Chapter 11 death of an actor

death of an actor Shiptsov, the actor who played the noble father and honest man, was a tall, strong old man, not so much for his dramatic talent as for his extraordinary physical strength.One day, when the theater was performing, he started "swearing" with the theater manager.They were swearing like hell when suddenly he felt something snap in two in his chest.Zhukov, the theater manager, always laughed hysterically and passed out every time after a violent quarrel with outsiders, but this time Shiptsov hurried home without waiting for such an ending.He was so agitated by the scolding and the feeling of rupture in his chest that he forgot to wash off the paint on his face and walked out of the theater just by pulling off his fake beard.

Shiptsov returned to the hotel room, walked from corner to corner for a long time, then sat down on the bed, propped his head on his fists, and began to think.He did not move or make a sound, and sat there until two o'clock the next afternoon, when the comedian Sigayev entered the room. "What's the matter with you, idiot Ivanovich, why didn't you go to the rehearsal?" The comedian suppressed his breath and accused him, making the room smell of alcohol. "Where have you been?" Shiptsov did not answer a word, but looked up at the comedian with cloudy eyes surrounded by oil paint.

"You should at least wash your face!" Sigayev went on. "It's embarrassing to look at! You must have had too much to drink, or . . . are you ill? Why don't you speak?I ask you: are you sick? " Shiptsov said nothing.Although his face was smeared badly, the comedian could not but notice his deadly pale face, perspiration, and trembling lips when he looked closely.His hands and feet were trembling too, and the whole bulky body of this tall, honest man seemed to have been trampled upon and flattened.The comedian cast a hasty glance over the room, but saw neither jugs nor bottles, nor any other suspicious vessels.

"You know, Mishutka, really, you're sick!" he said anxiously. "I asked God to punish me for telling a lie, you are sick! Your face has changed!" Shiptsov said nothing, but looked listlessly at the floor. "You have caught a cold!" continued Sigayev, taking his hand. "Look, your hands are so hot! What's wrong with you?" "I want to... go home," Shiptsov murmured. "Aren't you at home now?" "No,...I want to go back to Vyazma City...." "Hey, why do you think of going there! You can't reach your Vyazma city even if you walk for three years in a car. ... What, you want to find your parents? I'm afraid they have already rotted, I can't even find their graves. . . . " "There's my home . . . hometown. . . . . Get back to your health. Tomorrow you have to play Mitka in The Silver Duke. You know, there is no one else who can play this part. Have something warm to drink and some castor oil. Come on. Do you have money to buy castor oil? Or wait a minute, and I'll go and buy it for you."

The comedian felt in his pocket, found a fifteen-kopeck piece, and ran to the pharmacy.A quarter of an hour later he came back. "Here, drink!" he said, putting the bottle of medicine to the mouth of the noble father. "You just drink it from the bottle. . . . Drink it in one gulp! That's right. . . . Now, eat some cloves, lest your soul stink of this filth." The comedian sat down next to the patient for a while, then kissed him tenderly and walked away.Towards evening jeune premier Brahma Glinsky came to Shiptsov.This talented actor wears a pair of suede-covered half-high leather boots, a gloved left hand, a cigar in his mouth, and even the smell of sunflower essence on his body, but he still looks like a wandering man who has no bathhouse, A traveler where there is no laundry, no tailor. ... "I heard you were ill?" he said to Shiptsov, turning around with the heel of his boot. "What's the matter with you? Really, what's the matter with you?..." Shiptsov didn't speak or move.

"Why don't you talk? Dizziness or something? Oh, then don't talk, I won't pester you,...you don't talk..." Brahma Glinski The surname used in the novel (his name was Guskov on his identity card) went to the window, put his hands in his pockets, and began to look out into the street.In front of his eyes spread out a vast wasteland, surrounded by a gray wall, along which there was a piece of last year's burdock, densely packed.Beyond that piece of wasteland is a dark factory, run by someone unknown, it has been abandoned and the windows are completely closed.A belated jackdaw circled the factory chimney.A thin layer of twilight had begun to cast over the whole dull, lifeless picture.

"I want to go home!" Jeune Premier heard the voice. "Where do you go home?" "Go back to Vyazma City,...go back to my hometown..." "It's 1,500 versts away from Vyazma, old man..." sighed Brahma Glinsky, tapping lightly on the windowpane with his finger. "Why are you going to Vyazma City?" "I'm going to die there. . . . " "Well, how do you say that? What nonsense! There is no death. . . . The first time he got sick, he already thought it was time to die. . . . No, man, no amount of cholera can subdue a buffalo like you .You will live to be a hundred years old. . . What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, but I... feel..." "You don't feel anything, it's all because you're too strong. Your strength is rattling. You should have a good drink now. If you want to drink, you You know, until your whole body is turned upside down. It's very refreshing to drink it. . . . Do you remember what happened to you in Rostov? Lord, it's terrible to think about! Sashka and I A bucket of wine was brought back by yourself, and you drank it all by yourself, and then sent someone to buy rum. . . . You were so drunk that you hunted devils with your pockets and uprooted the lampposts. Do you remember? You beat the Greeks back then..." Under the influence of this pleasant memory, Shiptsov's face became a little brighter, and his eyes sparkled.

"And do you remember how I beat Savoykin, the theater manager?" He looked up and murmured. "Actually, there's nothing to say about that! I've beaten thirty-three theater managers in my life, not to mention the smaller ones. And what a marvelous company managers I've fought! Well, not even the wind is allowed to blow on them! I beat two famous writers and a painter!" "But why are you crying?" "In Kherson I killed a horse with my fists. In Taganrog, a gang of scoundrels, about fifteen of them, jumped on me one night. I robbed them of their hats. Gone. They followed me and begged me, "Uncle, give us back our hats!" 'It really happened. "

"But fool, why are you crying?" "It's all over now, . . . I think. I'm going to Vyazma!" Then there is a pause.After a silence, Shiptsov suddenly jumped up and took up his hat.He looked flustered. "Goodbye! I'm going to Vyazma!" he said, staggering. "Then what about the fare for the trip?" "Hmm!...I'm going!" "You're crazy..." The two looked at each other, probably because the same thoughts flashed through their minds, both of the endless fields, endless forests, and swamps. "No, I see, you are obsessed!" Jeune Premier concluded.

"Look here, old man. . . . The first thing you do is lie down and drink brandy with tea to break a sweat. Well, of course, and castor oil. Wait a minute, where are you going?" How about brandy?" Brahma Glinsky thought about it, decided to go to the businesswoman Chitelinnikova, and try to get her to agree to credit: maybe that woman is soft-hearted and will agree to credit! Jeune premier left and returned half an hour later with a bottle of brandy and castor oil.Shiptsov sat motionless on the bed, silent, staring at the floor.His friends asked him to drink castor oil, and he drank it like an automaton, without realizing that he was drinking it.Then, like an automaton again, he sat down at the table and drank his tea and brandy.He absently drank the entire bottle and let his friend help him to sleep on the bed. Jeune premier covered him with a quilt and coat, persuaded him to sweat, and left. night came.Brandy drank a lot, but Shiptsov did not fall asleep.He lay motionless under the quilt, his eyes fixed on the black ceiling, and when he saw the moon shining in through the window, he moved his eyes from the ceiling to his companion on the earth, and lay there with his eyes open until dawn.About nine o'clock in the morning, Zhukov, the director of the troupe, came running. "You, angel, why are you so whimsical and sick?" He wowed and wrinkled his nose. "Hey, hey! Is it possible that you can get sick with your physique? Shame, shame!I, you know, freaked out!Well, I thought, could it be that our conversation had an effect on him?My good man, I hope you are not sick because of me!You know, you also treat me... that.Besides, that is always unavoidable between colleagues.You also scolded me that day, and even... raised your fist to hit me, but I love you!Really, I love you!I respect you and love you!Yes, tell me, Angel, why do I love you so much?You are neither my relative, nor my in-laws, nor my wife, but when I heard that you were sick, it was as if someone had stabbed me with a knife. " Zhukov professed his love for a long time, and then leaned over to kiss him, and finally became very emotional, started laughing hysterically, and even tried to pass out, but probably remembered that this was not in his own home, nor in the theater , decided to postpone this fainting until a later time when it would be more convenient, and then he left. Not long after his departure, the tragedian Adabashev arrived, a lifeless man with short-sighted eyes and a nasal voice. ... He looked at Shiptsov for a long time, thought for a long time, and suddenly realized: "Guess what, Mifa?" Make a mysterious expression. "Guess what?! You need some castor oil!!" Shiptsov said nothing.After a while, the tragedian poured the foul-smelling oil into his mouth, and he too remained silent.About two hours after Adabashev's departure, Yevrambi, the theater barber, or Rigoletto, as the actors somehow named him, came into the room.He looked at Shiptsov for a long time like a tragic actor, sighed with a sound like a locomotive's puffing, and then slowly and calmly began to untie the bundle he had brought.There were about twenty blood-sucking cups and a few phials in the bundle. "You should have sent someone to call me, then I would have come to bleed you!" He said softly, unbuttoning Shiptsov's chest. "Illness is easy to delay!" After this, Rigoletto stroked the broad chest of the noble father with his palm, and then put all the blood-sucking cups on the chest. "Yes..." he said after finishing the operation, bandaging up the tools that were stained red with Shiptsov's blood. "You should have sent for me, and I would have come. . . . You don't have to worry about money. . . . I came out of pity for you. . . . If that fool won't give you money, where are you going?" To get money? Now, here, you bother to drink this potion.This potion is very delicious!So now, you bother to drink this oil.This is the best castor bean oil.now it's right!Your sickness will get better!OK, goodbye now. . . . " Rigoletto picked up his bundle, and, satisfied with helping others, went away. The next morning the comedian Sigayev came to Shiptsov's room and found him in a most dire condition.He was lying under his coat, panting heavily, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and he turned erratically.He rubbed the crumpled quilt vigorously with his hands. "Go to Vyazma!" he whispered when he saw the comedian. "Go to Vyazma City!" "Well, that, man, I don't like it!" said the comedian, spreading his hands. "Here...here... dude, that's not good! To put it bluntly,... dude, it's even stupid. . . . " "I'm going to Vyazma! Really, to Vyazma to the city!" "I... I didn't expect this from you!..." the comedian muttered, flustered. "The devil knows what's going on! Why did it collapse all of a sudden! Um... um... um... this is not good! He is quite big, as tall as a fire watchtower, but he cried. Could it be that he is an actor Can you cry?" "No wife, no children," Shiptsov murmured. "I shouldn't be an actor, I should be living in Vyazma City! Xie Min, my life is in vain! Ah, I should be living in Vyazma City!" "Uh...uh...uh...that's not good. It's just stupid,...bad!" After Sigayev settled down and brought his feelings back to normal, he began to comfort Shiptsov, lying to him that his colleagues had decided to send him to the Crimea, the cost would be shared, etc. , but Shiptsov didn't listen to him, and kept talking about the city of Vyazma. …Finally the comedian waved his hand, and in order to comfort the patient, he himself talked about the city of Vyazma. "That city is very nice!" He reassured. "It's a nice town, man! The honey biscuits there are famous.The honey biscuits are delicately made, though, let's say something behind our backs, there's actually a bit of that... not much.I had a bit of that for a whole week after I had that honey cookie. . . . but the best there is to be a businessman!All businessmen look good!If he treats you to dinner, it's a treat! " The comedian kept talking, but Shiptsov listened and nodded approvingly. In the evening, he died. "Notes" ①A play adapted from the historical novel of the same name by Russian playwright A. K. Tolstoy (1817-1875). ——Russian text editor's note ②A character in the above script is a loyal and clumsy strongman. ③ a laxative. ④French: An actor who plays the role of the main lover. ⑤ A strong liquor made from sugar cane. ⑥Misha and Mishutka above are both nicknames for Mikhail. ⑦ Italian composer Verdi (1813-1901) is a court buffoon in the opera "Rigoletto" (a translation of "Rigoletto") adapted from the French writer Hugo's play "The Happy King". ——Russian text editor's note