Chapter 20 Chapter Nineteen

The next morning they brought him newspapers, which reminded him of his first days in captivity.He immediately noticed the colorful photos in the newspaper: under the blue sky, the square was densely packed with all kinds of people, and only the edge of the red podium could be seen.In the column discussing the execution, half of the lines had been erased, and in the rest of the text, Cincinnatus could only find the news he had already heard from Marthe—the master was ill and the performance was postponed. , may be delayed for a long time. "You've had a real treat today," Rodion said not to Cincinnatus, but to the spider.

His hands are cautious but nervous at the same time (he holds it close to his chest out of love; he holds it far away out of disgust) holding a rolled up towel with something big in it It was rustling and moving non-stop. "Catched on the windowpane of the tower. Monster! You see it flapping and flapping—it's impossible to hold..." He was, as usual, drawing the chair over so that he could stand on it, and feed the fly to the voracious spider in the firm web (the spider felt prey approaching and puffed up), but at Suddenly something went wrong at this juncture—his crooked, timid fingers happened to let go of the main fold of the towel, and he immediately screamed and curled up like a bat instead of a bat. Feeling disgusted and frightened by ordinary rats, they screamed and huddled together.A large, black, tentacled thing crawled out of the towel.Rodion yelled and stamped his feet on the spot, afraid that it would run away, but he didn't dare to catch it.The towel fell off; the rather large flying insect was attached to Rodion's cuff, gripping tightly with its six suction feet.

It turned out to be just a moth, but that moth was huge!As big as a human hand, thick dark brown wings, gray-white lining, gray pointed edges, each wing has an eye-shaped marking in the center, shining like steel. Its segmented limbs are hairy, clutching and letting go, and the same shiny eye-spots and wavy gray patterns under the raised pinnae of its wings.The moth slowly swayed its wings and groped its way up the sleeves. Rodion was terrified, his eyes rolled, and he swung his arms desperately, whimpering, "Catch it! Catch it!" Once the moth reaches the elbow, it begins to flap soundlessly its lumbering wings, which seem to outweigh its body.The moth turned over at Rodion's elbow, its wings hanging upside down, still firmly attached to the sleeve - and now you could see its brown and speckled belly, its squirrel face, the squirrels on its eyes. Small black balls, and soft tentacles like pointed ears.

"Take it away!" Rodion begged, his emotions running wild, and the brilliant flying insect fell.It hit the table, stopped shaking violently, and suddenly flew away from the edge of the table. But in my opinion, your day is night, why do you disturb my sleep?It fluttered only for a while, and the speed was not fast.Rodion picked up the towel from the ground, swung it frantically, trying to knock down the blind flying insect, but it suddenly disappeared, as if swallowed by air. Rodion searched for it for a while, but couldn't find it. He stopped in the middle of the cell, put his hands on his hips, and turned to face Cincinnatus. "Huh? What a troublemaker!" he said suddenly after a meaningful silence.He spat, shook his head, and took out a quivering matchbox containing a spare fly, and it seemed that the disappointed spider had to settle for it.However, Cincinnatus could see exactly where the moths were hiding.

When Rodion finally left, he took off his beard and his disheveled hood in a fit of anger, and Cincinnatus walked from the bed to the table.He regretted returning all the books, so he sat down and wrote to pass the time. "It was all settled," he wrote, "that is to say, it was all that deceived me—all the acting, all the pity—the promises of a frivolous girl, the tearful eyes of a mother, the walls The knocking on the roof, the friendship of a neighbor, and finally those mountains that burst out like a fatal rash. It all lied to me as the dust settled, everything. This is the end of this life, I really It shouldn't be within its boundaries to seek help. It is a strange thing that I would seek help. It is like a person who has recently lost something in his sleep that he never had in reality. To be able to dream brought it back. That's how mathematics was created; It's welded to something else, something alive, important, extraordinary - if I'm going to make my expressions full of clear meaning, I've got to have a really huge vocabulary... it's better to keep some Don't say anything, or I'll be confused again. In this irreparable little crack, decay comes into being-ah, I think I can express it all-dreams, mergers, divisions-no , I digress again—all my best words are off topic, all miss the point, and the rest are flawed. Oh, if I'd known I'd be able to linger here so long, I'd I will start writing from the beginning, gradually follow the best path of logically connected thoughts, and I will gain something and achieve something. My mind has already surrounded itself with a language system... So far I have Everything written here is just a froth of my emotions, a meaningless gaiety because I was in too much haste. But now, I've become ruthless, I'm hardly afraid..."

The paper was finished, and Cincinnatus realized that he was out of paper, too.However, he managed to find one by force. "...death," he continued to finish the sentence on the paper, but he immediately erased the word. He should have said it differently, more accurately: "execution", which could also mean "suffering" or " parting"—things like that.He twirled the short pencil with his fingers, stopped to think, a small brown hair was left on the edge of the table where the moth shook just now, Cincinnatus remembered that scene, and walked away from the table , there was only a blank piece of paper left on the table, with only a single word written on it, and it had been erased.He bent over the edge of the bed (as if he were trimming the bottom of a slipper), and the moth sat on the iron leg of the bed, asleep, its sighting wings spread solemnly and motionless, unaffected External damage.Only he was sorry for the down-covered back, leaving a bald spot where a fine hair had worn off, shining like a chestnut--but the large black wings were inviolable, they had gray-white fringes , eyes always open--the forewings are slightly lower and partly folded over the hind-wings, this tired posture may be one of the weak points due to sleepiness, were it not for the upper edge remained generally straight, all the divergent rays remained Perfect symmetry—the gesture was so charming that Cincinnatus couldn't help but stroked the ridge at the base of the right wing with his fingertips, and then touched the ridge of the left wing (very soft and firm, very firm and soft!) .However, the moth didn't wake up, he straightened up, sighed softly, and walked away.He was about to sit down again at the table when he heard the click of a key in the lock, and the door opened with its creaks, clicks, and creaks in perfect agreement with all the rules of the counterpoint.The ruddy Monsieur Pierre in a pea-green hunting suit poked his head first, then came in, followed by two others, almost unrecognizable as the warden and the lawyer: haggard and pale. , both in gray denim shirts, worn-out shoes—no make-up, no pads, no wigs, eyes full of mucus, bodies so bony that one could see right through their white ribs—they resembled each other very much, The same heads moved in the same way on their respective thin necks, gray and white uneven bald heads, with a bluish dot on each side, protruding ears.

Monsieur Pierre was rouged to attract attention.He bowed, put the toes of his patent leather boots together, and said in a dramatic falsetto: "The carriage is waiting outside, please, sir." "Where are we going?" asked Cincinnatus, completely bewildered at first, convinced that such a thing should happen at dawn. "Where, where..." Monsieur Pierre imitated him. "You know where to go. Don't you just go to click." "But we don't have to go right away, do we?" Cincinnatus asked, surprised at what he was saying, "I'm not quite ready..." (Cincinnatus, this is you talking ?)

"No, let's go now. My friend, you have almost three weeks to prepare. Anyone will think that is enough. They are my assistants, Rod and Rom, please be kind to them .They look inconspicuous, but they are hardworking." "We'll do what we can," they said in low, monotonous voices. "I almost forgot," continued M. Pierre. "According to the law, you still have the right... Brother Roman, please give me the procedure sheet." With exaggerated haste, Roman fumbled a double-folded black-framed card from under the lining of his hat.During this process, Rodrigo mechanically slapped his sides, as if searching in his breast pocket, and kept his timid eyes fixed on his companion.

"For the sake of simplicity," said Monsieur Pierre, "here is a list of last wishes prepared in advance. You may choose one of them, and only one. Now I will read, listen: a glass of wine may be served; A trip to the toilet; a quick peek at the prison's collection of French postcards; or... what is it... Fourth - write a speech to the Warden expressing... gratitude for his kindness... Hell, I never did! Rodrigo, you bastard, you added it yourself. I don't understand how you dare to be so presumptuous. It's an official document! Fuck, you're insulting me, especially for the So meticulous about the law, I tried so hard to..."

Mr. Pierre threw the card on the ground in a rage, and Rodrigue quickly picked it up, flattened it, and muttered guiltily, "Don't worry... I didn't do it, just kidding Romka...I know the rules. Everything is in order here...all the requirements for the day...otherwise it's a list..." "Presumptuousness! Intolerable!" cried M. Pierre, pacing up and down the cell. "I'm not in good health, but I do my job nonetheless. They feed me spoiled fish, send me a nasty whore, they treat me with unheard-of disrespect, and that's it. I've done it neatly. No, sir! That's enough! Now it's the end of it! I categorically refuse--go to yourselves, snap, you're good butchers, and spoil my implements..."

"The public idolizes you," Roman said cringingly. "We implore you, please calm down, Master. If there is anything wrong, it is due to carelessness, a stupid mistake, a stupid mistake of overzealousness, nothing more! So please forgive us. Women love You, everyone spoils you, can't you just smile, distract yourself, put your angry expression aside..." "Come, come, you are cunning in your words," said Monsieur Pierre, somewhat softening his tone. "Anyway, I take my duties more seriously than anyone else I can name. Well, I forgive you. But we still have to make a decision on that goddamn last wish. Tell me, which one do you choose? One?" he asked Cincinnatus (who had sat down on the bed without saying a word). "Hurry up, hurry up. I want to get rid of this matter quickly, and those who are too timid don't need to read it." "Finish my stuff," whispered Cincinnatus inquiringly, but at once he frowned again, thinking hard, and suddenly realized that everything had actually been written. "I don't know what he's talking about," Mr Pierre said. "Maybe someone can understand, but I can't." Cincinnatus looked up. "That's what I want," he said clearly. "I'm going to take three minutes - during which you have to go away and at least be quiet - yes, I want to rest for three minutes - after three minutes, do what you want, in your very stupid program , I will always play my role well.” "Let's compromise, two minutes and a half," said M. Pierre, drawing out his thick watch. "Give up half a minute, will you, my friend? You won't budge? Well, let's make you a brigand—I agree." He leaned against the wall in a relaxed posture, and Roman and Rodrigo followed suit, but Rodrigo nearly fell with one foot twisted, and gave the master a panicked look. "Hush, you son of a bitch," said Monsieur Pierre in a hissing voice. "Damn it, why do you love being comfortable so much? Get your hands out of your pockets! Be careful!" (He sits down in the chair, still swearing.) "I'll find you a job, Lot— You can go about cleaning the place up, just not too loudly." Someone handed Rodrigo a broom from outside the door, and he began to sweep. First of all, he used the end of the broom to clean all the iron bars in the window opening. There was a faint sound of applause in the distance. On the ground, Rodrigo swept them into a corner.Then, with the broom, he tore down the thick gray web, along with the spider, which he had tended so carefully.Roman picked up the spider to pass the time.Although the spider is crude, it is very delicate. It consists of a round plush body and twitching legs made of springs. A long spring is attached to the center of the back. Roman grasps the end of the spring to let the spider hang in the air. His hand moves up and down, and the spring contracts alternately. Relaxation, the spider rises and falls.Mr. Pierre squinted at the spider toy coldly, Roman raised his eyebrows, and hurriedly stuffed it into his pocket.At the same time Lot tried to pull out the desk drawer, and with all his might, it moved, and the desk split in two.At the same moment the chair on which M. Pierre was sitting groaned, something broke, and M. Pierre's watch almost fell to the floor.The plaster from the ceiling began to fall.A zigzag crack appeared in the wall.The cells are useless and are clearly disintegrating. "... fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty," M. Pierre counted. "It's time. Please get up. The weather is fine today, and it's a great pleasure to take a car. Anyone who changes the car will be eager to start." "Wait a minute. My hands are shaking so badly, it's not only ridiculous, it's disgraceful--but I can't stop it, I can't hide it, yes, it's just shaking, nothing else. You'll destroy my papers Drop, rubbish you will sweep out, moths will fly away from the broken windows at night, nothing of me will be left within the four walls, and the walls are about to collapse. But for me now, turning into dust and being Forgetting doesn't count, I'm left with only one feeling—fear, fear, shameful and useless fear..." In fact, Cincinnatus didn't say these words, he was saying nothing. He changed his shoes without a word.The bulge of veins on his forehead, from which fell strands of blond hair, and the open embroidered collar of his shirt, gave a peculiar youthfulness to his neck, and to his rosy face with the quivering golden beard. temperament. "Let's go!" screamed M. Pierre. Cincinnatus walked as if walking on a smooth slope of ice, trying not to bump into anyone or anything, and finally walked out of the cell, which was practically no longer there.