Chapter 10 Part Three 3-5

3 On a peaceful, clear noon in August, everything in nature sparkles.But judging from some clues, the hot air already made people feel a slight, withered and melancholy atmosphere.The brook meanders through the bushes, making a gentle murmur.On a small sandy beach, a few pilots are sunbathing. Because of the hot weather, they all lay there lazily and dozed, and even Burnazyan, who was full of energy, was silent and buried his crippled, injured and unconnected leg in the warm in the sand.They lay among the gray leaves of the hazel, and no one could see them, but they could see the paths trod in the green grass.The trail continues down the slopes of the river valley.Burnazyan, who was fiddling with his legs, saw a scene on this path that astonished him.

The newcomer came out of the woods yesterday, wearing striped pajama bottoms, leather shoes, but no shirt.He looked around, saw no one, put his elbows on his waist, and jumped up suddenly.His running posture was very special. He jumped and jumped. After running about 200 meters, he started to walk. At this time, he was out of breath and dripping with sweat.After resting for a while, he ran again.His upper body glowed like the legs of a horse exhausted from running.Burnazyan silently directed his companion to look at the running man.They began to watch him from behind the bushes.These uncomplicated trainings made the newcomer out of breath, with a look of pain on his face, and sometimes hummed a few times, but he still ran endlessly.

"Hey, my friend, is it the glory of Brother Znaminski that makes you restless?" Burnazyan finally couldn't help it, said. ① A famous runner in the Soviet Union. The newcomer stopped.The tired and pained look on his face disappeared.He glanced at the bushes indifferently, without making a sound, swayed his body, and walked into the woods with strange steps. "What kind of acrobat is this? Or a lunatic?" Burnazyan asked puzzled. Major Struchkov, who had just woken up from a doze, explained: "He has no feet. He's working on a fake foot. He wants to go back to the fighter jets."

These lounging figures seemed to have been doused with cold water.They jumped up one by one, and immediately started talking.What surprised everyone was that the young man had had both feet amputated. They didn't notice anything special about his gait except that his gait was a bit weird.They felt that he wanted to fly a fighter plane without feet. This idea seemed absurd, unbelievable, and even blasphemous to flying.They recalled men who had been kicked out of the flying squad for a little ailment—two missing fingers, irritability, flat feet.Various requirements will always be placed on the physical condition of the pilot of the aircraft, even in the time of war, this requirement is much stricter than that of other arms.In short, it seemed impossible to fly such a delicate and sensitive aircraft as a fighter jet with artificial feet instead of real ones.

Of course, everyone agreed that Milesyev's idea was unrealizable.But the daring, wild dreams of the footless man captivated them. "Your friend is either a hopeless idiot or a great human being," Burnazyan summed up the feud. "There is no middle ground for him." The news that there lived in the sanatorium a man who had no legs and dreamed of flying a fighter jet spread immediately through the wards of the sanatorium.During lunch, Alexey became the center of attention, although he did not seem to be aware of it.Everyone paid attention to him and heard him laughing with the people at the same table.He had a good appetite, ate a lot, and complimented the pretty waitress as usual.Seeing him walking in the park with his companions, learning how to play croquet, and even playing volleyball on the volleyball court, they also found that there was nothing special about him except his slow and unnatural gait.He is very normal.Everyone got used to him immediately and paid no attention to him.

On the second evening of Alexey's arrival at the sanatorium he came to Zinotchka's office.He wrapped the cake left over from his luncheon in burdock leaves, handed it to her courteously, and then sat at the table without restraint, asking her when she would fulfill her promise. "What promise?" She raised her painted willow eyebrows and asked. "Zinochka, you promised to teach me how to dance." "But..." She wanted to refute him. "I was told that you are a gifted teacher, that with you people without feet can learn to dance, while normal people, on the contrary, lose not only their feet but their heads as well, just like Figa. That. When do we start? Better not waste time."

No, she did like the newcomer.A man who has lost his feet asks you to teach him how to dance!Why not teach it?This young man with dark skin, rosy cheeks, and beautiful curly hair was easy to attract.He walked like a good man, and his eyes were charming, but wild and melancholy.Dancing played an important role in Zinotchka's life.She likes to dance, and she can dance... No, Milesyev is really charming. In a word, she agreed.She told him that she had learned to dance from the famous Bob Golokhov of Sokolniki, who in turn was the master of the famous Paul Sudakovsky. Protégé and heir, this Sudakovsky taught dancing at the Military Academy somewhere, and even in the clubs of the People's Commissars; She could probably teach him too, though not very confidently.Because there are no real feet, how can you dance?She put forward very strict requirements for him: he must obey the leadership, study hard, and he is not allowed to fall in love with her-because it will disrupt the progress of homework, and more importantly: when other partners invite her to dance, he will not fall in love with her. You must be jealous, because if you dance with one person, your dancing skills will go from bad to worse, and it will be boring and boring.

①The famous summer resort in the suburbs of Moscow, the pine forest.In the old days, it was the place where the tsars hunted. Milesyev accepted her request unconditionally.Zinotchka tossed her flaming hair, turned her delicate feet nimbly, and showed him the first dance steps in the office on the spot.In the past, when Kamyshin's fire brigade orchestra performed in a small park in the city, Milesyev also danced "Russian dance" and some old-fashioned dances in style.He has a great sense of rhythm, so he mastered this "science of joy" very quickly.Now his difficulty was that what he had to control when he danced, and what he had to control flexibly and freely, was not a fleshy, elastic, flexible foot, but a leather prosthetic foot strapped to his calf.This requires greater effort, more tense muscles and tenacious perseverance than ordinary people to force the bulky artificial foot to live through the movement of the calf.

But he finally forced the prosthetic foot to comply.Learn a new dance step every time, including the slide, advance, change of position, stand still, all these ballroom dancing theorized by the famous Paul Sudakowski under the loud and melodious term His complex techniques brought him great pleasure.Every time he learned a new dance step, he was as happy as a child, dancing with his female teacher, or throwing her to the ceiling to celebrate his victory over himself.But no one, and first of all his governess, could have guessed how much pain these complex and distinctive steps caused him, how much this science cost him.No one noticed how he smiled and wiped off the uncontrollable tears on his face when he casually wiped his sweat.

One day he limped back to his bedroom, very tired but quite happy. "I'm learning to dance!" he said solemnly to Struchkov, who was standing in thought at the window.The summer day was slipping away outside the window, and the last rays of the setting sun flickered yellowish sparks on the treetops. The major said nothing. "And must learn!" Milesyev added stubbornly.He took off the artificial foot from the calf very comfortably, and scratched his legs that were numb from the belt with his fingernails, even scratching the nail marks. Struchkov was motionless, he uttered a strange sound, like a sob, and his shoulders shrugged upward.Alexei got into bed silently.A strange thing happened with the Major.This old man, who just didn't care about women not long ago, and often teased them amusedly, making people in the ward dumbfounded, suddenly fell in love, like a fifth-grade student. , involuntarily, involuntarily, and seemingly hopelessly in love.Several times he went to the sanatorium office to telephone a girl named Kravtia Mikhailovna who lived in Moscow.Whenever someone went to Moscow, he asked someone to send her flowers, fruits, chocolates, and wrote notes and long letters. Once someone brought him the familiar envelope, he danced for joy.

But she didn't want to be his friend, she didn't want to know him deeply, she didn't want to give him any hope, she didn't even have any pity for him.She said in her letter that she loved someone else, a dead person, and she kindly advised the major to stay away from her, to forget her, not to waste money and time on her... that was the cold, dry tone .This tone of insulting friendliness and sympathy in love really irritated him. Aleksei was already lying down, covering himself with the quilt, and was silent intelligently.At this moment the major left the window suddenly, shaking his shoulders, and shouted into his ear: "Tell me, what does she want, what does she want? What am I that people look down on? An ugly, old man, or some kind of villain? If it's another woman... well, what else can I say!" He threw himself on the sofa, holding his head in his hands, shaking his body vigorously, and even the sofa groaned. "But she's a woman! She must have feelings for me, or at least a little curiosity. You know, people love her, love her so much! . . . Oh, Lyoshka, Lyoshka! You I know him, I know you... Well, tell me: what is he better than me, and what makes him move her heart? Is he smart? Beautiful? What kind of hero is he?" Alexey thought of Commissar Vorobyov, his bulky, puffy body, yellowish against the white sheets, and the woman who was bending over him in a woman's mournful gesture. , and the story he had overheard about the Red Army marching in the desert. "He was a real man, a major, a Bolshevik, and may God make us like him." 4 A seemingly absurd-sounding news spread in the nursing home: the pilot who lost his feet... was obsessed with dancing! Zinotchka had just finished her business in the office, and the student Alexey was already waiting for her in the corridor.Whenever he came to pick her up, he always had strawberries or chocolates or oranges left over from lunch.Zinotchka shook hands with him solemnly, and they went into the hall, which had been vacated for the summer, and where the hard-working students had moved the card and ping-pong tables against the walls beforehand.Zinotchka gracefully showed him the new steps.The pilot frowned, watching carefully as her delicate little feet danced across the floor.Then the girl became serious, clapping her hands and counting: "One, two, three, one, two, three, slide right...one, two, three, one, two, three, slide left...circle. Good. One, two, three, one, Two, three, ... now switch positions. Let's do it together." Perhaps she was fascinated by the task of teaching dance to a man who had lost both feet, a task neither Bob Golokhov nor Paul Sudakovsky himself Never finished.Perhaps the girl liked him a student with tanned skin, black hair, stubborn and "presumptuous" eyes, or rather - both.Anyway, she put all her free time and all her thoughts on this matter. In the evenings, when the beaches, volleyball courts, and siege fields were empty, dancing became a favorite pastime in sanitariums.Aleksei danced well already.He never missed an opportunity to dance, so when there was such an evening, he was sure to attend.Now his female teacher has more than once regretted that the study conditions for him were too strict.The accordion played music, and couples danced lightly.Milesyev was hot all over, his eyes were shining with excitement, and he was doing movements such as sliding, changing positions, turning around, and standing still.He danced with the lithe grace of his flaming, curly-haired companion, with quick movements that seemed to be effortless.So much so that no one who observed him—the brave dancer—could imagine what he sometimes did outside the hall. ①An old Russian game. He walked towards the door, waving a handkerchief casually, with a smile on his feverish face.However, as soon as he crossed the threshold and walked into the darkened woods at night, the smile on his face was instantly replaced by a painful expression.Holding on to the railing, he staggered, hummed and walked down the steps, and fell down on the wet, dewy grass, his whole body stuck to the wet ground that still retained the heat of the day.His leg was cramped from the belt, and the pain in his leg was so severe that he cried out. He undid the straps and let his legs rest for a while.Then put the artificial foot back on, jumped up, and walked quickly down the hall.He quietly returned to the hall, where the energetic disabled accordionist was still playing, drenched in sweat.Alexey went up to Zinotchka, who was looking for him in the crowd with his fiery red hair, and smiled foolishly, showing his teeth, which were well-proportioned and white as if they were made of porcelain.The swift, beautiful couple then rejoined the dancers.Zinotchka reproached him for leaving her alone.He turned the conversation away with a smile.They went on dancing, no different from the other partners. The heavy dance training has had a huge effect.Alexei felt less and less restrained by the artificial foot.They seemed to merge with him. Alexei was satisfied.Only one thing troubled him now—no letter from Olya.More than a month ago, in view of Gvozdev's misfortune, he had sent her a letter that I now consider terrible, even utterly confused.He received no reply.Every morning after doing exercises and running—he added a hundred steps every day—he stopped by the office to see if there was any letter from him in the mailbox.There were always more letters in the letter "M" box than in the other boxes, but he kept turning the bundle over and over in vain. ①The first letter of Milesyev's surname. But one day, when he was practicing dancing, Burnazyan's head suddenly appeared from the window of the training room.He holds a cane and a letter in his hand.Before he had time to speak, Alexey snatched the envelope written in the thick, round student script and ran out, bewildering Burnazyan at the window and leaving the governess in the room. In the middle, the female teacher was very angry. "Zinochka, all these ... modern partners are like this," Burnazyan whispered in a provocative sissy voice, "girl, don't trust them, be careful, like ghosts Same. Teach him, why not teach me?" Burnazyan threw his stick through the window, panted, and stood up from the bewildered and displeased Zinotchka. Climbed in through the open window. With the longed-for letter in his hand, Alexey hurried to the lake, as if fearing that someone would catch up with him and rob him of his treasure.At the edge of the lake, he burrowed into a patch of rustling reeds and sat on a mossy stone by the shallows.The tall and dense reeds all around completely cover the stone.He pored over the precious letter, trembling under his fingers.What is written in it?What kind of answer?The envelope was frayed and the writing on it was illegible.It must have traveled a lot in search of a recipient.Alexey carefully tore open the envelope and looked at the end of the letter first. "My dear, kiss you. Olya" - reads the following.His heart immediately felt a lot easier.He calmly put the letter on his knee and smoothed it.The sheets were torn from a workbook, soiled somehow with mud spots and small black spots, and dripped with a few drops of candle grease.What happened to Olya, who is usually clean and tidy?But at once he read a piece of news that filled him with both worry and pride, and which made his heart pound.It turns out that Olya has been away from the factory for more than a month. She is now living on the grassland, digging anti-tank trenches with the girls and women in Kamyshin, and building around "a big city, a name for us all." very holy city," she wrote.Nowhere, not a single word about Stalingrad.Even so, from the kind of concern and love, the kind of worry and hope when she mentioned this city, it is clear that the city she is talking about is Stalingrad. Olya also wrote that thousands of volunteers worked day and night on the grassland with shovels, pickaxes, and wheelbarrows.They dug trenches, transported earth and rock, poured concrete, and built fortifications.The letter was full of high emotions, and only from the lines in the letter could one guess how hard they were on the grassland.Olga answered his questions only after she had said something of her own, which probably interested her greatly.She wrote sullenly that she had received his last letter in "the trenches" and that it had insulted her, and that she would have been so humiliated if he hadn't been in the midst of this nerve-wracking war. Such an insult would not be forgiven him. "My dear," she wrote, "what kind of love is love that is afraid of sacrifice? My dear, there is no such love, and if it were, then I don't think it is love at all. You see, I haven't had a week now." In the shower, wearing long trousers and leather shoes with the toes exposed, the skin peeled off in small patches from the sun to reveal rough, purple new skin. If I - haggard, dirty, emaciated, Not pretty—leave here now and go to your place, will you dislike me and even blame me? You weirdo, what a weirdo! No matter what happens to you, you'll know when you come back, and I'll always be waiting for you. Whatever I wait for you to become whatever you become... I think of you often. If I hadn't come to the 'trenches', if I hadn't fallen asleep as soon as I got into bed here, I would have often dreamed of you. You must remember : As long as I live, I will wait for you, forever, no matter what you are, I will wait for you... You also said that anything can happen in war. If something unfortunate happened to me in the trenches or Crippled, will you leave me? Remember when we used substitution to solve math problems in Apprentice School? You put me in your shoes now. You don't write for you Are you ashamed of those words? . . . ” Milesyev sat looking at the letter for a long time.The sun was shining fiercely, reflecting blindingly on the dark water.The reeds rustled.Several light blue, velvety dragonflies flew silently from one sword leaf of the calamus to another.A group of nimble little beetles with long thin legs hopped around on the smooth water near the roots of the reeds, leaving weblike ripples.Microwaves gently suck the sand. "What is it?" thought Alexei, "a presentiment? Or a gift for guessing? My mother said: 'The heart is a prophet.' Did the hard work of digging trenches make the girl so wise that Can she guess what he's holding back by feeling?" He reread the letter.Not really, not at all.But where did it come from?She was just answering his question.Her answer was so kind. Alexei sighed, slowly took off his clothes and put them on the stone.Here he was always swimming, in this little creek known only to himself by the beach, surrounded by a wall of rustling reeds.He unhooked the artificial foot and slid slowly down the stone, not crawling on all fours, although the broken leg made contact with the coarse sand and it hurt him so much.He frowned in pain, walked to the lake, and plunged into the cold and dense water.After swimming away from the shore, he lay on his back on the water, motionless.He saw the unfathomable blue sky.Small clouds are like a busy crowd, floating and rolling one after another.He turned over and saw the lake shore reflected in the water, the shore scenery reflected in the transparent and calm light blue water with amazing life.Yellow water lilies floated among the round leaves that floated on the water, and there were spots of white lilies.Suddenly, he seemed to feel that Olya was sitting on the mossy stone, wearing the floral dress he had seen in his dream, with her legs hanging down.It's just that her feet can't reach the water.The two truncated legs dangled and just couldn't reach the water.Alexei punched the water with his fist hard, trying to drive away the illusion.No, Olya, the substitution you propose won't help me. 5 The situation in the South became complicated.The fighting in the Don Valley has not been mentioned in the newspapers for a long time.Suddenly one day the names of some Cossack villages on the left bank of the Don River were mentioned in the battle report of the Soviet Intelligence Agency.These villages are on the way to the Volga and Stalingrad.Those who do not know the local geography will not know the meaning of these names.But Alexei had grown up there, and he knew that the Don Line had been breached and the fighting had moved to Stalingrad. Stalingrad!Although it hasn't been mentioned in the battle report yet, everyone is already talking about it. In the autumn of 1942, when people mentioned it, they felt uneasy and sad, as if they were not talking about a city, but a relative who was threatened with death.This was especially true for Milesiev, since Olya was just outside Stalingrad on the steppes.Who knows what kind of test she will face!Now he writes to her every day.But what was the point of his letters addressed to some field post office?She was in a panic retreat, in the fiercely fought Volga valley. The nursing home where the pilot lived was like a trampled ant's nest, becoming unrest.All the usual pastimes of the people, such as checkers, chess, volleyball, siege games, front-line "goats" with a fixed style of play, and "blackjack" that thrill-seekers used to play furiously in the bushes by the lake "②, no one cares about it.Everyone is no longer interested in anything, but the first battle report broadcast on the radio at seven o'clock every morning attracts everyone. Even the laziest people have to get up an hour earlier to listen to it with everyone.If the combat exploits of the pilots were mentioned in the interjection of the battle report, everyone would become depressed, complain, find fault with the nurses, complain about the unreasonable system of the sanatorium, and the bad food. Instead of letting them go to fight on the grasslands outside Stalingrad, they would spend time basking in the sun by the mirror-like lake and recuperating in the silent forest.Finally, these convalescents announced that they had had enough rest and asked to return to the combat troops early. ① A kind of card game. ②A kind of card game. At dusk the Air Supply Committee arrived here.Several commanders wearing medical service epaulettes stepped out of the gray car.First-class military doctor Milo Woriski, a well-known doctor in the Air Force circle, also came.He leaned on the back of the chair and struggled to get down from the front seat.He was fat and bloated, but he had a fatherly affection for pilots, so he was loved by pilots.During dinner an announcement was made: tomorrow morning the committee will select those who have recovered, who do not want to recuperate, and who want to go to the army as soon as possible. The next day, just after dawn, Milesyev got up and went to the woods, but instead of doing his usual exercise, he lingered there until breakfast.He skipped a mouthful of breakfast and was rude to the waitress who scolded him for leaving breakfast on his plate.When Struchkov accused him of scolding the girl—because she meant nothing but to wish him well—Alexey jumped up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria.In the corridor, beside the battle report of the Soviet intelligence service, stood Zina.Alexey walked past her, and she pretended not to see him, but shrugged angrily.But Alexey did not see her when he passed her, and the girl was so angry that she almost cried and stopped him.Alexey was very angry, and he turned around and said: "Hey, what do you want to say? What do you need?" "Comrade Captain, why are you..." whispered the girl, blushing as red as her bronze hair. Alexei calmed down, but became depressed. "Today is the time to decide my fate," he said sullenly, "come, shake hands and bless me..." His limp was more pronounced than usual, and he went back to his room and locked the door. The committee is set up in the hall.Various instruments were brought into the hall—spirometers, ergometers, eye charts.All the pilots were gathered in the next room.Those who wish to leave early are almost all recuperators.They formed a long line there.Zinotchka handed out the note with the time to report to everyone and let them disperse.After the first batch of people were inspected, they all said that the inspection was very loose and not harsh.Indeed, the large-scale war on the Volga River is going on intensely and needs batch after batch of new forces. How can the committee be too harsh at this time?Alexey was sitting on a uniquely designed brick wall in front of the aisle, with his legs stretched. Whenever someone came out of the house, he seemed to ask indifferently: "Hello, how are you doing?" "I'm going to fight!" The man who came out often buttoned up or wore a belt while walking, happily replied. Burnazyan entered before Milesyev.He put his cane in the doorway and walked in briskly, trying not to lean to the sides or make the short leg look more obvious.He was stranded for a long time.Towards the end, Alexei heard a few broken curse words through the open window.Then, Burnazyan rushed out of the door, his face was covered with sweat, he gave Alexei a hard look, and without looking back, he limped towards the park: "A bunch of bureaucrats, rear rats! What do they know about aviation? Is this a ballet for them? Short legs...and those nasty enemas and syringes!" Alexei's heart suddenly turned cold, but he still walked into the hall happily and with a smile on his confident steps.The committee members sat behind a large table, and the fat body of Milovolsky, a first-class military doctor, stood in the middle.Behind a small desk next to a pile of personal resumes sat Zinotchka, petite and charming, in a starched white coat, with a lock of red hair peeping out from under the veil, especially charming.She handed Alexei a resume and shook his hand gently. "Hey, young man," said the doctor, squinting his eyes, "take off your clothes." Alexey did not play sports in vain, nor did he bask in the sun for nothing.He was well built, with every muscle clearly visible under his dark skin, which the doctor admired. "A statue of David can be built in your stature," said one of the committee members, showing off his vast knowledge. ① Hebrew king. Milesyev passed all the checks with ease.His wrist strength more than doubled.When exhaling, the pointer of the instrument hits the limiter.Blood pressure was normal and neurological status was good.Finally he yanked the steel handle of the dynamometer and broke the instrument. "Is it the pilot?" the doctor asked happily, lounging in the easy chair.He was ready to write comments on Captain A.P. Milesyev's resume. "It's the pilot." "Is it the fighter pilot?" "It's the fighter pilot." "Then go and kill the enemy planes. Now your comrades need you so much! ... But why are you in the hospital?" Alexei hesitated, and he suddenly felt a sense of failure.The doctor was already reading his bio, his kind face seemed to lengthen in surprise. "The feet were amputated... Nonsense! Is there a typo here? Yes, why don't you speak?" "No, there is nothing wrong," said Alexei quietly and slowly, as if he was about to go to the guillotine. The doctor and all the committee members looked at this sturdy, well-developed, and agile young man in puzzlement, and they could not understand what was going on. "Please roll up your trouser legs!" The doctor couldn't help ordering. Alexey's face turned pale, he looked at Zinotchka helplessly, slowly raised his trouser legs, and stood before the table with his hands drooping dejectedly, revealing a pair of artificial leather feet. "My man, why are you fooling us? What a waste of time you've wasted. Do you want to be in the Air Force without feet?" said the doctor at last. "I don't want to go, I must go!" Alexey whispered, his eyes flashed with a stubborn and challenging look, like a gypsy. "Are you crazy! You want to fly without your feet?" "Yes, no feet—but I want to fly," replied Milesyev, very calmly, no longer stubbornly, and then he reached into the pocket of an old Air Force lapel jacket and took out a A neatly folded magazine clipping, "Look, he can fly with one foot missing, why can't I do without both feet?" The doctor read the article and looked at the pilot with wonder and admiration: "But it takes a lot of training. You see, he's been training for ten years, and he's trained to use the artificial foot as well as the real one," he said mildly. Suddenly, Alexei's rescuers arrived: Zinotchka came out lightly from behind the table, her face was flushed, her hands were placed on her chest, as if praying, fine beads of sweat oozed from her temples.She muttered: "Comrade first-class military doctor, can you see how he dances? Better than all healthy people! Really." "How does he dance? What the hell!" The doctor shrugged and exchanged kindly glances with the other committee members. Alexey was satisfied with Zinotchka's idea; "You don't write 'yes' and you don't write 'no'. Come to our ball tonight. You'll believe I can fly." As Milesyev walked towards the door, he saw in the mirror that the committee members were discussing enthusiastically. Before lunch Zinotchka found Alexei in a grove in an empty park.After Alexey left, she said, the committee discussed it with him for a long time.The doctor said that Milesyev was a rare young man, who knows, maybe, he could really fly.There is nothing the Russians can't do!One commissioner countered that there was no such precedent in aviation history.The doctor immediately replied that there are many things that are not in the history of aviation, and that the Soviets will fill in many gaps for it in this war. On the eve of seeing off the selected pilots to return to the combat units - there were about two hundred such people - a grand ball was organized.A military band came here from Moscow in a truck.Wind music rattled the barred windows, passages and verandahs of the attic.Although the pilots were sweating from jumping, they still jumped tirelessly.In the crowd, the happy, quick and flexible Milesyev danced with his red-haired partner.This pair of dance partners cooperated very tacitly. Sitting by an open window with a cold beer in his hand, Milovolsky, a first-class military doctor, kept his eyes on Milesyev and his red-haired dance partner.He's a doctor, and a military doctor at that.Based on countless medical cases, he knew the difference between a fake foot and a real one. 但是现在，他观察着这位皮肤黝黑，身体强壮的飞行员潇洒地带着他那娇小迷人的舞伴翩翩起舞，他怎么也不能抛开这样的念头：这一切是复杂的骗局。舞会快要结束时，阿列克谢大喊大叫着，用手掌拍着大腿和面颊，在一圈拍手助兴的人群里跳起了一段优美的“太太舞”。然后他满头大汗、生气勃勃地挤到米洛沃里斯基跟前。米洛沃里斯基敬佩地握了握飞行员的手。密列西耶夫没有说话，只是用眼睛直视着医生，在恳求着答覆。 “您应该知道，我无权派您直接去部队。但是我可以把我们给于部处写的诊断意见告诉您。我们的意见是：通过适当的训练您是能够飞起来的。总之，在任何情况下，您都可以认为我对您投的是'赞成'票。”医生回答。 米洛沃里斯基和疗养院院长——也是一位经验丰富的军医——手挽手走出了大厅。他们两个人都赞叹不已，同时又感到莫名其妙。晚上睡觉前，他们俩仍然叼着烟卷坐在那里长时间地探讨着：只要一个苏维埃人真想做点什么事，那他就没有办不到的…… 下面的音乐在鸣奏，翩翩起舞的人们的身影在被从窗内投射出来的灯光照亮的四方形地面上忽闪忽闪地晃动。这时，阿列克谢?密列西耶夫却把自己紧锁在楼上的浴室里，将腿放到冰冷的水里，嘴唇咬得几乎出了血。他把腿上那些由于剧烈运动而磨出的大口子和发青充血的老茧泡在水里的时候，痛得几乎失去了知觉。 过了一个小时，斯特鲁契柯夫少校回到房间。这时，密列西耶夫已经洗得干十净净，精神饱满，正对着镜子梳理他那湿漉漉的波浪式的头发。 “济诺奇卡还在那边找你呢！至少也该陪她散散步告别一下吧！姑娘真可怜。” “我们一起去吧，巴威尔?伊万诺维奇，喂，我们一起去吧，怎么样？”密列西耶夫一再请求道。 想到要和这个既可爱又可笑、那么认真教他跳舞的姑娘独自相处，他就觉得不太自然。自从接到奥丽雅的来信，他就感到和她在一起心里很沉重。所以他一再恳求斯特鲁契柯夫同去，直到斯特鲁契柯夫嘟哝着，最后拿起军帽为止。 济诺奇卡在阳台上等着。她手里拿着一束零落的花球，被扯下、撕碎的花萼和花瓣在她脚旁撒了一地。她一听到阿列克谢的脚步声，就把身于向前探出来，但是当看到走出来的不仅仅是他一个人的时候，她又没精打采地把身子缩了回去。 “我们去和森林告别吧！”阿列克谢用一种无忧无虑的语气建议道。 他们手挽手默默地走在菩提树的林荫道上。黑压压的人影在他们脚旁，在那撒满点点银光的地面上缓缓地浮动着。开始发黄的叶子一会儿在这儿，一会儿在那儿不停地闪烁着，就像撒落的金币。林荫路到了尽头。他们走出了公园，沿着那湿润的灰草地朝湖边走去。一层层浓雾像白羊皮一样在湖边的谷地上飘浮着。起初，雾紧贴着地面飘浮着，过了一会儿就升到了他们的腰间，在这清凉的月色里放射出神奇的光辉。空气潮湿，弥漫着秋天清爽宜人的气息，让人感觉一会儿凉，甚至有些冷，一会儿暖，令人发闷。仿佛在这浓雾笼罩的湖里有它自己的源泉，有暖流，也有寒流…… “我们像不像巨人在云彩里飞翔，啊？”阿列克谢若有所思地说。这时姑娘的小手紧紧地拽着他的胳膊，这使他感到很难为情。 “我们倒像几个傻瓜，我们会把脚弄湿，也许上路时会感冒！”斯特鲁契柯夫抱怨道，他正为某种不愉快的事烦心。 “我比你们有优越条件，我的脚不会被弄湿，我也不会感冒。”阿列克谢微笑着说。 济诺奇卡领着他们朝被浓雾笼罩的湖边走去。 “快走，快走，现在那边一定非常漂亮。” 他们几乎误落水中，直到那一片黑黝黝的湖水透过缕缕轻柔的雾霭出现在他们的脚边，他们才吃了一惊，停住了脚步。周围设有几座小桥，桥畔朦朦胧胧地露出一条小船的黑色的侧影。济诺奇卡向雾里跑去，回来时手里拿着船桨。他们把桨架固定住，阿列克谢坐下来划船，济诺奇卡和少校并排坐在船尾。小船在平静的水面缓缓向前划去，它一会儿钻进雾中，一会儿又钻了出来。光滑的水面在月光的照射下闪耀着乌银般的光辉。他们都沉浸在各自的思绪之中。夜色静谧，被船桨溅起的浪花像一滴滴水银，沉甸甸地向四周散落。桨架喑哑地响着，长脚秧鸡在吱吱呜叫，远处的水面上还隐隐约约传来猫头鹰凄凉的、忽高忽低的啼叫。 “真难以相信，附近就在打仗……”济诺奇卡轻声地说，“同志们，你们会给我写信吗？比如您，阿列克谢?彼得罗维奇，哪怕给我写几个字也好。您想不想要我的写着地址的明信片？到时候您就简单地写几句：还活着，身体健康，问候您。然后把它投到邮筒里，行吗？” “不，兄弟们，我真希望我也能去！见鬼去吧，够了，划船，划船！”斯特鲁契柯夫喊道。 大家都默默无语。细碎轻柔的浪花拍打着船舷，发出旧旧的响声，船底的水流也在缓缓地潺潺流动着，船尾的浪花翻滚着。雾散开了，已经可以清楚地看到一束摇曳的蓝色月光从湖畔射到小船上，还可以看到星星点点的睡莲和百合。 “让我们唱支歌吧！啊？”济诺奇卡建议道。她不等回答，就唱起了“山梨树”这支歌。 她一个人忧郁地唱完了第一段。斯特鲁契柯夫就用他那浑厚响亮的男中音接着唱了下去。阿列克谢以前从没听他唱过歌，所以他甚至怀疑起这么美妙动听的嗓音是他唱出来的。于是这支深沉而又不失热情的歌曲在平静的水面上畅快地飘荡着。两种悦耳的声音，男声和女声互相配合着，唱出了深情的眷恋。阿列克谢禁不住想起了他窗外那棵只结了一串果实的小小的山梨树，想起了故乡大眼睛的奥丽雅，随后这湖水、这迷人的月光、这小船，还有歌手，所有的一切都消失得无影无踪了。在那银白色的浓雾中他看到了从卡梅欣来的姑娘，不是那个坐在野菊花丛中的奥丽雅，而是一个陌生的、他不太熟悉的姑娘——她疲倦不堪，面颊布满晒出的斑点，嘴唇干得裂了口，穿着被汗水浸透的制服，手里拿着铁锹，一个典型的在斯大林格勒城外草原上的姑娘。 他放下船桨，和他俩一起和谐地唱完歌曲的最后一段。