Chapter 57 Part One - Fifty Four

There are two offices.The first contained a large furnace with a protruding hearth and peeling plaster, and two dirty windows.In one corner stood a black ruler for measuring the height of the prisoners, and in another corner hung a huge image of Christ, such as is always found in places of torture, and seems to make a mockery of Christianity.Several guards stood in this room.In another room, about twenty men and women were sitting against the wall, some together, some in pairs, talking in low voices.There is a writing desk by the window. The warden was sitting at the desk, and asked Nekhludoff to sit down in a nearby chair.Nekhludoff sat down and began to look at the people in the room.

The first thing that caught his attention was a good-looking young man in a short jacket.The young man stood in front of an elderly woman with black eyebrows, talking to her emotionally and making gestures.Sitting next to him was an old man wearing blue glasses, holding the hand of a young woman in prison clothes, and listening to what she told him without moving.A real school boy, with a frightened look on his face, kept his eyes on the old man.In a corner not far from them sat a pair of lovers.The woman was a very young girl with short flaxen hair, lovely and radiant, in a smart dress.The man was a handsome lad, with fine features and curly hair, in a rubber jacket.The two of them sat in a corner and whispered, obviously intoxicated in love.Sitting closest to the desk was a gray-haired woman in a black dress who appeared to be a mother.She opened her eyes wide and looked at a young man who also wore a rubber jacket and looked consumptive.She wanted to speak, but her throat was choked, and she couldn't continue as soon as she opened her mouth.The young man was holding a piece of paper in his hand, apparently not knowing what to do, he kept folding and crumpling the paper angrily.Next to them sat a plump, ruddy girl, good-looking, but with protruding eyes, in a gray dress and a short shawl.She sat next to her weeping mother, rubbing her shoulder tenderly.Everything about this girl was beautiful: the big white hands, the short curly hair, the well-defined nose and lips.But the most charming thing about her face was the sincere, kind, sheep-like dark brown eyes.As soon as Nekhludoff entered, her beautiful eyes turned away from her mother's face and met his.But she turned away immediately and said something to her mother.Not far from the lovers sat a dark-skinned man.Shaggy-haired and sullen, he was speaking angrily to a beardless visitor who seemed to be a castrationist.Nekhludoff sat next to the warden, observing everything around him with keen curiosity.Suddenly a boy with a shaved head came up to him and asked him sharply:

"Who are you waiting for?" Nekhludoff was surprised to hear this, and having glanced at the boy, seeing his grave, old-fashioned face and lively eyes, he replied solemnly that he was expecting a woman he knew well. "Why, is she your sister?" the boy asked. "No, not my sister," Nekhludoff replied curiously. "Who did you come here with, then?" he asked the boy. "I'm with my mother. She's a political prisoner," the boy said proudly. "Marya Pavlovna, take Kolya," said the warden, probably thinking that it was illegal for Nekhludoff to talk to the boy.

Marya Pavlovna was the pretty girl with sheep's eyes who had attracted Nekhludoff's attention.She stood up, straightened her tall body, and walked towards Nekhludoff and the boy with strong, manly strides. "What did he ask you? Who are you?" she asked Nekhludoff, smiling, looking him in the eyes with confidence, with such frankness that she must have been so simple and kind to everyone. and friendly. "He wants to know everything," she said, and gave the boy an amiable smile, which both the boy and Nekhludoff could not help laughing at. "Yes, he asked who I was looking for."

"Marya Pavlovna, don't talk to outsiders. You know that," said the warden. "Yes, yes," she said, and taking Kolya's little hand, who had been staring at him, with her large white hand, she returned to the mother of the consumptive youth. "Whose child is this?" Nekhludoff asked the warden. "The child of a female political prisoner was born in prison," the warden said with a bit of pride, as if this was a rare miracle in prisons. "Really?" "Really, he's going to Siberia with his mother soon." "And what about the girl?"

"I can't answer your question," said the warden, shrugging his shoulders. "Here, Vera is here."