Chapter 41 2

He has really been to many places and seen many worlds.He was not yet fifty years old, and he was still very strong.There was only one oddity: as a major general of the Air Force, he never talked about a combat flight of his own, not even a normal flight.However, according to him, he served as the head of the Chinese Air Force procurement mission to the United States during the war.The United States had clearly amazed him, and he had come home with a rewarding experience from there.Belyaev never downplayed the exact reason for his arrest, but it clearly had something to do with this trip to the United States or what he said about it. "Otsep advised me to go the same way,--(That is to say, the defense lawyer repeated what the investigator said.) But I said, let them double the sentence, I have nothing to do!" To the authorities he was indeed innocent of any crime, which is to be believed; instead of being doubled, his sentence was halved—five years.Even sixteen-year-olds with imprudent mouths were sentenced to more than that.

Looking at this man and listening to him, I often think: "It's still the same today!" This was already after rough fingers tore off his epaulets (I imagine how he cowered back then!), after After the body search, after the isolation room, after the "crow car", after "turn your back!"He still doesn't allow anyone to talk back about even small things, let alone big things (he doesn't even talk about big things with us, except for one Zinoviev. None of us deserve it).But I don't see him once being able to listen to an opinion that wasn't already published by him.He simply does not have the ability to accept any papers!He already knew it all before we had any arguments.What was he like when he was the head of the purchasing group, the Soviet envoy to the West?It must be a well-dressed, mysterious white-faced sphinx, the symbol of "New Russia" in the eyes of Westerners.What if you ask him for something?What if you stick your head into his office with a request?God knows how he'll growl!God knows how capable he will be!If he came from a military family, such things would be understandable.But not so!This self-confidence as high as the Himalayas was acquired by the first generation of Soviet generals.In the Red Army during the Civil War he was still a bark shoe-wearing brat who couldn't even sign his own name.Where did you learn this so quickly? ... This is because he has always been in a special circle-even when he takes the train, even when he lives in a sanatorium, he is always among his own group, and he is always inside the big iron gate with a pass.

What about those other people?It seems that there are more similarities with him than differences.What if the truth that "the sum of the angles of a triangle equals 180" hinders their mansion, official title, and chance to go abroad?They'll chop off the heads of people who draw triangles!They will tear down the triangular gables of houses!They'll issue a decree that only measures angles in arcs. Sometimes I think, what about myself?Will it take twenty years to turn me into such a general?entirely possible. I took a closer look: Alexander Ivanovic is not a bad guy at all.He laughs kindly as he reads Gogol.If he's in a good mood, he can still make us laugh out loud.His sarcasm is intelligent.If I wanted to cultivate hatred for him in myself, I'm afraid I couldn't do it while we were lying side by side in our own beds.No, his path to becoming a thoroughly good man was not sealed.But he had to go through a lot of suffering, a lot of suffering.

Pavel Nikolaevich Zinoviev did not go to the canteen for the prisoners, and he also wanted to arrange for his family to bring him lunch in a vacuum flask.To fall behind Belyayev, to be inferior to him--was worse than being cut by a knife.But the situation was more serious: Belyaev's property was not confiscated, while Zinoviev's property was partially confiscated.His cash and savings were all cleaned up, leaving only a luxurious high-end residence.But he can tell us enough about this dwelling!He talked again and again, and one lecture lasted for a long time, describing every detail of the bathroom with relish, knowing what kind of enjoyment his introduction would bring us.He even has a motto. "The value of a person over the age of forty is determined by the house." (He said all this when Belyaev was not present, because that person might not even listen, that person might open the Chatterbox, but not about the house, because he considers himself an intellectual. He would rather talk about the Sultan again.) But according to Pavel Nikolaevich, the wife was sick and the daughter had to work, so No one sent the vacuum flask.The prison meal brought to him every Sunday is also very meager.He had to endure his current situation with the pride of a ruined nobleman.He still didn't go to the cafeteria, because he couldn't get used to the filth there and the rude people who slurped their mouths while eating, but he still asked Prokhorov to bring him to this room regardless of the soup and porridge. , warm on an electric stove here.He also wanted to cut off a layer on all six sides of the bread, but he had no other bread, so he had to patiently hold the bread and bake it on the electric stove. Microorganisms on hands.He doesn't go to the cafeteria, and sometimes he can even give up the vegetable soup, but he still lacks the pride of the nobleman enough to prevent him from begging politely in this room: "Can you give me a small piece? I haven't eaten this in a long time." It's..."

As long as nothing was in his way, he was ostentatiously gentle and polite.Side by side with Belyaev's needless rudeness, his politeness was particularly striking.He was a very reserved man, both inwardly and outwardly.Eat slowly, eat carefully, and move carefully, like a living member of Chekhov's camp.It is so realistic that there is no need to describe other parts, everything is like Chekhov's handwriting, the only difference is that he is not a school teacher, but a general of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.At the moment when Pavel Nikolayevich was going to use the electric stove, you couldn't take a second.Under his snake-like gaze, you will immediately withdraw your small pot. If you don't, he may say something nasty right away.During the long roll call in the courtyard during the day on Sunday, I sometimes try to bring a book (stay away from literature, and bring physics every time) and read it secretly behind people's backs.Oh, what pain this indiscipline caused Pavel Nikolayevich!Actually reading in the queue!Read books in the divine queue!It was clearly showing off his provocation on purpose, showing off his unscrupulousness.He didn't stop me directly, but stared at me like this, curled his lips at me in pain, grunted, yelled, and as a result, the other servants got bored with my reading, so I had to give up the book, every time Standing for an hour in vain like a fool (you can't read in the room, you have to listen to the chat).Once, a female accountant in the engineering office was late for the team, and the departure time of the handyman team to the work area was delayed by five minutes.The team should have been at the head of the work queue, but now they are at the tail.This is a common thing, and the dispatched workers and guards didn't even pay attention.But Zinoviev, wearing a special blue-gray fine tweed army coat, buttoning up a protective bag with a red star and a pair of glasses, hissed angrily at the latecomers. Voice: "What the hell are you going to be late for?! We can't leave because of you!!" (He couldn't keep silent anymore! He couldn't get angry for five minutes! He fell ill!) The woman twisted suddenly Turning her head, her eyes gleaming with pleasure, she returned him and said: "Sycophant! What! Chichikov (why Chichikov? Probably confused with Belikov...), close your Let's make a hole..." He said a lot more, and if he went on, it would be time to swear.She only used her sharp teeth and didn't raise her hand--but it looked like she was slapping him, because his milky white girlish skin was flecked with red and white.Ears turned purple, lips twitched.He was furious, but he couldn't say another word, and he didn't raise his hand in defense.That day he complained to me, "I can't help my unchangeable Yitongzi temper! I can't lose the habit of discipline here. I have to give advice to others and strengthen the discipline around me."

He was always restless when he was standing in line early; he was eager to rush to the work place as soon as possible.As soon as the handyman team stepped into the work area, he rushed to the front of the rushing people back and forth, and almost ran into the office.Did he want the officers to see it?It doesn't make much sense.Is it for the prisoners to see how busy he is at work? -- that's part of the reason.And the main, most real reason was to get out of the crowd, out of the camp as quickly as possible, and shut myself up in a small, quiet room in the planning section, where... there was no way to do what Vasily Vlasov did. , never thinking about saving the fellow sufferers in the homework class, but dawdling around, smoking, fantasizing about another amnesty, imagining myself sitting at another desk, in another office, with several bells ringing, There are several telephones, there are servile female secretaries, and there are visitors who stand upright.

We know very little about him.He doesn't like to talk about the past of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, whether it is the level, position or nature of work.This is the general "shyness" of former Ministry of Internal Affairs personnel.But the military overcoat on his body is exactly the blue-gray one described by the authors of the book "Baibo Canal".It did not occur to him when he entered the labor camp to remove the blue piping from his uniform jacket and trousers.During the two years of his imprisonment, he had never even touched the edge of the real tiger's mouth in the labor camp, nor had he even smelled the abyss of the archipelago.Sending him to the present camp was, of course, his choice: his house was just a few trolley bus stops from the camp, near Kaluga Square.He didn't realize that he had fallen to the bottom, and he didn't realize how hostile the people around him were now, so he sometimes leaked a little inside the room: one day he said that he talked to Kruglov (who was not the Minister of Internal Affairs at that time) ) is very familiar, and another time he said that he would be very familiar with Frenkel and Zavinia, and he was talking about the big bosses of the Gulag.It was once mentioned that during the war he led the construction of a long section of the Syzran-Saratov railway, so to speak in Gurzhedes (General Administration of Railway Construction Labor Camps) in Frenkel Pass. What might the word "leadership" imply?He is no engineer.So the director of the labor camp management bureau?Another lovely Klein Michael?It is from such a peak that he suddenly falls to the level of an ordinary prisoner with a bruised nose and a swollen face.His problem was Article 109. For the Ministry of Internal Affairs, this meant accepting bribes that exceeded the level allowed.Because he was one of his own people, he was sentenced to seven years in prison. (This shows that the bribe he accepted was enough to serve a twenty-year sentence.) According to Stalin's amnesty, the remaining sentence of his sentence was cut in half, and he will have to sit for a little more than two years in the future.But he was very sad - as sad as if he had been sentenced to a full ten years.

The only window in our room faced Neskucciny Park.Not far from the window, the treetops slightly below the window were swaying in the wind.The scenery is constantly alternating here; snowstorm, thaw, new green.When Pavel Nikolayevich was not stimulated but felt a little sad, he often stood by the window, looked at the park, and sang a song with a soft and pleasant voice; O sleep, sleep, my heart! Don't wake up the past. Do you think it's strange? -- Yan Ran, a very lovely gentleman sitting in the living room.But what a prisoner's burial pit he left along his embankment! ... Hanskucciny Park is near the corner of our camp. There are several small mounds separating visitors. It is a very hidden place, if you don’t count us who have shaved heads and can see it from the window.On May Day, a lieutenant brought a girl in a flowered braj to this hideaway, where they avoided the park visitors and treated us as indifferently as they would a cat or dog.The officer spread his girlfriend on the ground, and the woman was not a shy one.

Never call again for what is gone forever, The love of the past is no longer nostalgic. The whole of our little room is like a miniature model.The officers and generals of the Ministry of the Interior completely dominated us.Only with their permission we can use the electric stove (it belongs to the people) when they are not in use.It was up to them to decide everything: to ventilate or not to ventilate the room, where to put the shoes, where to hang the trousers, when to stop talking, when to sleep, and when to wake up.A few steps down the corridor is the door of the Grand Steering Room, which is the noisy republic, where all authority is scolded for shit; but here we are privileged, we rely on privilege, and we also You must do your best to obey the law.I haven't said a word since I got kicked into the petty paint class: I'm a proletarian, and any minute could push me into the big room.Farmer Prokhorov is nominally the "little captain" of the production handyman, but he is actually asked to take the position of a waiter-taking bread, serving small pots, negotiating with guards and duty officers, in short, doing all the lowly work. (this is the farmer who feeds two generals), so people like us can only obey two dictators.But where is the great Russian intelligentsia?What are they looking at?

Dr. Pravkin I (whose last name is not invented by me!) neuropathologist, labor camp doctor, is seventy years old this year, which shows that he was already in his forties when the revolution came, and he was a man of Russian thought. In the most beautiful era in the world, a mature person under the influence of the spirit of conscience, honor, and love for the people.See what appearance he has!Gray silver hair fluttered on the awe-inspiring and huge head, and the shaving clippers in the labor camp did not dare to touch it (this is the preferential treatment of the head of the health department Enzhun).His portrait would grace the covers of the world's leading medical journals!Any country that has such a minister of health will not feel shabby!His big, stately nose lends full confidence to his diagnosis.His every move was dignified and poised.The doctor's body is so majestic that the single iron bed can hardly accommodate it, and part of it has to be hung outside.

I don't know what kind of neuropathologist he is.Probably a good doctor.But it must be in a loose and harmonious era, and it must not be working in a national hospital, but operating at home.The oak door is nailed with a bronze plaque, and the big chime clock sitting against the wall makes a melodious whistle.Take your time, obey nothing but your own conscience.However, after that, he was really terrified, so scared that he never recovered from it for the rest of his life.I don't know if he's ever been in prison before, taken him with him during the Civil War (no surprise there).But without a pistol to his forehead, it was enough to frighten him out of his wits.Just let him do these things: let him go to work in the outpatient department, where he is required to see nine patients in an hour, just enough time to tap his knee with a mallet; let him be a member of the "Labour Medical Appraisal Committee" , as well as members of the sanatorium area committee, and members of the military service committee, who have to sign, sign, and sign all kinds of documents everywhere, and at the same time know that every sign may lose their heads. Yes, but you still have to keep signing: sick notes, medical certificates, expert certificates, doctor's certificates, medical records.Each signature invites a Hamletian distress: to give or not to give?Is it suitable for the current job or not?Sick or not?The patient begs you on one side, and the officer presses you on the other.The doctor who was overly frightened was at a loss, hesitated, trembled all over, and often took regret medicine. But that’s when it’s still out and about, and it’s still sweet treats!Since he was caught wearing the hat of "enemy of the people", he was frightened by the investigators to have a fatal myocardial infarction (I imagine how many people would be dragged in by him since he was so frightened, I am afraid that the entire medical research institute has been arrested. He got involved) After that, look what kind of person he has become now!An ordinary routine inspection by the head of the health department (a free man, an old alcoholic who has never studied medicine) will make Pravkin panic to such an extent that he can't even read the Russian characters on the patient's card up.He was now ten times more indecisive.In the labor camp, he was completely at a loss. He didn't even know if he could take sick leave when his temperature reached 37.7.What if I get scolded?Will definitely run back to our house to discuss.Whenever he is praised by the labor camp commander or even ordinary guards, he can live in a stable and stable state for a day.For twenty-four hours after the compliment he seemed to feel safe, the panic that had lingered since the next morning crept back upon him.Once the battalion dispatched a batch of urgent prisoners, because they were in such a hurry that they didn’t have time to take a bath (they were lucky if they were not driven into a cold bath room naked). He wrote a certificate of sanitization of the released prisoner. Plavkin obeyed as usual, but look what happened to him afterward! Once in the house he fell on the bed as if his leg had been cut off , put his hands on his heart, groaning. He didn't listen to our comfort at all. We fell asleep, he smoked one by one, went to the toilet. Finally, in the middle of the night, he put on his clothes and looked like a madman He went to discuss with the watchman on duty. This watchman was nicknamed "Little Man", an illiterate erect ape-man, except that there was a little red star on his hat. He asked him what would happen now? If he committed this crime, he would be punished. Article 58. Give him another sentence? Or will he not be sentenced? Maybe he will only be sent from a labor camp in Moscow to a labor camp in a remote place? Lai in our small labor camp.) The terrified Pravkin lost his nerve in everything, even in the inspection of hygiene.He didn't even make any demands on the cooks, on-duty personnel, or his own health department.The canteen is very dirty, the kitchen doesn't wash the dishes properly, and the health department doesn't know how many days it takes to shake the quilt in the ward.He knew all of this, but he couldn't insist on hygiene requirements.The only thing is the insanity that he and all the camp leaders share-scrubbing the floor of the house every day (many labor camps do this kind of poor fun).This is executed meticulously.The perpetually damp and rotten floor keeps the air and bedding in the room never dry.The poorest old, the sick, and the sick in the camp had little respect for Plavkin.In his prison life, no one had robbed or cheated him, only someone who didn't want to do it.The things he littered by the bed can stay intact, and the most disordered bedside table in the whole camp, where everything falls out, can not be stolen, all because our room is locked at night. Plavkin's sentence was eight years, as a political figure, agitator and organizer, under articles 10 and 11 of fifty-eight.But I found that what was in his head was the childishness of a congenitally handicapped baby.He had been imprisoned for more than two years and had not yet matured to the heights of thought he had admitted during the interrogation phase.He still believes that we were imprisoned temporarily, in jest; and is now preparing for a marvelous and magnanimous amnesty, which will make us appreciate liberty more, and make us forever grateful to the institution for this lesson.He believed that collective farms were prosperous, that the Marshall Plan, designed to enslave Europe, was dastardly and insidious, and that the Allies, eager to start World War III, were intriguing. I remember one time when he came back into the house with a happy face, like a good man and woman who have just finished a perfect all-night prayer, and his face was radiant with peace, love, and happiness.In his large, kind and frank face, there was an expression of unearthly meekness in the large eyes with drooping lower sockets.It turned out that there was a meeting of the camp handymen just now.The head of the labor camp first slapped the table and reprimanded them loudly, but then suddenly calmed down, saying that he trusted them as much as his loyal assistants.Pravkin confided to us excitedly: "After listening to these words, the enthusiasm for work has sprung up!" (To be fair to the general, he only curled his lips contemptuously at this.) The doctor's surname is not deceiving: he is a man of truth.Love is love, but it's a pity that it doesn't deserve it! He looks ridiculous in our little model.But if you turn your attention from this small model to the large model, you will be stunned.What percentage of our spiritual Russia has become like this?Just because of a fear... Plavkin grew up among educated people, engaged in intellectual labor all his life, surrounded by people with advanced intelligence, but can he be regarded as an intellectual, that is, a person with independent intelligence? I've had to think hard about the term "intellectual class" for years.We all like to put ourselves into this category, but not all of us fit in.The meaning of this word was completely distorted in the Soviet Union.Anyone who does not (and fears) labor with his hands becomes an intellectual.This includes all party, state, army, and trade union bureaucrats; all accountants and bookkeepers—mechanical slaves who turn abacus beads; all office workers.It is easier for us to include all teachers (those who are at best only talking textbooks, that is, people who have no independent knowledge and no independent educational opinions) here.And all the doctors (including the ones who can't do anything more than scribble in their medical records).As for those who only touch editorial departments, publishing houses, film studios, and concert halls, they are also included in this category without hesitation, let alone those who publish books, make films, and play the violin. In fact, one cannot be classified as an intellectual by any of the above marks alone.If we don't want to lose the concept at all, we shouldn't lower its value.Intellectuals are not determined by occupational attributes and job types.A good education and a good family do not necessarily produce intellectuals.An intellectual is a person whose interests and aspirations in spiritual life are changeable and fixed, not imposed by the external environment, or even opposed to the external environment.An intellectual is a person whose thinking is not imitative. Among the freaks in our room Belyaev and Zinoviev are considered the biggest intellectuals.The two high-ranking men were uncomfortable with Olacevsky, the foreman, and Prokhorov, the vulgar custodian.When I was prime minister, generals and officials from the Ministry of the Interior urged me to evict these two hillbillies from our house because they were too dirty, because they liked to lie on the bed with their leather boots on, and in general because they lacked intellectual taste. (Are the generals going to drive away the peasants who feed them?).But I liked those two very much, and I was a farmer at heart myself, so there was a balance in the room. (Then the generals probably suggested to others that I should be kicked out.) Orachevsky's appearance was indeed a bit vulgar, not at all intellectual.For music, he only knew Ukrainian folk songs, and he had never even heard of old Italian paintings or modern French paintings.I can't say whether he likes to read or not, because there are no books in our camp.He never took part in abstract arguments in the house.He did not seem to have heard Belyaev's most brilliant monologues about the British Sultan and Zinoviev about his own house.In his spare time, he likes to put his feet on the railing at the head of the bed and meditate for a long time. The heels of his big leather boots are on the railing, and the soles of the boots are facing the generals. (Not intentionally provocative. Before work set, lunch break, or at dusk waiting to go out, which sensible person can give up the pleasure of lying down for a while? And the boots are very troublesome to take off, and there are two pairs of foot wraps inside tense.) Orachevsky was also dumbly unresponsive to the Doctor's self-torture.After an hour or two of silence, he would suddenly announce in a tragic tone, in contrast to what was going on in the room: "Yes! Article 58 It is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a camel to go free!" Concerning the nature of everyday objects and practical issues such as the correctness of everyday behavior, he always participated with Ukrainian stubbornness, hastily proving that felt boots were broken because they were baked on the stove. It is beneficial not to bake in winter, and it is more comfortable to wear.From this point of view, of course, how could he be considered an intellectual! But he was the only one of us who was devoted to the construction project, and he was the only one who could talk about it with interest outside of working hours.When he heard that the prisoners were tearing down the fully installed partition walls for firewood, he clasped his clumsy head in his clumsy hands and shook it as if in pain.He could not understand the barbaric behavior of the natives.This may be because he only squatted for a year.Someone came up to say that a concrete slab had fallen from the eighth floor.Everyone exclaimed: "Did anyone be killed?" But Orachevsky asked: "How did you see it break? Which direction did the crack go?" (The cement board was poured according to his drawings, He wanted to know if his rebar was well laid.) On a cold December day, the operations squad leader and foremen gathered in the office to warm up and gossip about the labor camp.Orachevsky came in, took off a glove, and solemnly and carefully took out from it a beautiful butterfly with orange and black patterns, immobile but still alive: "Look, here is a butterfly. A butterfly that won't freeze to death at nineteen degrees below zero! It's on the girder." Everyone is surrounded by butterflies.Those of us who are lucky enough to get out alive may not be more alive than this butterfly at the end of their sentences. Olaszewski's own sentence was only five years.He was caught for the facial crime (exactly as Orwell wrote it) - for smiling.He used to be a teacher at the Engineering Corps School.In the staff room he smiled at another teacher, pointing to something in the upper part of Pravda!The other teacher was quickly killed, and no one knew what Olacevsky was laughing at.But the fact that he was seen laughing at the Party Central Organ is in itself an act of disrespect!Later, Olaszewski was asked to make a political report.He replied that he was ordered to obey, but that his presentation would not be interesting.This is over the bar. Which of the two—Plavkin or Olasevsky—was closer to the intellectual? A few words must now be said about Prokhorov.He was a big peasant, with heavy feet, heavy eyes, and nothing pleasant about his face.He doesn't smile without thinking ahead.Such people are called "gray wolves" in the archipelago.He has no motive in his heart to sacrifice himself and do good for others.But what struck me right away was that he served Zinoviev the pot and Belyaev the bread without any flattery, fake smile or even a useless remark .The way he carries his things is dignified and reserved, to let people see that he is serving, but not their servant boy.He needs a lot of food to fill the huge body of his laborers.All he endured humiliation was to get the general's soup and gruel.He knew that people here looked down on him, so he didn't answer bluntly, nor did he "tiptoe" to run errands for others.He sees every one of us clearly, but it's just not time to speak out what's in his heart.I have the feeling that Prokhorov was built on a stone foundation.Many things in our country's folk are carried on such shoulders.He is not in a hurry to make a smiling face to anyone, and his eyes are gloomy, but he will never pounce on you and bite your heel. He was not imprisoned according to Article 58, but he has a clear understanding of life in our country.For many years he was chairman of the village Soviet near Naro-Vominsk.There is also a need to have the ability to adapt to changing circumstances. When it is time to be cruel, you must be cruel, and you must stand up in front of your superiors.Here is how he described his presidency: "To be a patriot, you have to be first in everything. Needless to say, you are the first to encounter any trouble. For example, when you give a report at the village Soviet, although speaking in the country always comes down to the facts, you can't tell which one is bigger. Huzi Lengding will ask you a question: What does not-broken-revolution mean. The ghost knows what it means. I just know that girls in the city perm their hair."If you don't answer, people will say: how did you get your mouth into the bakery, you old sow.I told them, this is such a revolution, it's curly and slippery, you can't hold it with your hands - if you don't believe me, go to the city and see the curly hair of the girls, or go and see the sheep's .When we got into a fight with MacDonald (British Prime Minister), I reminded the government in the report: I said, comrades, don’t you stop stepping on other people’s dog’s tail? " Over the past few years, he has figured out all the tricks of embellishment in our country's life, and he has also participated in doing it himself.He called a farm chairman and said to him: "Go and train a female milker who is going to win a gold medal at the agricultural exhibition, and the daily output must be 60 liters!" So the whole farm went all out to go Trained such a milker.Throw high-protein feed and even sugar into her cow trough.The whole village and the whole farm know how much it costs to hold such an agricultural exhibition.But the superior insisted on acting in this drama and coaxing himself-this shows that this is what they want. When the war was approaching Naro-Vominsk, Prokhorov was tasked with evacuating the village Soviet's livestock.But if you think about it carefully, this measure is not against the Germans, but against the peasants: it is obvious that they are left in a blank field without livestock or machinery.The peasants refused to hand over their animals and started a fight (they expected the collective farm to break up and the animals would be theirs)--nearly killing Prokhorov. The battle line moved to the back of their village, and the stalemate lasted for a whole winter.Prokhorov had been an artilleryman as early as 1914. Now that he had no livestock and nowhere to go, he went to the artillery formation of the Soviet army to carry shells until he was blasted away.In the spring of 1942, Soviet power returned to their district, and Prokhorov became the chairman of the village Soviet.Now he had all the strength to avenge public affairs and become a more vicious dog than ever.He could have had a smooth sailing so far.But it's strange that he didn't become such a person.His heart fluttered. They belonged to the hardest-hit areas, and the superiors gave some bread tickets to the chairman of the village Suwei: the bakery would give some relief to the most food-deficient households whose houses were burned.Prokhorov felt sorry for the common people, and distributed more bread coupons than the regulations.As a result, he got a "87" decree and was sentenced to ten years. As for MacDonald, he was forgiven for his lack of culture, but his compassion for people was not forgiven. In the house, Prokhorov also liked to lie for hours without saying a word, and like Orachevsky, he hung his boots on the railing at the head of the bed and stared at the gray peeling ceiling.He only spoke when the general was not there.I really appreciate some of his thoughts and sayings: "What line is hard to draw—straight or curved? To draw a straight line requires a tool, and a curved line—a drunkard can draw it with his feet. The same is true of the lines of life." "Money—now it's two-tiered." (Sharp! Prokhorov said this when he said that grain from the kolkhoz is one price and grain from the people is another. But he sees it more Widely, the "two-tier nature" of money is shown in many ways and runs through the whole life. The country pays us on the first level, and we have to pay on the second level everywhere. For this, we have to get money from another place. You just need to make some money on the second floor, otherwise you will soon be sitting on nothing.) "Although man is not a devil, he still won't give you a way out." This is another proverb of his. There are many more words in this category, but unfortunately I didn't write them down. I call this room the House of Freaks, but I cannot classify Prokhorov and Orachevsky among the freaks.However, deformed people accounted for the majority of the six people, because what am I not a deformed person myself?In my head, the messy beliefs, the false hopes, the fabricated beliefs were broken, shredded, but their fragments were still floating there.I am now in the second year of my sentence, but I still don't understand what the finger of fate points to me, a man thrown into the archipelago.The superficial and corrosive idea of ​​"Never fall into ordinary labor!" instilled by the "special prisoner" in the Red Presna prison still dominates me.转向"一般劳动"的内心演变过程是很艰难的。 一夜，一辆小汽车开进营门，看守员来到我们的房间，摇摇别利亚耶夫的肩头，叫他"收拾东西。"被突然叫醒还迷迷糊糊的将军被带走了。他从布蒂尔卡还设法给我们传来一个条子："不要灰心I（显然指不要因他的离去而灰心。）只要我活着，一定给你们写信。"（他终于没有写。我们从侧面听到了他的消息。看来当局认为把他放在莫斯科的劳改营里有危险。他被转解到波奇马。在那里已经喝不到从家里用保温瓶送来的汤菜；口粮面包想必也不能削掉六面才吃了。又过了半年，有消息说，他在波奇马十分潦倒，为了占几口便宜，担任了送菜汤的角色。不知道这是否确实。用劳改营里的俗话说，这叫"怎么贩进来，怎么卖出去"。） 这么一来，我第二天清早就顶替了将军的职务，当上了助理定额员，到头也没有学会油漆工的手艺。但是定额工作我也懒得钻研，只是随便加减乘除就是了。担任这项新工作期间，有时候我有到工地各处串串的机会，有时候能爬到我们正在盖的这座建筑的第八层上去坐坐，就像站在一座大楼的屋顶上一样。从这里朝四面望去，整个莫斯科的市容一览无余地展示在一个因犯的面前。 一面是沃罗比约夫山，当时还是空旷的。未来的列宁大街刚刚规划，还不存在。卡纳特奇科夫别墅（精神病院）的外貌还是古朴的原始状态。另一面是新处女修道院的圆顶，伏龙芝军事学院的庞大建筑。隔着许多车水马龙的街道，在正前方远远的地方，是笼罩在丁香色的薄雾中的克里姆林宫，在那里面已经准备好了对我们的大赦令，只剩下签发了。 这个充满财富和荣华的世界正向我们这些在劫难逃的人们招手。它好像就在我们脚下，但我们永远够不到它。 但是，不管我怎样像一个新犯人似地渴望"回到自由"，这个城市仍引不起我的羡慕和生翅飞向它的街道的愿望。束缚着我们的恶势力全是在这里缔造的。骄横傲慢的城市，它从未像战后时期这样充分地证实了这句谚语： "莫斯科不相信眼泪！" 现在我时而利用一个前犯人难得的机会：到自己的劳改营去遛遛弯！我每次都很激动。把自己重新浸入过去的绝境，重温一次那种身份的人的感觉--这对于衡量生活的相对尺度是很有益的。原来是食堂、舞台和文教科的地方，现在是"斯巴达克"商店。当时的大门就在现在还保留着的这个无轨电车站旁边。三楼上那个窗口里，就是我们的畸形人之家。这儿是出工站队的地方。纳波里娜娘的塔式起重机就是沿这条线移动的。M?在这里溜进了贝尔沙德尔的房子。现在人们在柏油地面的院子里走路、散步、谈论琐事，他们哪里知道是走在尸骨堆上，是踩在我们的回忆上。他们不能想象，这个离市中心坐车不过走二十分钟的大院竟一度不是莫斯科的一部分，而是野蛮的群岛中的一个小岛。它与诺里尔斯克及科雷马比与莫斯科还联系得紧密。但是现在连我也不能爬上我们以前曾大摇大摆地来往的屋顶了，不能进入我漆过门窗铺过地板的住宅了。我像先前一样背起手在营区内踱来踱去。只当自己现在仍是不能出去的，只准从这里走到这里，也不知道明天被押解到哪里去。现在已经没有界墙隔着的涅斯库奇内公园里的那些原来的树木向我作证说，它们还记得一切，记得我；一切确曾如此。 我按照因犯的直线往返的散步方式来回走着，到尽头就向后转。走着走着，今日生活中的一切复杂问题都像蜡似地开始融化了。 我憋不住了，我要了个流氓：沿着楼梯跑上去，在离营长办公室还有一截楼梯的拐角处的白色窗台上写了一行黑字："第十二劳改工段"。 经过的人会读到，也许会沉思的。 我们虽然也是杂役，但是属于生产杂役之列。我们的房间不是主要的，在我们头顶上还有同样的一间，那里住的是营区杂役，由会计所罗莫诺夫、仓库管理员贝尔沙德尔、派工员布尔施泰因组成的三头执政从那里掌管着我们的劳改营。此项人事更动就是由他们决定的：撤销帕夫洛夫的生产主任职务，由K接替。于是这位新总理就于某月某日迁进了我们这个房间（在此以前普拉夫金仍是被提溜到外地的劳改营去了，不管他怎么巴结讨好）。他们对我也没有容忍多久：轰出了定额室，也轰出了这间卧室。（在劳改营里的地位降得越低，反之在"小车厢"里的铺位升得越高。）但是在我暂时留在这里的日子，有过对K进行过观察的时间。此人相当不错地为我们的小模型补充了革命后知识分子的一个重要的变种。 亚历山大?费多罗维奇?库科斯，三十五岁的会打算盘捞好处的商人（所谓"卓越的组织者"），专业是建筑工程师（但不知道为什么他在这个专业上很少表现，成天只是拉拉计算尺）。根据八月七日法令被判十年，已经蹲了三年；完全适应了劳改营的环境，觉得和在外面一样地不受拘束。他好像完全没有被派去做一般劳动的危险。他对于那些命该从事一般劳动的碌碌众生更没有任何怜悯的意思。他属于这样一类犯人，他们的行为对其他犯人说来比群岛的残忍成癖的主子们的行为更可怕：只要卡住你的喉咙，他是不会放手的，不会让你偷闲的。为了能从犯人身上多榨出东西，他拼命要求减少犯人口粮（加强伙食的等级差别）、取消探监、把不中意的犯人递解外地。劳改营的和生产的领导都一样对他很赏识。 但有意思的是：所有这些手段显然都是他进劳改营以前早已用惯了的。在外面他就学会了这样领导，他的领导方法拿到劳改营里来原来正合适。 相似性有助于我们认识事物。我很快注意到库科斯很像我见过的什么人。像谁呢？是了，像列昂尼德?泽-夫，我在卢宾卡的同监室的难友！主要不是外表，那个像野猪，这个身材匀称，高个，绅士派头。但是放在一起他们就能让我们通过他俩看到整整一批人--为了更快地踢开和大批镇压旧"专家"，曾经急不可耐地期待着出现的第一批自己的新型的工程技术人员。他们终于到来了--苏维埃高等技术院校的第一批毕业生！作为工程师，他们连给旧时代培养的工程师提鞋的资格也不够，无论按技术知识的广度还是按专业的本领以及对工作的热爱。（甚至和立即被驱逐出屋的大狗熊奥拉切夫斯基相比，库科斯马上就显出是一个只会动嘴皮子的家伙。）当他们在一般的文化方面冒充内行的时候，总是丑态百出。（库科斯说："我喜爱（！）的作品是--斯汤达的《时代的三色》。"尽管对于XdX的积分尚不甚了然，他仍勇于赤膊上阵地和我进行有关任何高等数学问题的争论。他记住了五七句小学课本上的德文，不管是地方不是地方，到处运用。他根本不懂英文，但是关于英语发音问题可以争论得脸红脖子粗，其实那句英文只是他一次在饭馆里听到的。他还有一个记着各种箴言警句的小本子，常常翻看、暗记，以便瞅机会亮出来炫耀。） 但尽管如此，人们还是可能期望这些从未见过资本主义旧时代、决不可能被它的痈疽感染的人们具有共和国的纯洁性和我们苏维埃的原则性。他们当中许多人一出校门就当上了大官，拿高工资。战争期间祖国免除了他们上前线的义务，只要求他们发挥专长。由于这个原因他们是爱国者，尽管对于入党并不积极。有一点他们体会不到--他们体会不到对阶级指控的恐惧，所以不害怕在自己的决定里出差错，有的场合还大喊大叫地为它们辩护。由于同样的原因他们在工人群众面前不觉得自己矮半头，相反地对他们实行着全面的残忍而坚决的管卡。 但也就如此而已了。他们尽可能使自己的工作日限于八小时。下了班才开始真正的生活：女演员、"大都会"饭店、"萨沃依"饭店。在这方面，库科斯和泽-夫的情况惊人地一致。下面是库科斯讲的，（免不了添油加醋，但基本是实话，一听就觉得可信！）一九四三年夏天的一个普通的星期天。当他回味起当年的赏心乐事，整个脸上发出了光彩： "星期六傍晚我们乘车去布拉格饭店。晚餐！你懂得晚餐在女人生活中占什么地位？早餐、午餐以及白天的工作，在女人心中是绝对的无所谓。对于她说来顶要紧的是三件事；衣服、鞋子和晚餐！布拉格饭店里面实行灯火管制，但是可以上楼顶。栏杆。芳香的夏天空气。人们已经入睡的遮住了灯火的阿尔巴特大街。身边坐着一个穿绸（他每次都强调这一个字）布拉吉的女人！我们痛痛快快地吃了一个通宵，现在只是喝喝香槟！绛红色的太阳在国防人民委员部大楼尖顶后头慢慢爬出来。光芒、玻璃。窗、屋顶。我们付了帐。打电话叫来我的专车，它已经停在门口。凉风吹进打开的车窗，使人清爽。别墅挨着一片松林！你们知道清晨的松林是什么样子？拉下百叶窗睡上几小时。十点钟左右我们就醒了，阳光正透过百叶窗缝射进来。女人的衣裳杂乱无章地扔了一地，光景实在迷人。在凉台上吃一顿清淡的（你懂得什么叫清淡的吗？）早餐，喝的是红酒。然后朋友们陆续来到。小河、日光浴、洗澡。晚上各人坐车回家。如果星期天不休息，那么吃完早饭以后十一点左右就坐上车到机关去领导领导。" 我们两人会有能够互相理解的一天吗？ 他坐在我的床上，两手比比划划，以求把那些扣人心弦的细节表达得更准确。回忆勾起的欲火烧得他摇头晃脑。我也在回忆，一个接一个地回忆起一九四三年夏天的这些可怕的星期日。 七月四日。拂晓。我们左方的库尔斯克弧形地带整个大地在剧烈地颤动。绛红色的太阳爬起来的时候，我们已经读到从天而降的传单："投降吧！你们已经多次尝过了德军进攻的毁灭性威力！" 七月十一日。拂晓。成千上万颗炮弹呼啸着划破我们头上的天空--这是我军发动了对奥廖尔的攻势。……"清淡的早餐？"当然，我懂得。这是在黎明前，在交通壕里，八人合吃一罐美国肉罐头，还有--乌啦！为祖国！为斯大林！