Chapter 9 Chapter 5 The First Cell-First Love-2

Returning from the release to the prison cell is equivalent to a small arrest every time.Even in our magnificent cell, the air seemed to become dull after the release.If only I could have a little something to eat after the wind!But don't, don't think about it!If anyone receives the prison food brought in from outside, he does not know how to measure it, spreads his food in front of him at an inappropriate time, and starts to eat, then he will be in bad luck.It doesn't matter, hone your self-control!If the author of any book tricks you by talking about food with relish-throw this book away!Gogol - Throw it away!Chekhov - throw away too! --Talking too much about food! "He didn't want to eat, but he ate (the son of a bitch!) a veal and sang beer." Read something spiritual!Dostoevsky - this is what prisoners should read!But sorry, this is what he wrote: "The children are starving, and for days they have seen nothing but bread and sausages."

Lubinka's library is its brilliance.True.The librarian was disgusting--a fair-haired, slightly horse-shaped girl who did everything in her power to make herself unattractive, her face powdered and felt like a doll's immobile mask, her lips Purple, and the plucked eyebrows are black (generally, that's her business, but we'd be happier if a pretty girl appeared—perhaps Lubinka's prefect has thought of all this?) .It was wonderful: when she came to pick up the books every ten days, she also listened to our appointments! --Listen with that impersonal Lubinka mechanicalness, you don't know--did she hear the names of the authors?Have you heard any of these titles?Don't even know, did she hear us?gone.We had hours of restless and joyful moments.They spent these hours flipping through and examining the pages of the books we turned in: looking for whether we had left holes or dots under letters (there was such a method of communication in prison), or scratched where we liked with our fingernails. mark.We were uneasy. Although we didn't do this kind of thing, someone would suddenly come and say that we found the circle.And they are always right, and there is always no need for any evidence, so we will be deprived of the right to study for three months, and if we fail, the whole cell will be transferred to confinement treatment.This was the best and brightest month we spent in prison before we fell into the deep pit of the labor camp. It would be a pity if there were no books to read!Yes, we are not only worried, but also jumping in our hearts, as if when we were young, we sent a love letter and waited for an answer: Will there be an answer?What will be the answer?

In the end, the books came, and they decided how to spend the next ten days: whether to put more effort into reading, or because a bunch of boring things were sent, we talked more.There are as many books as there are people in the cell--the bread-cutter's calculation, not the librarian's calculation: one person - one, six people - six.Cells with many people take advantage. Sometimes the girl unexpectedly delivers the book we ordered!But even if appointments are ignored, the results are interesting anyway.Because the library in the Great Lubinka itself is a rarity.Its collections are presumably confiscated private collections; their collectors have gone to God.But the main thing is: the national security organs have been inspecting and castrating all the libraries in the country one by one for decades, but they forgot to check their own arms-so here, in this old den, you can read Works by Zamyatin, Pilnyak, Panteleimon Romanov, and any volume from the complete works of Merezhkovsky (some people joked: We are called dead, so Forbidden books. I think the librarians in Lubinka have no idea what they are showing us—laziness and ignorance).

The hours before lunch were particularly vigorous reading.But one sentence in the book is enough to make you jump up and drive you from window to (edge, door to window. Want to tell others what you read and what you think, and so the argument begins. This is exactly Time to argue sharply! We often had arguments with Yuri Yevtukhovich. On the March morning when the five of us were transferred to the palatial No. 53, a sixth person entered our room. He came in - like a shadow, as if the shoes were silent on the floor.He came in, afraid that he would not be able to stand up, so he leaned his back against the door frame.The lights in the cell had been turned off, and the morning light was dim, but the newcomer didn't open his eyes wide, he squinted them.He was silent.

Judging by the fabric of his uniform and trousers, he could not be regarded as a Soviet soldier, nor a German soldier, nor a Polish or British soldier.The face is long, with little Russian temperament.Look how thin he is!Looks tall because of thinness. We asked him in Russian - he was silent.Suzy asked him in German -- and he was silent.Fastenko asked him in French, in English—he remained silent.Just gradually a smile appeared on his tired, yellow, lifeless face--the only smile I've ever seen in my life! "People"... he said the word faintly, as if he had just woken up from a coma, or as if he had been up all night waiting to be shot.He held out a limp, bony hand.In his hand was a small bundle of rags.Our "eyes and ears" already understood what it was, so we ran over and grabbed the small bundle, opened it on the table - there were 200 grams of light tobacco leaves in there, and immediately rolled a cigarette four times the size for ourselves.

And so Yuri Nikolaevich Yevtukhovich appeared before us after three weeks in an underground isolation chamber. From the period of the Middle East Railway Conflict in 1929, there was a popular song in China: "Hold out your steely chest and sweep away your foes, The 27th Division guards the border! " The commander of the artillery regiment of the 27th Infantry Division created during the civil war was ex-tsarist officer Nikolai Yevtukhovich (I remember the name, I saw it in the author of our artillery textbook).His inseparable wife crossed the Volga and the Urals in a camper van, now heading east, now west.In this campervan, his son Yuri, born in 1917, the same age of the revolution, spent his first few years.

From that distant time, his father settled in Leningrad, taught at the military academy, lived in good conditions and was famous, and his son also graduated from the commanding officer school.During the Finnish War, Yuri scrambled to fight for the motherland, but his father's friends put him in the army headquarters as an adjutant.Although Yuri didn't crawl to the bunkers in Finland, didn't get surrounded during reconnaissance, and didn't freeze in the snow under the sniper bullets, the Order of the Red Banner-it wasn't anything else! -- pinned squarely to his uniform.Thus he ended the Finnish War, thinking it was just, and thinking that he had helped in it.

However, he was not able to do so well in the next war.Yuri, who speaks fluent German, puts him in the uniform of a captured German officer, brings his credentials, and sends him on reconnaissance.He completed his mission and put on a Soviet uniform (taken from the dead) to return to the army, but at this time he became a prisoner of the German army.He was sent to a concentration camp for officers on the outskirts of Vilnius. In every man's life there is an event which determines his whole being--his destiny, his convictions, his passions.Two years of life in this concentration camp changed Yuri inside and out.The facts of this concentration camp can neither be fabricated with ready-made words nor syllogisms prevaricate—one must die in this concentration camp, and if one does not die, conclusions must be drawn from it.

Those who can survive are the battalion police -- the camp police selected from among the captives.Of course Yuri did not go to be a battalion policeman.The cooks survived.Translators can also survive - the German side scours for such talents.Yuri speaks good German, but he doesn't reveal himself.He understood that to be an interpreter he had to betray his own people.He could have staved off his own death by digging graves, but there were stronger and more flexible men than he.Yuri claims to be an artist.Indeed, there were drawing lessons in his multifaceted home education.Yuri's oil paintings are not bad, but because he wanted to imitate his proud father, he didn't go to the Academy of Fine Arts.

He was allocated a small room in the shed with another old painter (unfortunately I can't remember the name), where Uri painted for free for the German administrators - "Nero's Feast", "Elf God" ring dance" and brought him food as a reward.The captured officers have been standing in line with small rice cookers since six o'clock in the morning to receive a bowl of muddy soup. The battalion police beat them with sticks, and the cook beat them with long-handled ladles—and this bowl of muddy soup is not enough to sustain people. of life.What Yuri saw every evening from the window of their small cell was the only picture his brush should paint: the evening mist over the meadows beside the swamp, fenced with barbed wire and lit with fire. There were many bonfires, and around the bonfires—creatures that used to be Russian officers and are now beasts—were gnawing on dead horse bones, baking cakes made of potato skins, smoking horse dung as smoke, and writhing constantly under the bite of lice.The bipeds aren't all dead yet.Nor had they all lost the ability to speak, and the crimson reflections of the campfires showed how belated enlightenment pierced through their "neanderthal" regressed faces.

Hard to swallow bitter water!Yuri saved his life, but life itself has no value for him.He is not one to easily agree to forget.No, he had survived by luck - he should have come to a conclusion. They already know that among the prisoners of all countries, only Soviet prisoners live and die like this—no one suffers worse than Soviet prisoners, and the problem is not with the Germans, or not with the Germans alone.Even the Poles, even the Yugoslavs are treated much better, not to mention the British, the Norwegians - they are surrounded by piles of things from the International Red Cross, things from home, and they just don't go Receive German rations.In several concentration camps next to each other, allied prisoners of war threw alms over the barbed wire to our people out of kindness, and our people rushed forward like a pack of dogs rushing to grab bones. The Russians supported the whole war - and the Russians got this fate.why? It was gradually explained from different aspects: the Soviet Union did not recognize the old Russia's signature on the Hague Prisoners of War Convention, that is to say, it did not undertake any obligations in terms of the treatment of prisoners of war, and did not require the protection of captured nationals.The Soviet Union did not recognize the International Red Cross.The USSR does not recognize its soldiers of yesterday: it does little good to support them as prisoners. As a result, the hearts of the enthusiastic October Revolutionary peers cooled down.In the small room of the shed, he confronted and quarreled with the old painter (Yuri had difficulty understanding and resisted, while the old man uncovered layer by layer).How is this going? --Stalin?But wouldn't it be too much to put everything on Stalin alone, on his two short hands?The conclusion is only half-done - equal to not done.What about the rest?What about those around Stalin, those below, all over the motherland - in general, those who the motherland allows to speak in her name? What if Mother sold us to gypsies, or worse, to wild dogs?Do you still regard her as a mother?If the wife goes to a brothel for prostitution--shall we remain faithfully married to her?The country that betrayed its own soldiers—is this still the country? ... Yuri has completely changed!He had admired his father so much - and now he cursed him!It occurred to him for the first time that his father had essentially betrayed his oath to the army that raised him—betrayed, in order to establish the present system that had betrayed his soldiers.Why should Yuri connect with this betrayal system by oath? When the first batch of recruits from the Belarusian "corps" arrived in the concentration camp in the spring of 1943 - some of them went to save themselves from starvation, but Yevtukhovich did so with determination and determination. A clear understanding to go.But he didn't stay in the regiment for long: if there is no skin, there is no pity for Mao.He no longer concealed that he knew German well, and soon a leader came - a German who lived in the suburbs of Kassel who was ordered to establish a military espionage crash school, and appointed Yuri as his main assistant.Thus begins a depravity that Yuri did not foresee, a beginning that goes against the original intention.Yuri is full of desire to liberate his country - but sent to train spies - the Germans have plans of their own.And where is the limit? ... Where can I stop going any further?Yuri became a lieutenant in the German army.He now travels in Germany in a German uniform, he has been to Berlin, he has interviewed Russian exiles, he has read works by Bunin, Nabokov, Aldanov, and Amphithail Atrov that he could not read before. ... Yuri thinks that the works of all these people, that every page of Bunin's work is the wound of Russia today.But what happened to them?On what have they wasted their inestimable liberty?It is again the body of a woman, the outburst of lust, the afterglow of the setting sun, the beauty of the head of an aristocrat, and an old joke.From what they write, it seems that there has never been a revolution in Russia or that they are too incapable to talk about it.They let Russian youth find their own direction in life.And so Yuri searched up and down, eager to see, eager to know, and at the same time, in accordance with the old Russian tradition, more and more often and more deeply, drowning his conflicted anxiety in vodka. What happened to their spy school?Certainly not an official spy school at all.In six months, students can only be taught skydiving techniques, demolition operations and the use of radio stations.Don't trust them too.They were sent out to assert trust in the Russians.But for those Russian prisoners of war who were dying and no one cares about them, these schools, according to Yuri's opinion, are a good way out: the boys can eat and drink here, wear warm new clothes, and all His pockets were still full of Soviet currency.The cadets (as well as the instructors) made it look like it was going to be like this: They would spy in the rear of the Soviet Union, blow up designated targets, make radio codes, and come back.And they passed by this school just to escape death and captive life, they wanted to live, but not at the cost of shooting their own people on the front line. Of course, our investigative agency does not accept this reason.Family members charged with capital letters are already living well enough in the rear of the Soviet Union, what right do they have to want to live?These lads would not take up the fact that the German carbines were, nor would they admit the point at all.A game of espionage they played, with the heaviest fifty-eight sixes, and plots for sabotage added.That is to say: shut down until you die. After they have passed the battle line, their free choice depends on their habits and knowledge.Tiesti and the radio station, they threw them all away at once.The only difference is: to surrender to the authorities immediately (like the snub-nosed "spy" I saw in the army's counterintelligence service), or to eat, drink and have fun with free money first.It's just that no one went back to the Germans through the front. Suddenly, on New Year's Eve, 1945, a brave lad returned and reported that the mission had been completed (check it out!).This is unusual.The boss was convinced that he was sent back by "Shimiershi" and decided to kill him. (The fate of a devoted spy!) But Yuri insisted that instead he should be rewarded and elevated in front of the cadets.The returned spy invited Yuri to drink with him, and the man, flushed from drinking, leaned over the table and confided in him: "Yuri Nikolaevich! The Soviet command promises to forgive you if you yourself Throw it over to us immediately," Yuri shuddered all over.A warm current melted away the heart that was already as hard as a stone and as dry as ashes.motherland?Damn, unjust, but still so dear fatherland!forgive?Can you go back home?Strolling along Stone Island Street"? What's so strange about that, we are Russians after all! You forgive us, we'll go back, and we'll be wonderful people! ... The year and a half after leaving the concentration camp has brought no happiness to Yuri. He No regrets. But he didn’t see the future either. When he was drinking with Russians who were as panic-stricken as himself, he clearly felt that there was no place for support under his feet. Anyway, this is not a serious life. And now, when the Germans have clearly lost the war, it happens that Yuri has a way out; the boss likes him, and once confided that he has a manor in Spain as a retreat, and when the empire is over, the two We could hide there together. But across the table sat a drunk compatriot who was not afraid to lose his head and persuaded him: "Yuri Nikolayevich!The Soviet Command values ​​your experience and knowledge and would like to learn from you the organizational experience of the German intelligence service..." Yevtukhovich hesitated for two weeks.But when the Soviet army launched an attack on the other side of the Vistula River, on the way to retreat the school to the rear, he ordered the team to turn into a secluded small Polish manor, where he called the whole school to stand in line and announced: "I decided to vote for On the Soviet side, everyone is free to choose!" And these poor, ridiculous punk spies, who an hour ago pretended to be loyal to the German Reich, now cheered happily "Hurrah! Let's go!" His future convict shouts "Hurrah!"...) Thus, their spy schools were all hidden until the arrival of the Soviet tanks, and then the arrival of "Death Ershi".Yuri never saw his companions again.Isolate him alone, ask him to write out the entire history of the school, syllabus, and sabotage tasks within ten days, and he really thinks that "his experience and knowledge..." has even been discussed going home Questions about visiting loved ones. It was only in Lubinka that he realized that even in Salamanca he was closer to his own Neva than now... He could expect to be shot or at any rate not less than twenty years. The temptation of the smoke from the motherland is so irresistible to people.Before the nerves of the teeth are killed, there will always be feelings, and before we swallow arsenic, we will always respond to the call of the motherland.To cure this ailment, the Lotofaji in the Odyssey knew of a lotus seed... Yuri only lived in our cell for a total of three weeks.We have been arguing with him for three weeks.I said that our revolution was very good and just, it was terrible only to distort it in 1929.He looked at me with regret, pursed his nervous lips and said: Before starting the revolution, the bedbugs should be cleaned out in the country! (He and Fastenko were on different paths, but at one point they came together strangely).I said that for a very long time, people who have been in charge of major affairs in our country have been people with lofty minds and a spirit of self-sacrifice.He said - Stalin is a melon on a vine, from the very beginning (as for Stalin being a gangster, I have no disagreement with him).I admire Gorky: what a smart person!What a valid point of view!What a great artist!He retorted: A small, utterly dull character!Make up a self, and make up heroes for the self, and all the books are downright fictions.Leo Tolstoy - is really the king of our literature! Because of these daily disputes, the ones that are easy to be irritable because of youth, I can't get closer to him, and we deny each other more than we understand each other. He was taken from our cell, and since then, no matter how many times I have asked, I have not heard of anyone who rode with him in Butirka or saw him at the deportation station.Even ordinary Vlasovites have disappeared somewhere without a trace, probably into the ground, and some of them have not yet received a permit to leave the northern wilderness.The fate of Yuri Yevtukhovich was not ordinary among them either. The term "Vlasovite" here and below is used in the vague but firm sense that it has had since its emergence and establishment in the Soviet language, it cannot be precisely defined, look for this Definitions are dangerous for unofficials, and inappropriate for official ones: "Vlasovites" generally refer to Soviets who took arms and took sides with the enemy in this war.Years and writings will be needed before the concept can be analyzed and divided into different categories, then what will remain are the "Vlasovites" in the true sense - that is, General Vlasov, who has been captured by Germany since he was captured by Germany A supporter or subordinate from the time the anti-Bolshevik movement made its name.In certain months of the war such supporters amounted to no more than a few hundred, and the Vlasov corps itself, with its unified command system, was virtually not established in the future.But in December 1942 the Germans played a propaganda trick: they published the news of the (never held) "founding meeting" of the "Russian Committee" in Smolensk, which seemed to want to It seems to be something like the Russian government, but it doesn't seem to be. The news is ambiguous-only the names of Lieutenant General Vlasov and Major General Malyshkin are mentioned.The Germans could of course play the game of first announcing, then canceling, and then doing the opposite,--but the leaflet floated down from the plane, landed on the ground ahead of us, and landed in our memory ---"Vlasov's" committee naturally brought the concept of a movement, the concept of an armed force, and when our compatriots with weapons began to appear in the German army-Russian or national troops, The only word we know, "Vlasovites," is pasted on their heads, and our political instructors do not prevent us from doing so.Thus the whole movement was falsely but firmly associated with Vlasov's name. How many of our compatriots have taken up arms against such armed forces in their own country? "No less than 800,000 Soviet citizens joined militant organizations against the Soviet state" - a researcher (Thorwaid--"Wensieverderbenwoien", Stuttgart, 1952) said.Others estimate roughly the same (such as SvenSteenberg - "Wiassow-VerrateroderPatriot?" - Koin, 1968).The difficulty of ascertaining an exact figure was partly due to struggles between factions of the German administration and military command, and the lower establishment, which had a realistic attitude to the course of the war, demanded that the number be reduced so that the upper levels would not be confronted by anti-Bolshevik but not pro-German forces. fear of growth.All this was long before the formation of the independent "Russian Liberation Army" in late 1944. At last the time for Lubinka to eat lunch came.Early on we heard the merry sound of dishes clinking in the hallway, and then, as if in a restaurant, two aluminum plates (not bowls) were brought to each person on a tray: a spoonful of soup and a spoonful of very rare glutinous rice. Oil porridge. In the initial state of anxiety, the person under investigation could not swallow anything, and some did not touch the bread for days and nights, not knowing where to put it.But my appetite gradually recovered, and then I was often in a state of hunger, even reaching the level of greed.Later, if you can restrain yourself, the stomach shrinks and adapts to eating less—a poor diet here even becomes just right.This requires self-education, abandoning the habit of squinting at people who eat more, and absolutely avoiding the kind of spiritual dinners in prison that are pregnant with dangerous consequences.Go as high as you can.This was easier to do in Lubinka, where two hours of lying down after lunch was allowed—an excellent sanatorium rule, too.We lay with our backs to the swing door, pretended to put an open book on, and dozed off.Sleeping was originally forbidden, and the guards also saw books that had not been turned over for a long time, but they usually did not knock on the door during these two hours. (The reason for this humane attitude is that people who should not be sleeping are being interrogated during the day at this time. For the recalcitrant who refuses to sign the transcript, this practice makes him feel even stronger. The contrast: returned from interrogation, And nap time is over here.) Sleep - this is the antidote to hunger and sorrow: the body doesn't burn calories, and the mind doesn't ruminate over your mistakes. Then came dinner—another spoonful of porridge.Life is eager to lay all its gifts before you.Now, five or six hours before lights out, you don't have anything to put in your mouth anymore, but it's not scary anymore, and it's easy to get used to not wanting to eat at night--military medicine has long known this, and in the reserve regiment There is no price at night. Then it's time for the late relief, a moment you've probably been waiting all day with trepidation.How easy the whole world suddenly became!All the big problems in the world suddenly become simple -- do you feel that? Light Lubinka evenings! (It's only light, though, if you're not waiting for the nocturnal interrogation.) Light body, the daily gruel satisfies it just enough that the soul doesn't feel its oppression.What an easy and free thought!We seem to have ascended to the summit of Sinai, where truth is revealed to us in flames.Is this the realm that Pushkin yearns for: "I want to live, to think and to suffer!" We are suffering, we are thinking, we have nothing else in our lives.But reaching this ideal state turned out to be so easy... Of course we also argued at night, leaving behind the chess game with Suzi and the books.The most intense conflict.It's me and E again, because the questions are all explosive, for example -- about the end of the war.Lo and behold, the guard came in without a word or expression, and lowered the blue camouflage curtain on the window.Now, behind the second curtain, Moscow in the evening salutes again.We can see neither the sky full of fireworks nor the map of Europe, but try to draw a detailed picture in our heads and guess which cities have been taken.These salutes especially made Yuri uncomfortable.As if calling upon fate to correct his mistakes, he insisted that the war was by no means ending, that the Red Army was about to clash with the British and Americans, and that only then would the real war begin.The people in the cell were very interested in this prophecy.What is the ending?In the end, Yuri vouched, the Red Army was easily routed (does it mean we were liberated? or shot?).I strongly disagreed with this, and we had a particularly heated argument.His reasoning - our army is exhausted, bloodied, poorly equipped and, above all, less determined to fight the Allies.Taking the example of the troops with which I was acquainted, I insisted that it was not so much exhausted as that it had gained experience and was now strong and fierce, and that it would be more straightforward on this occasion than to fight the Germans. The Allied forces were defeated. "Never!" Yuri shouted (but in a low voice). "And Ardennes?" I yelled too (lower).Fastenko cuts in and laughs at us, saying neither of us understands the West, and that there is absolutely no one who can compel the Allies to fight us now. But at night, after all, I don't want to argue so much. I want to listen to something interesting, even something harmonious, and everyone can talk in harmony. One of the most beloved topics in prisons is talking about prison traditions and how it used to be.We have Fastenko, so what we hear is first-hand.What touched us the most was that in the past, being a political prisoner was a kind of pride. Not only did the real relatives not disassociate themselves from them, but also some strangers came to visit the prison pretending to be fiancées.What about the old-fashioned tradition of giving convicts gifts on holidays?In Russia no family breaks the fast without first giving the anonymous prisoners something to share.Send Christmas ham, pies, scones, and sweet rolls.A poor old woman will also take ten colored eggs, and she will feel relieved in her heart.Where did this Russian benevolence go?It was replaced by self-consciousness!Our people are so terrified, so hopelessly terrified, that they don't care about those who are suffering.Now this has become anecdotal.Now you're going to propose at some institution a pre-show donation for the local prison inmates - that'll be considered almost an anti-Soviet riot!Look how brutish we are! What do these holiday gifts mean to the prisoners!Is it just delicious food?They make one feel warm and that outsiders are thinking of you and caring about you. Fastenko told us that there was also a political Red Cross society in the Soviet period--it's not that we don't believe what he said, but it's a little hard to imagine.He said that Peshkova used her inviolable status to go abroad many times to raise money there (not much in our country), and then bought food in the country for political prisoners who had no relatives.For all political prisoners?To clarify right away: no, not to counter-revolutionaries (for example, this means not to engineers, not to priests), but only to members of past parties.That's the case, so let's just say it straight! ... However, members of the Political Red Cross, except for Peshkova, were basically imprisoned one by one... There was another topic of conversation that I was happy to talk about in the evening when I was not waiting for the trial - about the release.Yes, it is said that there are such strange things as releasing prisoners.Ze Yifu was taken away from us with something-maybe it was released?The investigation could not have ended so quickly. (Ten days later he came back: dragged him to Lefortovo. It seems that he signed there quickly and sent him back here) Well, listen, if you let go --Didn't you say that your case is trivial? --You must go to my wife's place, and when you see her, ask her to make a secret sign in the prison meal, for example, put two apples... --There are no apples anywhere now--then three Let's get a bagel—maybe you can't buy bagels in Moscow—well, let's put four potatoes (it's an agreement. Later, H really took the things and left, and M also got them in the prison meal Four potatoes. Astonishing! Fabulous! He was released, and his case was much more serious than mine--so I might be sooner, too?... Actually it was only the fifth potato that fell on Mrs. M. in his bag, while H was already locked up in the hold of the steamer for Kolyma). We just gossip like this, reminiscing about some ridiculous incident—you feel pleasant and comfortable among these interesting people who are not at all in your circle of life, not in your sphere of experience at all—and with At the same time, the late roll call has passed without a sound, and the glasses have been put away--the light blinked three times.That is to say - it's bedtime in five minutes! Hurry up, hurry up, get under the covers!It's like being on the front line, not knowing whether the shells will fall on you like a storm in a minute or a minute--I, OJ, can't predict whether I will face you here!A fateful interrogation night is idle.We lie down and put one hand on top of the covers, and we try to get all kinds of thoughts out of our heads.sleep! One evening in April, shortly after we had seen Yevtukhovich off, at such a moment our door rang.My heart contracted: who is it called?Now the guard will call with a hissing voice: "The ones starting with C!", "The ones starting with 3!".But the guard made no hiss.The door opened.We look up.A newcomer stood by the door: thin, young, wearing a simple blue dress and a blue peaked cap.He has nothing.He still looked around in a daze. He asked anxiously, "Which cell?" "Number fifty-three." He shuddered. We asked, "From outside?" He shook his head painfully and said, "No--yes..." "When were you arrested?" "Yesterday morning." We laughed.He had a rather silly, soft face, with eyebrows that were almost entirely white. "for what?" (This is a dishonest question, and an answer to it cannot be expected.) "I don't know... just like that, for a little thing..." Everyone answered that way, and everyone went to jail for little things.Especially the person under investigation always feels that the case is trivial. "Then why?" "I... wrote an appeal. To the Russian people." "W-what???" (We've never had such a "little thing" before!) "Will it be shot?" -- His face elongated.He grabbed the brim of the peaked cap that he had not taken off all the time and pulled it back and forth. 我们安慰说；"大概不会吧；现在谁也不枪毙。十年是准的。" 我们那位忠于阶级原则的社会民主党人问他："你是工人？职员？" "工人。" 法斯坚科伸出了一只手，胜利地对我感叹说： "瞧见了吧，工人阶级的情绪！" 说完便回过身去睡了，以为到此为止再也没有什么可听的了。 But he was wrong. "怎么会这样--无缘无故来个号召书？用谁的名义？" "用我自己的名义。" "你是什么人呀？" 新来的人抱歉地微笑了一下，然后说： "米哈伊尔皇帝。"好像一粒火星烧穿了我们的皮肉。我们在床上坐起身来，仔细瞧瞧。他那腼腆的瘦脸丝毫也不像米哈伊尔?罗曼诺夫。年龄也…… "明天再说，明天再说，睡觉吧！"--苏济严厉地说。 我们朦胧入睡了，预感到明天早上吃干粮前的两小时是不会寂寞的。 给皇上也拿进了一张床和被褥，于是他便悄悄地在马桶近旁躺下了。 一千九百一十六年，莫斯科火车司机别洛夫家里，进来了一个长着淡褐色胡子的身材高大的陌生老头儿，对司机的笃信上帝的妻子说："佩拉格娅！你有个一岁的儿子。为上帝好好保护他。时间一到，我会再来。"说完就走了。 这个老头是谁--佩拉格娅不知道，但他说得那么清楚，那么威严，他的话征服了母亲的心。于是她对这个孩子疼得比保护眼睛还厉害。维克多长成了一个安静的、听话的、虔信的人，他常常看见天使和圣母的幻影。后来少了些。老头儿再也没有出现。维克多学会了开汽车，一九三六年他应征入伍，分配到比罗比詹，在汽车连服役。他完全不是一个放肆的人，也许正是这种不像司机的文静性格把一个在部队里当雇员的姑娘迷住了，因而挡了追求这个姑娘的自己排长的道。在这个时候，布柳赫尔元帅前来视察他们的演习，他的司机忽然得了重病。布柳赫尔命令汽车连长给他派去一个连里最好的司机，连长把排长叫来，这个排长马上想到把自己的情敌别洛夫塞给元帅（在军队里常常这样：提拔的并不是有条件的人，而是想甩掉的人）。何况别洛夫是一个不喝酒的、干活卖力的人，不会捅漏子的。 别洛夫中了布柳赫尔的意，便留在他那里了。不久，布柳赫尔被像煞有介事地召到莫斯科去（用这个办法在逮捕前把布柳赫尔和听他话的远东地区分开了），他把自己的司机也带到了那里。别洛夫失去了头头以后，进了克里姆林宫的汽车队，有时给米哈伊洛夫（共青团）开车，有时给洛佐夫斯基开车，还给什么人开过，最后是给赫鲁晓夫开车。在这里别洛夫看够了（给我们讲了好多）那些宴会、风习、警戒措施。作为普通的莫斯科无产阶级的代表，他在工会大厦旁听过对布哈林的审判。说起自己的那些主子，他只对赫鲁晓夫一个表示了一点好感：只有在他家里，让司机与全家同桌吃饭，而不是在厨房里单独吃；在那些年代只有在他家里还保留了工人的朴实作风。乐观愉快的赫鲁晓夫也喜欢上了维克多?阿列克谢耶维奇，一九三八年调到乌克兰去的时候很想带他一起走。维克多?阿列克谢耶维奇说："早知这样一辈子也不会离开赫鲁晓夫。"但有点什么事情使他在莫斯科留了下来。 在一九四一年，战争快开始的时候，他工作上有一段间断，他不在政府汽车队里工作了。于是兵役局马上把他这个失去后台的人征召入伍。他由于体质弱没有上前线，而分到了工人营--先是步行到英查，在那里挖掘战壕，修筑道路。在最近几年无忧无虑的温饱生活后--这日子使他简直吃不消。他尝够了穷困和痛苦，他在周围看到，人民在战争发生前不仅没有生活得好些，反而更加穷苦了。自己好不容易保全了性命，因病退伍回到了莫斯科，在这里又找到了差事：给谢尔巴科夫开车，后来给石油人民委员谢金开车。但谢金侵吞了公款（总共三千五百万）被悄悄地撤了，而别洛夫不知什么原因又失去了在领导人身边的工作。于是他就上汽车场当司机，空闲的时间在莫斯科与红巴赫拉之间捞点外快。 但他的思想已经在考虑别的事了。一九四三年他住在母亲那里，一天她正洗着衣服，拿了桶出去到水龙头那里接水。这时，门开了，屋里走进一个长着白胡须的身材高大的陌生老头。他对着圣像划了十字，威严地看了别洛夫一眼说："你好，米哈伊尔，上帝祝福你。"别洛夫回答："我是维克多。"老头儿坚持说："你将成为米哈伊尔--神圣俄罗斯的皇帝！"这时母亲送来了，一见就吓软了，把桶里的水溅了一地：这就是那个二十七年前来过的老头儿，须发白了，但正是他。老头儿说："让上帝保佑你吧，佩拉格娅，你把儿子保全了。"说毕就同未来的皇帝撇开旁人去密谈，像总主教扶持他登基一样。他告诉这个惊震不已的年轻人说，一九五三年将要改朝换代，他将成为全俄罗斯的皇帝。（所以五十三号监狱那么使他吃惊！）为此在一九四八年应当开始积聚力量。老头子没有接着教他怎样积聚力量就走了，而维克多也没有来得及问。 现在已经没有安生日子过了！换个别人也许早就丢开了这种力不胜任的意图，但恰好维克多在那种地方，在最高层人士中间厮混过，常见到这些米哈伊洛夫们、谢尔巴科夫们、谢金们，从别的司机那里听过好多事，并且弄明白了，这里完全不需要什么不同寻常的才能，甚至是恰恰相反。 刚行过登基涂油礼的皇帝是安详的，有良心的，富于同情心的，像留里克朝最后一个皇帝费多尔?伊凡诺维奇那样，感到皇冠沉重地紧箍在自己头上。周围是贫困和人民的痛苦，在此以前是不由他负责的--现在却压在他的双肩上，这种状况继续一日，他便应负其咎。他感到奇怪--为什么要等到一九四八年，于是在那个四三年的秋天他就写了自己的第一个告俄国人民的宣言，并念给了石油人民委员部汽车队的四名工作人员听…………我们从早上起就把维克多?阿列克谢耶维奇围了起来，他态度谦和地告诉了我们一切。我们过分被不平常的故事所吸引，没有留意他那幼稚的轻信态度，因此--出于我们的过错！-一没有来得及防备"耳目"。而且我们脑子里也没有想到，他在这里对我们做的朴质的陈述，还会包含着一些侦查员不完全知道的材料！……故事讲完以后，克拉马连科不知是要"上典狱长那里去拿烟叶"，还是要去看病，要求出去，总之很快就把他传去了。他到上头去把石油人民委员部的这四个人给兜了出来，这本来永远不会有人知道的……（第二天，别洛夫提审回来，表示奇怪，侦查员是从哪里得知了这些人的。这才把我们惊醒了……）……石油人民委员都这几个人读了宣言，都表示赞同--而且谁也没有告发皇上！但他自己感到，这--过早了！过早了！于是就把宣言烧了。 过了一年。维克多在汽车场车库当机修工。一九四四年秋天他又写了一个宣言，给十个人--司机和钳工读了。大家都赞同！而且谁也没有出卖！（十个人里没有一个人，在那告密盛行的时代--真是罕见的现象！法斯坚科关于"工人阶级的情绪"的结论没有错。）诚然，皇上同时也耍了一些天真的花招：暗示他在政府里有得力的靠山；答应给自己的拥护者们出差的机会，以便去团结地方上的保皇势力。 过了几个月。皇上把机密又透露给车库里的两个姑娘。这可就走了火--姑娘们原来都是有高度觉悟的！维克多的心马上像被揪住了，感到灾祸临头。在报喜节"后的星期天，他在市场上走，身上带着宣言。一个同谋的老工人碰到他，对他说："维克多！你最好先烧了那张纸吧！How about it? "维克多也尖锐地感到：是呀，写早了！该烧掉！"不错，现在就去烧掉。 "于是他便回家去烧。但是，市场上立刻有两个讨人喜欢的年轻人叫住了他："维克多?阿列克谢耶维奇！跟我们坐车走一趟吧！ "他们用小汽车把他带到了卢宾卡。这里是那么紧张忙乱，以至忘了按常规搜身，因而提供了一个时机--皇上差点儿没有把自己的宣言在厕所里销毁，但一想，他们会更加纠缠：藏到哪里去了？藏到哪儿去了？便作罢了。直接带他乘电梯上楼到了将军和上校那里，将军亲手从他那鼓鼓囊囊的口袋里掏出了宣言书。 然而，大卢宾卡只作了一次审讯就放了心；原来没有什么了不起的事。汽车场车库里抓了十个。石油人民委员部里抓了四个。接着就把侦查任务交给了一个中校，这个中校嘻嘻哈哈地分析着号召书的内容： "陛下：您这里写着：我将谕令我的农业大臣开春以前解散集体农庄--但是怎样分配农具呢？您在这里没有明确规定……然后您写道：我要加强住宅建设，让每个人住到他工作地点附近，提高工人工资……陛下，您哪儿来的本钱？票子全靠在机器上印吧？您又把公债废除了！……还有：把克里姆林宫全部平毁。但您把自己的政府安顿在什么地方呢？譬如说，大卢宾卡的房子您还满意吗？想不想去瞧瞧？……" 年轻的侦查员们也跑去嘲笑全俄的皇帝。他们除了可笑的东西外，什么也没有察觉。 我们在监室里也不是总能克制住微笑。泽一夫向我们挤眉弄眼说："我希望到了一九五三年您不会忘记我们吧？" 大家取笑他…… 白眉毛的、傻里傻气的、双手长满老茧的维克多?阿列克谢维奇收到他那倒霉的母亲佩拉格哑送来的土豆，就不分你我地请我们吃："吃吧，吃吧，同志们……" 他腼腆地微笑。他很清楚，这是多么不合时宜和可笑--当全俄的皇帝。但是，有什么办法呢，如果上帝的选择落到了他的身上？ 不久，就把他从我们的监室里带走了严 快到五一的时候，从窗上取下了灯火伪装。战争眼见得要结束了。 那天傍晚，卢宾卡是从未有过的宁静。正好碰上是复活节的第二天，节日交错在一起了。侦查员们都在莫斯科游逛，谁也没有被叫去受侦查。在寂静中听得见有一个什么人在抗议什么事情。把他从监室里拉出来送进了隔离室（我们凭听觉可以感觉到所有门的位置），隔离室的门开着，在那里打了他很长时间。在一片寂静中，清清楚楚地听得见打在身上和急得说不出话来的嘴巴上的每一击。 五月二日莫斯科放了三十响礼炮，这意味着--又拿下了欧洲的一个首都。还没拿下的首都只剩下两个了--布拉格和柏林，需要从这两个中间去猜测。 五月九日，午饭与晚饭一起送来，在卢宾卡只有五月一日和十一月七日才这样做。 只是根据这一点，我们才猜到战争已经结束。 晚上，又一次放了三十响的礼炮。没有拿下的首都一个也不剩了。当晚又放了一次礼炮--好像是四十响的--这已经是最终的结局了。 通过我们的窗户和卢宾卡其他监室以及莫斯科所有监狱窗户的笼口上面的空间，我们这些过去的俘虏和过去的前线军人，也望着那焰火纷飞的、被一道道探照灯光划破的莫斯科天空。 鲍里斯?加麦罗夫是一个年纪很轻的反坦克手，他因为重残（肺部受了不能治愈的伤）而退伍复员，现在和一批大学生一起被捕入狱。这天傍晚，他蹲在一间人数众多的布蒂尔卡监室里，那间屋里有一半人是当过俘虏的人和前线军人。他用寥寥的八行诗，用最日常的语句，描写了这最后的一次礼炮：诗里讲他们如何已经在板铺上躺下，盖上了军大衣，如何被吵醒；抬起头来，眯着眼睛望了望笼口：噢，放礼炮，便又躺下了。 "又盖上了军大衣。" 就是那些沾满了战壕泥土、青火灰烬、被德国弹片撕破的军大衣。 那个胜利不是我们的。那个春天不是我们的。