Chapter 5 Part 2 1-5

part two 1 Andrei Tegogalenko and Lenotchka were not exaggerating when they described to their friends the splendor of the Capital Hospital.At the request of the commander, Alexey Milesyev was sent there, and Konstantin Kukushkin was sent to Moscow as a companion. Before the war, it was a clinical hospital of a medical school, where a well-known Soviet scientist had been looking for new ways to quickly restore human body functions after illness and trauma.This institution has a deep-rooted tradition and a worldwide reputation. During the war scientists converted his hospital into an officer's hospital.Here the patients, as always, were treated with all the means of treatment discovered by the advanced medical sciences of the time.The heavy fighting not far from the capital has brought such an influx of wounded that hospitals have had to triple the number of beds they had reserved.All secondary places—reception rooms for receiving visitors, reading and quiet games rooms, medical staff rooms, public dining rooms for convalescent wounded—became wards.The scientist even vacated his office next to his laboratory for the sake of the wounded, and he moved himself, with his books and all his supplies, into a hut which had formerly been the duty room.Even so, beds sometimes had to be set up in the hallway.

As if designed by the architect himself to set off the solemn and solemn atmosphere of the medical school, prolonged moans, sighs, snoring and seriously ill nightmares can be heard everywhere on the whitened walls; The suffocating smell of war—the smell of bloody bandages, the smell of inflamed wounds, and the smell of alive and rotting human flesh that cannot be dispelled no matter how well the ventilation is done; Placement; utensils are in short supply, large lumpy aluminum bowls are used at the same time as the beautiful pottery from the hospital; the air blast from a bomb that exploded nearby shattered the glass in those Italian windows and had to be nailed with plywood On the windows; the water supply is insufficient, the gas is often cut off, and the instruments can only be sterilized by boiling in old-fashioned alcohol stoves.However, the wounded always kept coming.More and more wounded were brought in, some by plane, some by car, and some by train.As our offensive force increased in front, they swarmed.

And yet the entire staff of the hospital - from the director of the hospital, who is a meritorious scientist and a representative of the Supreme Soviet, down to any assistant nurse, clotheskeeper, janitor - all these are exhausted and sometimes half-starved Yes, busy people who never get enough sleep still stick to the order of their institutions.Sometimes even though the assistant nurse has been on duty for two or even three shifts in a row, she still uses every bit of leisure to brush, wash, and wipe.The nurses were thin and old due to fatigue, walked waddled, but still wore starched smocks to work, and meticulously carried out the nursing methods prescribed by the hospital.The attending doctor, as usual, was critical of the tiniest stains on the sheets and quilts and wiped the walls, stair railings, and doorknobs with a clean handkerchief to see if they were clean.As for the dean himself, he was a tall, ruddy old man with gray hair on his high forehead and a mustache that had changed from black to silver, and he scolded people harshly and frighteningly.Accompanied by a group of attending doctors and assistant doctors in straight coats, he rounds the ward twice a day at a specific time, reads the medical certificates of new patients, and consults on difficult and serious diseases.

He had much to do outside the yard during those hard days of combat, but his hours of rest and sleep were always cut short to give time to his beloved cause.If he reprimanded a staff member for his indolence, he must have been yelling and agitated in front of the patient.He always said that his affiliated hospital, working in such a vigilant, curfew, and wartime Moscow city, should continue to operate normally, which is the best answer to the gang of Hitler and Goering gangsters.He said he did not want to hear any complaints about the hardships of the war.Those slobs and idlers should go to hell.It is precisely now, in times of all kinds of difficulties, that the hospital should have stricter order.And he himself still abides by the habit of making rounds on time.He was so punctual that the assistant nurses adjusted the clocks in the wards based on his presence.The man's habit of punctuality, which even the horrific air raids failed to break, may have enabled the staff to perform miracles in maintaining the pre-war order under unbelievable conditions.

One morning during the ward rounds, the dean—let's call him Vasily Vasilyevich, bumped into two beds side by side at the bend of the stairs on the third floor. "What kind of exhibition is this?" He shouted loudly, and glanced at the attending doctor from under the furry eyebrows, which made the tall, slightly arched, not young man respectable. The person straightened up like a schoolboy and said: "The one just delivered in the night...is the pilot. This one has a broken thigh and right hand, and is in normal condition. But that one," he pointed at a scrawny man of indeterminate age, lying motionless with his eyes closed. Said, "That one is in bad shape. The metatarsals are shattered, the feet are festering, but most of all he is terribly weak. It appears that the patient with the shattered feet crawled ten miles behind the Germans," wrote the second medic who saw him off. Crawled back in eight days. Of course that's an exaggeration. Of course I can't believe it."

Vasily Vasilyevich did not listen to the attending doctor, he pushed back the quilt.Alexey Milesyev was lying with his arms folded on his chest.The snow-white shirt and bed sheet clearly set off a pair of hands wrapped in black leather, which can be used to study the structure of human bones.The professor covered the pilot's quilt carefully, and interrupted the attending doctor angrily. "Why are you lying here!" "There's no room left in the corridor...You yourself..." "What 'yourself', 'your own'! What about Room 42?" "That's the Colonel's Room."

"Colonel's Office?" The professor suddenly became angry. "Which idiot came up with this trick? Colonel's Office! What an idiot!" "But someone has taken care to keep a spare room for the Heroes of the Soviet Union." "What 'hero' is not 'hero', everyone is a hero in this war. What else do you want to teach me? Who is in charge here? Anyone who doesn't like my order can get out immediately. Move the pilot immediately Enter room No. 42! You are so whimsical, and you are still in the 'colonel's room'!" He walked aside, surrounded by a group of quiet followers, but suddenly he turned back, leaned over Milesyev's hospital bed, and took the round, which had been soaked countless times by disinfectant water, and was peeling. Putting his hand on the pilot's shoulder, he asked:

"Did you really crawl for more than two weeks and come back from the rear of the Germans?" "Am I really suffering from gangrene?" Milesyev asked despondently. The professor glanced angrily at the entourage standing by the door, then stared straight into the pilot's sad and worried eyes, and said suddenly: "It's a sin to lie to a man like you. It's gangrene. But don't be disheartened. There's no way out of the sky, and there's no incurable disease. Remember? That's it." He left after speaking.He is tall and has a loud voice.A moment later his thunderous tooting of complaints came from behind the glass doors in the far corridor.

"He's an interesting uncle." Milesyev said, watching his figure heavily. "He's a lunatic. Did you see that? He's trying to please you! We can't see this kind of pretending to be honest?" Kukushkin replied from his bed with a smirk. "That is to say, It's a great honor for us to be assigned to the Colonel's Room." "Gangrene," said Alexei softly, and then with a melancholy sigh: "Gangrene." 2 The so-called "Colonel's Room" ward was located at the end of the corridor on the second floor.One interior window faces south and the other east, so the sunlight streams in throughout the day, gradually moving from one bed to the next.This room is not big in comparison.Judging from the black spots left on the floor, there were two beds, two bedside tables, and a round table in the middle before the war.Now there are four beds here.On a bed lay a wounded man covered in bandages, like a newborn baby in swaddling clothes.He has been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling through the gap in the bandages, his eyes are dull and lifeless.On another bed, side by side with Alexey's, lay a very restless man, a soldier with a wrinkled and pockmarked face and a grizzled beard, who was affectionate and talkative.

We got to know each other very quickly in the hospital.In the evening, Alexei knew that Mazi was from Siberia, the chairman of the farm, and a hunter.His military job is a sniper, and he is a very lucky sniper.He was serving in the Siberian division when the famous battle under Yelini began, along with his two sons and son-in-law.He fought in the war, and he says he "knocked out" nearly seventy German soldiers.He was a "Hero of the Soviet Union," so when he introduced his last name to Alexei, Alexei eyed his modest appearance with interest.His name was well-known in the army at that time, and many major newspapers reported on this sniper with special articles.The people in the hospital, whether they were nurses, attending doctors, or Vasily Vasilyevich himself, respectfully called him Stepan Ivanovich.

Another patient in the ward, lying in bandages all day, said nothing about himself.He didn't want to say anything at first, but Stepan Ivanovich, who knew everything, quietly told Milesiev his story: he was a lieutenant in the tank army and a "Hero of the Soviet Union" ".From the tank school to the army, he participated in the war as soon as it broke out, and fought the first battle near the Brest-Litov fortress.His tank was destroyed in the famous tank battle near Belostok.He jumped into another tank whose commander had been killed, and led the remaining tanks to cover the retreating army towards Minsk.He lost his second tank in the Battle of Buck River and was wounded, but he boarded a third tank and replaced the fallen company commander, taking command of the company himself.Later, he strayed into the rear of the Germans, formed a guerrilla group with three tanks, and wandered around the German rear for a month, attacking the baggage and columns.He refueled and resupplied with fuel, ammunition, and spare parts abandoned on the battlefield—where, in grassy valleys on both sides of the road, in forests and swamps, a large number of various models were parked unattended. battered tanks. Gvozdev was born on the outskirts of Daragobzh.When he heard the battle report from the Soviet Intelligence Service that the battle line was approaching his homeland (the tankers received this information accurately from the leader tank), he couldn't bear it anymore, and he blew up three of their tanks , led the eight surviving soldiers and sneaked into the dense forest. Just before the war broke out, he went back home and spent a few days thinking about the small village on the banks of the meandering, green grassy river.His mother, a country schoolteacher, was seriously ill, so his father called his son back from the army.My father was an old agronomist, a representative of the State Soviet Model Worker. Gvozdev recalled the small but solid wooden house next to the school.The mother was shriveled and emaciated, lying hopelessly on the old-fashioned sofa.My father was wearing an outdated cocoon shirt, coughing anxiously by the sickbed, and kept twirling his white beard.The three younger sisters are all young, not tall, with dark skin, just like their mother.He recalled the tall, blue-eyed country doctor, Jania, who had driven him all the way to the station in a wooden sleigh, and to whom he had promised to write every day.Now he was running like a beast through Belarus, along the ravaged fields, along the charred and empty villages, around the cities, avoiding the highways and dodging here and there.He thought sadly: what will happen to the cottage that is about to be seen?Have his relatives left the village?What if they hadn't left? Sure enough, what Gvozdev saw and heard in his hometown was even more terrifying than the most tragic imagination.Neither the hut relatives, Rania, nor the village itself were to be found.A crazy old lady was dancing and muttering while something was burning on the stove.The stove stood alone on the charred ruins.From what the old lady had told him, the governess' health had deteriorated further when the Germans came.The agronomist and the daughters hesitated to either deliver her or leave her alone, and the family stayed.The Germans learned that there was another household in the village that was a representative of the state Soviet model worker, so they arrested them, hanged them on the birch tree next to the hut that night, and then set fire to the house.As for Zenia, she knelt down to the chief German officer to intercede for the Gvozdev family, and it seemed that she had been tortured. It seemed that the officer threatened her to obey. As for what happened there, the old lady had no idea. And know.It was not until the next night that the girl was carried out of the officer's house, and she was dead.Her body actually lay violently by the river for two days!The village was burned only five days ago.The Germans burned it because someone set fire to an oil truck they had in the stables of the collective farm. The old lady led the tanker to the ruins of a house, and pointed out the old birch tree to him.As a child, he used to swing on that thick branch.But now the birch tree was withered, and five broken ropes were dangling from the hot dead branches.The old lady was dancing and walking, muttering prayers in her mouth, and at the same time led Gvozdev to the river and showed him where the girl's dead body lay.That girl, he had promised to write to her every day, but he never wrote a letter to her.He stood among the rustling sedges for a while, then turned and walked towards the woods, where his comrades were waiting for him.He said nothing, and did not shed a single tear. At the end of June, when General Gonev's troops launched an offensive on the Western Front, Grigory Gvozdev broke through the German lines with his own fighters. In August he got a brand new, famous "T-34" tank.He was known throughout the battalion as "the unrivaled man" before the winter came.People talked about him, he was described in the papers, and his deeds seemed unbelievable, but they were real.Once he was sent to conduct reconnaissance. At night, he drove a tank and jumped over the German defense line with full horsepower, successfully crossing the minefield.He started shooting, causing the enemy to panic.He rushed into a small town occupied by the Germans and firmly clamped by the Red Army with a semicircular encirclement, and then rushed to our position at the other end.This action really made the Germans panic.Another time, it was guerrilla warfare in the rear of the German army.He jumped out of the ambush point and launched a surprise attack on the German carriage train, crushing the horses, carts and German soldiers with the tracks of the tank. In winter he led a small detachment of tanks to attack the garrison in a fortified village near Zhizhev, where the enemy's small operational headquarters was stationed.As the tank squad crossed the defensive strip, near the entrance of the village, a bottle full of fuel liquid hit his tank.Billowing smoke and choking flames engulfed the tank.But he and the tankers continued to fight.The tank galloped across the village like a huge fireball. All the guns on the tank swept left and right, and the tank dodged left and right, chasing and crushing the fleeing German soldiers with its tracks.Gvozdev and the tankers who had fought out of the encirclement with him and were finally selected by him knew very well that the fuel tank and gunpowder exploded as soon as they said they would explode, and they were about to die.The smoke made them breathe heavily, and the hot deck burned their skin and seared their clothes, but they fought on.A heavy artillery shell that exploded under the tank's tracks knocked the tank over. Maybe it was the air wave of the explosion, or maybe it was the sand and snow that kicked up that extinguished the flames on the tank.Gvozdev was burned all over when they pulled him out of the tank.He sat side by side with the shooter on the turret, and when the shooter died, he replaced the dead and continued to fight. It's the second month and Tanker is still on the verge of life and death.There was no hope of recovery, he showed no interest in anything, and sometimes went whole days without saying a word. The world of the seriously wounded is often confined within the walls of their ward.The wars waged beyond these walls, the incidents great and small, and the passions they arouse, leave new traces every day on the minds of men.But the ward of the seriously wounded is forbidden to spread news from the outside world, so when the storm outside the courtyard wall reaches here, it is only a distant and weak aftermath.People in the ward can't help themselves and have to live with daily chores.A drowsy, dusty fly lands out of nowhere on sun-warmed glass—that's a big deal.The ward nurse Kravtia Mikhailovna wore a new pair of high-heeled shoes today, and went straight to the theater after get off work—this was news.The third course served was not the dried apricot jelly that everyone was tired of eating, but black apricots in a sweet soup - which also became a topic of discussion. For the seriously wounded, what makes them never forget is the annoying and long hospital life, their injuries.Wounded and helpless, they left the ranks of soldiers, left the arduous life of combat, and came here to lie down on this soft and comfortable sick bed that was immediately boring.They think about their wounds, whether they are swollen or fractured. Thinking about them, they fall asleep and dream about the wounds.As soon as I woke up, I anxiously tried to find out if the swelling had subsided, had the purple spots subsided, and whether the body temperature was high or low.In the dead of night, the sensitive and vigilant ears often feel that every sound is enlarged tenfold;Let those soldiers with the strongest will who look at death as home on the battlefield also timidly catch the nuances in the professor's tone, look at Vasily Vasilyevich's face, and hold his breath to guess his opinion on the progress of the disease. Kukushkin was always angry and complaining.He always felt that the splint was not clamped tightly enough, so the broken bone could not be connected well, and he would have to break it and reconnect it later.Grisha Gvozdev sank into a dejected, half-sleeping state, and was always silent.But it is not difficult to see how anxious he was, staring at him as Kravtia Mikhailovna changed the bandages and daubed the jeseline on his wound little by little. Looking at his own burnt body: the skin is dark purple, sticking to the body like rags.It was not difficult to see how carefully he paid attention when he heard the doctor's talk.Stepan Ivanovich was the only one in the ward who was able to walk, although his back was arched like an iron hook and he had to hold on to the side of the bed.He used to curse the "bucket" bomb that injured him and the "damn radiculitis" caused by the concussion, both comically and exasperatedly. Milesyev carefully concealed his feelings and pretended to be uninterested in the doctor's conversation.But every time he took off the bandages and went for electrotherapy, he was stunned when he saw the dark red and purple spots on the insteps deteriorating and climbing up slowly and tenaciously. His temper became irritable and melancholy.A clumsy joke from a companion, a wrinkle in the sheet, a brush slipped from the hands of an elderly nurse assistant, all could arouse his uncontrollable rage and rage.Although a well-prescribed, incrementally good diet in the hospital quickly restored his strength, when it came time for bandages or phototherapy, he no longer overwhelmed young female interns with his bony appearance. He was afraid, but the condition of his feet was getting worse, which was inversely proportional to the strengthening of his body.The swelling continued to go up, all the way over the ankle bone, and I completely lost feeling in my toes, and I felt no pain when I stuck them in with needles.Finally, there was a new method to control the spread of swelling, which was called "blockade therapy" with a strange name.But the pain was getting worse and worse, it was almost unbearable.During the day Alexei lay quietly with his face buried in the pillow.Kravtia Mikhailovna gave him morphine at night. The dreaded word "amputation" is becoming more and more common in doctor's talk these days.Vasily Vasilyevich sometimes stopped by Milesiev's bedside and asked: "How about it, reptile, does it hurt? Or, how about cutting it off? Click it—throw it aside and it's done." Alexei felt cold all over his body, and his heart was trembling with fear.He gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, and shook his head vigorously.The professor got angry, and murmured: "Be patient, be patient—that's your business. Let's try this method." After speaking, he gave new instructions. He closed the door casually, and the footsteps in the corridor went silent, but Meresyev closed his eyes and thought: "Foot, foot, my foot...do I really want to become a person without feet?" , become a disabled person with a prosthetic leg, like the old boatman Alkasha Uncle in his hometown of Kamyshin? When swimming, he first takes off the prosthetic leg and puts it on the shore, and then just like a monkey Swipe here and there with two hands?" This feeling was intensified by a new situation.On his first day in the hospital he read letters from his hometown Kamyshin.The mother's letter, like all ordinary mother's letters, is folded into a small triangle, concise and to the point.Half of the letter consisted of greetings from relatives and polite remarks to reassure Alyosha that everything in the family was in the blessing of God and that there was no need to worry about her.And the other half was asking him to take care of himself, not to catch a cold, not to get his feet wet, not to climb into dangerous places, and to beware of the treacherous Germans--about which she had heard so much from her neighbors. too much.The contents of these letters are mostly the same, and sometimes they are different.In one letter, the mother said that she asked a female neighbor to pray for the soldier Alexei. Although she herself did not believe in God, it would not hurt to pray even if something happened.In another letter, she worried about her brother, who was fighting somewhere in the south and hadn't written to his family for a long time.In the last letter she said that she had dreamed of them, and it seemed that the children had returned during the spring flood on the Volga River, and it seemed that they had returned from fishing with their late father.She treats them with her family's favorite food - fish paste pie.Her female neighbor interpreted the dream in this way: a son must be returning from the front.The old lady asked Alexei to test the tone of the officer, whether he could be granted a leave of absence, even for a day. A blue envelope was written in thick, round student fonts. It was a letter from a young girl.She and Alexei used to go to the factory apprentice school together.Her name is Olya, and now she is a mechanic at the Kahuixin Material Factory, where he also worked as a metal lathe when he was a boy.This girl was not just his childhood friend, so her letter was extraordinary and had a special meaning.He read the letter over and over again, reminiscing over and over again that there was a reason for this.He wanted to find the meaning behind the lines in the simple words—it was a kind of vague, joyful, and comprehensible thing that even he himself couldn't explain clearly. The letter stated that she was overwhelmed with work now, and in order to save time, she no longer went home for the night, but slept in the office.The letter also said that Alexei would not recognize his factory now, and that if he could guess what they were making at this moment, he would be amazed and ecstatic.In the letter, she also added that she had almost no days off, sometimes once a month, but she still often visited his mother on the days off.The old lady felt that her body was not very strong.Because his elder brother has not heard from her, she is living in a very uncomfortable way, and she has been suffering from minor illnesses and disasters recently.The girl asked him to write letters to his mother from time to time, to report good news and not bad news, so as not to worry the old lady, because he may be her only joy now. Alexei read Olya's letter over and over again, and suddenly understood the good intentions of his mother's excuse of dreaming.He understood how much his mother had hoped for him, how much she had hoped for him; he understood what a terrible blow it would be if he told them both of his calamity.He pondered for a long time what to do.He didn't have the courage to reply and tell the truth.He decided to wait, so he wrote to tell them that he was doing well and had been transferred to a safe area.In order to make the changed address more authentic and credible, he also said that now he is serving in the rear army and performing special tasks, and judging from all aspects, he still needs to stay here for a long time. Lately, however, he finds it horrifying when the word "amputation" comes up in the doctor's conversation.How could he go back to Kamyshin as a cripple!How could he let Olya see his prosthetic limb?What a terrible blow he would deal to his mother!The mother's other sons all disappeared on the front line, but he was the last son she had been waiting for!The silence in the ward was irritating and depressing; the restless Kukushkin creaked the spring mattress beneath him; the tanker sighed silently; ? Ivanovic bent like something, tapping the glass with his fingers.In this atmosphere, Milesyev listened to all kinds of sounds while thinking about his own thoughts. "Amputation? No, absolutely not! It would be better to die... What a cruel, vicious word! Amputation! No, never!" thought Alexei.In his sleep he even dreamed of a mercurial steel spider, tormenting him with its pointy, curved leg grips. 3 The patients in Ward No. 42 lived in a room of four for about a week.But one day the worried Kravtia Mikhailovna came in with two orderlies, and said that they had to squeeze again.Stepan Ivanovitch's bed was moved to the window, and he was very happy.Kukushkin's bed was moved to the corner next to Stepan Ivanovich, and the space freed was occupied by an elegant small box with a soft spring mattress. Low bed. This annoyed Kukushkin.He turned pale with rage, and beat the bedside table with his fist, cursing and swearing, neither the nurse nor the hospital nor Vasily Vasilyevich himself was spared.He also threatened to write to such-and-such person and such-and-such place to accuse the matter.He was so angry that he almost threw his glass at poor Kravtia Mihailovna.If Alexei hadn't stared fiercely at those gypsy eyes and stopped him with a thunderous roar, perhaps he would have really smashed through. It was at this moment that the fifth wounded was brought in. His weight seemed heavy as the stretcher flexed and creaked as the orderlies heaved and heaved.A round, clean-shaven head rocked limply to and fro on the pillow.A broad face was yellow and swollen, as if it had been poured with a layer of wax, lifeless.A pair of thick pale lips condensed with pain. The new patient appeared to be unconscious.But as soon as the stretcher was placed on the floor, the patient immediately opened his eyes, raised himself up on his arms, looked around the room curiously, and for some reason winked at Stepan Ivanovich—as if Saying, how are you doing, not bad, right?Then he coughed a few more times.Probably the inside of that heavy and heavy body was injured badly, and coughing loudly would cause severe pain.Milesyev somehow didn't like the bloated man at first sight, so he watched with malice how two hygienists, two assistant nurses, and a nurse worked together to get him to bed.He watched the new patient break out in sweat and grin in agony as they fumbled about moving the great log-like leg.But he didn't say a word, just gritted his teeth. After he lay down on the hospital bed, he straightened the sheets next to the quilt, stacked the books and notepads that he brought in later on the bedside table, and put toothpaste, perfume, shaving supplies, The soap boxes were neatly placed on the lower floor, and I finally looked at them with critical eyes, as a summary of my work: indeed, I feel at home now.He hummed in a low and resonant voice: "Okay, let's introduce. I am Semyon Vorobyov, political commissar of the regiment. I am very easy-going and don't smoke. Please let me join you as a companion." He was looking at his companions in the ward calmly and with great interest, when Milesyev met his thin, menacing golden eyes.It was shooting a cautious and probing look at him. "I won't stay with you long. I don't know what will happen to you, and I don't have time to lie here. My cavalry is waiting for me. As soon as the ice melts and the road is dry—go on Let's go: 'We are the red knights, about us...' Ah!" His voice boomed, and the room was filled with a sonorous, joyous bass. "All of us won't stay here for long. Wait until the ice floats—and we'll go too...to Ward No. 50." Kukushkin responded, turning abruptly, facing the wall. Ward Fifty is a non-existent thing in the hospital.That's just another name for the mortuary among patients.The political commissar may not have known this, but he immediately caught the gloomy tone behind the joke. He was not angry, but just looked at Kukushkin in surprise, and asked: "My dear friend, how old are you? Oh, you have a beard, a beard! It's not too early to see you getting old before you get old!" 4 Since the arrival of the new patient (the commissar was called among others) in Ward 42, all the order of life in the ward changed immediately.The bulky and feeble man got acquainted with the group the next day, and later Stepan Ivanovich said that here he gave each of them a unique key to the soul. . He talked so delightfully about horses and hunting with Stepan Ivanovitch, both of whom were experts in raising horses and hunting; People, he was so red-faced arguing about the modern combat methods of the air force, tank soldiers, and cavalry, not without excitement proving that the air force and tank soldiers are fun, but the cavalry is not outdated.He also pointed out that if the cavalry now takes a good rest, pays attention to tactics, and allows those veteran commanders who have experienced many battles to lead a group of visionary, thoughtful, brave and good-for-nothing young people, then our cavalry can still impress the world.He even has a common language with the silent tank.It turned out that his division also participated in the famous counterattack led by General Gonev. They were first near Yartsev and then transferred to Dukhovshina, and the tanker and his squad were in the There rushed out of the encirclement.The political commissar also enthusiastically listed the villages they were both familiar with, and described where the German soldiers there had suffered so much.The tankers were still silent, but not tossing and turning as before.His facial expression was obscured by the bandages, but he nodded approvingly.As for Lieutenant Kukushkin, the political commissar proposed to play a game of chess with him, so that Kukushkin suddenly turned from cloudy to sunny.The chessboard was placed on Kukushkin's bed, while the political commissar lay on the bed with his eyes closed and played "blind chess".He killed the careless lieutenant in two or three hits, which made them reconcile instead. The arrival of the political commissar injected fresh breath into the long and boring life in the ward, as if every morning, when the assistant nurse opened the window, a fresh and moist air of Moscow's early spring mixed with the cheerful and noisy sounds from the street rushed in through the window.The commissar did not do this on purpose.He just lived, greedily and vigorously, forgetting or forcing himself to forget the pain that tormented him. 早晨醒来，他就在床上做起体操来——手或上或侧地举举伸伸，腰或前或后地弯弯直直，头或左或右地扭动和低下。他洗脸时要稍稍凉些的水，站在盆前把水哗哗啪啪地撩在脸上，噗噗吃吃地洗着，洗得怪久的，然后用毛巾攒足了劲地揉擦，擦得他那浮肿的身体都泛出红晕来。大伙注视着他，不由自主地也想这样做。报纸送到了，他贪婪地从护士手中一把夺过，迫不及待地朗读着苏联情报局的战报，接着再详细地逐条逐条地朗读战场通讯。他在阅读时竟带有自己独特的色彩，这就是所谓的主观色彩：一会儿他突然小声地重复着自己喜欢的消息，嘟哝地说“对的”，接着就加以强调；一会儿他又突然发怒地大喊大叫：“狗杂种！撒谎！全不是这样，我敢用我的脑袋赌啤酒瓶。这个恶棍，他在胡编乱造！”有一次他对一个信口雌黄的通讯记者大为不满，立即给报纸总编写了一封怒气冲冲的明信片，证明那类报导在战争中纯属乌有，绝对不可能存在，并要求制止这个四处造谣的家伙的行为；有时候他沉浸在报上的消息里，人倒在枕头上，眼睛瞪着大大的，躺着间或猛然地开始叙述着他的骑兵的趣事轶闻，按他的话来说，这些骑兵个个都是英雄好汉。然后他又开始阅读报纸。可是奇怪的是他的这些责备以及离题万里的感慨，非但丝毫没有阻碍听众的兴趣、转移他们的注意力，反而更能帮助他们加深理解他所念到的消息。 每天在午饭和治疗期间，他还学两小时的德语，又是记单同又是造句的，有时想到外语的意思，会突然发问： “年轻人，你们知道德语小鸡怎么说？匠里亨！是的，匠亨里亨！这是一种小巧巧、毛茸茸的、柔嫩嫩的家伙。你们知道小钟怎么说吗？戈嘹克铃，发音真好听，是吗？” 一次斯捷璠?伊万诺维奇有些沉不住气了： “团政委同志，您学德语干嘛呀？何必折腾自己呀？您省点力气得了……” 政委狡黠地瞥了老兵一眼： “哎哟，大胡子呀，老呆在医院里，对俄罗斯人难道也能算是生活吗？将来我们打到柏林，我用什么语言同德国人对话呢？你说用什么语呢？用恰尔顿土话吗？” 斯捷璠?伊万诺维奇坐在政委的床上，他本想振振有词地反驳政委，目前战线已逼近莫斯科了，离德国娘们还远着呢，可是政委的话语里是那样地充满希望和信心，以致这个老兵只好咂嘴称是，而且还煞有介事地补充道： “话可不是这么说的。用恰尔顿土话当然不行。可是政委同志，您受了这样的内伤，得多多保重啊。” “娇美的鸟儿死得快，你没听说过？可不妙啊，大胡子！” 病房里没人蓄留大胡子，却不知何故政委把大伙儿一概叫做“大胡子”。他这样叫人并未令人不快，反而叫人高兴，大伙听到这个可笑的称呼心中无不舒坦。 阿列克谢整天仔细地观察着政委，竭力想弄清他那永不枯竭的饱满精神的秘诀。毫无疑问，他非常痛苦。只要他一睡着，自己就失去控制，就会立即开始呻吟，翻来覆去，咯咯地磨牙，脸部痉挛抽搐。八成他是知道这些的，因而他白天里挺着坚持不睡，替自己寻找些事拨弄拨弄。精神饱满时，他总是镇静自若，似乎他那可怕的伤痛不曾发生，而当医生们触摸和检查他的病痛的地方时，他总是悠悠然地与医生们有说有笑。只有在看到他的一天那么紧紧地揪着被单，鼻梁上渗出豆大的汗珠时，才能猜测到，他总是如何地强忍着自己的。飞行员弄不明白政委怎能压抑住可怕的剧痛，哪来的那么多的精力、勇气和生活的乐趣。如今他尤其想知道这其中的蹊跷。因为尽管给他加大了麻醉剂量，可是他还是彻夜难眠，眼睁睁地直躺到天明，有时只好用牙齿咬着被子，害怕痛得呻吟起来。 现在每当检查的时候，那个不祥的同“截肢”越来越频繁地，越来越偏执地出现。密列西耶夫感到这可怕的一天不可避免地逼近了，他决定没有脚就不再活下去了。 5 这一天终于来临了。瓦西里?瓦西里耶维奇把那发黑的、已经不能感觉到触摸的脚摸了半天，而后猛然挺直腰身，眼睛直直地盯着密列西耶夫，说道：“切掉吧！”未等脸色苍白的飞行员回答，教授暴躁地加了一句：“切掉吧——没有什么好说的，你听见了吗？不然你就要死掉！明白吗？” 他走出房间，看也没看自己的随从。病室里一片难忍的静谧。密列西耶夫躺着，脸色呆板，目瞪口呆。他的眼前一片朦胧，那个残废的老艄公的那双蓝色、丑陋无比的假肢又浮现出来。他又看见了那个人是如何脱了衣服，四肢爬地，像猴子似地撑着双手，沿着湿润的沙地爬进水里的。 “阿辽沙。”政委轻轻地唤了一声。 “干嘛？”阿列克谢用生疏的、恍惚的声音应声道。 “阿辽沙，必须这样做。” 刹那间密列西耶夫感到，这不是艄公，是他自己在用断腿爬行着。而他的姑娘，他的奥丽雅穿着花花绿绿、随风飘扬的连衣裙站在沙地上。她轻盈、容光焕发、妩媚动人。她咬着嘴唇，慌慌张张地望着他。将来就是这副德行！他一头扎进枕头里抽噎起来，浑身发抖地抽搐着。大家都挺难受。斯捷璠?伊万诺维奇呼哧呼哧地走下床，披上衣服，拖着鞋，手扶搭着床，向密列西耶夫走去。然而政委却做了一个禁止他的手势，仿佛说，让他哭吧，别打搅他。 的确如此，阿列克谢觉得好受一些了。不久他就安静下来，甚至还感到一丝轻松。一个人一旦解决了久久折磨他的烦恼，总会有这种感受的。一直到晚上，到卫生员把他抬进手术室，他都默然无语。在那间洁白得耀眼的手术室里他也一言不发。就连别人告诉他，根据他的心脏的状况不能全麻，做手术只能局部麻醉的时候，他仅仅是点了点头。手术的时候他既没有呻吟也没有叫喊。瓦西里?瓦西里耶维奇亲自主刀做了这个并不复杂的手术，他照例在这时对护士和助手大发雷霆，有好几次他让助手看看刀下的病人是否还活着。 锯骨头的时候，那种疼痛是骇人听闻的，然而对忍受痛苦他已经习以为常了，他甚至有些迷惑，这些身穿白大褂，脸上带着纱布口罩的人在他的脚旁干些什么。 他清醒的时候已经是在病房了，首先映入眼帘的是克拉夫奇雅?米哈依洛夫娜那张关切的脸。奇怪的是，他什么都记不得了，他甚至很惊诧，为什么这个亲切、可爱的金发女郎的脸上挂着焦急、狐疑的脸色。她看见他睁开眼睛，就露出了笑容，在被子里轻轻地握了握他的手。 “您真是条好汉！”接着她就给他切脉。 “她在说什么呢？”阿列克谢觉得脚上疼痛的部位比先前往上移了些，不过不像是以前的那种火辣辣的、迸裂似的、一抽一抽的痛了，而像是一种隐隐约约的疼痛，似乎是用绳子在腔骨上方将疼牢牢地扎住了。蓦地他从被子的起伏皱褶上看见他的身体变短了。刹时间他回忆起来了：耀眼夺目的白色手术室，瓦西里?瓦西里耶维奇激怒的不满声，搪瓷桶里的顿挫声。难道已经……他不知怎的有些愕然，苦笑着对护士说： “我好像短了一截。” 克拉夫奇雅?米哈依洛夫哪尴尬地笑了笑，像是在做苦脸，心痛地给他整理了一下头发。 “没什么，没什么，亲爱的，现在就会轻松些了。” “是啊，是轻了一些，轻了几公斤。” “不要这样，亲爱的，不要这样，您是好样的，有些人喊呀叫的，有些人用皮带捆住还得抓住他们，可是您连哼都没哼……唉，战争呀，战争！” 这时政委生气的声音从昏暗的病房里传来： “您干嘛在那儿像做祷告似的？您把信递给他，护士。我都嫉妒了呢。这个人真是好运气，一下子来了那么多的信！” 政委递给密列西耶夫一束信。这都是来自他本团的信。信上的日期前后不同，可是不知何故却同时到来。这会儿阿列克谢截了脚躺着，就一封一封地读着这些朋友的来信。在信中他们讲述了那遥远的、充实的劳动，喜悦和危险。那是他自始至终一直渴求的生活，可现在对他来说一去不复返了。团里的来信，无论是重大的新闻还是亲切的琐事他一律津津有味地品尝：兵团里一位政治工作者泄露消息说，已经呈报将红旗勋章奖给他们团；伊万丘克一下得了两枚奖章；雅申打猎时打到一只不知为什么竟没有尾巴的狐狸；斯捷派?罗斯托夫因为患了口腔溃疡所以同护士莲诺奇卡的恋爱不欢而散……诸如此类他都觉得十分有趣。一霎时他的思绪飞到了那个隐避在树林和湖泊之间的机场上，在那里飞行员们常常因为机场跑道的险恶而破口大骂，然而如今对他来说那是世界上最好的地方。 他那样地沉溺在信中，以至于忽视了日期的不同。他也没有发觉政委冲着护士使眼神，微笑地在一边指指点点，悄悄地对护士说：“我的药比你们所有的安眠药要高明呢。”阿列克谢一直蒙在鼓里：是政委藏匿了他的部分信件。他预料到这一天的到来，他要在密列西耶夫的可怕的这一天，把来自亲爱的机场的友好问候和消息转交给他，减轻对他的沉重打击。政委是个老兵，他知道这些字迹潦草匆匆写成的纸张的非凡的力量，有时候它在前线会比药品和于粮要重要得多。 安德烈?捷葛加连科的来信写得又粗糙又简单，正如他本人一样。信是夹在别人信中的一张不大的纸片，上面布满了歪歪斜斜的小字和许许多多的感叹号： “上尉同志！您说话不算数，这可不好！！！团里大伙儿经常念叨您，我不说瞎话，不过只是谈论谈论而已。不久前团长同志在餐室里说道，阿列克谢?密列西耶夫——这才叫了不起呢！！！您知道，对最出色的人他才这么说。快点回来吧，这儿都在等待您呢！！！餐室里的大廖丽娅让我告诉您：不消说她现在会给您三份第二道菜的，就是为此被军需处开除她也不管。不过您说话不算数真是不好！！！别的人您都给写了信，可我呢，您什么也没写。这让我很生气，所以我就不单独给您写信，可是请您给我单独写一封信——告诉我您过得怎样，身体好吗——行吗……” 这封有趣的便笺下的署名是：“气象学中士”。密列西耶夫微笑了，但是他的目光落到了“快点回来吧，这儿都在等待您呢”这句话上，在信中，这是加了着重号的。密列西耶夫在床上欠起身体，用一种发现丢失了重要文件而在口袋里乱摸乱掏的神色慌慌张张地用手拂过从前是脚的地方，手摸了一个空。 霎时间阿列克谢完全意识到失去双脚的一切痛苦：他再也不能重返团队，重返空军，总而言之，永远不能重返前线了。他永远也不能驾机直冲云霄，参加空战了，永远不能了！现在他是一个残废，失去了心爱的事业，寸步难行，是家中的重负，是生活中的累赘。这是个无法改变的事实，一直到死！