyer agreed. "However, this sweet little law can be circumvented. For example, if we extend the click time a few more times..." "Come, come," said Monsieur Pierre, "that's enough, don't make jokes anymore, I never play tricks." "No, what we just said is only in theory," the warden said with a pandering smile on his face, "only in the old days, when it could be used legally—" The door slammed shut, and the voice of the voice gradually disappeared in the distance. But at once another visitor came to Cincinnatus, the librarian, who had come to fetch the books.His long, pale face, a bald spot surrounded by a circle of dust-black hair, his long upper body, his shivering pale blue sweater, and his long legs in cropped trousers—all this created a A weird, repulsive impression, as if the whole thing had been squashed and flattened.However, in the eyes of Cincinnatus, apart from book dust, librarians have a layer of detached humanity attached to them. "You must have heard," said Cincinnatus, "that the day after tomorrow will be my last day. I won't borrow any more books." "No more," said the librarian. Cincinnatus went on to say, "I want to cut out a few poisonous truths. Do you have time to listen? I want to say it now, when I'm allowed to write. . What a pleasure...don't bring any more books...' "Would you like to read something about God?" the librarian suggested. "No, don't bother. I don't want to read that kind of book." "Some people want to read it," said the librarian. "Yeah, I know that, but it's not worth the time and effort." "It can pass the last night," the librarian struggled to finish his thoughts. "You've been talking a lot today," said Cincinnatus, smiling. "No, you take all these books away. I didn't finish Qualkus! Oh yes, by the way, this The book was sent by mistake...the pamphlets...are written in Arabic, aren't they?...Unfortunately I don't have time to learn those oriental languages." "What a pity," said the librarian. "It doesn't matter, my heart can make it up. Wait a minute, you don't go. Although I know, of course, you are only wrapped in a layer of human skin, to some extent, but... I am content , though hardly... the day after tomorrow—" But the librarian walked away tremblingly.