Chapter 9 Part Three 1-2

1 One day in the midsummer of 1942, a stocky young man walked out through the two heavy oak doors of a Moscow hospital with an ebony cane.He was wearing an Air Force French lapel jacket, trouser legs undone, and a light blue collar patch with three small squares of the rank of captain.He was escorted out by a woman in a white coat, the kind of red cross hood worn by nurses in the last world war, which added a bit of dignity to her kind and lovely face.They stopped on the landing at the door.The pilot took off his crumpled, faded flight cap and awkwardly raised the nurse's hand to his lips for a kiss, while the nurse cupped his head in both hands and kissed him.Then he limped quickly down the steps, without looking back, through the long hospital buildings and out along the asphalt road by the river.

Wounded men in blue, yellow, and brown pajamas waved hands, canes, and crutches at him from the windows, shouting, exhorting, wishing him a safe journey.He waved at them too, but he could see that he wanted to get out of the tall gray building as soon as possible, so he turned his back to the window to hide his excitement.Leaning lightly on crutches, he walked quickly, with a strange, straight, skipping step.If he hadn't made a slight creaking sound with every step, no one would have thought that this well-built, strong, and agile man would have had his feet amputated. After Alexey Milesyev was discharged from the hospital, he was sent to the Air Force Sanatorium on the outskirts of Moscow for thorough treatment.Major Struchkov is also going there.The nursing home sent a car to pick them up.But Milesyev told the leadership of the hospital that he has relatives in Moscow and must visit them.So he left the knapsack with Struchkov and left the hospital on foot, promising to take the electric train back to the sanatorium at night.

In fact, he had no relatives in Moscow.It's just that he really wanted to see the capital, couldn't wait to try his ability to walk independently, and wanted to squeeze through the noisy crowd that had nothing to do with him.He called Anyuta and asked her - if she could - to meet him around twelve o'clock.where is it?Oh, where is it? ...Then next to the Pushkin Monument, how about... No, he is walking along the embankment alone, and the majestic river flows between the granite embankments, shining in the sun like scales ripple.He breathed greedily with his whole chest the warm summer air, which smelled of something very familiar, pleasant, sweet.

How beautiful it is all around! He thought all the women were beautiful, and the trees were green and dazzling.The air is so fresh and intoxicating, it makes people feel dizzy like drunk; the air is so transparent that they lose the concept of distance, it seems that they can touch these ancient things as long as they stretch out their hands.The walls of the Kremlin, which have never been seen before, the dome of the bell tower of Ivan the Great, and the huge and soothing arc-shaped arch across the water.The intoxicating, slightly sweet smell that wafts through the city reminds one of childhood.Where does this smell come from?Why is the heart beating so excitedly?Why is the mother in the memory not a thin old woman, but a young, tall woman with long hair?Had he not been to Moscow with her once?

So far, Milesyev has learned only from photographs in newspapers and magazines, from books, from the accounts of those who have been to Moscow, from the long toll of an ancient musical clock tolling in the sleeping silence of midnight. , from the noisy and loud march on the radio to know the capital.But now, the vast and beautiful capital lay before him, only looking a little tired under the dazzling summer sun. Alexei walked along the empty river embankment next to the Kremlin, took a rest by the cool granite parapet, looked at the dust clattering at the foot of the wall, covered with a film of color. Misty river, and then slowly walked up to the Red Square.The linden tree is in bloom.In the middle of the asphalt road and the square, elegant and fragrant yellow flowers are blooming on the well-trimmed canopy. A group of bees are busy buzzing, ignoring the beeping of passing cars and the beeping of trams. The whirring and creaking, and the shivering, petroleum-smelling heat of the hot asphalt.

Ah, Moscow, so you are like this! After four months in the hospital, Alexei was so engrossed in the summer beauty of Moscow that he didn't notice right away that the capital was also in uniform and - as the pilot said - on alert level 1 state, that is to say, it is ready to face the enemy at any time.A wide street beside the bridge was blocked by huge, ugly barricades of logs and filled with sand; at the head of the bridge stood some square concrete bunkers with bullet holes on all sides, as if they had been left on the table by children. building blocks.On the gray and flat ground around Red Square, the buildings, lawns and avenues are painted with colorful oil paint.The shop windows on Gorky Street were boarded up and filled with sand.In the alleys, there are rusty prismatic horses welded with steel rails, which also look like toys scattered and abandoned by wayward children.All this was not very conspicuous to a soldier who came back from the front and knew nothing about Moscow.What is amazing is only some weird paintings on some buildings and walls, whose colors are very similar to the works of futurist painters. "Window of Tars" ① also watched the passers-by from the fence and the window, as if jumping from the Mayakovsky poetry collection ② to the street.

① TASS is the abbreviation of the Soviet State Telegraph Agency. ② From 1919 to 1922, Mayakovsky worked in the "Window of Rosta (later Tas)", posting posters, slogans and short poems made by himself. Milesyev walked up Gorky Avenue, his artificial feet creaking from time to time.He was already quite tired and was struggling with a cane, but he still curiously looked for the craters, scars, buildings destroyed by shells, exposed collapsed ground and broken windows with his eyes.When he was stationed at a military airfield in the far west, he could hear German bombers echelon after echelon flying eastward from the cave dwelling almost every night.Before one wave in the distance stopped, another wave rushed over, and sometimes the air was buzzing throughout the night.The pilots knew it; German electronics were heading for Moscow.They imagined how chaotic the situation there was now.

Now, while visiting Moscow during the war, Milesyev searched for traces of shelling with his eyes. He searched for a long time, but found nothing.The asphalt was as smooth as ever, the buildings stood like an undisturbed procession, and even the panes of the windows—although with a few exceptions, pasted with strips of paper into a mesh—were intact.The battlefield is close at hand, which is evident from the anxious faces of the residents.Half the population was military, wearing dusty boots, sweat-soaked army shirts clinging to their bodies, and slung over their shoulders what were then called "knapsacks."Suddenly, a long truck rushed out of the alley onto the sun-drenched street, its body covered in dust, its fenders shattered, and the driver's window shot through.The soil-covered soldiers, wearing fluttering raincoats, sat on the rickety wooden carriages, looking around with interest.The convoy moved forward, passing trolleybuses, cars, and streetcars, like a living reminder that the enemy was here, close by.Milesyev Hisakuhito stood and watched the convoy leave.Wouldn't it be nice to hop in this dusty truck and be on the front line in the evening, back to the lovely airport?He thought of the cave where he and Tego Galenko had lived together, of the slatted beds on fir-wood trestles, of the resin, the needles, and the smell from the oil lamps made of flattened cannonballs on the roof of the cave. The pungent smell, thinking of the roar of the motor heating up every morning and the pine waves ringing overhead day and night.This cave is a quiet and comfortable, real home.Alas, better get back there quickly, back to the swamps that the pilots cursed for the wetness of the land, the mud, and the incessant chirping of mosquitoes!

Alexei barely walked to the Pushkin Monument.On the way he rested several times, leaning on his cane, pretending to be looking at some of the dusty knickknacks displayed in the windows of commodity shops.How happily he sat down—no, not sat down, but collapsed on a warm, sun-heated green bench not far from the High Monument, straightening his sore, swollen, Legs worn out by belts.Although he was tired, he was in a very good mood.What a sunny day!The endless sky stretches over the turrets of houses where stone statues of women stand in the distance.The gentle breeze blows the fresh and fragrant floral fragrance of the linden tree along the avenue.The streetcar bells and jingles.A group of pale, emaciated Muscovite children laughed, intently planing the warm, ash-laced sand next to the base of the monument.A little farther down the avenue, outside the roped fence, were two rosy-cheeked girls in smart army shirts who were guarding a huge silver gleaming cigar-shaped balloon.In Milesyev's eyes, this symbol of war looked not like the night watchmen of the Moscow sky, but like a huge, gentle beast escaped from a zoo, now in the shade of a flower-blossoming avenue. Take a nap.

①During the Great Patriotic War of the Soviet Union, many cities raised countless balloons into the air at night to form a barrier network to prevent the enemy's night attack. Milesyev squinted his eyes and raised his smiling face to the sun. At first the pilot did not attract the attention of the group of children.They were reminiscent of the little sparrows on the windowsill of Ward Forty-two.Amidst their cheerful chirping, Alexei felt the warm caress of the sun and the noisy atmosphere of the street with all his being.But at this moment a barefoot little boy ran from his companions, tripped over the pilot's outstretched leg, and fell on the sand.

In an instant his round face turned into a weeping face, then a look of bewilderment, and then real terror.The child gave a loud cry, looked at Alexei in fear, and ran away.So a large group of children gathered around him, chirping in panic for a long time, and looking sideways at the pilot from time to time.Then the group of children began to approach slowly and nervously. Alexey was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not pay attention to all this.When he found the children looking at him in amazement and fear, he overheard their conversation. "Vitamin, you're always talking nonsense! A pilot is a pilot, or a captain." A pale, emaciated child about ten years old said seriously. "I'm not talking nonsense. I can swear, on the honor of the Young Pioneers - it's made of wood! I tell you: it's not true, it's made of wood." The round-faced Witamin argued. Milesyev's heart seemed to be pricked by a needle.Immediately he felt that the day was no longer so sunny, not so pleasant.He raised his eyes to look at the children, who stepped back under his gaze and continued to stare at his feet.Exasperated, Vitamin approached the little boy defiantly and said: "Hey, do you want me to ask? Do you think I dare not? Let's make a bet!" He suddenly stepped out from the group of children, moved his steps carefully, like the sparrow called "Submachine Gunner", ready to run away at any time, and began to approach Milesyev sideways. "Uncle Captain..." he said nervously, like a runner standing on the starting line before starting, "uncle, what are your feet like—are they real, or are they wooden? Are you crippled?" At this moment, he, the little boy like a little sparrow, noticed that the pilot's chestnut eyes were full of tears.It would not have made such a deep impression on him had Milesyev jumped up, yelled at him, and rushed at him waving that peculiar-looking cane engraved with gold letters.Not with his head—no, but with his little sparrow-like heart the little boy felt what pain he was causing the swarthy soldier when he said the word "crippled"!Silently he returned to his silent companions, and with them he disappeared quietly, as if melting into the hot, fragrant air that smelled of honey and of the bitumen of the hot road. Someone is calling his name.He jumped up immediately.Standing before him was Anyuta.He recognized her right away, even though she wasn't actually as pretty as she looked in the photo.She was pale and tired, wearing a military shirt and leather boots, a half-worn boat hat stuck in her hair like a cake, a paramilitary look.But her pale green, protruding eyes were so bright, looking at Milesyev so innocently and with such kindness, that he felt that the stranger had been an acquaintance for a long time, as if they were friends. Like growing up in a yard. They were silent for a moment, pondering each other. "The you I imagined are not like this at all." "What does that look like?" Milesyev felt that he had no strength to dispel the unnatural smile on his face. "It's like this... how should I put it... a heroic, tall man, by the way, not a strong man, with such a chin, with a pipe in his mouth, he must have a pipe... Ge Risa wrote me so much about you..." "Speaking of your Grisha—that's the real hero!" Alexei interrupted her.Seeing the joy on the girl's face, he went on, emphasizing "yours" and "yours": "Your Grisha is the real one. I'm nothing, but he, Your Grisha, he probably hasn't told you anything about himself..." "You know, Alyosha... may I call you Alyosha? I'm used to calling you that in his letters... You have nothing else to do in Moscow? Are you? Come to me." I'm off duty, and I have a full twenty-four hours to spare. Come on! I've got vodka. Do you like vodka? I'll buy it." Suddenly, from somewhere deep in memory, Major Struchkov's mischievous face is looking at Alexei, giving him a wink, as if to say, look, she lives alone, and vodka, lol !But Struchkov was so ashamed, and now Alexei no longer believed him.There was still a long time in the evening, and they walked along the avenue, talking happily like real old friends.The girl bit her lip and tried not to cry when he spoke of the great misfortune Gvozdev had suffered from the very beginning of the war.He was glad to see it.Her pale green eyes sparkled as Alexei described his military adventures.She was so proud of him!She asked him one after another about his latest details in such a shy manner!And how angry she was when she told how Gvozdev had suddenly sent her his withdrawal slip for no reason!Why did he run away so suddenly?Not a word, not a note, not an address.Is it a military secret?But one person left without saying goodbye, and later did not write another letter. What kind of military secret is this? "By the way, why did you keep saying on the phone that he was growing a beard?" Anyuta asked, looking at Alexei critically. "Well, I'm just talking nonsense, it's a trivial matter." Milesyev wanted to avoid this question. "No, no, you must tell! I won't let you go if you don't tell me. Is this also a military secret?" "What kind of military secret is this! It's just something our professor Vasily Vasilyevich prescribed to him . . . to make girls . . . make a girl like him more." "Oh, that's what it is, now I understand it all. So it's - so - so!" Anyuta's complexion seemed to turn dark immediately, and she looked much older.The light in those slightly protruding pale green eyes also seemed to have disappeared.Her pale face, the fine lines like stitches on her forehead and around her eyes suddenly became more pronounced.Alexei felt that she—in her old army shirt and a faded boat cap on her dark brown, slicked hair—had grown weary.Only her ruddy, bright little mouth with the almost invisible down on her lips and a small mole showed that she was still very young, probably not yet twenty years old. This is often the case in Moscow. You walk along a wide street under the shade of beautiful buildings, and then turn a corner and walk forward a dozen steps-in front of you is an old, bulging building. The small house sunken in the ground, the glass on the small window has become gray and dull due to disrepair.Anyuta lived in such a small house.They walked up a narrow, cramped staircase that smelled of cat feces and kerosene to the second floor.The girl opened the door with the key.Stepping over the grain sacks and pots and pans in the shade between the doors, they entered a dark, empty kitchen, through the kitchen, into a small corridor full of piles and hangings, and into a small door. in front of the door.A thin old woman leaned out from the opposite door. "Anna Danilovna, there is a letter from you," she said, looking at the young couple curiously, and went back into the room. Anyuta's father was a university teacher.Her parents withdrew to the rear with the school.She had two small rooms in her care, and the house was so crowded, so full of old-fashioned furniture in sackcloth coats, that it looked like a furniture store.From the furniture, from the old woolen door curtains, from the yellowing curtains, from the paintings and slates, from the statuettes and vases on the piano, there was a damp smell, and a scene of desolation. "Please forgive me. I am also in a state of war and live at work. I go directly from the hospital to the school every day, and I come here just to have a look." Anyuta said with a blushing face, and then hurriedly cleared everything on the table. The rubbish was ripped off along with the tablecloth. She went out for a while, and when she came back she spread the tablecloth and smoothed the edges. "Even if I can find time to go home, I am exhausted and exhausted. I often fall asleep as soon as I sit on the sofa and have no time to take off my clothes. How can I have time to clean up the room!" After a few minutes, the electric teapot creaked.On the table were old-fashioned teacups of handsome shape with worn edges gleaming.Slices of black bread cut like flower petals are placed on the rough porcelain plate, and finely twisted white sugar can be faintly seen at the bottom of the sugar bowl.The teapot was covered with a pom-pom woven cover from the last century.The tea has been brewed and has a tantalizing aroma reminiscent of pre-war times.The untouched bottle of wine in the middle of the table glowed light blue against the background of the two thin goblets. Milesyev was sitting in a deep velvet easy chair.The green velvet upholstery bore so many fibers that not even the long spun wool blankets carefully pinned to the cushions and back of the chair.However, the chair was so comfortable to sit on, it embraced you from all sides so deftly and lovingly that Alexei immediately sat down on it and comfortably stretched his paralyzed, hot legs. . Anzuta sat down on a small stool beside him, looked up at him like a little girl, and asked him again about Gvozdev.Then she suddenly remembered, scolded herself, got busy again, and drew Alexei to the table. "Perhaps, would you like a drink? Grisha said, tankers, oh, and of course pilots..." She pushed the goblet in front of him.The vodka shone pale blue in the bright sunlight that streamed through the interior.The smell of alcohol reminded people of the distant forest airport, the commander's mess hall, and the happy noise of "Rated Fuel ①" at lunch.He found the other glass empty and asked: ① Refers to wine. "and you?" "I don't know how to drink," Quniuta said curtly. "What if it's for him, for Grisha?" The girl smiled and poured herself a cup silently.Holding the thin waist of the wine glass, she clinked glasses with Alexei thoughtfully. "To his success!" she said resolutely, quickly pouring a glass of wine into her mouth, but she choked, coughed, flushed, and managed to catch her breath. Since he hadn't drank for a long time, Milesyev felt that the vodka rushed straight to his head, and his whole body felt warm and peaceful.He poured another glass.Anyuta shook her head resolutely. "No, no, I don't know how to drink, as you have seen." "And for my success?" Alexey asked. "Anyuta, you know how much I want to be successful!" The girl looked at him very seriously, took up her glass, nodded kindly to him, shook his elbow lightly, and drank another glass.She was out of breath again and coughed out with difficulty. "What am I doing?! I work all day and night, and drink? It's all because of you, Alyosha. You see... Grisha wrote me so much about you... I'm very, I really hope you succeed! And you will succeed, you will. Did you hear that? You will!" She laughed, and said in a clear voice, "Why don't you eat? Eat bread! You are welcome, I still have it. This is yesterday's bread, and I haven't picked up today's one." She smiled and pushed the porcelain plate with bread slices in front of him.The bread slices were thinly sliced, petal-like, and cheese-like. "You eat, eat, you're a queer man, or you'd get drunk, and what shall I do with you?" Alexei pushed back the porcelain plate with the petal-shaped slices of bread and stared directly at Anuta's pale green eyes and her plump, delicate mouth. "What would happen to you if I kissed you now?" he asked in a low voice. She woke up at once, and looked at him in horror, but not angrily, no, but looking at him inquiringly, disappointedly, like one is looking at a gem-like stone that was shining in the distance a minute ago, Like broken glass. "I will definitely throw you out and write to Grisha that he has misunderstood the man," she said coldly, pushing the bread to him again stubbornly. "Eat something, you are drunk." Milesyev said with a smile: "That's right, and that's why I want to thank you, sensible girl! I thank you on behalf of the entire Red Army! I'll write to Grisha to say that he's a good judge of people." They talked until past three o'clock, until the bright, dusty light that slanted into the room began to climb up the walls.It's time to get on the train.Alexei rose sadly from the comfortable green easy chair.There was a speck of fiber on his French coat.Anyuta came out to see him off.They walked arm in arm, and he walked with such confidence after a short rest that the girl wondered: "Is this true? Is Grisha joking that his friend has no feet?" Leksey told about the evacuation hospital, where she is now sorting the wounded with some medical students.Their work was hard, she said, because trains of wounded were brought in from the south every day.She also said how great the wounded were, how tenaciously they endured their pain.In the middle of speaking, she suddenly interrupted herself and asked: "Grisha is growing a beard. Are you serious?" She was silent for a while, thinking, and then added softly: "I get it all. I'll be honest with you as I was with my father: at first It does feel heavy to look at those scars on him. No, not heavy-not the word, but a little scary...how to say, no, not terrible-not the word...I don't know how to put it. You Do you understand me? It may not be very good...but what can be done! He wants to run away, to leave me—strange man, God, what a strange man! If you want to write to him, you do, he It made me very, very uncomfortable doing that." There are almost no ordinary passengers in the spacious hall of the station. It is full of soldiers, some are busy with their own things, some are silently sitting on stools against the wall, some are sitting on their backpacks, some are squatting, Some were sitting on the floor, all anxious and sad-faced, as if they were thinking about the same thing.In the past, the main connection with Western Europe was through this railway.Now the westbound route is cut off by the enemy about 80 kilometers away from Moscow, so the communication lines outside the city are divided into short sections that do not communicate with each other.Now there are only trains going to the front line, and the soldiers can take about two hours by train from the capital directly to the second echelon of the divisions they are stationed there.Electric trains deliver to the platform every half hour a group of workers living outside the city and farmers carrying milk, berries, mushrooms and vegetables.Their noise engulfed the station like a tidal wave, but they immediately flocked to the square, leaving only the frontline fighters in the station. In the central hall hangs a huge, ceiling-to-ceiling map of the Soviet-German front.A round, blush-cheeked girl in military uniform stood on a small ladder, holding the latest battle report issued by the Soviet Intelligence Agency in her hand, and nailed a thin rope marking the battle line on the map with a tack. The thin rope at the bottom of the map moves sharply, forming a sharp corner.The Germans attacked in the south, they broke through the gates of Iqum-Balvinkov.The front of their Sixth Army advanced to the belly of the country with an obtuse wedge-shaped offensive, and then extended to the blue blood vessel of the Don River Loop.The girl fastened the string close to the Don.The nearby Volga twists and turns like a thick artery, Stalingrad above it is drawn with a large circle, and Kamyshin above it is marked with a small dot.It was evident that the enemy's wedge, clinging to the Don, was advancing towards this main water artery, and was not far from the Volga and the historic city.The girl stood high on the little ladder, and a large crowd below looked at her chubby tack-driving hands in oppressive silence. "Wandering around, you bastard... look, what a rampage!" said a young soldier sadly to himself.His face was covered with sweat, and he looked ill-fitting in a brand new military overcoat that had not yet been wrinkled. A thin railroad worker with a grey-beard and an oil-stained cap looked down melancholy at his fellow soldier, and said: "Random? Then why do you let him in, isn't that obvious? If you keep avoiding him and backing away, he'll just run in. Soldiers! Look, let's get in." Volga Mother River!" His tone was full of pain and grief, as if he was blaming his son for making an unforgivable mistake. The soldier looked around guiltily, pulled the brand new military coat on his shoulders, and got out of the crowd. "Yeah, it was pretty intense," someone sighed and shook his head in pain. "Alas! Alas!" "Why are you scolding him?... Where did he go wrong? Did they sacrifice too little? So many troops came over, almost the entire European army drove over with tanks. You might as well give it a try and see if you can resist it Stay." An old man in a canvas trench coat defended Zhan Shi.From the outside, he is either a country teacher or a doctor. "If you think about it, we are alive and free in Moscow thanks to them, and we should all bow at the feet of this soldier. How much the Germans leveled with tanks in a few weeks country! And we have been fighting for more than a year—nothing happened, and we are still fighting now, and so many of them have been killed. He, that soldier, the whole world should bow down at his feet, you still Said he 'backed off' "I know, I know, for God's sake, stop talking about me! Reason knows it, but my heart hurts, it's almost broken." The railway worker said sadly, "Because the fascists are still trampling our land , destroying our houses..." "Is he there?" asked Anyuta, pointing to the south. "There. She's there too," Alexei replied. On the pale blue loop of the Volga, above Stalingrad, he saw a small circle with the words "Kamyshin."For Milesiev, these were no ordinary dots on a map.It means: small green towns; overgrown suburban streets; poplars with dusty, smooth leaves rustling; the smell of dust; Striped round watermelon on dark clay and among dead leaves; steppe and wind smelling strongly of mugwort; wide, sparkling calm river; slender, gray-eyed, sun-baked A dark girl; and a white-haired, busy, helpless mother... "They're there too," he repeated. 2 The electric train was galloping on the outskirts of Moscow, its wheels were briskly and grunting, and its siren was blaring angrily.Alexei Milesyev was sitting by the window, and was squeezed against the side of the carriage by a little old man.The old man wore a wide-brimmed Gorky hat and a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez on a black string, and was exceptionally clean-shaven.The essentials of the garden—hoe, shovel, pitchfork—were neatly wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine, and placed between the old man's knees. The old man, like all men who live in cruel times of war, cared deeply about the war.He rubbed his dry palms in front of Milesyev, and whispered to him mysteriously: "Don't look at me as an ordinary person—but I know our army's plan very well: lure the enemy to the grasslands of the Volga River Basin, let it stretch the front line, as it is said now, cut off their connection with the base, Then from here, from the west and the north, cut off their fronts together, and settle accounts with them. Yes, yes... This is a very wise move. Because it is not just a Hitler who is fighting us. He waved his The whip has driven all the troops of Europe to us. But we are really weak, and we have to fight against the armies of six countries. We are fighting when the enemy is strong and we are weak, so even if we use open areas to buffer Such a terrible blow should be done, there is nothing wrong with it. This is the only sensible move. Because the allies have not moved until now... huh? What do you think?" "I think you are talking nonsense. Isn't the price of using the land of the motherland as a buffer zone too high?!" Milesyev responded brusquely. That desolate village that was burnt to ruins. But the old man was still nagging around him, and he smelled of tobacco and barley coffee all over him. Alexei stuck his head out the window.A gust of dusty warm wind was blowing in front of him, and he looked greedily at the platform surrounded by the faded green fence and the beautiful small kiosks nailed with boards on the platform; The small villa under the shade of green trees; looking at the green grass washed by the spring water beside the dry stream; looking at the candle-like trunk of the pine tree, under the reflection of the setting sun, the trunk of the tree shines golden light among the leaves ; looking at the endless, azure evening vista beyond the woods. "...No, you are a soldier, and you say: Is this okay? No, we have been fighting fascism alone for more than a year, but where are the allies? Where is the second battlefield? Now you imagine such a picture : A group of brigands attacked an unprepared, hard-working man. But the man did not panic, he rose up and fought them. He fought with blood, and beat them with whatever he picked up. He had only Alone, but there are many robbers, well equipped, and have been watching him for a long time. Yes... But the neighbors saw this scene and just stood in front of the house to express their sympathy, saying: 'Good job, ah, what a good job的！对他们这帮强盗就要这样，打他们，打呀！'他们不来帮忙打退强盗，只是送来了小石头、小铁块，说什么：'呐，用这些东西打得更重些。'可是他们仍然袖手旁观。是啊，是啊，盟国现在不就是这个样子吗？……诸位旅客……” 密列西耶夫饶有兴趣地瞧了老头一眼。这时许多人都朝着他们这个方向看，拥挤不堪的车厢里，到处都有人在说： “不错，我们现在就是孤军奋战。第二战场在哪儿呢？” “没有什么了不起，上帝保佑，打仗的事我们即使势单力薄也能对付。只有等到举行午宴、喝茶的时候，他们，第二战场的先生们才会急急忙忙地赶来。” 火车停在避暑地站台上。几个穿着睡衣、拄着拐杖的伤员走进了车厢，他们拿着一袋袋浆果和一些葵花籽。他们大概是从某疗养院到当地为初愈病人准备的市场上去的。老头马上从座位上站了起来，说： “坐吧，亲爱的，坐吧。”他几乎是用力把一个拄着拐杖、一条腿缠着绷带的红发少年接到自己的座位上，“没关系，没关系，坐吧，别客气，我这就下车。” 为了让人相信，老头甚至把锄头和铁锹拿起来，向门口走去。几名卖牛奶的妇女挤到一张凳子上，腾出座位让伤员们坐下。阿列克谢听到后面一个女人骂骂咧咧的声音： “那个人真不害羞！身边站着一个残废军人，那么累，大家都挤来挤去的，可他身体健康，却满不在乎地坐着，好像被防弹咒语定住了似的。亏他还是指挥官、飞行员呢？” 阿列克谢气得满脸通红，他很委屈，鼻孔猛烈地抽动着。可是他突然乐呵呵地从座位上站了起来，说： “小兄弟，请坐。” 那个伤员不好意思地向后退了一步，说： “上尉同志，不要这样！别费心了，我站一会儿。到那儿又不远，只有两站地。” “我说，坐下！”密列西耶夫对他喊道，他感到内心涌起一种顽皮的快感。 他挤到车厢一头，用手拄着拐杖，靠着车厢站着。他微笑着站在那里。那位围着方格头巾的老太太八成是意识到了自己的莽撞，说： “喂，各位旅客！……旁边的人给拄着拐杖的指挥官让个座位。喂！你，那个戴帽于的，也不害臊，人家在打仗，可你还当自己是母亲的宝贝，占那么大地方！……指挥官同志，到这儿来，坐到我的座位上……喂，你们让开，看在上帝的份上，让指挥官过来！” 阿列克谢假装没听见。突然涌起的喜悦暗淡了下去。这时，女乘务员喊出了他要到的站名，火车稳稳当当地停了下来。阿列克谢挤出人群，在门口又遇到了带夹鼻眼镜的小老头。老头像对老朋友那样对他眨了眨眼睛。 “你认为到底能不能开辟第二战场呢？”他小声问道。 “不开辟第二战场我们也能对付得了。”阿列克谢边回答，边向木制站台走去。 火车的车轮咔嚓咔嚓地响着，汽笛也响亮地鸣叫着，在转弯处火车不见了，留下一股不太浓的烟尘。只剩下几个旅客的站台重新宠罩着夜晚芬芳而宁静的气氛。战前这里一定很美，很静。站台的四周被浓密的松树包围着，树梢上刮来一阵阵均匀的、让人心安的松涛。大概两三年前在这样晴朗的夜晚，在穿过林荫道通往避暑地的一条条羊肠小道上，一定会从火车上走下一群穿着薄薄的、花色连衣裙的漂亮女人，吵吵闹闹的孩子们和心情愉快、皮肤黝黑的男人们。他们刚刚从城里回来，随身带着送给来这里度假的旅客的食物和美酒。而现在，几位下了车的旅客拿着锄头、铁锹、干草叉和其他菜园农具，迅速走下站台，匆匆忙忙地走进树林。他们都在想着自己所关心的事。只有密列西耶夫拄着手杖，像个散步的游客，欣赏着这美丽迷人的夏日夜景，尽情地呼吸着。他眯缝起眼睛，感受着透过松枝的太阳光对皮肤的温柔的爱抚。 在莫斯科的时候，就有人详细地给他讲了路线。作为一名真正的军人，他仅凭几个方向标就毫不费力地找到了通往疗养院的路。疗养院位于一个宁静的小湖畔，从车站步行十几分钟就到了。革命前，一个俄罗斯的百万富翁决定在莫斯科近郊建一个夏宫，而且要建成独一无二的样式。他对建筑师声称，他不在乎花多少钱，只要夏宫是别出心裁的就行。为了投其所好，建筑师在湖边盖了一座规模宏大、样式古怪的砖砌楼阁。有带栅栏的窄窗户，有小尖塔，小楼梯，有过道和游廊，还有像冰刀一样的尖屋脊。这个建筑物在长满青苔的湖畔，在俄罗斯广阔的美景映衬下，就像嵌入的一个古怪而粗糙的斑点。不过这里的景色确实迷人！湖面水平如镜，湖边长着一棵小杨树，它的叶子在轻轻摇曳，就像一群美丽而好动的小鸟飞到了水边。白桦树洁白的树于忽远忽近，在那斑驳的绿荫丛中闪露出来。苍翠的松叶林犹如一个宽阔的、犬牙交错的圆圈镶嵌在湖边。所有这一切美景都倒映在如镜的水面上，溶化在清凉的蓝浆里，溶化在平静而透明的液体中。 这里的主人曾以不同凡响的好客闻名全俄罗斯，许多著名的艺术家都曾长期住在夏宫里。所以这一带令人心旷神怡的景色——无论是它的全景还是它的局部一隅——一部作为宏伟的俄罗斯大自然雄浑而朴素的美景典范，被永久地描绘在许多画布上。 现在工农红军的空军疗养院坐落在这个夏宫里。在和平时期，飞行员带着妻子，有时带着全家住在这儿。在战争期间，飞行员出院后到这里继续治疗。阿列克谢不是沿着那条宽阔的、两旁栽着白桦树的弯弯曲曲的柏油路回到疗养院的，他走的是那条被踩出来的，从车站——穿过树林就到湖边的小路。他是所谓抄近路来的。所以，当他混进那两辆停在大门口的、挤得满满的公共汽车周围的一大群喧闹的人群里时，谁也没有注意他。 从交谈、对话、告别和祝愿声中，阿列克谢知道这是在为奔赴前线的飞行员们送行。准备出发的人都很开心，很兴奋，好像他们不是去每朵云彩后面都有死神在窥视着他们的地方，而是返回和平时期故乡的卫戍部队。送行的人们脸上露出了焦急和忧郁的神色。阿列克谢很理解这种心情，自从南方开始了大规模的新的战斗以来，他就亲身体验到了这种抑制不住的渴望。这种渴望随着前线战事的加剧和局面的复杂而变得更加强烈。而当在军人中，眼下在悄悄地、谨慎地提到“斯大林格勒”这个词的时候，这种渴望就变成了无法排解的苦闷，而被迫闲呆在疗养院里也就变得难以忍受了。 从装饰美观的窗口向外探出许多晒得黝黑的、兴奋不已的面孔。一个身材不高、有点秃顶的瘸腿的亚美尼亚人，穿着条纹睡衣，是那些被公认为说话机智俏皮、甘当喜剧演员的人中的一个（每一批疗养者中都会遇到像他这样的人），他一瘸一拐地在公共汽车的周围忙碌着，挥舞着手杖，对那些要出发的人们说着临别赠言： “喂，费嘉！到空中向德国鬼子问好！你要跟他们好好算帐，谁让他们不让你完成月光浴①的疗程。费嘉，费嘉！你到空中给他们点颜色看看，让他们明白妨碍苏联一流飞行员的月光浴太不像话了。” ①这里指的是青年男女月下夜游。 费嘉是一个皮肤晒得黝黑的圆脸小伙子，高高的额头上有一条疤痕。他把头探出窗外，喊着让疗养院的月光委员会放心。 人群和公共汽车里发出一阵哈哈大笑声。汽车在这阵笑声中启动了，然后慢慢地向大门口驶去。 “祝你成功！一路顺风！”人群中有人喊道。 “费嘉，费嘉！尽快把战地邮编寄来！济诺奇卡①会用挂号邮包把你的心寄还给你……” ①济娜依达的爱称。 公共汽车在林荫道的拐弯处消失了。被夕阳染成金色的灰尘落了下来。穿着罩衣和条纹睡衣的疗养者慢慢地在公园里散开了。密列西耶夫来到疗养院的前厅，那里的大衣架上挂着的军帽都带淡蓝色的帽箍，地板的一角堆放着九柱戏的柱子、排球、褪棒球和网球拍。刚才那个瘸腿的亚美尼亚人把他领进了办公室。近看之下，他的脸严肃而聪明，一双大眼睛美丽而忧伤。路上他玩笑式地说他是疗养院月光委员会主席，并宣称，月光浴已为医学证明是治疗各种伤痛的方法中的最有效的方法。在这件事上他决不允许有自发和无组织的现象，所以夜晚出去散步的证件由他亲自签发。他说起笑话真是张口就来，不过这种时候他眼睛里的表情却是严肃的，而且目光敏锐、好奇地打量着交谈对象。 一位身穿白大褂、头发红得像火焰似的姑娘在办公室里接待了密列西耶夫。 “密列西耶夫吗？”她放下正在读的一本书，严肃地问，“密列西耶夫?阿列克谢?彼得罗维奇吗？”她用不满的目光打量了一下飞行员，“您怎么愚弄我呢？我这里明明写着：'密列西耶夫上尉，从H医院来，没有脚'，而您……” 此时阿列克谢才仔细打量了她那张与所有红发女人一样的白白净净的小圆脸：一团古铜色的头发遮住了她的脸庞，细嫩的皮肤白里透红。她的眼睛像猫头鹰一样又圆又亮。她有些无礼地打量着阿列克谢，神情是既惊又喜。 “反正我是密列西耶夫?阿列克谢，这是我的介绍信……您是辽丽雅吗？” “不是，您听谁说的？我是济娜。您的假脚怎么是这样的？”她不相信地望着阿列克谢的脚。 “噢，那么您就是那位费嘉把心交给你的济诺奇卡了？” “这是不是布尔那兹扬少校对您说的？他可达到目的了。唉，我真是恨透了这个布尔那兹扬什卡！他跟什么人都开玩笑！我教费嘉跳舞，这有什么大惊小怪的？你说说看！” “现在您教我跳舞，行吗？布尔那兹扬答应给我开月光浴的通行证呢。” 姑娘更加惊奇地瞥了阿列克谢一眼： “可是怎么跳呢？没有脚也跳舞吗？得了……您大概也喜欢跟人家开玩笑。” 这时斯特鲁契柯夫少校跑进屋，一把抱住阿列克谢： “济诺奇卡，我们已经商量妥了：让上尉到我的房里住。” 长时间在一起住院的人们再见面的时候就像兄弟一样。阿列克谢很高兴又见到了少校，就像有好几年没有见过面一样。斯特鲁契柯夫已经把背包安置在疗养院里了，所以少校觉得自己像在家中一样。他认识这里所有的人，人们也都认识他。仅用一天的光景他就和一些人成了朋友，不过也和另一些人吵过嘴。 他俩住的小屋的窗户对着公园，房前是一排挺拔的松树、一丛绿油油的欧洲越橘和一棵细小的山梨树。山梨树上有几片像棕榈树一样精致得仿佛是雕刻出来的瓜形叶子，轻轻摇曳着，唯一的一串沉甸甸的果实已经变黄了。吃过晚饭，阿列克谢立刻上了床，在那被夜晚的雾气弄得又潮又湿的被单上伸直了身子，一会儿就睡着了。 这个晚上他做了许多奇怪的、令人不安的恶梦。他梦见淡蓝色的雪和月亮。森林恰似一张毛茸茸的大网把他整个罩住，他想从里面挣扎出来，可脚又被雪缠住了。阿列克谢焦急万分，他感到有一种模糊的、可怕的厄运对他紧追不舍，脚在雪里冻得麻木了，已经没劲把它们拔出来了。他辗转反侧，不停地哼哼直叫——眼前的森林又变成了飞机场，又瘦又高的尤拉坐在一架样子古怪、没有机翼的软体飞机驾驶室里。他面带微笑，一挥手，飞机直冲云霄。米哈依拉爷爷抱着阿列克谢，像对小孩子似地对他说：“让他走吧，让他走吧，我们洗个蒸气浴，暖和暖和身子。很好，好极了！”但是老爷爷没有把他放到热气腾腾的蒸气浴板上，而是放到了雪地上。阿列克谢打算站起来，但又无能为力：大地紧紧地吸住了他。不，这不是大地吸住了他，这是一只熊把它那热乎乎的肥胖身躯压到了他的身上，使他呼吸困难。这只熊一边打着鼾声，一边摧残着他。这时，身旁驶过一辆辆满载着飞行员的汽车，这群愉快地望着窗外的飞行员没有一个人发现他。阿列克谢想喊他们过来帮忙，想奔向他们，哪怕做个手势也好，但是他怎么也做不到。嘴张开了，可喊出的声音跟耳语似的。阿列克谢觉得他被窒息的心脏仿佛就要停止了跳动，他仍然做着最后的挣扎……不知何故眼前又掠过长着火焰般头发的济诺奇卡的笑脸。她那双有些无礼的、充满好奇的眼睛闪烁着嘲笑的神色。 阿列克谢醒来时仍有一种莫名的恐惧感。四周静悄悄的，少校仍在睡梦中打着轻微的鼾声。一束透明的月光透过窗户，撒落到地板上。为什么会忽然梦见那些可怕日子里的种种情景呢？阿列克谢从来不去想它们，即使有时想起来，也觉得那是一个荒诞的故事。一阵均匀宁静的声响和梦中的絮语伴随着夜晚空气中的沁人心脾的凉意涌入这被月光照射的敞开的窗户。这声响一会儿令人激动地纷至沓来，一会儿又沉寂下去，慢慢飘逝，一会儿又凝固在沙沙作响的音符上，让人心神不宁。这是窗外的松林发出的声响。 飞行员在床上坐了起来，久久地倾听着这神秘的松涛声。后来他猛地摇了摇头，好像要把这莫名其妙的梦魔赶走似的，于是他全身重新被一种固执而快活的精力支配着。他应该在疗养院住二十八天，然后决定他是去作战、飞行或过常人的生活，还是在电车上永远需要别人让座位，用一种同情的目光看着他。因此这二十八天既漫长又短暂，几乎每一分钟他都得为争取做一名真正的人而进行战斗。 在月光如水的夜色里，在少校鼾声的伴奏下，阿列克谢在床上制定了训练计划。这个计划包括早晚的体操、走路、跑步和腿部的特殊训练。然而特别感兴趣、使他的假脚得到全面锻炼的，倒是他和济诺奇卡谈话时在他脑中闪现的想法。 他决定要学会跳舞。