Chapter 17 seventeen

seventeen It was getting dark, and Ivan Dmitry lay on his bed, burying his face in the pillow.The paralyzed man sat motionless, sobbing softly, his lips quivering.The fat peasant and the former letter sorter were asleep.It was very quiet in the ward. Andrey Yefimitch sat on the edge of Ivan Dmitry's bed and waited.But an hour and a half passed, and it wasn't Hobotov who came in, but Nikita, carrying a patient's gown, someone's underwear, and a pair of slippers. "Master, please change your clothes," he said softly, "this is your bed, please come here," he added, pointing to an empty bed that had obviously just been moved, "Never mind, God forbid, you will recover .”

Andrey Yefimitch understood everything.Without saying a word, he went to the bed Nikita had assigned and sat down.Seeing Nikita standing there waiting, he undressed himself, feeling ashamed.He hastily put on his patient's clothes, the underpants were too short, the shirt was too long, and the gown smelt of smoked fish. "You will recover, God bless," Nikita repeated. He picked up Andrey Yefimitch's changed clothes, went out, and closed the door behind him. "It doesn't matter..." thought Andrey Yefimitch, shyly wrapping his robes tightly, and felt that he was a prisoner in them. "It's nothing. . . Anyway, it's all the same..."

But what about pocket watches?What about the notepad in the side pocket?What about cigarettes?Where did Nikita send her clothes?From now on, probably until his death, he will never be able to put on his trousers, waistcoat and boots again.It was all so strange, it was unbelievable at first.Even now Andrei Yefimitch believed that there was no difference between the little bourgeois Belova's house and the sixth ward, that everything in this world was absurd and empty, yet his hands trembled, Cold feet.The thought of Ivan Dmitry getting up soon and seeing him in his sick clothes was horrific to him.He got up, walked up and down the ward, and then sat down again.

So he sat for half an hour, an hour, weary and unbearably bored.Is it possible to sit here for a day, a week, or even a few years like these people?Well, he sat for a while, walked for a while, and sat down again.You can go to the window, look outside, and then go from corner to corner.But what to do next?Do you just sit and think about things like a wooden man?No, it's almost impossible. As soon as Andrey Yefimitch lay down, he sat up again and wiped the cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve.He felt the smell of smoked fish on his face too.He walked up and down the ward again. "It's some kind of misunderstanding..." he said, spreading his hands in bewilderment. "It should be explained that it's a misunderstanding..."

At this moment Ivan Dmitry woke up.He sat up, resting his chin on his fists.He spat.Then he glanced at the doctor with a smile, obviously at first he didn't understand what was going on, but soon his sleepy face showed a malicious mocking expression. "Aha, you're here too, dear!" he said in a sleepy hoarse voice, squinting one eye. "I'm glad. You used to drink other people's blood, and now it's your turn." Someone else drank your blood. Wonderful!" "It's some kind of misunderstanding..." said Andrey Yefimitch.Horrified by Ivan Dmitry's words, he shrugged his shoulders and repeated: "It was a misunderstanding..."

Ivan Dmitry spat again and lay down. "Cursed life!" he grumbled, "which, sadly and humiliatingly, does not end with suffering rewarded, nor with praise, as in the opera, but with death. Someday the handyman will come and grab the body limbs and drag him down to the basement. Pooh! That's all right... We'll be beaming in that world... And my ghost will come back from there to frighten the wicked. I To scare them to death." Mosieka came back, saw the doctor, and held out a hand. "Give me a penny!" he said.