Chapter 29 Chapter 12 Isayev Isayev (1)

He was taken into the same office as last time.The police officer behind the desk was not Maximov, but someone else.The man didn't introduce himself, just pointed to the chair for him to sit down. "What's your name?" the man asked him. He gave his name. "I expected to see Director Maximov here." "We'll see him. Occupation?" "writer." "A writer? What kind of writer?" "A writer who writes books." "What book are you writing?" "story book." "For the kids?" "No, not just for kids. I want kids to see it."

"Is there anything inappropriate?" Inappropriate content?"It doesn't do any harm to the child anyway," he thought, at last he replied. "That's good." "However, there is always a dark place in the human heart," he added reluctantly, "that can never be understood." The man looked up at him from the file for the first time. "What do you mean?" He was younger than Maximov.Is it Maximov's assistant? "Nothing interesting. Nothing." The officer put down his pen. "Come on, let's talk about Ivanov's death. Are you familiar with Ivanov?"

"I don't understand what you're saying. I think I've been sent here for something to do with my son's papers." "It won't delay your business. Ivanov, when was your first contact with him?" "I spoke to him for the first time about a week ago. He hangs around the door of my house, where I live now." "Sixty-three Candle Street?" "Sixty-three, Candle Street. It was cold outside, and I let him in and hide. He slept in my room all night. The next day I heard there was a murder, and he was a suspect. Only then..." "Is Ivanov a suspect? Suspected of murder? Do you think Ivanov is a murderer? Am I right to understand your words? Why do you think so?"

"Please let me finish! The whole building is telling about that, or my kid is misrepresenting it. I don't know anything! Even if I know, what does it matter! That man died Well, that's the way it is. People like him deserve to die a long time ago, I just wonder how anyone would want to kill him, he can't hurt anyone at all." "But he's not what he looks, is he?" "You mean his beggar appearance?" "He's not a beggar, is he?" "In one sense he is not; in another sense he is." "You still haven't made it clear. Do you dare to say that you don't know anything about Ivanov's mission? Is that why you find it strange?"

"I find it strange that anyone would put his immortal soul in danger to kill a man so insignificant and harmless." The inspector looked at him mockingly. "A man of no account.—is that what a Christian like you says of him?" At this moment Maximov came in hastily.Under his arm were several folders tied with pink ribbons.He put the clip on the table, took out his handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "It's hot enough in there!" he muttered to his colleague. "Thank you, are you done?" The original police officer packed up the file and left the room without saying a word.Maximov sighed, wiped his face and sat down where he had just been. "I'm so sorry, Fyodor Mikhailovich. Now, let's talk about the papers of your stepson. I'm afraid there is one thing we have to keep, which is what our friend said. I said, the list of those who deserve to be liquidated. I believe you will agree with me. This list should not be circulated outside. That would make people panic. Besides, this list and Necha Yev's case is also involved, so we can't return it to you. As for other documents, you can take them away, we have run out, so to speak, we have read everything that should be read."

"However, before the document is returned to you forever, I have something to say to you, if you can listen to it. "If I only regard myself as a civil servant of the government and handle your case step by step, then I don't need to ask for trouble and refuse to return the documents to you. However, in this case, I am not only a civil servant of the government , I am still a well-wisher, a person who has your best interests at heart, if you will allow me to use the word well-wisher. Because of this, I always have reservations about returning documents. Let me tell you Tell me what I think. These papers are a pain for you to keep. You don't have to keep them, as it hurts you. You might, if you could, take my crude advice and don't go into detail. Reading certain texts, especially certain places, will do you no harm. Of course, as far as I know about you—I mean the very limited knowledge I have of you from your books—I I think I might be counterproductive and only arouse your curiosity even more. So let me say a little bit. Please don't blame me for reading these documents. I am only doing my duty. Please don't blame me Get mad at saying your reaction ahead of time (if I ever did). Unless things take a drastic turn, there will be no more dealings between you and me. You can totally say to yourself, Maximov has ceased to exist, just as the hero disappears from your eyes when a book is finished. For my part, you may rest assured that I will not say a word about this unfortunate episode. "

Maximov said while pushing the folder with the middle finger of his right hand.It was the thick folder that contained Pavel's papers. He stood up, took the clip, nodded, and was about to leave.Maximov called to him. "Would you please stay a little longer, I have another question. You and the Nechayev gang in Petersburg did not happen to have any contact?" Ivanov.Nechayev.That's why he was summoned!Pavel, the documents, Maximov's self-reproach—they were all secondary issues, just bait! "I don't see how your question concerns me," he replied coldly. "I don't see what right you have to ask me that and expect me to answer you."

"I really don't have any rights! Calm down. Nobody's accusing you of anything, just asking. As to what it has to do with me, I didn't expect this question to be so difficult for you to answer. You've already spoken to me about your stepson , I think it might be easier to talk to you about Nechayev now. When we talked that day, I felt that you were careful with your words, with puns, so to speak. What are you thinking now? , did I say something wrong?" "Which words, are there words in the words?" "That depends on what you said at the time." "You're wrong. What I say is not a riddle, what I say is what I say. Pavel is Pavel, not Nechayev."

After speaking, he turned and went out.This time, Maximov did not stop him. Through the winding streets of the Meshyaskaya district, he returned to No. 63 Candle Street with the folder.He climbed up to the third floor, went back to his room, and closed the door behind him. He unfastened the tape from the folder, restless and thumping, as if a hammer were hitting him.He couldn't deny that he hated himself for being so impatient.This anxious look seemed to bring him back to his childhood, to that long afternoon of sweating profusely.In the bedroom of his good friend Albert, he was engrossed in reading a book he had stolen from Uncle Albert's bookshelf.Now, I feel the same as I did back then, reading with rapt attention and the fear of being caught red-handed (the fear itself is wonderful).