Chapter 3 light-2

"'Carriage!' I called out the gate. Neither a word nor a sigh answered me. . . . 'Carriage!' I called again. 'Hullo! Stagecoach!'" But there were no cabs here, There were no stagecoaches either, just the silence of the grave.All I heard was the sleepy ocean moaning, and my heart pounded with drink.I raised my eyes to look at the sky, but there was not a single star in the sky.The night was dark and gloomy.It appeared that the sky was full of clouds.For some reason, I shrugged my shoulders, couldn't help smirking, and called the carriage again, but in a less firm voice.

"'Horse!' the echo answered me. "To walk four versts in the open, and in the dark, is an unpleasant thing to think about. Before I made up my mind to set off on foot, I thought long and hard, called for a carriage, then shrugged my shoulders and said lazily. I walked back to the grove without any definite purpose in mind. The grove was terribly dark. Looking out between the tree trunks, here and there, I saw the red windows of the villa. A crow was awakened by the sound of my footsteps, Seeing that I lit a match to light the way to the pavilion, I got scared and flew from one tree to another, rubbing the leaves and making rustling noises. I felt annoyed and ashamed, and the crow seemed to understand this. , just laughed at me, croaked! I was troubled because I had to walk on foot, and I was ashamed because I was talking like a child at Kisotchka's just now.

"I went to the pavilion, found a bench, and sat down. Far below, behind the thick darkness, the ocean roared low and angry. I remember being blind to the ocean. , and I can't see the sky, I sit in the pavilion, but I can't even see the pavilion clearly. At this time, in the whole world, I only feel that some thoughts are roaming in my drunken head. In one place, there was the monotonous din of an invisible force. But later, when I dozed off, it seemed to me that it was not the sea that was making the noise, but my thoughts, and that I was the only one left in the world.In this way I concentrated the whole world on myself, forgot about the carriage, forgot about the city, forgot about Kisotchka, and fell into a state of mind which I loved so much.This is the terrible loneliness you feel when you are alone in the dark and shapeless universe.It is a proud and menacing state of mind, such as can only be found in Russians, whose thoughts and feelings are as vast and austere as their plains, woods, and snows.If I were a painter, I would have to draw a Russian sitting cross-legged, motionless, holding his head in his hands, immersed in this state of mind, and the expression on his face at that time. . . . and with that state of mind came thoughts of the lack of purpose in life, of death, of the darkness in the tomb, .

... "I sat there and dozed, unable to make up my mind to get up again. I thought it was warm and peaceful there, but suddenly, amidst the smooth, monotonous sound of the sea, something Like a pattern, it attracted my attention and stopped me from thinking about myself... It turned out that someone was hurrying along the tree-lined road. The man came to the pavilion, stopped, and sobbed like a little girl. A little girl's cry said: "'My God, when will this life end?host! '" Judging by her voice and crying, this person seemed to be a girl between ten and twelve years old. She walked into the pavilion hesitantly, sat down, and began to talk as if praying and complaining.  … "'Oh God! ' she drawled, crying. 'It's unbearable!

No matter how patient you are, you can't stand it!I have been enduring and keeping silent, but I have to live on. ... Oh, my God, my God! '" She said a lot like this. . . . I wanted to have a look at the girl and talk to her. I was afraid to frighten her, so I sighed loudly, coughed, and then struck a match carefully.  … A bright light flashed in the darkness and illuminated the crying one. It turned out that she was Kisotchka." "What absurdity!" exclaimed von Schinberg. "The dark night, the whimpering of the sea, she who suffers, him who is alone in the whole world... God knows what it is! Only the Circassians with daggers are missing."

"What I'm telling you is not a story, but a fact...." "Oh, let's just say it's a fact.... This kind of thing is not interesting, and everyone has been tired of hearing it for a long time...." "Don't underestimate this Let’s talk about this matter after I finish talking!” said Ananyev, waving his hands angrily. "Don't interrupt, please! I'm not telling you, I'm telling this doctor. . . . Here," he went on, squinting at the student, who bowed his head to settle his account. , as if it was a pleasure to ridicule the engineer. "Well, Kisotchka was not surprised or frightened when she saw me, as if she knew she would see me in the pavilion. She was short of breath and trembling as if she had a fever. Tears, I struck a few matches one after another, and looked carefully, but I saw that it was no longer the smart, docile, and tired face before, but changed to a look that I haven't figured out yet. That face neither showed pain , she didn't show anxiety, let alone sadness, which was completely different from what her words and tears expressed... To be honest, probably because I didn't understand, I felt that face showed a dumbfounded look, like Like drunk.

"'I can't take it any longer...' murmured Kisotchka in a girl's weeping voice. 'I have exhausted my strength, Nikolay Anastasich! Please forgive me, Nikolai Anastasic. . . . I cannot go on living like this. . . . I will go to the city to find my mother. . . . Please take me there. . . . For God's sake Send me up!'" When I saw someone cry, I was speechless and at the same time unable to remain silent. I was bewildered and mumbled some nonsense to comfort her. "'No, no, I'm going to my mother!' said Kisotchka firmly, getting up and grabbing my arm (her hands and sleeves were wet with tears).

'Excuse me, Nikolay Anastasic, I'm going. ...I can't take it anymore. . . . ' "'Kisotchka, there isn't a single carriage here! . . . ' I said. 'How are you going? ' "'Never mind, I'll walk. . . . It's not far. . . . I can't take it any longer. . . . '" I was embarrassed, but not moved.Kisotchka's tears, her trembling, and the numbness of her face gave me the impression that she was acting in some frivolous French or Little Russian romance, in which she was trying to express the slightest Boredom and cheap pain always shed a lot of tears.I don't understand her, and I know that I don't understand her, I should have been silent, but somehow, probably because I was afraid that my silence would be understood as stupid, anyway, I think I have to persuade her not to go to her mother, It's better to stay at home.People who cry don't like others to see them cry.But I struck a match and didn't stop until the matchbox was empty.Why I need this inconsiderate light, I still can't figure out why.Generally speaking, cruel people often lose their composure and even become stupid.

"Finally Kiki Soka took my arm and off we went. We walked out the gate, turned right, and took our time on a soft dirt road. It was dark, but as my eyes got used to it As the darkness cleared, I could make out the outlines of the old, thin oaks and lindens that lined the road. Presently, to the right, there appeared indistinctly jagged black cliffs, in places surrounded by narrow and deep ravines and The ditch was cut off. Next to the canyon stood low bushes, like some people sitting. This made one's heart tremble. I squinted my eyes and looked at the bank suspiciously. At this time, the sound of the sea and the silence of the wilderness Unpleasantly disturbing my imagination.

Kisotchka did not speak.She trembled constantly, and before she had walked half a mile her limbs became weak and she was out of breath.I was also silent. A mile from the quarantine station stands a four-story building with a tall chimney, which used to be a steam noodle factory, but is now unoccupied.It stands alone on the bank slope, and people can see it from the sea and the wilderness during the day.The house was deserted, and there was no one in it, only echoes that clearly repeated the footsteps and voices of passers-by, so it seemed mysterious.Imagine my situation, late at night, on the arm of a woman who has run away from her husband, approaching that long and tall monster, which echoes every step of my footsteps, and whose hundreds of black fans The windows stare at me like eyes.A normal young man would feel romantic in such a situation, but I, looking at the dark windows, thought to myself: "It's all very touching, but one day, this building will be fine, too. Sochka and her pain, me and my thoughts, not a trace remains. . . . everything is meaningless and empty. . . .'" We went to the mill, Kisotchka Suddenly she stopped, lowered her arms, and began to speak, but it was not the little girl's voice, but her own: "'Nikolai Anastasich, I know you find this a little strange.

But I am very unlucky!You can't even imagine how unfortunate I am!It's unimaginable!I did not tell you, because there is no way to tell. ... Such a life, such a life. . . . '" Kisotchka did not finish speaking, but gritted her teeth and moaned, as if trying to keep herself from crying out in pain. "'What a life!' she repeated terrifiedly, as if singing, with a slightly southern Ukrainian accent, which, especially from a woman's mouth, always gives singing to her excited words.' Such a life! Oh, my God, my God, what is going on here?Oh my God, my God! '" She shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment, shook her head, and put her palms together as if she wanted to answer the secrets of her life. Her words were like singing, and her movements were graceful and graceful, which reminded me of a famous Ukrainian actress. "'Lord, I just seem to have fallen into the abyss!' she went on, wringing her hands. 'Even if it's only for a minute, it's good to be able to live like others! Oh my God, my God!I have come to such a disgraceful place, leaving my husband in the middle of the night in front of outsiders, like a wanton woman.Since I can do such a thing, what hope is there? '" I admired her movements and the tone of her voice, and at the same time I was suddenly secretly delighted at the thought that she and her husband were not getting on well together. 'If only I could get her!' The thought crossed my mind. The cruel thought It took root in my brain, never left me, and fascinated me more and more..." After a mile and a half from the flour mill, I had to turn left and pass the cemetery Garden, to reach the city.At the corner of the cemetery, there is a stone mill that uses a wind mill, and there is a hut next to it, where the owner of the mill lives.We passed the mill and the cottage, turned left, and came to the gate of the cemetery.Kisotchka stopped here and said: "'I'm going back, Nikolay Anastasyitch! Go your way, God bless you, I can go back by myself. I'm not afraid. '"'What a way! ' I said in horror. 'If you want to go, let's go. ...' "'I shouldn't be angry. . . . It's all about little things. Your words remind me of the old days, and I can't help feeling very emotional. . . I couldn't bear it anymore when I said some foul words to my face.... Actually, why should I go to the city to find my mother? Would it make me happier? I should go home.... But... Let's just go on!' said Kisotchka, laughing. 'It's the same anyway.'" I remember a line engraved on the gate of the cemetery: "The hour is coming when all who are in the grave Hear the voice of the Son of God.' ②I know very well: Sooner or later, there will come a day when either I, or Kisotchka, her husband, or the officer in white, under the black trees of the enclosure. I also knew that walking beside me was an unfortunate and insulted man. All this I was conscious of, and yet at the same time there was a strong sense of peace within me. I was agitated by an unpleasant fear, afraid that Kisotchka would turn away and go back, and then I would not be able to say what I wanted to say to her. There was never a time in my mind like this night before, How closely intertwined are the noblest thoughts and the basest animal worldliness.... How dreadful it is! "We found a carriage not far from the cemetery. We got into the carriage, went to the street where Kisotchka's mother lived, got out of the carriage, and walked along the sidewalk. Kisotchka remained silent. Silently, as for me, looking at her, I was secretly angry with myself: "Why don't you do it?It's time! ’ Kisotchka stopped by the street lamp twenty paces from the hotel where I was staying, and began to cry. "'Nikolai Anastasyitch!' she said, crying and laughing, and looking into my face with her moist, shining eyes. 'I will never forget your sympathy. ... how kind you are!You are all great men!Integrity, generosity, sincerity, intelligence. ... Ah, how good this is! '" She considered me a man of knowledge and progress in all respects, and besides the tenderness and joy I aroused in her, her tear-wet smile expressed sadness, as if to say: She seldom sees God did not bless her to be the wife of such a man as I am. She murmured, "Oh, how good it is! ’ The childish joy on her face, her tears, her soft smile, her soft hair falling from her kerchief, the kerchief itself casually worn on her head, were all visible in the light of the street lamps. Reminds me of Kisotchka before, when people wanted to pet her like a cat. ... "I couldn't help it, so I stroked her hair, her shoulders, her arms..." 'Kisotchka, what do you want? ' I murmured. 'Do you want me to go with you to the ends of the earth?I will pull you out of the abyss and give you happiness.I love you. ...shall we go, dear?OK?okay? '" Kisotchka had a look of bewilderment on her face. She stepped back under the street lamp, froze, and looked at me with wide-eyed eyes. I grabbed her arm and kissed her face and neck. , shoulders, swear after swear, make all kinds of promises. In love, vows and promises are almost a daily necessity. They can't do without them. Sometimes you know you are lying and you don't need to make promises, but you still swear and Make a wish. Kisotchka, petrified, draws back and looks at me with wide-eyed eyes. . . . " 'Don't!do not do that! ' she murmured, pushing me away. "I hugged her tightly. She suddenly burst into tears, and the blank numbness I saw in the pavilion when I lit a match appeared on her face. ... I didn't ask for her consent, and I didn't allow her to say a word, so I dragged her to my hotel. ...She was so frightened that she couldn't walk, so I took her arm and almost dragged her away. ... I remember that as we were going upstairs a man with a red band on his hat looked at me in amazement and nodded to Kisotchka. ..." Ananyev blushed and fell silent. He walked up and down the table silently, scratching the back of his head in vexation, and a cold air swept over his broad back, which made him several times He shrugged his shoulders and shoulder blades convulsively. Recalling the past, he only felt shy and embarrassed, so he tried his best to restrain himself...." This is really bad! "He drank a glass of wine, shook his head and said: "It is said that before teaching women's diseases in universities, there is always an introduction, advising medical students to think of each of them before undressing female patients and making diagnosis and treatment. Mother, sister, fiancée. . . . This advice applies not only to medical students, but to those who have had every opportunity in their lives to come into contact with women.Now that I have a wife and daughter of my own, oh, how well I understand this counsel!How profound, my God!But listen to what happened next. . . . After Kisotchka became my mistress, she took a different view on the matter than I did.First, she fell in love with me passionately and deeply.What seemed to me an ordinary love affair, just a joke, turned out to her to be a life-changing event.I remember thinking at the time that she was out of her mind.For the first time in her life she felt happy, she felt five years younger, her face showed excitement and joy, she didn't know what to do with happiness, sometimes she laughed, sometimes she cried, she kept telling her fantasies: Tomorrow we will leave for the Caucasus Go, go from there to Petersburg in the autumn, and how we will live together in the future. . . . "'As for my husband, don't worry!' she reassured me. 'He will agree to divorce me. Everyone in the town knows he's having an affair with the eldest daughter of the Kostovitch family. It's over Divorce procedures, we will get married.'" When a woman is in love, she will quickly adapt to the environment like a cat and get close to people.Kisotchka had only been in my hotel room for an hour and a half, and already she felt at home, taking care of my things as if they were her own.She put my clothes in my trunk, blamed me for leaving my expensive new coat on a chair instead of hanging it on a hook, etc. "I looked at her, and listened to her, and was weary and vexed. I thought of a decent, honest, suffering woman who, within three or four hours, could so easily be the mistress of a man she happened to meet, I can't help being a little disgusted. You know, I'm a decent man, and I don't like such things. Later, I thought that a woman like Kisotchka is superficial and unserious, and loves life too much, such as love for men, It's really just a little thing, and she's elevating it to happiness, pain, life's transformation, which makes me all the more unhappy.... Besides, now that I'm satisfied, I hate myself for not being so Stupid, entangled with a woman whom I have nothing to do but deceive.  … It should be said that, in spite of my dissoluteness, I cannot fake it. "I remember Kisotchka sitting at my feet, with her head on my lap, looking at me with loving, shining eyes, and asking: "'Korya, do you love me?Do you love me very much?Do you love me very much? '" She was so happy that she laughed.... But I felt that this was sentimental, nasty, and unintelligent, and at that time I already had a mood: I should first explore the "depth of thought" in everything. "'You'd better go home, Kisotchka,' I said, 'or your family might think you've disappeared, and run all over town looking for you. Besides, you'd better come to your mother's house early in the morning. It's not right to go either. . . . '" Kisotchka agreed with me.Before we parted, it was agreed that I would meet her in the city park at noon tomorrow, and that we would go to Pyatigorsk together the day after tomorrow.I walked her into the street and, I remember, caressed her all the way, tenderly and earnestly.I thought of her trusting me so desperately, and suddenly felt apologetic for a moment, and decided to take her to Pyatigorsk, but then I remembered that I only had six hundred rubles in my suitcase, and that it would be impossible to part with her in the autumn. It's much more difficult than it is now, so I quickly suppressed my apologetic mood. "We came to the house where Kisotchka's mother lived. I rang the bell. When footsteps were heard through the door, Kisotchka suddenly turned serious, glanced at the sky, and thought I was Like a child, she made the sign of the cross on my chest several times in a hurry, then grabbed my hand and brought it to her lips. "'See you tomorrow!' she said, and went through the door, and disappeared. "I crossed the street to the opposite pavement, and looked at the house from there. At first the windows were dark, and then in one window there was a faint blue light from a candle that had just been lit. The candle light grew brighter, The light came out, and I saw some shadows moving around the room with it. "'They didn't expect her to come!' I thought to myself. "I went back to the hotel room, took off my clothes, drank some Santorini, ate some fresh grained fish roe bought in the market during the day, lay down on the bed without haste, and slept soundly and peacefully like a traveler. I fell asleep. "When I awoke in the morning, I had a headache and a bad mood. Something disturbed me. "'What the hell is it?' I asked myself, trying to find out the cause of my uneasiness. 'What's disturbing me? ' "I think the cause of my uneasiness was this: the fear that Kisotchka might come to me at once and prevent me from moving, and then I would have to lie and put on airs in front of her. I quickly dressed and tidied up my I went out of the hotel, told the concierge to take my luggage to the railway station, and caught the seven o'clock train. I spent the whole day at the house of a friend who was a doctor, and left the city in the evening. You can see that my thoughts did not prevent me from making a base and merciless escape. . . . "When I was sitting at a friend's house, and then I was going to the station in a carriage, I was tormented by that uneasiness. I felt that I was afraid of meeting Kisotchka, of making a joke. At the station I hid In the toilet, didn't come out until the second bell rang. I pushed through the crowd to get on the train, but a feeling weighed on my heart, as if I was covered from head to toe with stolen things with what anxiety and dread I waited for the third ring! "At last the life-saving bell rang a third time, and the train moved on. We passed the prison and the barracks, and out into the wilderness, but to my astonishment the uneasiness still did not leave me. I still felt as if I was determined to escape. Thief. How strange! I calmed down my mind and looked out of the window. The train was running along the coast. The sea was smooth and the sky was turquoise, almost half painted with a soft golden red. Evening glow, reflected joyfully and calmly on the water. Here and there, fishing boats and rafts are like black patches. The clean and pretty toy-like city stands on the high bank, already Covered with an evening mist. The golden vaults, windows, and trees of the churches in the city, reflecting the setting sun, are burning and melting like molten gold.  … The breath of the wilderness and the mild dampness blowing from the sea mixed together. "The train is moving fast. The laughter of passengers and conductors can be heard in the car. Everyone is happy and relaxed, but my incomprehensible anxiety is growing. . . . In this fog, a woman with a demented face was running around churches and houses, looking for me, moaning like a Ukrainian actress in a girlish voice or a singing voice: "Oh, I God, my God! I remembered her stern face and big worried eyes when she took me as a relative yesterday and crossed me on my chest, and I couldn't help but look at my hand that she kissed yesterday. "'Am I in love or something?' I asked myself, scratching my hands. "It wasn't until night fell, when the passengers were all asleep, and I was left alone to face my conscience, that I realized what I couldn't understand before. In the dim light of the carriage, Kisotchka's face floating before me and refusing to leave me, I realized clearly that I had committed a crime that amounted to murder. My conscience was tormenting me. To get rid of this intolerable mood, I plausibly said Say to yourself that everything is boring and empty, that Kisotchka and I are going to die, rot, her pain is nothing compared to death, etc., etc. . . . And I say: In the end There is no free will, so I am not at fault. But all these reasons irritated me, and somehow, very quickly, I was drowned in other thoughts. My hand kissed by Kisotchka It annoys me.... Now I lie down, now I sit up, or I go to the station to drink white wine, try to eat some ham and bread, and then tell myself plausibly that life is meaningless, but it doesn't help. My head is filled with a strange and, to tell you the truth, ridiculous commotion. Many very different thoughts come chaotically one after the other, intertwined and hinder each other, and I, the thinker, with my forehead on the ground, Can't understand anything, can't sort out the necessary and unnecessary thoughts. It turns out that I, a thinker, haven't even learned the technology of thinking. I can't control my own mind and I can't fix a watch Same. For the first time in my life, I was thinking intensely and nervously, and it seemed to me that something was wrong, and I thought to myself: "I'm crazy! 'People who don't usually use their brains but use them only in emergencies often think of madness. "After a night, a day, and a night of tormenting like this, believing that my thoughts were of little use to me, it dawned on me what kind of person I am. Then I realized that my thoughts cost nothing to a penny. Not worth it. Before I met Kisotchka, I hadn't even started to think, and I didn't even know what serious thinking is. Now, after much trouble, I understand that I have no convictions and no clear morals. standards, let alone mind, and even reason, all my intellectual and spiritual wealth is limited to some specialized knowledge, incomplete perceptions, unnecessary memories of the past, some other people's thoughts, and that's it. , my psychological activities are not complicated, simple, very ordinary, just like the Yakuts. ... If I don't like to cheat, don't steal, don't kill people, and in short, don't make obvious big mistakes, it's not because of me the strength of my convictions (which I do not have), but simply because I have been saturated with nurse myths and philanthropic maxims. Although I think these things are absurd, they have penetrated into my flesh and blood. , even though I don’t feel it, it has been guiding my actions in my life...” Then I realized that I am not a thinker, not a philosopher, but just a person who plays with ideas.God kicked me a Russian with a sound, powerful mind, endowed with endowed talents.But when you think about it, this mind has survived for twenty-six years, untrained, completely devoid of opinion, very empty, with just a little sprinkle of engineering knowledge.It was young, physically craving activity, seeking activity, and suddenly that beautiful and intriguing set of thoughts, what a life without purpose, the darkness of the grave, fell into this brain from the outside world quite by chance.This mind greedily sucks in this set of thoughts, lets it occupy the mind, and starts playing with it in various ways, just like a cat with a mouse.This brain has neither knowledge nor system, but it doesn't matter.It uses its own natural strength to deal with broad minds in the manner of self-education, and within a month the master of this mind can cook a hundred kinds of delicious dishes from potatoes alone, and thinks himself a philosopher. ... "Our generation has brought cynicism, the attitude of playing with serious thought, to science, literature, politics, and wherever they are not lazy. Along with cynicism, this generation has brought Here comes their ruthlessness, boredom, partiality, which, it seems to me, has fostered in the masses a new attitude towards serious thought which was not there before. "Thanks to this catastrophe, I have come to know and recognize my perversity and utter ignorance. As I see it now, my normal thinking is until I learn from the beginning, that is, from my conscience, drive me back to the small town, I stopped slyly showing off my cleverness, and honestly confessed to Kisotchka, begged her to forgive me like a child, and started crying with her. . . . " Ananyev briefly After telling about his last meeting with Kisotchka, he stopped talking. "Oh..." The college student waited until the engineer had finished speaking, and let out a word from between his teeth. ... "There is such a thing in the world!" His face showed the same slackness of mind as before, and it seemed that the story Ananyev had told had not touched his heart at all.It was not until the engineer rested for a while that he resumed his thoughts, repeating what he had said earlier, that the student frowned angrily, got up from the table, and went to his bedside.He made the bed and began to undress. "Look at you now, as if you really convinced someone!" he said angrily. "Who did I convince?" the engineer asked. "My dear brother, do I have such delusions? God bless you! It is impossible to convince you! You can only be convinced by personal experience and pain! . . . " "Besides, your logic is so strange !” the college student put on his pajamas and muttered. "According to you, the kind of thinking that you dislike very much is extremely harmful to young people, but it is normal for old people. It seems that the problem is gray hair. . . . Where does this privilege of old age come from?" What grounds does it have? If this thought is poison, it is poison to all." "Oh, my good boy, no, don't you say that!" said the engineer, slyly? ~ look at the eyes. "Don't say that! First, the elderly are not people who play with ideas. Their pessimistic thoughts do not come from outside by chance, but from the depths of their own minds, and after they have studied various Hegel and Kant have suffered a lot, made countless mistakes, in a word, climbed the whole ladder from the lowest to the highest. Their pessimism has personal experience and solid foundation. Second, the older thinkers, unlike you and me, whose pessimism is not material for rhetoric but world pain and suffering, have Christianity as their basis because it comes from an understanding of human love from a mind caring for humanity, devoid of the egoism so often found in people who play with minds. You despise life precisely because you have no idea of ​​its meaning or purpose, and you fear only yourself The real thinker suffers because everyone knows nothing about the truth, and he is afraid of everyone. For example, not far from here lives a public forest keeper, Ivan Alexander. Drake. He's a nice little old man. He used to be a teacher somewhere and wrote some articles, god knows what he was, but he's a very smart guy, and he's good at philosophy. He read He has written many books and still reads them a lot. Well, we met him one day not so long ago in the Gruzov district. . . . It happened that sleepers and railroad tracks were being laid there. The work was not complicated, but to Ivan Alexandritch, an amateur, it seemed to him akin to magic.An experienced workman can lay a sleeper and nail a rail to it in less than a minute.The workmen were very energetic, and they worked really skillfully and swiftly. One guy in particular was very dexterous in smashing the nail caps with a hammer, and he could tighten them with a single hammer. The handle of the hammer was almost a foot long, and each nail was also a foot. ④ long. Ivan Alexandritch looked at these workers for a long time, was very moved, and said to me with tears in his eyes: "What a pity, these wonderful people are dying!" I understand such pessimism. . . . " "These words prove nothing and explain nothing," said the student, pulling a sheet over them. "It's all in vain! Everyone understands nothing. Nothing can be proved by words." He poked his head out from under the quilt, raised his head, frowned angrily, and said quickly: "Only a very naive person would believe other people's words and logic, and think that they have decisive meaning. Words can prove anything at will. You can deny anything you want, and soon people will improve their speaking skills to such an extent that they can prove that two times two equals seven as precisely as mathematics. I like listening to people talk, and I like reading books, but when it comes to相信，那么多谢多谢，我办不到，也不想办到。我只相信上帝，至于您，哪怕您对我一直讲到基督二次降世，哪怕您再勾引五百个基索琪卡，我大概也只有到神智失常的时候才会相信。……晚安！” 大学生把头蒙在被单里，转过脸去对着墙，有意用这个动作来让人明白他既不愿意听人讲话，自己也不愿意谈话。这场争论到这儿就结束了。 我和工程师躺下来睡觉之前，走出这个小屋。我又看见了那些灯火。 “我们这些闲谈一定使您厌倦了！”阿纳尼耶夫说，打个呵欠，瞧着天空。“嗯，可不是，先生！在这个寂寞无聊的地方，唯一的乐趣也就是喝葡萄酒和高谈阔论了。……好一条路堤啊，主！”我们走到路堤那儿，他感动地说。“这不能算是路堤，简直是阿拉拉特火山⑤啊！” 他沉默了一忽儿，说： “这些灯光使得那位男爵想起亚玛力人，可是我觉得它们倒象人的思想。……您知道，每个人的思想也象这样分散凌乱，在昏暗中顺着一条直线往一个什么目标伸展过去，什么也没有照亮，更没有照亮黑夜，临到过了老年，就远远地，不知消失到什么地方去了。……不过，哲学也讲得够了！现在该睡觉了。……”我们回到小屋里，工程师硬要我睡他的床。 “哎，您请！”他央求说，把两只手按在他的心上。“我求求您！至于我，您自管放心。……我哪儿都能睡，而且我还不会马上就睡。……请您赏个脸吧！” 我同意了，脱掉衣服，躺上床。他却靠着桌子坐下，画他的图。 “我们这班人，老兄，是没有工夫睡觉的，”他等到我躺下，闭上眼睛，就小声说。“谁有妻子，有两个儿女，谁就顾不上睡觉了。他就得供他们吃，供他们穿，还得存下一点钱留到将来用。我呢，有两个孩子，一个儿子和一个女儿。……那个男孩子，是个小坏包，长着一副好相貌。……他还不满六岁，不过我得告诉您，他倒有很不平常的本领了。……我这儿本来有他们的照片，不知放在哪儿了。……啊，我的孩子，我的孩子啊！” 他翻动纸张，找到照片，开始观赏。我睡着了。 我是被阿左尔卡的吠叫声和人们响亮的说话声惊醒的。 冯·希千堡只穿着内衣，光着脚，蓬松着头发，站在门口，正在跟一个什么人高声说话。Its daybreak. ……阴暗的蓝色曙光照进门口、窗口和小屋墙上的裂缝，微微照亮我的床、放着纸张的桌子和阿纳尼耶夫。工程师躺在地上，身子下面铺着一件毡斗篷，脑袋底下垫一个皮枕头，挺起肌肉饱满的、毛茸茸的胸膛，睡着了，鼾声很响，闹得我从心里怜惜那个大学生，因为他每天晚上不得不跟这位工程师在一处睡觉。 “我们凭什么要收下？”冯·希千堡叫道。“这不关我们的事！你去找察里索夫工程师！这些锅是从谁那儿运来的？” “从尼基丁那儿，……”一个男低音闷闷不乐地回答说。 “好，那你就去找察里索夫吧。……这不归我们管。你呆站在这儿干什么？赶着车子走开！” “老爷，我已经到察里索夫老爷那儿去过了！”男低音越发闷闷不乐地说。“昨天一整天顺着铁路线找他老人家，可是到了他老人家的小屋里，人家对我们说，他老人家已经到迪姆科夫区去了。您行行好，收下吧！要我们送到什么时候为止呢？我们沿着铁路线走啊走的，不知道要运到什么地方才算完事。……”“什么事？”阿纳尼耶夫醒过来，很快地抬起头，用嘶哑的声音问。 “他们从尼基丁那儿运来一些锅子，”大学生说，“要求我们把那些锅子收下。可是我们凭什么收下？” “叫他们滚蛋！” “行行好，老爷，把这件事儿了结了吧！这些马有两天没吃东西，东家多半要生气了。要我们把锅子拉回去还是怎么的？既是铁路买下了锅子，就该收下才是。……”“可是，笨蛋，你得明白这不关我们的事！去找察里索夫！” “什么事？是谁啊？”阿纳尼耶夫又用嘶哑的声音问道。 “见他们的鬼！”他骂着，站起身，往门口走去。 "What's up?" 我穿上衣服，大约过了两分钟，也走出了小屋。阿纳尼耶夫和大学生，两人都只穿着内衣，光着脚，正在激烈地对那个乡下人解释着什么，显得很不耐烦；而乡下人站在他们面前，脱掉帽子，手里拿着鞭子，显然没有听懂他们的话。两人脸上都露出正在办一件日常琐事的神情。 “我要你这些锅子有什么用处？”阿纳尼耶夫叫道。“我把它们扣在我脑袋上还是怎么的？要是你没找到察里索夫，那就找他的助手，别来打扰我们！” 大学生看到我，大概想起昨天晚上那一番谈话，于是操心的神情就从他的脸上消失，换上了头脑懈怠的神情。他对乡下人摆一下手，心里不知想着什么事，走到一旁去了。 早晨天色阴沉。沿着昨天晚上灯火照亮的铁路线，聚合了许多刚刚醒过来的工人。空中响起说话声和手推车的吱嘎声。工作日开始了。有一匹瘦小的马，套着绳索马具，已经拉着一车沙土慢腾腾地往路堤走去，用尽气力伸长脖子。……我开始告辞。……昨天晚上我们说过许多话，可是临到我走时连一个问题也没有解决，如今，到了早晨，整个谈话如同用筛子筛过的一样，在我的记忆里只留下点点灯光和基索琪卡的形象了。我骑上马，最后看一眼大学生和阿纳尼耶夫，看一眼那条神经质的狗和它那双没有光彩仿佛喝醉酒的眼睛，看一眼在早晨的迷雾中显出身影的工人们，看一眼路堤，看一眼那匹伸长脖子的小马，暗自想道：“这个世界上的事谁也弄不明白！” 等到我用鞭子抽我的马，顺铁路线奔去，等到过了一会儿我看见前面只有一片没有尽头的、阴郁的平原和阴沉寒冷的天空，我就不由得想起昨天晚上谈论的种种问题。我暗自思忖着，而那片被阳光晒枯的平原、辽阔的天空、远处那黑糊糊的一片橡树林、那大雾迷漫的远方，却好象在对我说：“是的，这个世界上的事谁也弄不明白！” 太阳升上来了。 ... "Notes" ①一种甜味的红葡萄酒。 ②这句话出自《圣经·约翰福音》。 ③尼古拉的小名。 ④英国长度单位，１英尺等于３０。５厘米。 ⑤指土耳其东部的火山，位于与苏联亚美尼亚、伊朗交界处附近。