District doctor. Analysis of individual works of E

One autumn, on the way back from the field I had left, I caught a cold and fell ill. Fortunately, the fever caught me in the county town, in a hotel; I sent for the doctor. Half an hour later the district doctor appeared, a short man, thin and black-haired. He prescribed me the usual diaphoretic, ordered me to put on a mustard plaster, very deftly slipped a five-ruble note under his cuff, and, however, coughed dryly and looked to the side, and was just about to go home, but somehow got into conversation and stayed. The heat tormented me; I anticipated a sleepless night and was glad to chat with a kind man. Tea was served. My doctor started talking. He was not a stupid little guy, he expressed himself smartly and quite funny. Strange things happen in the world: you live with another person for a long time and are on friendly terms, but you never speak to him openly, from the heart; you barely have time to get acquainted with another - lo and behold, either you told him or he, as if in confession, blabbed out all the ins and outs. I don’t know how I earned the trust of my new friend - only he, out of the blue, as they say, “took it” and told me a rather remarkable case; and now I am bringing his story to the attention of the sympathetic reader. I will try to express myself in the words of a doctor. “You don’t deign to know,” he began in a relaxed and trembling voice (such is the effect of pure Berezovsky tobacco), “don’t you deign to know the local judge, Mylov, Pavel Lukich?.. You don’t know... Well, it doesn’t matter.” (He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.) Well, if you please see, it was like this, how can I tell you - not to lie, during Lent, at the very height of the thaw. I sit with him, our judge, and play preference. We have a judge good man and the hunter plays preference. Suddenly (my doctor often used the word: suddenly) they say to me: your man is asking you. I say: what does he need? They say he brought a note - it must be from a patient. Give me a note, I say. That’s right: from a sick person... Well, okay, this, you know, is our bread... But here’s the thing: a landowner, a widow, writes to me; he says, his daughter is dying, come, for the sake of our Lord God himself, and the horses, they say, have been sent for you. Well, that’s still nothing... Yes, she lives twenty miles from the city, and it’s night outside, and the roads are such that wow! And she herself is getting poorer, you can’t expect more than two rubles either, and it’s still doubtful, but maybe you’ll have to use canvas and some grains. However, duty, you understand, first of all: a person dies. I suddenly hand over the cards to the indispensable member Kalliopin and go home. I look: there is a little cart in front of the porch; The peasant horses are pot-bellied, the wool on them is real felt, and the coachman, for the sake of respect, sits without a hat. Well, I think it’s clear, brother, your gentlemen don’t eat on gold... You deign to laugh, but I’ll tell you: our brother, poor man, take everything into account... If the coachman sits like a prince, but doesn’t break his hat , and even chuckles from under his beard, and moves his whip - feel free to hit two deposits! But here, I see, things don’t smell right. However, I think there is nothing to do: duty comes first. I grab the essential medications and head off. Believe it or not, I barely made it. The road is hellish: streams, snow, mud, waterholes, and then suddenly the dam burst - disaster! However, I'm coming. The house is small, covered with thatch. There is light in the windows: you know, they are waiting. I'm coming in. An old woman came towards me, so respectable, in a cap. “Save him,” he says, “he’s dying.” I say: “Don’t worry... Where is the patient?” - “Here you go.” I look: a clean room, a lamp in the corner, a girl of about twenty on the bed, unconscious. She is bursting with heat, breathing heavily - she has a fever. There were two other girls there, sisters, frightened and in tears. “They say that yesterday I was completely healthy and ate with appetite; In the morning today I complained about my head, and in the evening I was suddenly in this position...” I again said: “If you please, don’t worry,” it’s a doctor’s duty, you know, and I started. He bled her, ordered her to put mustard plasters on, and prescribed a potion. Meanwhile, I look at her, I look, you know, - well, by God, I have never seen such a face before... a beauty, in a word! Pity makes me feel so bad. The features are so pleasant, the eyes... Well, thank God, I’ve calmed down; sweat appeared as if she had come to her senses; she looked around, smiled, and ran her hand over her face. .. The sisters bent over to her and asked: “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing,” she said, and turned away... I looked and fell asleep. Well, I say, now we should leave the patient alone. So we all tiptoed out; the maid stayed alone just in case. And in the living room there is already a samovar on the table, and a Jamaican one is right there: in our business we cannot do without it. They served me tea and asked me to stay overnight... I agreed: where to go now! The old lady keeps groaning. “What are you doing? - I say. “She’ll be alive, don’t worry, if you please, but rather rest yourself: it’s the second hour.” - “Will you order me to wake up if something happens?” - “I will order, I will order.” The old lady left, and the girls also went to their room; They made a bed for me in the living room. So I lay down, but I can’t fall asleep, what miracles! Well, it seems like he's worn himself out. My patient is driving me crazy. Finally, he couldn’t stand it, he suddenly stood up; I think I’ll go and see what the patient is doing? And her bedroom is next to the living room. Well, I got up, quietly opened the door, and my heart kept beating. I look: the maid is sleeping, her mouth is open and she’s even snoring, she’s a beast! and the sick woman lies facing me and spreads her arms, poor thing! I approached... She suddenly opened her eyes and stared at me!.. “Who is this? who is this?" I was embarrassed. “Don’t be alarmed, I say, madam: I’m a doctor, I’ve come to see how you feel.” - “Are you a doctor?” - “Doctor, doctor... Your mother sent for me to the city; We bled you, madam; Now, if you please, rest, and in two days, God willing, we will get you back on your feet.” - “Oh, yes, yes, doctor, don’t let me die... please, please.” - “What are you doing, God bless you!” And she has a fever again, I think to myself; I felt the pulse: definitely, fever. She looked at me and wondered how she would suddenly take my hand. “I’ll tell you why I don’t want to die, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you... now we’re alone; Just you, please, no one... listen...” I bent down; she moved her lips close to my ear, touched my cheek with her hair - I admit, my head went spinning - and began to whisper... I don’t understand anything... Oh, yes, she’s delusional... She whispered, whispered, yes so quickly and as if not in Russian, she came, shuddered, dropped her head on the pillow and shook her finger at me. “Look, doctor, no one...” Somehow I calmed her down, gave her something to drink, woke up the maid and left. Here the doctor again sniffed tobacco fiercely and became numb for a moment. “However,” he continued, “the next day the patient, contrary to my expectations, did not feel better.” I thought and thought and suddenly decided to stay, although other patients were expecting me... And you know, this cannot be negliged: practice suffers from this. But, firstly, the patient was really in despair; and secondly, I must tell the truth, I myself felt a strong disposition towards her. Besides, I liked the whole family. Although they were poor people, they were, one might say, extremely educated... Their father was a learned man, a writer; He died, of course, in poverty, but managed to impart an excellent upbringing to his children; I also left a lot of books. Is it because I worked diligently around the sick woman, or for some other reason, only I, I dare say, was loved in the house like one of my own... Meanwhile, the mudslide became terrible: all communications, so to speak, stopped completely; even medicine was delivered from the city with difficulty... The patient did not get better... Day after day, day after day... But here... here... (The doctor paused.) Really, I don’t know how I’d like to tell you, sir... (He sniffed tobacco again, grunted and took a sip of tea.) I’ll tell you without mincing words, my patient... how could it be that... well, she fell in love with me... or no, not that I fell in love... but, by the way... really, how is it, that one... (The doctor looked down and blushed.) “No,” he continued with liveliness, “what I fell in love with!” Finally, you need to know your worth. She was an educated, smart, well-read girl, and I even forgot my Latin, one might say, completely. As for the figure (the doctor looked at himself with a smile), there also seems to be nothing to brag about. But God didn’t make me a fool either: I won’t call white black; I also guess something. For example, I understood very well that Alexandra Andreevna - her name was Alexandra Andreevna - did not feel love for me, but a friendly, so to speak, disposition, respect, or something. Although she herself may have been mistaken in this regard, but what her position was, you can judge for yourself... However,” added the doctor, who delivered all these abrupt speeches without taking a breath and with obvious confusion, “I think , I reported a little... You won’t understand anything... but let me tell you everything in order. He finished his glass of tea and spoke in a calmer voice. - Yes, yes, sir. My patient was getting worse, worse, worse. You are not a doctor, dear sir; you cannot understand what is happening in our brother’s soul, especially at first, when he begins to realize that the illness is overpowering him. Where does self-confidence go? You suddenly become so shy that you can’t even tell. So it seems to you that you have forgotten everything you knew, and that the patient no longer trusts you, and that others are already beginning to notice that you are lost, and they are reluctant to tell you the symptoms, they look at you from under their brows, they whisper... uh, bad! After all, there is a cure, you think, for this disease, you just have to find it. Isn't that it? If you try it, no, it’s not! If you don’t give the medicine time to work properly... you’ll grab this or that. You used to take a recipe book... because here it is, you think, here! Honestly, sometimes you reveal it at random: maybe, you think, it’s fate... And meanwhile the person dies; and another doctor would have saved him. A consultation, you say, is needed; I don't take responsibility. And what a fool you look in such cases! Well, you'll get over it over time, that's okay. A person died - it’s not your fault: you acted according to the rules. And here’s what else is painful: you see the trust in you is blind, but you yourself feel that you are not able to help. This is exactly the kind of trust that Alexandra Andreevna’s entire family had in me: they forgot to think that their daughter was in danger. I, for my part, also assure them that it’s nothing, they say, but the soul itself is sinking into their heels. To top off the misfortune, the mud became so bad that the coachman used to drive for medicine all day long. But I don’t leave the sick room, I can’t tear myself away, I tell different, you know, funny jokes, I play cards with her. I sit through the night. The old lady thanks me with tears; and I think to myself: “I’m not worth your gratitude.” I confess to you frankly - now there is no need to hide - I fell in love with my patient. And Alexandra Andreevna became attached to me: she used to let no one into her room except me. He starts talking to me, asking me where I studied, how I live, who are my relatives, who am I going to? And I feel that there is no point in talking to her; but I can’t forbid her, resolutely, you know, forbid her. I used to grab myself by the head: “What are you doing, robber?..” Or he would take my hand and hold it, look at me, look at me for a long, long time, turn away, sigh and say: “How kind you are!” Her hands are so hot, her eyes are big and languid. “Yes,” he says, “you are kind, you are a good person, you are not like our neighbors. .. no, you’re not like that, you’re not like that... How come I didn’t know you until now!” - “Alexandra Andreevna, calm down, I say... believe me, I feel it, I don’t know what I did to deserve it... just calm down, for God’s sake, calm down... everything will be fine, you will be healthy.” Meanwhile, I must tell you,” added the doctor, bending forward and raising his eyebrows, “that they had little contact with their neighbors because the small ones were no match for them, and pride forbade them to know the rich. I’m telling you: it was an extremely educated family—so, you know, that was flattering to me. She took the medicine from my hands alone... the poor thing will rise up, with my help, take it and look at me... my heart will skip. And meanwhile she was getting worse and worse: she would die, I think she would certainly die. Would you believe it, even going to the coffin yourself; and here my mother and sisters are watching, looking into my eyes... and trust disappears. "What? How?" - “Nothing, sir, nothing!” Why, sir, the mind is in the way. Well, sir, I was sitting one night, alone again, next to the patient. The girl is also sitting here and snoring at the top of her lungs in Ivanovo... Well, it’s impossible to recover from the unfortunate girl: she, too, has slowed down. Alexandra Andreevna felt very unwell all evening; the fever tormented her. Until midnight I kept rushing about; finally seemed to fall asleep; at least he’s not moving, he’s lying down. The lamp in the corner in front of the image is burning. I’m sitting, you know, with my eyes down, dozing too. Suddenly, as if someone had pushed me in the side, I turned around... Lord, my God! Alexandra Andreevna looks at me with all her eyes... her lips are open, her cheeks are burning. "What's wrong with you?" - “Doctor, am I going to die?” - “God have mercy!” - “No, doctor, no, please don’t tell me that I’ll be alive... don’t tell me... if you knew... listen, for God’s sake don’t hide my situation from me! - And she breathes so quickly. “If I know for sure that I have to die... then I’ll tell you everything, everything!” - “Alexandra Andreevna, have mercy!” - “Listen, I haven’t slept at all, I’ve been looking at you for a long time... for God’s sake... I believe you, you are a good person, you fair man , I conjure you with all that is holy in the world - tell me the truth! If you knew how important this is for me... Doctor, for God’s sake, tell me, am I in danger?” - “What can I tell you, Alexandra Andreevna, have mercy!” - “For God’s sake, I beg you!” - “I can’t hide it from you, Alexandra Andreevna, you are definitely in danger, but God is merciful...” - “I will die, I will die...” And she seemed to be delighted, her face became so cheerful; I was afraid. “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, death doesn’t frighten me at all.” She suddenly stood up and leaned on her elbow. “Now... well, now I can tell you that I am grateful to you with all my heart, that you are a kind, good person, that I love you...” I look at her like crazy; I’m terrified, you know... “Do you hear, I love you...” - “Alexandra Andreevna, what did I do to deserve it!” - “No, no, you don’t understand me... you don’t understand me...” And suddenly she reached out her hands, grabbed my head and kissed me... Would you believe it, I almost screamed... I rushed at I hid my knees and head in the pillows. She is silent; her fingers are trembling on my hair; I hear: crying. I began to console her, assure her... I really don’t know what I told her. “I say, wake up the girl, Alexandra Andreevna... thank you... believe me... calm down.” “Yes, that’s enough, that’s enough,” she repeated. - God be with them all; Well, they’ll wake up, well, they’ll come - it doesn’t matter: after all, I’m going to die... And why are you timid, why are you afraid? Raise your head... Or maybe you don’t love me, maybe I was deceived... in that case, forgive me.” - “Alexandra Andreevna, what are you saying?.. I love you, Alexandra Andreevna.” She looked me straight in the eyes and opened her arms. “So hug me...” I’ll tell you frankly: I don’t understand how I didn’t go crazy that night. I feel that my patient is ruining herself; I see that she is not entirely in my memory; I also understand that if she had not honored herself at death’s door, she would not have thought about me; but, as you wish, it’s terrible to die at twenty-five, without loving anyone: after all, that’s what tormented her, that’s why, out of despair, she even grabbed onto me - do you understand now? Well, she doesn’t let me out of her arms. “Spare me, Alexandra Andreevna, and spare yourself, I say.” - “Why, he says, why regret? After all, I must die...” She repeated this incessantly. “Now, if I knew that I would survive and again end up with decent young ladies, I would be ashamed, just ashamed... but what?” - “Who told you that you would die?” - “Eh, no, that’s enough, you won’t deceive me, you don’t know how to lie, look at yourself.” - “You will live, Alexandra Andreevna, I will cure you; we will ask your mother for a blessing... we will unite in ties, we will be happy.” - “No, no, I took your word, I must die... you promised me... you told me...” It was bitter for me, bitter for many reasons. And just think, these are the kind of things that sometimes happen: it seems like nothing, but it hurts. She took it into her head to ask me what my name was, that is, not my surname, but my first name. It must be such a misfortune that my name is Tryphon. Yes, sir, yes, sir; Trifon, Trifon Ivanovich. Everyone in the house called me doctor. Having nothing to do, I say: “Tryphon, madam.” She squinted, shook her head and whispered something in French, “oh, something bad,” and then laughed, not good either. This is how I spent almost the whole night with her. In the morning he came out like he was mad; I entered her room again in the afternoon, after tea. My God, my God! It is impossible to recognize her: they put her in a more beautiful coffin. I swear on your honor, I don’t understand now, I absolutely don’t understand how I survived this torture. For three days, three nights my patient still creaked... and what nights! What did she tell me!.. And on the last night, just imagine, I was sitting next to her and asking God for one thing: clean her up as quickly as possible, and me right there... Suddenly the old mother ran wild into the room... I told her the day before, my mother, that not enough hope, they say, is bad, and a priest would not be bad. The sick woman saw her mother and said: “Well, it’s good that you came... look at us, we love each other, we gave each other our word.” - “What is she, doctor, what is she?” I'm dead. “He’s delirious, I say, he’s feverish...” And she said: “Come on, come on, you just told me something completely different, and you accepted the ring from me... why are you pretending? My mother is kind, she will forgive, she will understand, but I am dying - there is no need for me to lie; give me your hand...” I jumped up and ran out. The old woman, of course, guessed. “I won’t, however, torment you any longer, and I myself, to admit, have a hard time remembering all this.” My patient died the next day. The kingdom of heaven to her (the doctor added quickly and with a sigh)! Before her death, she asked her people to go out and leave me alone with her. “Forgive me,” he says, “I may be to blame for you... illness... but, believe me, I have never loved anyone more than you... don’t forget me... take care of my ring...” The doctor turned away; I took his hand. - Eh! “- he said, “let’s talk about something else, or would you like a small preference?” Our brother, you know, has no reason to indulge in such sublime feelings. Our brother, think about one thing: no matter how the children squeal and the wife scold. After all, since then I managed to enter into a legal, as they say, marriage... How... He took the merchant’s daughter: seven thousand dowry. Her name is Akulina; Something to match Tryphon. Baba, I must tell you, is evil, but fortunately she sleeps all day... But what about preference? We sat down in preference for a penny. Trifon Ivanovich won two rubles and a half from me - and left late, very pleased with his victory.

The father nags incessantly: “Study and learn, otherwise you’ll make boots, like me.”

How can one study here when it is written down first in the journal, and, therefore, as soon as the lesson, they immediately pull out:

Baryba Anfim. Please, sir.

And Anfim Baryba stands, sweating, pressing his already low forehead over his very eyebrows.

No problem again? Ah-ah-ah, but you’re young, it’s time to get married. Sit down, brother.

Baryba sat down. And he sat thoroughly - for two years in the class. So, without haste, Baryba got to the last one.

He was about fifteen years old at that time, or even older. They poured out their mustache like a good winter crop, and ran with the other guys to Streletsky Pond to watch the women bathe. And at night after - don’t even go to bed: such hot dreams will creep in, such a round dance will start that...

Baryba gets up the next morning gloomy and chatters all day. It will flood into the monastery forest until nightfall. School? Oh, let it go to waste!

In the evening, his father will begin to pester him: “He ran away again, he’s unhearing, he’s a freak?” And even if he’s completely frantic, he’ll grit his teeth and not make a sound. Only all the corners of his wonderful face will appear even more prickly.

It's true: corners. It’s not for nothing that the district boys called him the iron. Heavy iron jaws, a wide, quadrangular mouth and a narrow forehead: like an iron, with its nose up. And the whole Baryba is somehow wide, bulky, rumbling, all made of hard straight lines and angles. But one thing fits into one another in such a way that it’s as if some kind of harmony emerges from the awkward pieces: maybe wild, maybe scary, but still harmony.

The guys were afraid of Baryba: the beast would drive him into the ground with a heavy hand. They teased me from around the corner, a mile away. But when Baryba was hungry, they fed him rolls and immediately had a lot of fun.

Hey, Baryba, chew on half a loaf of bread.

And they shove pebbles at him and choose which ones are harder.

Not enough,” Baryba mutters gloomily, “a roll.”

Damn it, I'm going! - but they will also find a bun. And Baryba will start gnawing pebbles for the children’s amusement, grinding them with his iron crushers - know to put them in! Fun for the guys, a curiosity.

Fun is fun, but when the exams came, the funny guys had to sit down to books, even though green may outside.

On the eighteenth, for Tsarina Alexandra, according to the law, the exam is the first of the graduation exams. So, one evening, my father put aside the wood and his boots, took off his glasses and said:

Remember this, Anfimka, kill it on your nose. If you can’t stand it now, I’ll drive you out of the yard.

As if nothing could be better: three days of preparation. Unfortunately, the guys got into a toss - oh, what an enticing game! Anfimka had no luck for two days; she lost all her capital: seven hryvnias and a new belt with a buckle. At least drown. Yes, on the third day, thank God, he returned everything and won more than fifty dollars for the clean ones.

On the eighteenth, of course, Baryba was called first. The district officers are waiting for a second: well, now he’ll float, poor fellow.

He pulled out Baryba and stared at the white piece of paper on the ticket. The whiteness and the fear made me slightly nauseous. All the words gasped somewhere: not a single one.

At the first desks, the prompters whispered:

Tigris and Euphrates... The garden in which they lived... Mesopotamia. Me-so-po-ta... Damn deaf!

Baryba spoke - one after another he began to chip away, like stones, heavy, rare words.

Adam and Eve. Between the Tigris and... this... Euphrates. Paradise was a huge garden. Where Mesopotamians lived. And other animals...

Pop nodded, as if very affectionately. Baryba perked up.

Who is this from Mesopotamia? Eh, Anfim? Explain to us Anfimushka.

Mesopotamians... That's what they are. Antediluvian beasts. Very predatory. And now they are in heaven. We lived nearby...

The priest grunted with laughter and covered himself with his beard bent upward; the guys lay down on their desks.

Baryba did not go home. I already knew that my father was a good man and didn’t let words go to waste. What is said will be done. Besides, he’ll give you a good thrashing with a belt.

2. WITH DOGS

Once upon a time there lived the Balkashins, respectable merchants, who brewed and brewed malt at their factory, and in the year of cholera, everything suddenly came to fruition. They say that their heirs live somewhere far away in a big city, but they all don’t go. So the escheated house is grieving and empty. The wooden tower was torn down, the windows were boarded up crosswise, and weeds had taken root in the yard. Blind puppies and kittens are thrown over the fence into the Balkashinsky yard, and stray dogs climb from the street under the fence for prey.

This is where Baryba settled. I fell in love with an old cow's cubby, fortunately the doors are not locked and there is a manger in the cubby, made of boards: why not a bed? Grace to Baryba now: you don’t need to study, do whatever comes into your head, swim until you scratch your teeth, wander around the garden behind the organ grinder all day, spend day and night in the monastery forest.

Everything would be fine, but soon there was nothing to eat. Will a ruble of some kind last long?

Baryba began to go to the market to get his living. With awkward animal agility, long-armed, hiding inside himself and looking out from under his brows, he darted between raised white shafts, horses chewing oats, tirelessly threshing the tongues of women: as soon as the matryona gaped - well, that’s it, Baryba got himself lunch.

If he doesn’t take it out at the market, Baryba will run to Streletskaya Sloboda. Sometimes on foot, sometimes crawling - prowling through backyards, gummies, and vegetable gardens. The persistent smell of wormwood tickles the nostrils, and if you sneeze, God forbid: there she is, the hostess, flying over the garden bed, and diving into the greenery with a red scarf. Baryba will pick potatoes and carrots, bake them at home - in the Balkashinsky yard, eat, scalding himself, without salt - it’s as if he’s full. I don’t care about fat, of course: I wish I was alive.

No luck, no luck, another day - Baryba sits hungry and looks at the dogs with wolfish, envious eyes: they crunch with a bone, play happily with a bone. Baryba looks...

Days, weeks, months. Oh, I’m sick and tired of living with hungry dogs in the Balkashin yard! Baryba grew stale, became stale, overgrown, blackened; Because of his thinness, his jaws and cheekbones stuck out at even more rigid angles, and his face became even heavier and more quadrangular.

To escape from the dog's life. I wish I could do something humanly: drink some hot tea, sleep under a blanket.

There were days - the whole day Baryba lay in his nook, face down on the straw. There were days - the whole day Baryba rushed around the Balkashinsky yard, looking for people, something human.

In the neighboring Chebotarevsky yard - in the morning there were people of leather workers in leather aprons, carters with carts of leather. They saw someone's eye spinning in the fence hole, they hit them with a whip:

Hey, who's there?

Did the yard owner stay in the Balkashin yard?

Baryba - with wolflike leaps - goes into her nook, into the straw, and lies down. Wow, if he came across these same carters, he would have them - he would have them...

Since noon in the Chebotarevsky yard - there is a knocking of knives in the kitchen, the smell of fried slaughter. Inda Baryba will shake all over at the crack near his fence and will not come off until they finish eating there.

When they finish dinner, it’s as if he too will feel better. They finish, and Chebotarikha crawls out into the yard herself: red, full of weight, unable to walk from overfeeding.

Uh-uh... - iron on iron - Baryba will grind his teeth.

On holidays, above the Balkashin courtyard, at the top of the alley, the Intercession Church rang - and the ringing made Baryba even fiercer. It rings and rings, it buzzes in my ears, calls back...

“But that’s where to go - to the monastery, to Yevsey!” - the ringing dawned on Baryba.

As a small boy, after a spanking, Baryba ran to Yevsey. And it always happened that Yevsey would give us tea, with pretzels and monastery pretzels. He gives him something to drink and he says something to console him:

Eh, little one! The other day the abbot grabbed me by the holy hair, and I... Eh, little one... Are you crying?

Evgeny Zamyatin

District

Tale

Source: E. I. Zamyatin; Selected works in two volumes; Volume one. Publishing house: "Fiction", Moscow, 1990. OCR: Alexander Belousenko (belousenko$yahoo.com), 2005.

1. Quadrangular

The father nags incessantly: “Study and study, otherwise you’ll make boots, like me.” How can one study here when it is written down first in the journal, and, therefore, as soon as the lesson, they immediately pull out: “Baryba Anfim.” Please, sir. And Anfim Baryba stands, sweating, pressing his already low forehead over his very eyebrows. - Not a problem again? Ah-ah-ah, but you’re young, it’s time to get married. Sit down, brother. Baryba sat down. And he sat thoroughly - for two years in the class. So, without haste, Baryba got to the last one. He was about fifteen years old at that time, or even older. They had already poured out their mustache like a good winter crop, and ran with the other guys to Streletsky Pond to watch the women bathe. And the night after - don’t even go to bed: such hot dreams will creep in, such a round dance will start that... Baryba will get up the next morning gloomy and chatter all day. It will flood into the monastery forest until nightfall. School? Oh, let it go to waste! In the evening, his father will begin to pester him: “He ran away again, he’s unhearing, he’s a freak?” And even if he’s completely frantic, he’ll grit his teeth and not make a sound. Only all the corners of his wonderful face will appear even more prickly. It's true: corners. It’s not for nothing that the district boys called him the iron. Heavy iron jaws, a wide, quadrangular mouth and a narrow forehead: like an iron, with its nose up. And the whole Baryba is somehow wide, bulky, rumbling, all made of hard straight lines and angles. But one thing fits into one another in such a way that it’s as if some kind of harmony emerges from the awkward pieces: maybe wild, maybe scary, but still harmony. The guys were afraid of Baryba: the beast would drive him into the ground with a heavy hand. They teased me from around the corner, a mile away. But when Baryba was hungry, they fed him rolls and immediately had a lot of fun. - Hey, Baryba, chew on half a loaf of bread. And they shove pebbles at him and choose which ones are harder. “Not enough,” Baryba mutters gloomily, “a roll.” - Damn it, damn it! - but they will also find a bun. And Baryba will start gnawing pebbles for the children’s amusement, grinding them with his iron crushers - know to put them in! Fun for the guys, a curiosity. Fun is fun, but when the exams came, the funny guys had to sit down with books, even though green May was just around the corner. On the eighteenth, for Tsarina Alexandra, according to the law, the exam is the first of the graduation exams. So, one evening, my father put the wood and boots aside, took off his glasses and said: “You remember this, Anfimka, cut it on your nose.” If you can’t stand it now, I’ll drive you out of the yard. As if nothing could be better: three days of preparation. Unfortunately, the boys got into a toss - oh, what an enticing game! Anfimka had no luck for two days; she lost all her capital: seven hryvnias and a new belt with a buckle. At least drown. Yes, on the third day, thank God, he returned everything and won more than fifty dollars for the clean ones. On the eighteenth, of course, Baryba was called first. The district officers are waiting for a second: well, now he’ll float, poor fellow. He pulled out Baryba and stared at the white piece of ticket. The whiteness and the fear made me slightly nauseous. All the words gasped somewhere: not a single one. At the first desks, the prompters whispered: - Tigris and Euphrates... The garden in which they lived... Mesopotamia. Me-so-po-ta... Damn deaf! Baryba spoke - one after another he began to chip away, like stones, words - heavy, rare. - Adam and Eve. Between the Tigris and... this... Euphrates. Paradise was a huge garden. Where Mesopotamians lived. And other animals... Pop nodded, as if very affectionately. Baryba perked up. - Who is this from Mesopotamia? Eh, Anfim? Explain to us Anfimushka. - Mesopotamians... That's what they are. Antediluvian beasts. Very predatory. And now they are in heaven. They lived nearby... The priest grunted with laughter and covered himself with his beard bent upward, the guys lay down on their desks. Baryba did not go home. I already knew that my father was a good man, he didn’t let words go to waste. What is said will be done. Besides, he’ll give you a good thrashing with a belt.

2. With dogs

Once upon a time there lived the Balkashins, respectable merchants, who brewed and brewed malt at their factory, and in the year of cholera, everything suddenly came to fruition. They say that their heirs live somewhere far away in a big city, but they all don’t go. So the escheated house is grieving and empty. The wooden tower was torn down, the windows were boarded up crosswise, and weeds had taken root in the yard. Blind puppies and kittens are thrown over the fence into the Balkashinsky yard, and stray dogs climb from the street under the fence for prey. This is where Baryba settled. I fell in love with an old cow's cubby, fortunately the doors are not locked and there is a manger in the cubby, made of boards: why not a bed? Grace to Baryba now: you don’t need to study, do whatever comes into your head, swim until you scratch your teeth, wander around the garden behind the organ grinder all day, spend day and night in the monastery forest. Everything would be fine, but soon there was nothing to eat. Will a ruble of some kind last long? Baryba began to go to the market to get his living. With awkward animal agility, long-armed, hiding inside himself and looking out from under his brows, he darted between raised white shafts, horses chewing oats, tirelessly threshing the tongues of women: as soon as the matryona gaped - well, that’s it, Baryba got himself lunch. If he doesn’t take it out at the market, Baryba will run to Streletskaya Sloboda. Sometimes on foot, sometimes crawling, he scours backyards, gummies, and vegetable gardens. The persistent smell of wormwood tickles the nostrils, and if you sneeze, God forbid: there she is, the hostess, flying over the garden bed, and diving into the greenery with a red scarf. Baryba will pick up potatoes and carrots, bake them at home - in the Balkashinsky yard, eat, burning himself, without salt - it seems as if he is full. I don’t care about fat, of course: I wish I was alive. No luck, no luck, another day - Baryba sits hungry and looks at the dogs with wolfish, envious eyes: they crunch with a bone, play happily with a bone. Baryba looks... Days, weeks, months. Oh, I’m sick and tired of living with hungry dogs in the Balkashin yard! Baryba grew stale, became stale, overgrown, blackened; Because of his thinness, his jaws and cheekbones stuck out at even more rigid angles, and his face became even heavier and more quadrangular. To escape from the dog's life. I wish I could do something humanly: drink some hot tea, sleep under a blanket. There were days - the whole day Baryba lay in his nook, face down on the straw. There were days - the whole day Baryba rushed around the Balkashin yard, looking for people, human anything. In the neighboring Chebotarevsky yard - in the morning there were people with leather aprons, carters with carts of leather. They saw someone's eye spinning in the fence hole, they lashed out with a whip: - Hey, who's there? - Oh, the yard owner stayed in the Balkashin yard? The baryba - with wolflike leaps - goes into his nook, into the straw, and lies down. Wow, if he came across these very same carters: he would have them - he would have them... Since noon in the Chebotarevsky yard - they are knocking with knives in the kitchen, it smells of fried slaughter. Inda Baryba will shake all over at the crack near his fence and will not come off until they finish eating there. When they finish dinner, it’s as if he too will feel better. They finish, and Chebotarikha crawls out into the yard herself: red, full of weight, unable to walk from overfeeding. - Uh... - iron on iron - Baryba will grind his teeth. On holidays, above the Balkashin courtyard, at the top of the alley, the Church of the Intercession would ring - and the ringing made Baryba even fiercer. It rings and rings, it buzzes in my ears, calls back... “But that’s where - to the monastery, to Yevsey!” - a ringing sound dawned on Baryba. As a small boy, after a spanking, Baryba ran to Yevsey. And it always happened that Yevsey would give us tea, with pretzels and monastery pretzels. He gives him something to drink, and then he says something to console him: “Eh, little one!” The other day the abbot grabbed me by the holy hair, and I... Eh, little... Are you crying? Merry ran to the Baryba monastery: now he has left the Balkashin dogs. - Is Father Yevsey at home? The novice covered his mouth with his hand and cackled: “Wow!” You won’t even find him with the hounds: he’s drunk, Father Yevsey has been hanging out in Streltsy all week. Yevsey is missing. It's over, there's nowhere else to go. Again to the Balkashinsky yard...

3. Chickens

After the all-night vigil or after mass, Father Pokrovsky will catch up with Chebotarikha, shake his head and say: “This is not likeable, my mother.” You need to walk, do prominence. And then, look, the flesh will completely overcome. And Chebotarikha on her ruler will spread out like dough, and, pursing her lips, will say: “It’s impossible, father, the beating of the heart is too fast.” And Chebotarikh rolls further through the dust, clinging to the ruler - one whole with it, heavy, floating, spring-like. So, on his own legs without wheels, no one saw Chebotarikha on the street. It’s closer to their Chebotarevskaya bathhouse (the tannery and the trading bathhouse were left to her by her husband), so she rode the line, on Fridays - on Indian Day. And therefore this same ruler, and the skewbald gelding, and the coachman Urvanka are held in high esteem by Chebotarikha. And especially Urvanka: curly-haired, strong, devilish, and all black - he was a gypsy, or something. Some kind of smoky, squat, wiry, all like a knot of good rope. It was rumored that he was not just Chebotarikha’s coachman. Yes, they said from under the covers, they were loudly afraid: if you get caught by him, by Urvanka, he’ll be so foolish, brother, that... Beating a man half to death is Urvanka’s first pleasure: that’s why they beat him a lot, was a horse thieves. But Urvanka also had love: he loved horses and chickens. He used to scratch and scratch the horses' manes with his copper comb, otherwise he would start talking to them in some kind of language. Maybe he really was an infidel? And Urvanka loved chickens because in the spring they were chickens - yellow, round, soft. It used to be that he would chase them all over the yard: ouch-outi-outi! He will crawl under a water carrier, crawl under the porch on all fours - and then catch it, put it on your hand - and his first pleasure is to warm a chicken with his spirit. And so that no one saw his face at that time. God knows what she was like. So, without looking, you can’t even imagine: this same Urvanka is a chicken. Wonderful! It happened on Mount Barybino that he, too, fell in love with Urvankin’s chickens: they were very tasty, and he got into the habit of carrying them. There is no other, there is no third,” Urvanka noticed. And where the chickens went is beyond anyone's imagination. Is the ferret wound up? After noon, Urvanka somehow lies under the barn in a cart. It's hot, it's making me doze off. The chickens hid under the barn, sat down in the shade by the wall, closed their eyes, and pecked with their noses. And they don’t see, poor fellows, that the board behind them has been torn off, and a hand is reaching through the hole, reaching towards them. Tsop - and the chicken in Barybin’s fist began to squeal and squeal. Urvanka jumped up and shouted. He instantly jumped over the fence. - Hold him, hold him, hold the thief! Wild animal run. Baryba ran, backed into his manger, climbed under the straw, but found Urvanka there too. He pulled him out and stood on his feet. - Well, just wait a minute with me! I’ll give you my chickens... And I’ll drag you by the collar to Chebotarikha: let her come up with a punishment for the thief.

4. Relentless

The cook, Anisya the thick-faced one, was driven away by Chebotarikh. For what? And for the very same thing, so that she doesn’t approach Urvanka. I drove you away, but now at least break up. There are no cooks throughout the entire estate. I had to take Polka - so, the chilling girl. And so in the Church of the Intercession they called for Vespers, this same Polish woman in the hall chalked the floor, sprinkling it with drunken tea, as Chebotarikha taught. And Chebotarikha herself immediately sat on the cretonne-covered sofa and died of boredom, looking into the glass flytrap: in the flytrap there was kvass, and flies drowned themselves in the kvass out of boredom. Chebotarikha yawned and crossed her mouth. “Oh, Lord, fathers, have mercy...” And he had mercy: there was some stomping and hubbub in the entryway - and Urvanka shoved Baryba. Baryba was so taken aback - he saw Chebotarikha himself - that he stopped struggling, only his eyes, like mice, darted around all corners. When Chebotarikha heard about the chickens, she burst into tears and started drooling. —Have you raised your hand against the little chickens, the little ones of God? Oh, villain, oh, villain! Porlyushka, bring a broom. No, no, I don’t want to know anything! Urvanka bared his teeth, hit him from behind with his knee - and instantly Baryba was on the floor. He was bitten, curled up like a snake - but how could he go against Urvanka the devil: he laid him out, saddled him, immediately tore off Baryba’s holey pants and waited only for Chebotarikhin’s word to begin the reprisal. And Chebotarikha couldn’t say a word from laughter, such laughter came over her. I opened my eyes with great force: why did they quiet down there on the floor? She opened it and laughed, and bent closer to Baryba’s tense, animal-strong body. - Go away, Urvan. Get off, I say, get off! Let me ask him properly...” Chebotarikha did not look at Urvanka, she averted her eyes to the corner. Urvanka slowly got down, turned around on the threshold, and slammed the door with all his might. Baryba jumped up and quickly rushed for his pants: father, the pants are nothing but rags! Well, run without looking back... But Chebotarikha held her hand tightly: “Whose are you going to be, boy?” She also stuck out her lower lip, said “my little boy” instead of “boy,” and still pretended to be important, but Baryba sensed something else. “I’m a shoemaker...” and immediately remembered my whole life, whined, howled. “My father kicked me out for ex-amen, I lived... at a ball... On the balkashi...” Chebotarikha clasped her hands and sang sweetly and pitifully: “Oh, my little orphan, oh, my unfortunate one!” From home - my own son, eh? Also called father... She sang and dragged Baryba somewhere by the hand, and Baryba walked sadly and obediently. - ...And there is no one to teach you good things. And the enemy is there: steal and steal a chicken - right? Bedroom. A huge bed with a mountain of feather beds. Lamp. The robes of the icons sparkle. She pushed Baryba onto some rug: “Get on your knees, get on your knees.” Pray, Anfimushka, pray. The Lord is merciful, he will forgive. And I will forgive... And she sat down somewhere behind me and furiously whispered a prayer. Baryba was stunned and stood motionless on his knees. “I should get up, leave. Get up...” - What are you talking about, huh? How were you taught to be baptized? - Chebotarikha grabbed Barybin's hand. - Well, like this: on the forehead, on the stomach... - she clung to the back, breathing into the neck. Suddenly, unexpectedly for himself, Baryba turned around and, clenching his jaw, plunged his hands deep into something soft, like dough. - Oh, you are so, huh? What is this, what is it, huh? Well, so be it, I’ll sin for you, for the orphan. Baryba drowned in sweet and hot dough. At night, Polka laid out felt for him on the locker in the hallway. Baryba shook his head: what miracles there are in the world. I fell asleep full and satisfied.

5. Life

Yes, it’s not like life here in the Balkashin yard. On everything ready, in peace, on soft feather beds, in hot rooms heated with old wood. He wanders around in sweet idleness all day. At dusk, take a nap on a little bed next to Vaska, who is purring at all times. There's plenty to eat. Oh, life! Eating until you get hot and sweaty. Eat from morning to evening, put your belly in your food. That’s how it is with Chebotarikha. In the morning - tea, with baked milk, with rye crumpets on yuraga. Chebotarikha is wearing a white night jacket (not very white, however), her head is covered with a scarf. - And why are you all wearing headscarves? - Baryba will say. - That's what they taught you! Is it really possible for a woman to walk around with bare hair? Tea, I'm not a girl, it's a sin. Tea, crowned with her husband lived. These are the uncovered ones who live, the unlucky ones... Otherwise they will start some other conversation that is useful for food: about dreams, about the dream book, about Martyn Zadek, about omens and about various dry spells. Back and forth - and, lo and behold, it’s already twelve o’clock. It's time for noon. Jelly, cabbage soup, catfish, or even salted carp, fried intestines with buckwheat porridge, tripe with horseradish, soaked watermelons and apples, and you never know what else. At noon, you can neither sleep nor swim in the river: the midday demon is here and it will grab you. And, of course, I want to sleep, the unclean one teases me, makes me yawn. Out of green boredom, Baryba will go to the kitchen, to Polka: stupid, stupid, but the person is still alive. He'll find a cat there, Polkin's favorite, and let's put him in his boot. Squealing, sodomy in the kitchen. The Polish woman runs around like crazy. “Anfim Yegorych, Anfim Yegorych, let Vasenka go, for Christ’s sake!” Anfimka bares her teeth and shoves the cat even deeper. And Polka begs Vasenka: “Vasenka, well, don’t cry, well, be patient, child, be patient!” Now, now he'll let go. The cat screams in a heart-rending voice. Polka has round eyes, her head has fallen forward, and she is pulling Baryba’s sleeve with her weak hand. - Go away, otherwise I’ll hit you with my boot! Baryba threw his boot into the corner along with the cat and was pleased, it rumbled - the cart rumbled over the potholes. We had dinner early, at nine o'clock. Polka brings food - and Chebotarikh sends her to bed so that she doesn’t become an eyesore. Then he takes out a decanter from the slide. “Have a drink, Anfimushka, have another glass.” They drink in silence. The lamp beeps subtly and smokes. Nobody sees for a long time. "Smoky. Should I say?" - thinks Baryba. But you can’t turn the drowning thoughts around, you can’t speak them out. Chebotarikha pours some for him and herself. Under the dying light of the lamp, her entire face is erased into one dim spot. Only one greedy mouth is visible and screaming - a red wet hole. The whole face is one mouth. And the smell of her sweaty, sticky body is getting closer to Baryba. For a long time, the lamp dies slowly in melancholy. Black snow of soot flies in the dining room. Stench. And in the bedroom there is a lamp, the flickering of foil vestments. The bed is opened, and Chebotarikh bows on the rug nearby. And Baryba knows: the more bows she makes, the more ardently she atones for her sins, the longer she will torment him at night. “I would like to hide somewhere, crawl into some crevice like a cockroach”... But there is nowhere: the doors are closed, the window is sealed with darkness. Baryba’s service is not easy, needless to say. But on the other hand, Chebotarikha dotes on him more and more, day by day. He took away such power that only Chebotarikha now has any idea how to please Anfimushka. - Anfimushka, eat another plate... - Oh, what a shame in the yard none! Anfimushka, let me tie a scarf for you, okay? - Anfimushka, does your stomach hurt again? Those are sins! When I'm mowing, here's some vodka with mustard and salt, drink it - the first remedy. Bottle boots, a silver watch on a neck chain, new rubber galoshes - and Baryba walks around the Chebotarev yard like a bell, establishing routines. - Hey, you gamay, bug-eater, where did you dump the skins? Where are you supposed to go? Lo and behold, he was fined seven months, and the man was already crumpling his holey cap and bowing. There is only one that Baryba bypasses a mile away - Urvanka. Otherwise, even Chebotarikha will get annoyed at times. He endures, endures, and sometimes such a lucky night... The next morning everything is cloudy, I would run to the ends of the world. Baryba locks himself in the hall, and runs around and around, as if in a cage. Chebotarikha will settle down and become quiet. Calling Polka. - Porlyushka, go and see how he is doing? Otherwise call me for lunch. Polka runs, giggling, back: - No way. Angry, angry, and-and, just walk across the floor! And he waits for Chebotarikh with lunch for an hour or two. And if he waits with dinner, if he violates the holy lunch hour, that means...

6. In the Churilovsky tavern

Baryba grew rich in his position as a clerk and on good bread. The postman Chernobylnikov, an old acquaintance, met him on Dvoryanskaya Street and just threw up his hands: “And you wouldn’t recognize him.” Look what a merchant! Chernobylnikov was jealous of Baryba: the guy was living well. After all, Baryba must apparently treat his friends at the tavern: what is it worth to him, who is getting rich? He persuaded and cajoled the little one. At seven o'clock, as agreed, Baryba came to the Churilovsky tavern. Well, what a fun place, oh my God! Noise, din, lights. Sexy whites scurry about, drunken voices flicker like spokes in a wheel. Baryba’s head was spinning, he was taken aback, and there was no way to find Chernobylnikov. And Chernobylnikov was already shouting from afar: “Hey, merchant, here!” Chernobylnikov's postman's buttons sparkle. And next to him is some other little man. Small, sharp-nosed, sitting - and not as if he was sitting on a chair, but jumping on a perch, like a sparrow. Chernobylnikov nodded at the sparrow: “Timosha, the tailor.” Talkative. Timosha smiled and lit a warm lamp on his sharp face: “A tailor, yes.” I'm changing my brain. Baryba opened his mouth and wanted to ask, but they pushed him on the shoulder from behind. The floor guard, with the tray in the air, right next to his head, was already putting the beer on the table. There was a clamor, the voices were confused, and one stood above them all - a red-haired tradesman, a mackerel of horses, shouting: - Mitka, hey, Mitka, you scraggly head, will you bring it, oh no? And he sang again: For you, the street is wide, Last time I’m coming... Timosha learned that he was from the district Baryba and was delighted. - So this priest himself planted a pig on you? Well, of course, I know him, I know him. Showed him. Yes, he doesn’t love me, passion! - Why doesn’t he love you? - And for my conversations are different. The other day I said to him: “How is it that our saints will be in heaven in the next world? Merciful Timothy, my angel and patron, will he see how I will be fried in hell, and he will again take up the apple of heaven? These are the many-merciful ones, these are the holy souls! But he cannot not see me, not know me, according to the catechism he must." Well, the priest shut up; he didn’t know what to say. - Clever! - Baryba neighed, rumbled, and laughed. “You,” the priest tells me, “would rather do good deeds than wag your tongue like that.” And I said to him: “Why, I say, should I do good deeds? I’d rather be evil. Evil ones are more beneficial for my neighbors, because, according to the Gospel, for my evil the Lord God will reward them with good in the next world a hundredfold...” Oh, and he cursed pop! “That’s it, priest, that’s it,” Baryba rejoiced. I would have loved Timosha now for this, for the fact that he finished off his priest so cleverly - he would have loved him, but Baryba was heavy, so fermented, it was impossible to turn him around for love. At the table where the red-haired tradesman was sitting, glasses clinked. A terrible, red-haired fist slammed onto the table. The tradesman yelled: “Well, tell me?” Well, tell me again? Come on, come on? The neighbors jumped up, huddled together, craned their necks: oh, we love scandals, don’t feed them honey! Some long-necked big man turned out of the crowd, walked up to the table, and greeted Chernobylnikov. He held a cap with a cockade under his arm. “It’s amazing... And now everyone is climbing like sheep,” he said in a goose-like thin voice and stuck out his lips contemptuously. Sat down. There is zero attention to Timosha and Baryba. I spoke with Chernobylnikov: a postman is still like an official. Timosha, without hesitation, explained out loud to Baryba: “He’s the Treasury’s son-in-law.” The treasurer married him to his last wife, a long-time wife, and arranged a position for him, as a scribe in the treasury - well, he’s puffed up. The treasury's son-in-law did not seem to listen and spoke even louder to Chernobylnikov: “And after the audit, they presented him to the provincial secretary...” Chernobylnikov respectfully drawled out: “To the provincial secretary?” Timosha became impatient and got involved in the conversation. - Postman, Chernobylnikov, do you remember how the other day the police officer pushed him out of the noble... in this very place? - I would have asked... I would have asked for it! - said the treasurer's son-in-law fiercely. And Timosha continued: “.. "But you won't go!" - "But I'll go!" Well, word for word, I bet. He got into the noble's room. And the treasurer was playing billiards with the police officer. Our dandy - to his father-in-law: in the ear He whispered, as if he had come for some business. And he remained standing there. And the police officer began to aim his cue, he kept backing away, backing away, and by chance, as if he pushed him out, in this very place. Oh, Lord, that was a laugh. " Baryba and Chernobylnikov were bursting with laughter. The treasury's son-in-law stood up and left without looking. “Well, we'll make up again,” said Timosha. “And he was nothing small. And now there’s a cockade on his forehead, and a bard in his forehead.” .

7. Orange tree

Polka, the barefoot fool, has only one window in the kitchen, and even that glass has blossomed, blossomed contagiously from old age. And on Polka’s window there is a jar. I planted - long ago, about six months - an orange seed in this jar. And now, look, a whole tree has grown: one, two, three, four leaves, tiny, glossy. Polka is pushing around in the kitchen, rattling the pots, and then going up to the tree again and sniffing the leaves. - Wonderful. There was grain, but... I took care of it and took care of it. Someone said that it was good for growth - she began to water the tree with soup, if there was any left over from lunch. Once Baryba returned from the tavern late, got up in the morning angry and disgusted, took a sip of tea - and now he’s off to the kitchen to take his breath away. Polka now called him nothing other than master: very flattering. The Polish woman was just at her window fiddling around, near a dear tree. -- Where is a cat? The Polish woman fussed about without turning around. Timidly, she answered: “They are gone, master.” Yes, somewhere in the yard, probably, where else? -What are you cooking there? She became quiet, shy, silent. Saucer with soup in hand. - Su-up? Do you water the grass? Is this why you were given soup, you idiot? Now bring it here! - Well, this is a pelsin, master... The Polish woman trembled with fear: oh, and what will happen now? - I'll show you the orange! Water it with soup, you fool, huh? Baryba grabbed a jar of orange. The Polish woman began to roar. Why bother with her, the fool, for so long? He grabbed the tree by the roots and out the window, and put the jar in its place. It's very simple. The Polish woman roared loudly, dirty streaks were left on her face from tears, and wailed like a woman: “My pelsin, y-y, father, how can I live without you... Baryba cheerfully gave her a couple from behind, and she rolled out out the door, across the yard - and straight into the cellar. I chewed on some stone, here, with Polka, with this orange - and I immediately felt better. Baryba bared his teeth and got drunk. Through the window I saw Polka go down into the cellar. A millstone slowly turned in my head - and my heart suddenly started beating. He went out into the yard, looked around and ducked into the cellar. He closed the door tightly behind him. After the sun - and into the darkness: completely blind. He fumbled along the damp walls and stumbled: “Polka, where are you?” Where are you, you fool, did you sneeze? You can hear Polka sniffling and whimpering somewhere, and where... It’s musty, grave-like, damp. He felt with his hands the potatoes, the tubs, and knocked down a wooden circle from some kind of jar. Here she is, Polka: sitting on a pile of potatoes, smearing her tears. Some tiny hole at the top - one cunning, squinted ray crawled through and cut off a piece of Polka's braid with a rag ribbon, fingers, and a dirty cheek. - Wake up, wake up, don’t cry, dry up! Baryba leaned lightly on her, and she fell down. She moved obediently and looked like a rag doll. She just whimpered even more often. Baryba’s mouth was dry, and Baryba’s tongue could barely move. He was weaving something - so as to occupy her head, to distract her from what he was doing: - Yes, look, what a thing, orange! Are you crying? Instead of a pelsin, let us buy you some Eran... Eran is... that's the most... fragrant... The Polka was shaking all over and whimpering, and this had its own special sweetness to Baryba. - Yes, yes! Roar now, well, roar with all your might,” Baryba said. He sent the Polka out. He himself remained, stretched out on a pile of potatoes, resting. Suddenly Baryba smiled from ear to ear, pleased. He said aloud to Chebotarikha: “What, did you eat the old feather bed, huh?” And he showed a fig in the dark. He came out of the cellar, closed his eyes: the sun. I looked under the barn: Urvanka was fidgeting there, with his back to him.

8. Timosha

We sat in a tavern having tea. Timosha kept looking closely at Baryba. “You’re kind of uncomfortable, I’ll see.” They must have beaten you like this. “They fought, of course,” Baryba laughed. It was even flattering: they beat me - and now come here, stick your head in. “That’s why you came out like that, little boy.” Your soul and conscience are like those of a chicken... And he started his own thing - about God: there is no Him, they say, but everything turns out, you have to live according to God; both about faith and about books. It was unusual for Baryba to grind so much with her millstone; Timoshina’s tricky words tormented her. But he listened - a heavy cart was dragged behind Timosha. Who should you listen to if not Timosha: the guy is the head. And Timosha had already reached his most important point: “Well, sometimes it will seem that there is.” And you turn again, you figure it out - and again there is nothing. Nothing: no God, no earth, no water - just a ripple in the heavens. One appearance only. Timosha turned his head like a sparrow; something was pressing against him. - One appearance. To get to this point, oh! No, but just to live with this one thing, eye to eye, to get some air. Right here, brother... And I saw that Baryba had gotten lost, fell behind, and stumbled. Timosha waved his hand: - Eh, what! You don’t need this, you live in your womb... Your God is edible. We left the tavern. The June night is not hot, it smells of linden, and the crickets are in the grass. And Timosha was covered in cotton wool, what an eccentric he is! - What are you, Timosha, a kutafya kutafya? - Oh, come on! I wouldn't ask. Too-ber-ku-loz, brother. That's what the guy at the hospital said. To catch a cold - no, my God. “Look, he’s so good,” and somehow Baryba suddenly felt the weight of his animal, strong body. He walked heavily and contentedly: it was pleasant to step on the ground, to trample the earth, to crush it - so! Like this! In Timosha’s room with tattered wallpaper, three guys, freckled and with pointed noses, were sitting at an unpainted table. - Where is mother? - Timosha shouted. - No again? “I went to the zemstvo, they came,” the girl said timidly. And she began to put on her ankle boots in the corner: it was awkward to be barefoot, some stranger had come. Timosha frowned. - Let's have some kulesh, Fenka. Yes, bring a bottle from the exit. - Mom didn’t order the bottle. - I'll give you mom. Alive, alive! Sit down, Baryba. We sat at the table. Upstairs a lamp squeaked faintly with a tin lampshade covered with dead flies. Fenka began pouring kulesh from the bowl into the dugout for the guys. Timosha shouted at her: “What is this?” Are you rowing your own father? Does the mother teach everything? Well, I’ll teach her, let her come! Hanging around... The guys began to sip from the common bowl, reluctantly, dejectedly. Timosha chuckled wryly and said to Baryba: “Here I am tempting the Lord God.” At the hospital they say that she is clingy and has consumption. Well, I’ll see: he’ll stick to the guys, oh no? Will he, the Lord God, raise his hand against the foolish children - will he rise, oh no? There was a slight knock on the window, timidly. Timosha hastily opened the frame and sang venomously: “Oh, you’re welcome?” And then to Barybe: “Well, brother, pack your belongings.” There's nothing else for you to see here. This is where things get serious.

9. Elijah's day

On Elijah's day, the evening is special, and the gospel is its own special: in the cathedral there is a throne, in the monastery there is a throne, cooks in all houses bake pies for tomorrow, and in the sky Elijah the Prophet prepares thunder. And what a sky it is on Elijah’s day: clean and quiet, like in a hut washed for the holiday. Everyone is rushing to their churches: God forbid they be late for Elijah’s troparion, tears will flow all year long, like the rain that has been laid down for centuries on Elijah’s day. Well, someone will be late, but not Chebotarikha, she is the first pilgrim in the Intercession Church. When he harnessed Urvank's horses ahead of time. Harnessed, he walks through the yard - just past the cellar. Lo and behold, the door is open. Urvanka muttered: “Look, devils, they’ve even loosened the door.” People go to pray to God, and they come at you. Okhalniki! And he salted it with a stronger word. I wanted to close the door, but no. He stood there and grinned. I came to report to Chebotarikha: everything is ready. - But let me ask you to go out through the back door... - and Urvanka tied a smile on his smoky face in a knot: go ahead, figure out what it means. - You are being clever, Urvanka! - said Chebotarikha. However, she swam, rustling her silk, brown dress with flowers. She went down the steps, puffing. I passed by the cellar. - I should have closed the door, I guessed. Tell them everything and show them... - Chebotarikha is a sedate, economical woman, but will someone like that walk past an open door calmly? Although it’s not necessary, it will close it. - But how do you order them to be locked there? - Who is it - them? - Like whom? What about Anfim Yegorych and Polka? Chat, and they should go to the all-night vigil on Elijah’s day? - You're lying, you little bastard! I won’t believe in life that Anfimka is with her... - Yes, Ilya will strike me with thunder tomorrow if I’m lying. - Well, cross yourself? Urvanka crossed himself. So it’s true. Chebotarikha turned white and shook, like a dough that had swollen to the very edges of the bowl. Urvanka thought: “Well, he’ll howl.” No, I remembered, it’s clear that she’s wearing a silk dress. She stuck out her lip importantly and said as if nothing had happened: “Urvan, close the door.” It's time for us, it's time to go to church. - I’m listening, mother. He clicked the bolt, untied the horses, and the famous Chebotarikhin ruler began to gather dust along the road. Chebotarikha stood, as always, in front, at the right choir. She folded her hands on her stomach and fixed her eyes on one point, on the right deacon’s boot. Some piece of paper stuck to the boot, the deacon stood in front of Chebotarikha on the pulpit, and the piece of paper gave no rest. - "The sick and suffering." .. And I, therefore, am suffering. Oh, Lord, what a scoundrel Anfimka is! She bowed to the ground, and the piece of paper on her boot - there it was, flickering before her eyes. The deacon left - even worse: the damned Anfimka is gone from his head. But she looked after him, huh? It was only during “Praise” that Chebotarikha had a little fun and forgot about Baryba a little. No, what is it like: the deacon’s Olgunya, educated, stands like a pillar! Here it is, education, everything in its own way, not like everyone else. No, I need to sing about this to the deacon... A watchman in a retired soldier's uniform was extinguishing the candles in the church. The deacon brought Chebotarikha a loaf of bread on a plate: she was an exemplary parishioner, God-fearing, and paid well. Chebotarikha pulled him by the sleeve and whispered in his ear about Olgunya for a long time and shook her head. Urvanka leaned down and pulled back the bolt. Baryba jumped out as if scalded. “Please have some tea,” said Urvanka, grinning. "Didn't he say so?" - thought Baryba. Chebotarikha sat arrogantly, in a silky blue dress, breaking into pieces the loaf the deacon offered and swallowing, like pills, very loudly: who chews holy bread? “Well, I should have told you soon,” Baryba waited, his heart fluttering and aching. “Perhaps I should bring some baked milk for tea?” - Chebotarikha looked as if affectionately. “Either being bullied? Or maybe he really doesn’t know?” - Where will you find her, Polka, now? The girl starts to rant, the girl was hanging up. You should, Anfimushka, keep an eye on her. So, simply, as if it was nothing, Chebotarikha told herself, swallowed the bread piece by piece, swept the crumbs she took from the table and poured them into her mouth. “But he doesn’t know how holy God is,” Baryba suddenly became convinced. He was cheerful, smiled his quadrangular smile, laughed, and told how that stupid Polka watered the orange tree with soup. The sun was setting coppery, fierce: Ilya would cause a thunderstorm tomorrow. There were white cups and plates on the table. An important, silent Chebotarikha sat and did not smile even once. Baryba cheerfully bowed in the bedroom, next to Chebotarikha, and thanked some unknown saints: it passed, flew by, Urvanka did not say! The lamp went out. The night is stuffy, heavy on Ilya’s day. In the darkness of the bedroom - a greedy, gaping, drinking mouth - and the rapid breathing of a hunted animal. Baryba’s heart stopped beating, green circles fidgeted before her eyes, and her hair stuck together on her forehead. - What are you, or are you crazy? - he said, disentangling himself from her body. But she stuck around like a spider. - No, my dear, no, my friend! You won't leave, no! And she tormented him with invisible and incomprehensible in the darkness, evil caresses - and she herself sobbed: she wet Baryba’s whole face with tears. Until morning. Through stone dream Baryba heard the bell - for St. Elias mass. In a dream I heard some singing and turned over my petrified thoughts, trying to figure it out. But I woke up only when they finished singing. He jumped up immediately, as if disheveled. “But it was the priests who sang a prayer service in the hall!” I got dressed, my eyes were stuck together, my head felt strange. The priests have already left. Chebotarikha was sitting alone in the living room, on a cretonne sofa. She was again in a silk bast dress and a lace ceremonial headdress. - You slept through Ilyinskaya’s prayer service, huh? Anfim Yegorych? Maybe because it was true - he overslept and it was already about noon, or maybe because the room smelled of incense - Baryba felt somehow awkward, uneasy. - Sit down, Anfim Yegorych, sit down, let's talk. She paused. Then she closed her eyes and made her face look like it wasn’t a face, but like a rich pie. Head to one side and in a sweet voice: “So, our sins are grave.” And don't beg them. And in the next world - He, father, will remember everything, He, father, will smoke all the sulfur dope in Gehenna. Baryba was silent. “And where is she going?” Suddenly Chebotarikha widened her eyes and, sputtering with saliva, shouted: “What, you little bastard, are you silent, like you’ve filled your mouth with water?” Hey, you think I don’t know anything about your Polka tricks? Sporting a girl, you such a depraved little bastard, doesn't matter to you? Stunned, Baryba silently moved his jaws and thought: “But yesterday the pig was slaughtered - it’s supposed to be for lunch today.” Chebotarikha was completely infuriated by Barybin’s silence. She stamped her feet while sitting. - Get out, get out of the house! Underwater snake! I warmed him up on the pile, the brat, and he was a mess! To Polka - that's me, huh? Not understanding, unable to turn around his thoughts that were filled with something, Baryba sat as if buried in silence. I looked at Chebotarikha. “Look, how it’s bubbling, bubbling, huh?” I came to my senses when Urvanka entered the hall and said to him with a cheerful smile: “Well, there’s nothing, brother, there’s nothing.” Get lost. There's nothing here, brother. And he pulled Baryba’s cap down from behind. Before the Ilyinsky thunderstorm, the sun was hot. Sparrows, trees, stones were waiting. They were withered and languishing. Baryba, crazy, wandered around the city, sitting down on all the benches along Dvoryanskaya. - What's next now, huh? What now? Where? He shook his head and still couldn’t shake it off: the Balkashin yard, the manger, hungry dogs fighting over a bone... Then he wandered through some back streets, through the green grass. A water truck was passing by, and one of the tires came off and was clanging. Baryba sensed that he really wanted to drink. I asked and got drunk. And from the north, from the monastery, a cloud had already settled in and broke the sky into two halves: blue, cheerful, and blue, terrible. The blue one kept growing and getting plump. Somehow, not remembering himself, Baryba found himself under a canopy, at the entrance to the Churilovsky tavern. It was pouring rain; some women huddled in the entrance, lifting their skirts over their heads; Ilya thundered. Eh, it’s all the same - go ahead, thunder, pour! Of course, it somehow happened that Baryba went to spend the night with Timosha. And Timosha wasn’t even the least bit surprised, as if Baryba went to spend the night with him every day.

10. Twilight in the cell

In the summer at four o'clock is the darkest time in our area. None of good people He won’t even stick his nose out into the street: the roast is utter. The shutters are all closed, and with a full belly he sleeps sweetly after dinner. Some gray little cowlicks, midday demons, dance along the empty streets. A postman will come up to the gate, knock and knock. No, don’t be angry: they won’t open it. Baryba wanders at this time, restless and staggering. It’s as if he himself doesn’t know where. And their feet carry them to the monastery. And where else? From Timosha - to Yevsey to the monastery, from Yevsey - to Timosha. The wall is jagged and overgrown with moss. A booth, like a dog's, near the iron-clad gate. And Arsentyushka comes out of the booth, grimacing, with a mug, the blessed one - the wicket dances with him - the goalkeeper, collecting donations, persistent. - Look, here you are, you bastard! Baryba gave him a semitka and walked along the white heated slabs, past the graves of eminent townspeople behind gilded bars. Eminent people loved to be buried here: it is flattering for everyone to lie in a monastery, and for the angelic ranks to pray for him day and night. Baryba knocked on Evseev’s cell. No one answered. He opened the door. Two people sat at the table without cassocks, wearing only white trousers and shirts: Yevsey and Innokenty. Yevsey hissed at Baryba fiercely: shhhh! And again he stared, without blinking, the pouring, glass-eyed glass into his glass of tea. And Innokenty, lip-blind, woman with a mustache, froze over his glass. Baryba stopped at the lintel, looked, looked: have they gone crazy, or what? At another lintel stood Savka the novice: oily, straight stick-like hair, red, crustacean-like hands. Savka snorted respectfully to the side: “F-f-f!” Well, a fly is about to land in Father Yevsey’s glass. Oh, don’t you see, or what? Not understanding anything, Baryba poked his eyes. - Duck, how? This is their most unkind game right now. A nickel, there, they’ll put in a ten-kopeck piece - and they wait and wait. The first priest to get a fly into his glass is the one who wins. Savka wants to indulge in worldly things. He says, all the time covering his mouth with a huge red hand out of respect: “Look, look, Father Yevsey.” Yevsey, gray-haired and plump, leaned toward the glass, his mouth grinned wider and wider, and suddenly he slammed his hand on his knee: “E-yes!” Here she is, my dear! My nickel! - and with his finger he caught a fly from the glass. - Well, little guy, he almost tricked me. After all, he scared away the mother fly. He came closer to Baryba, stared with his glassy eyes, and began to babble: “And we, little one, didn’t even want to see you.” We heard that he has become quite a blister. They thought the woman would beat you to death. After all, Chebotarikha, she’s a woman - I’ll give you, she’s greedy! He sat down Baryba to drink tea, and he himself finished the glass from which he caught the mother fly. What would a meeting be without green wine? - Yevsey put the scythe on the table. Savka brought the second samovar. On the table are copper coins, the Psalter, pretzels, and glasses with broken stems. Innokenty was upset about something after the vodka, his eyes were sticking together, and every now and then he put his head on the table, propping it up with his fist. Suddenly he started singing “Quiet Light” pitifully. Evsei and Savka pulled up. Savka sang in a deep voice, clearing his throat to the side and covering his mouth with his red hand. Baryba thought: “Eh, it doesn’t matter!” - and also began to howl sadly. Suddenly Yevsey interrupted and shouted: “Whoa!” Stop - I'm telling you! But Savka still delayed. Yevsey rushed to him, grabbed him by the throat and pressed him to the back of the chair, crazy, savage. It will strangle you. Innokenty stood up, bent over, walked up to Yevsey from behind with old woman steps and tickled his armpits. Yevsey laughed, gurgled, waved his arms like a drunken windmill, and let Savka go. Then he sat down on the floor and began to sing: On grief a cripple sits, hit a man with something... Everyone, silently, diligently pulled him up, as before - “Quiet light.” It grew dark, merged, and everything in the drunken cell began to sway. No fire was lit. Innocent whined and pestered everyone, muttering - an old woman with a mustache and a gray beard. It occurred to him that he had choked on something. It's stuck in the throat, and that's all. I pricked and pricked with my finger: it doesn’t help: - Well, try it, Savushka, my dear, with your finger? Maybe you will feel something. Savushka climbed up and then wiped his finger on the floor of his cassock. - Nothing, Your Reverence, no. So this is a drunken demon tempting. Yevsey took a nap on the bed and lay there for a long time, neither hearing nor spirit. Then he suddenly jumped up and shook his shaggy hair. - For me, guys, it would be better to go to Sagittarius, etta, now. To the joys of those who meet. Little lady, how are you? If only they could intercept the money somewhere. Is it at the cellarer's? How are you, Savka? Unseen, Savka neighed at the door. Baryba thought: “Well, he’ll probably knock it off. I wish I could forget everything.” “If you give it back tomorrow... I have a little money, the last one,” he said to Yevsey. Yevsey perked up, shook his head like a cheerful dog, and stuck out his glassy eyes. - Yes, I’ll give it to the True One tomorrow, I have it, but it’s just hidden far away. The four of us walked past the graves. The half-dead moon blinked from behind a cloud. Innokenty caught his cassock on the bars, got scared, crossed himself, and turned back. Three climbed over the wall on purpose, for the sake of movement, broken bricks.

11. Brocard jar

Here it is again, a oppressively hot, dense afternoon. White slabs on the monastery path. Linden alley, buzzing bees. Ahead is Yevsey, in a black hood, with shaggy hair: now it’s his turn to serve Vespers. And behind is Baryba. He goes, but no, no, and again he dissolves his quadrangular smile like a gate. “You’re too bad, Yevsey, you’re so weird and unattractive in your hood.” You would like a peasant buckwheat or a hat, which would be nicer. “Yes, boy, I wanted to become a cadet, but I accidentally got drunk.” So it ended up under the monastery. Eh, Evsey! What a red-faced, blue-nosed Cossack esaul you would make. Or a volost clerk, a drunkard, familiar to the peasants. But here you go, by the will of God... - And how did you, Yevsey, skate yesterday in Streltsy, huh? They became monks, bought samovars, Yevsey grinned and shrugged his shoulders. No, no, in this woman’s outfit - no matter what. Yesterday - this is how it is: he belted his shirt with a rope in the village style, right under the armpits, dyed white ports with blue stripes, a red beard with a shovel, and the eyes of him will pop out at any moment - a real village leshak, and a trickster at dancing. The Streltsy girls laughed enough! We've arrived. Baryba stood for a moment at the old church doors. Yevsey came out and beckoned with his finger. Well, go, little one, go. Nobody there. The watchman - and then he went somewhere. A low, old, wise church - in the name of ancient Elijah. I've seen it all: defending myself against the Tatars, serving in it, they say, as a passing boyar Fyodor Romanov, and as a monk Filaret. Old linden trees look through the lattice windows. Yevsey, the captain in the hood, is babbling and making noise and won’t stop. Old, thin, big-eyed saints are huddled against the walls - from the waving, bearded, loud Yevsey. Yevsey knelt down and groped under the throne with his hand. “Tuta,” he said and brought out a dusty jar of Brocard lipstick into the light. He uncorked it and leafed through the quarter papers, slobbering. Baryba moved his iron restlessly. “Oh, you devil! A dozen, or even more. And why do he need them?” Yevsey put down one piece of paper. “And I’ll either leave the rest for the soul’s sake, or else, oh well, somehow I’ll take it all away and give it to the Streltsy girls for drinking.” White slabs of the monastery path. Bees buzz in old linden trees. A heavy ringing turns the drunken head. “And why do they give him a damn?” - thinks Baryba.

12. Old nun

On a stone bench warm from the sun, near the St. Elias Church, an old monk is sitting. His duckweed has faded and turned green, his gray beard has turned green, his hands and face are covered in moss. It was lying somewhere like a treasure, under an old oak tree, they dug it up, took it and planted it here to bask in the sun. - How old are you, grandpa? - asks Baryba. - A-and, dear, I forgot. Yes, I remember your Tikhon Zadonsky. Father served well, earnestly. Baryba keeps spinning around the green nun, everything clings to him. Oh, no wonder! - Let's go to church, grandfather, I'll help you sweep. And they walk under the dark, cool arches. The nuns lovingly clean up their old church and whisper with the saints. He will light a candle and stand there, admiring it, glowing in front of it. “Blow on it, and both the candle and the nun will go out,” thinks Baryba. He follows the nun: he will give one thing, he will hold another. Baryba fell in love with the nuns. The people today have become dishonorable, they have forgotten everything about the old, and there is no one to utter a word with. And this one... - Grandfather, isn’t it scary, you know, alone in church at night? - And-and, what are you, Christ is with you, is it scary with her, my dear? - Grandfather, let me spend the night with you? He speaks sternly from the deep hollow of his nun: “I spent the night with her alone for forty years.” And no one else should fly and spend the night in it. You never know what's going on in the church at night... Take care of it, take care of it, jealous one. True, you never know what happens at night old church? “Okay, I’ll wait,” and Baryba follows. During the all-night vigil under Tikhon of Zadonsk, the old monk became so tired. There were countless people. Then they cleaned up and cleaned up with Baryba, and they ended with force. The nuns looked at all the doors, checked all the rusty locks and sat down to rest for a moment. He sat down and went out of order, fell asleep. Baryba waited and coughed. The nun came up and touched the sleeve - he was sleeping. Hurry up to the altar, and rummage around under the throne. Fumbling - fumbling: found it. The old monk is fast asleep - he is already accustomed to the sleep of death. The old nun heard nothing.

The Dvoryanskaya Street ends, the last shabby stalls and lanterns. And then - Streletsky Pond, old vines all around, a mossy slippery raft, bent-over women knocking, ducklings diving. Right next to the pond, on the Streletskaya Slobodskaya side, Aprosin’s hut sat down. Wow, warm, dry. Cropped under a brace thatched roof , a window made of flowered glass stems. How much does Aprosa and the boy need together? I handed over the two-spirited plot to the tenant, and then, lo and behold, for the holiday, my husband will send a gift - three rubles, five rubles. And a letter: “And with love, a low bow to my dearest wife Aprosinya Petrovna... And I also inform you that we have again received an increase of three rubles a year. And Ilyusha and I again decided to stay on extra-term...” At first, Aprosya was sad, of course, - it was a young thing, and then it faded away, the husband forgot about urgent matters. So, it seemed like there was a stamp on the letter or like a seal: it was his stamp, his stamp. And nothing more. That’s how Aprosya treated herself, she became weather-beaten, she dug in the garden, sheathed the little boy, she went to do laundry. Baryba rented a room from Aprosi. I liked it right away: homely, clean. We agreed on four and a half. Asking was pleased: he was a respectable tenant, not some ragamuffin, and apparently with money. And he’s not exactly a freak or a proud man when he speaks. Now she took care of two: her little boy and Baryba. On her feet all day - weather-beaten, sedate, rye-haired, strong-chested: a delight to look at. Quiet, bright, clean. Baryba was taking a break from his old life. I slept without dreams, I had money: what the hell else do you need? He ate slowly, steadily, in large quantities. “Well, okay, I’ll please you,” thought Aprosya. Baryba bought a book. So, cheap popular prints, but very enticing: “The Chopper - the Swan Robber”, “The Criminal Monk and His Treasures”, “The Coachman of the Queen of Spain”. Baryba was lying around, peeling sunflowers, reading. There was no pull: in front of Chernobylnikov’s postman and in front of the treasury’s son-in-law, it seemed awkward: I guess now they’ve found out everything. But I didn’t even want to look at the women; after Chebotarikha the dregs had not yet settled. I went for a walk in the field, they were mowing there. Evening brocade in the sky, the gold of rye obediently falls, red wet shirts, braids tinkling. And so they left - and went to the jugs of kvass, drinking, drops on their mustaches. Eh, we worked hard! Baryba thought: I wish it were like this. His strong arms were itching, his chewing muscles were clenching... “What about the treasurer’s son-in-law? What if he saw it”... - Well, he thought of becoming a peasant. Perhaps we should also transport leather to the Chebotarikha plant? To become...- Baryba muttered angrily at himself. No matter what, you have to invent something: so, without doing anything, you can’t live on Evseev’s money, God knows what thousands. Baryba pondered and pondered and wrote a petition to the treasury: maybe they would hire him as a scribe, an assistant to the treasury’s son-in-law. If only I had a cap with a cockade - know ours! The stuffiness in the evening was mortal. Baryba nevertheless put on his velvet vest (a remnant of his free life with Chebotarikha), a paper collar, trousers “for the street”, and went to Dvoryanskaya: where else, if not there, could he find the treasurer’s son-in-law. Here, of course. He walks around, long-legged, skinny, a hanger, looking sourly at everyone, waving his cane. He just wants to say: “Who are you? And I, you see, am an official - a cap with a cockade.” Baryba gave a sour smile: “Ah, it’s you!” Petition? Hmm-hmm. He perked up, pulled up his pants, and straightened his collar. I felt like a friendly boss. - Well, I'll tell you, okay. I'll do what I can. Well, well, well, old acquaintance. Baryba walked home and thought: “Wow, I would have smeared you, you sour mug. However, what can I say - he behaves educatedly. And the collar? It’s a real linen and, apparently, it’s new every time.”

14. Happy wine leaked out

The cellarer Mitrofan sniffed out, found out everything, the dog, about Evseev’s campaign in Streltsy. Maybe, of course, Yevsey himself spread the news and boasted. But the cellarer only knew everything to the last drop: how Yevsey danced in his shirt alone, belted under his armpits, and this song: “They became monks,” and the joyful ride on live animals through Sagittarius. The cellarer, of course, to the abbot. The abbot called Yevsey and smashed him so hard that Yevsey flew out of the bathhouse as if from the top shelf. They put Yevsey under obedience to the baker. I didn't go to services. It's hot as hell in the baker's basement. The main devil Silanty, shaggy, red, yells at the kneaders, and he himself shovels pounds of bread into the oven with a shovel. The kneaders, wearing only white shirts and tied with a string, turn the dough, grunt, and work until they sweat. But Yevsey slept like he hadn’t slept for a long time. And the glassy eyes seemed to have moved away a little. There was no time to even think about the mower. Everything would be fine, but obedience is over. It's the same old thing again. Yevsey deserved it, muttered prayers. Again Savka the novice pokes his crab-like hands into his eyes, Innokenty, the woman with the mustache, whines. Savka told about Innokenty: “Anyway, Father Innokenty, they went to the bathhouse.” There was one deacon there, one of the exiled, cheerful. Ke-ek he saw Father Innocent in his natural form: “Father, he’s screaming, it’s a woman, look, look, her breasts are saggy, so she’s giving birth.” Innocent smelled the duckweed more tightly. “He’s a shameless one, your deacon.” That's why he gets it like this. This very deacon killed Yevsey. The deacon came from outside, bored, understandably, so he wandered from cell to cell. I somehow wandered into Yevsey’s. Yevsey and Innokenty were sitting over their glasses, sulking again, “at a fly” - who would be the first to get a fly into their glass. He saw the deacon, died with laughter, collapsed on Yevseyev’s bed, dangling his legs, oh-oh-oh (his legs are short, small, his eyes are like cherries). The deacon was in a cheerful mood - and he went and went. He posted all his seminar jokes, he was a master at this. Modestly at first. And then he went about the priest, the same one who sent confessors to finish their sins: he assigned them penance of fifteen bows for two times - well, there was no way to count it, everything came out in fractions. And about the nun who was caught up in the forest by tramps, as many as five, and she then said: “It’s good, and enough, and without sin.” Well, in a word, I put everyone to bed. Yevsey choked with laughter and slammed his fist on the table. - Oh yes deacon! Well, I lost my respect. Apparently I'll have to provide you with a treat. Wait, fathers, okay? I'm in seconds. -Where is the storm taking you? - asked the deacon. - Yes, for the money. They, brother, are hidden under my cover, imperishable. Here, not far. And you can’t blink an eye... And indeed, the deacon didn’t even have time to finish telling a new story, and Yevsey was right there. He walked in and leaned against the ceiling. “Go, get rich, go, show me,” the deacon shouted cheerfully and approached Yevsey. He came up and froze: Yevsey - and not Yevsey. It sagged, went limp, and somehow leaked out: they poked a hole in the side, and all the happy wine flowed out, leaving an empty wineskin. - Why are you silent? Or did something happen? “They stole it,” said Yevsey, not to Yevseyev, in a quiet voice and threw the last two pieces of paper on the table: the thief left it for fun... Even before, to tell the truth, Yevsey was quiet in mind, but now he’s gone crazy. I drank the remaining quarters. He wandered drunk around the city and begged for piglets to get over his hangover. The guard took him to the police station for his cheerful behavior on the street - the guard broke his nose and ran away to the monastery. The next morning his friends came to him: Savka the novice, Father Innokenty, and the little deacon. They began to exhort him: come to your senses, what are you doing, the abbot will kick you out of the monastery, to beg, or what, to go? Yevsey lay on his back and remained silent. Then he suddenly began to sniffle and let his nose run down his beard: “Yes, how about it, brothers?” I don't care about money, I don't mind money. But just before, if you like, today I left the monastery. And now - like it or not... He was a free man, but now... - But who screwed you over? - the deacon bent down to Yevsey. - I didn’t know, but now I know. Not ours, the worldly one. And it’s nothing like he’s small, but... He, there’s no one else. Apart from him, no one knew where my money was. Savka neighed: oh, I know, they say! In the evening, by candlelight, at an empty table - and there was no desire to blow up the samovar - they judged, decided what to do. They didn't come up with anything.

15. At Ivanikha's

In the morning after mass, Innokenty came in. He brought some healthy bread. He whispered: “I know now, Father Yevsey.” I remembered. Let's go quickly to Ivanikha. Ooh, she’s famous, if the thief speaks, she’ll show up in no time. The morning is dewy and pink, the day will be hot. The sparrows are celebrating. “Eka, I got it up early,” Yevsey grumbled. Innokenty walked with a small woman's gait, holding his cassock on his stomach. - No way, Father Yevsey, it’s impossible. Or you don’t know, a conspiracy—it only has power on an empty stomach. “You’re lying, I guess, Innokenty.” So we’re just passing through in vain. Yes, and it’s a shame - spiritually speaking. Ivanikha is a tall old woman, long, bony, with eyebrows, eyebrows like those of an owl. She did not greet the monks very kindly. - What do you need? What kind of dryness did you come for? Ali with a prayer service? So I don’t need your prayers. And she was fiddling around, banging pots on the rack. - No, we’re coming to you about... Yevsey’s father was robbed. Won't you talk to the thief? We heard... Father Innokenty was timid about Ivaniha. I would like to cross myself, but it’s probably impossible to cross myself in front of her: it’s a joke, if you scare her away, nothing will come of it. Like a woman wrapping her fur coat, Innokenty wrapped his duckweed around his chest. Ivanika looked down at him and glared at him with her owl eyes: “So, what does this have to do with you?” He was robbed - the two of us are left alone. - Yes, mother, well, I... I picked up the flaps of duckweed, bent over, and walked with small womanly steps. - What's your name? - Ivanikha asked Yevsey. - Evseyem. - I know that Evseyem. Not you, but whoever you think is his name. - Anfimka, Anfim. - What do you need to talk about? To the wind? Otherwise, it’s also good to put it on an apron, over birch branches if you spread it out. Or maybe on the water? And then catch him, the pigeon, and give him some tea on this very water. - Wow, he’d be a seagull, huh? That would be clever, mother, wouldn’t it? Yevsey was delighted, began to babble, and believed: Ivanikha was a very respectable and strict old woman. Ivanikha scooped up water with a wooden dugout, opened the door to the entryway, placed Yevsey behind the threshold, and stood on the threshold herself. She thrust the short crust into Yevsey’s hands. - Hold and listen. Yes, look, don’t say a word to anyone, otherwise everything will turn on you. She read it slowly, intelligibly, and with her owl-like eyes she dribbled down the water. - On the sea - on Kiyan, on the island of Buyan there is an iron chest. In that chest lies a damask knife. Run, little knife, to Anfimka the thief, stab him in the very heart, so that he, the thief, will turn back the theft of God's servant Yevsey, and not hide even the blue of gunpowder. And if he conceals it, be he, a thief, driven through my word like a damask knife, be he, a thief, cursed to the underworld, to the mountains of Ararat, to boiling tar, to flammable ash, to swamp mud, to a homeless house, to a bathing jug . If he conceals it, he, the thief, would be pinned to the ceiling with an aspen stake, dried up more than grass, frozen more than ice, and he would not die a natural death. “Wake up now,” said Ivanikha, “Give him some water, pigeon, butt.” Yevsey carefully poured the water into a bottle, gave Ivanikha a ruble and went away happy: “I’ll treat you to tea, my dear.” I'll loosen your tongue!

16. You can’t get through anything

A feverish woman became attached to Baryba at night for no apparent reason. I was shaking, twisting, and had unnatural dreams. In the morning I sat at the table in some kind of fog, resting my heavy head on my hands. They knocked on the door. - Asking? But you can’t turn your head, it’s so heavy. There was a deep cough at the door. - Savka, is that you? He is the same: stick hair, red crayfish hands. - They certainly asked. They missed you so much, Father Evsei. Then he came closer and neighed: “They want to give you some spoken tea.” And you - my God, don’t drink. - What kind of words? - Yes, it’s known what: spoken against a thief. - Hey! - Baryba realized. It became very funny. Fool Evsey! It was foggy, my head was pounding, and something funny was grimacing. In Yevsey’s cell there is a gray smoke, it’s smoky: the cheerful deacon has puffed up the smoke. - Oh, dear guests! And, wobbling his backside, the deacon offered Baryba his hand with a pretzel. There was no vodka on the table: they deliberately decided not to drink, so that it would be clearer in their heads - to catch the profit. - Why have you lost weight, Yevsey. Oh, who dried you up? - Baryba grinned. - You'll lose weight. Haven't you heard anything? - Did they lose your money? Why, I heard. Cheerful, sarcastic, the deacon jumped up: “Did you learn this from Kedova, Anfim Barybych?” “But,” Savka said. So I found out. “You’re a fool, Savka,” Yevsey turned around sadly. We sat down for tea. One glass, half filled, stood on the tray separately, to the side. Innokenty, fussing about, topped up the glass with boiling water and served it to Baryba. Everyone stared and waited: well, now... Baryba intervened and took a sip slowly. They were silent and looked. It became wonderful for Baryba, unbearable, he began to laugh and rumbled over the stones. Behind him Savka neighed and the deacon began to sing thinly. -- What are you? - Yevsey looked, his eyes were like fish, boiled. Baryba rumbled, rolled down, could not stop, pounding, green fog in his head. Laughing enthusiasm lifted me up and pushed me to say: “That’s who I am.” I stole it. Baryba drank, but remained silent and smiled quadrangularly, bestially. Yevsey could not sit still. - Well, tell me, Baryba. What's there? - What should I talk about? - You know what it’s about. - Oh, Shark, you’re sewing something out of the blue! You're talking about money, huh? So I’m telling you: Savka told me. That's all I know. Baryba said in a deliberate voice: I’m lying, but come and catch me. The deacon jumped up to Baryba and patted him on the shoulder: “No, brother, no amount of grass can get through you.” Strong, cast. Yevsey shook his hair: - Hey, get lost! Run, Savka, for some wine. They drank. It was foggy, my head was pounding. The smoke from the cigarette turned green. The deacon danced a sailor's dance. At dusk, Baryba returned home. And right at Aprosin’s gate, I suddenly felt: my knees were buckling, my eyes were clouded. He leaned towards the door frame and got scared: this had never happened before. Aprosya opened the door and looked at the tenant: “Why don’t you have a face on you?” Al can't help himself, huh? Somehow in a dream I found myself on a bed. Bulb. Asking at the head of the bed. There is a wet, vinegar-soaked rag on my forehead. “You’re sick,” Aprosya said comfortably and plaintively, a little on the nose. Aprosya ran to the neighbors and got Baryba some medicinal powder. At night it became cloudy and my head became clear again, and I saw Baryba on a chair at the head of the room, Aprosya dozing. On the third day, by morning it was better. Baryba lay under a white sheet, with gray autumn shadows on his face. Somehow he became more transparent, more human. “And it’s true, I’m a stranger to her, but I sat there all night and didn’t sleep...” - Thank you, Aprosya. - And what are you, my sickly one. Tea, you're sick. And she leaned towards him. She was wearing only a colorful skirt and a canvas shirt, and just before Baryba’s eyes two sharp piercing points flashed on her chest under the sparse canvas. Baryba closed his eyes and opened his eyes again. A hot summer day looks out the windows. Somewhere there Streletsky Pond sparkles, people are swimming, their bodies are turning white... My head is pounding even hotter. Baryba restlessly moved his heavy jaws and pulled Aprosya towards him. - Wow, what? - she was surprised. - Maybe it’s harmful to you? Well, wait a minute, it’s time to change the rag. She calmly changed the rag and carefully and economically lay down on Baryba’s bed. And so it happened. Aprosya, the Streltsy soldier, bustles around all day, running the show, rattling pots. Your boy, and then there’s Baryba, and take care of him. He got sick, let’s say, quickly, but still it’s not easy to manage on his own. In the evening, Anfim Yegorych will return from somewhere and look at Aprosa: “Come, really, in the evening.” - Come, you say? OK. You've got me confused now. And I had to do something - it completely took revenge. Yes, I mean, take the eggs out from under the chickens: the damned ferret will drink again. She ran to the barn. Then she inflated the samovar. Baryba was alone drinking tea and leafing through something. “And he reads everything, and reads everything, how long will it take to ruin his eyes.” I was putting my little boy to bed. She sat on a bench and buzzed with a spindle: she was twisting gray woolen threads for winter stockings. A fat black cockroach flopped down from above, from the ceiling. “Well, then, it’s late, it’s time.” She scratched her head with the blunt end of the spindle, yawned, and crossed her mouth. Diligently, spitting on the brush, she polished Anfim-Yegorychev’s boots, undressed, neatly put everything in a corner on the bench and carried the boots to Baryba. Baryba was waiting. Aprosya put her boots by the bed and lay down. She left after half an hour. Yawned. I bowed ten times, read the Father, and fell asleep soundly: I’ve worked hard for the day, and there’s no shortage of troubles.

17. Semyon Semenych Morgunov

Once Baryba said to Timosha: “What kind of tailor are you?” You don’t have any shit here at home. And it’s very simple why it didn’t happen. Timosha is what he is: it’s okay, it’s okay, otherwise he’ll screw it up. Well, then the customer’s trousers go to waste: he’ll definitely drink it. They knew this manner of his and were afraid to give it to him at home. So he went from house to house sewing. He sewed many merchants, as well as gentlemen - he sewed well, a swindler. By the way, he was, one might say, one of the lawyer Semyon Semyonovich Morgunov’s people. That’s what Morgunov called him: “My court tailor.” Timosha rarely wore boots: more were in pawn. And he came to Morgunov in old rubber galoshes, and white canvas shoes wrapped in paper under his arm. In the hall he will definitely take off his galoshes and put on white shoes - he’s ready. And he and Morgunov would have extraordinary conversations: about God, about saints, about how everything in the world is just an appearance, and how one should live. Timosha understood Morgunov as an intelligent person. Yes, that’s what he was, Semyon Semenych Morgunov. Morgunov - this, however, is not his real last name, but rather a nickname, they teased him like that in the street. Just look at him and you can immediately say: Morgunov is. Semyon Semyonovich's face was skinny, dark, and somewhat iconographic. The eyes are huge and black. And they were either astonished or shameless - very great. There are only eyes on the face. And he blinked them constantly: blink, blink, as if he were ashamed of his eyes. Yes, those are the eyes. He was blinking all over, Semyon Semyonitch. As he walks down the street and begins to fall on his left leg - well, as it is, his whole being, with his whole being, blinks. And the merchants loved him for his cunning! - Semyon Semyonich, Morgunov? Ooh, doc, ulcer! This one, brother, will get there. It will get in and out without soap. Look, look, it’s blinking, huh? And so it happened that he handled all of the merchants' shady business: bills of exchange or - which is better - insolvent ones. And if we don’t wash it, we just roll it around, but the court will catch on and swim out. But they paid him well. Timosha took Baryba to Morgunov. Yes, it was about time. This autumn was kind of awkward: snow was falling and snow was melting. And the Barybin-Evseev money melted with the snow. The answer came from the Treasury: they refused, the devils, who knows why, what the hell else do they need. Well, I needed to find some kind of business for myself. I really want to eat. Semyon Semenych took Timosha aside and asked about Baryba: “Who will it be?” “And this is like my assistant: I’m sewing, I’m talking, and he’s listening.” Without an assistant, you can’t talk to yourself. Semyon Semyonitch rattled and laughed. “Well, then, in spirit: things will go smoothly,” thought Timosha. -What were you doing before? - Morgunov asked Baryba. Baryba hesitated. “And he was a playmaker for a respectable widow,” Timosha helped, picking at the sewing with a needle. Morgunov began to rattle again: what a job, there’s nothing to say. And Timosha continued calmly: “Nothing special.” It's a trading matter. Everything we have now, according to the force of time, is a trade matter, that’s all we live for. The merchant sells herring, the girl sells womb. Everyone in their own way. And why, say, is the womb worse than a herring, or why is a herring worse than conscience? Everything is a commodity. Morgunov became completely amused, blinked, rattled, and patted Timosha on the shoulder. Then he suddenly became serious, became iconographic, stern, and was about to swallow with his eyes. - Well, do you want to make money? - asked Barybu. - There will be a case. I need witnesses. You look impressive, you look like you are good enough.

18. In witnesses

So Baryba began to go to Morgunov as a witness. It's not a complicated matter. In the evening, it would happen that Morgunov would stuff Baryba: look, don’t forget this, Vasily Kuryakov, the merchant’s son, that fat one - he was the first to raise his hand. And the first to hit was a tradesman, a red-haired man, well, yes, a red-haired one. And you, they say, were at the garden fence and saw everything with your own eyes. And the next morning Baryba stood at the world’s office, smoothed out, sedate, sometimes grinning: it’s all very wonderful. He told it carefully, as Morgunov taught. The merchant's son Vasily Kuryakov triumphed, the tradesman was put in jail. And Baryba received three-year-olds, five-year-olds. Semyon Semyonich only knew - he praised Baryba: - You, brother, are very respectable, and stubborn and stocky. You won't be confused. Soon I will start charging you with criminal charges. And he began to take Baryba with him to the neighboring city where the ward was. Baryba was given a long-skirted frock coat, like a merchant's. In this frock coat, Baryba spent hours wandering along the corridors of the ward, yawning and lazily waiting for his turn. He showed it calmly and efficiently - and never got confused. The prosecutor or the defense attorney tried to knock him off his guard, but no, no matter where he gets in, he can’t knock him down. Baryba made good money from his will alone. The merchant Igumnov died. He was a respectable man, a family man, a wife, a girl. He ran a fish trade, and everyone in the city knew him, because our fasts are observed very strictly. Igumnov’s hands were all covered in warts. They said it was from the fish: I got stabbed on fish feathers. Igumnov lived, thank God, like everyone else. And in his old age, a story happened to him: a demon in the rib. His daughter's teacher, well, just a governess, wrapped him around his finger. He drove his wife and girl out of the yard. Horses, wines, guests, spilled sea. Only before his death did the old man come to his senses. He called his wife and daughter, asked for forgiveness and wrote a will in their name. And the first will was left with the madam, with the governess herself, and everything in that will was written down to her. Well, that's how things started. Now, of course, Semyon Semyonitch is on his side: - Semyon Semenych, my dear. That it was not in his mind that he wrote the second will - this must be proven. Present witnesses. I won't stand for money. Semyon Semenych and Baryba thought and wondered. Baryba dug and dug and remembered: I once saw Igumnov, the deceased - he ran out of the bathhouse in winter and lay in the snow. Our business is very ordinary. And in this way they imagined that in winter he was running through the streets out of sorts. And they also found witnesses: well, it’s true, many saw it. And when Baryba showed this at the trial, he interpreted everything correctly and weightily, like laying a stone foundation - he even believed it himself. And he didn’t blink an eye when the Igumnovskaya widow, who looked like a blueberry in a black scarf, looked at him very intently. And after the trial, Madame narrowed her eyes at him: “You are truly my benefactor.” She gave me a hand to kiss and said: “Come in when.” Baryba was very pleased.

19. Times

“No, it won’t reach us,” Timosha said sadly. “Where is it?” It’s like we live in the city of Kitezh at the bottom of a lake: we don’t hear a thing, the water above our heads is muddy and sleepy. And above everything is in flames, the alarm is sounding. Let them beat you. That’s what we used to say about this: “Let them go crazy there in Babylon.” How can we live more peacefully? And it’s true: reading newspapers makes people go crazy. Honor, how many centuries they lived, they feared God, they honored the king. And then - like dogs broke loose from the chain, God forgive me. And where did such warriors come from from rich and slimy things? Well, we don’t have time to deal with these various trifles: just to feed the guys, because all the kids have a lot to spare. Out of boredom or something, who knows why, our fertile people become passionate. And for this reason he is homely, pious, sedate. The gates are bolted with iron bars, and chained dogs are running around the courtyards. To let a stranger into the house, they will ask three times from behind the door: who is he, and why. All the windows are filled with geraniums and ficus trees. This is how it works: no one from the street will look in. We love the warmth, the stoves are heated, in winter they wear cotton vests, skirts, trousers, quilted with cotton wool - you won’t find those anywhere else. So they live their lives neither shaky nor shaky, they live like dung in the warmth. Yes, it’s even better: look at the guys they’re nursing. Timosha and Baryba came to Morgunov. Morgunov is sitting with a newspaper. - Well, the minister got busted, did you hear or not? Timosha smiles - he lights a cheerful lamp: - We heard it, but we didn’t hear it. We’re walking through the market, I hear people talking: “It’s really a pity for him: I mean, he got twenty thousand a year. It’s a pity.” Morgunov began to shake with laughter: “Here they are, all of them here, ours: twenty thousand... it’s a shame... Oh, it’s killing me!” They were silent and rustled newspapers. “And from us, Anyutka Protopopova was also taken away from St. Petersburg and finished her studies,” Baryba recalled. Morgunov immediately became attached and went to egg him on - he knew how Timosha understood about women: getting involved with them in a serious matter was like stirring marmalade into cabbage soup. - You can also let the woman visit here and there. And into himself - no, no. - Timosha threatens with his dry finger. - He let him in - he disappeared. Baba - she, brother, is putting out roots like a burdock. And there’s no way I can bear it. So you will be covered with burdock all over. “A burdock,” Baryba laughs and rumbles. And Morgunov bangs his fist and yells in an unnatural voice: “That’s it, Timosha, that’s it!” Well, prophets again, to the king of the Jews! “Why is it breaking, why is it screaming,” thought Baryba. True, Semyon Semyonich loved to break down. So kind of like that fake person he was a pretender, still winking, peeking out, with a pebble in his bosom. And the eyes are either ominous or tormented. - Beer for us, beer, beer! - Semyon Semyonitch yelled. The clear-eyed Dashutka brought it on a tray, fresh - well, now it’s grass after the rain. - New? - Timosha said and did not look at Morgunov. Morgunov changed them almost every month. White, black, skinny, plump. And Morgunov was equally affectionate to everyone: “Well, they are all the same.” But you still can’t find the real one. Over beer, you see, Timosha started talking about his beloved, about God, and began to pester Morgunov with cunning questions: but if God can do everything and does not want to change our lives, then where is love? And how will the righteous remain in paradise? And where will God take these ministerial murderers? Morgunov does not like about God. A mocker, a real one, and now it quickly darkens, like the devil from incense. “Don’t you dare talk about God to me, don’t you dare talk about God.” And he speaks quietly somehow, but it’s scary to listen. Timosha is happy and laughs.

20. Merry Vespers

During Great Lent, all the angry ones walk around, biting - with bad food: carp and kvass, kvass and potatoes. And Easter will come - and everyone will become better at once: from the fatty pieces, from liqueurs, tinctures, from the ringing of bells. They will be kinder: instead of a penny they will give a beggar two; to the cook in the kitchen - they will send a piece of the master's cake; Mishutka spilled some liquor on a clean tablecloth - they won’t flog him for the holiday. It is clear that it also happened to Chernobylnikov when he went from house to house, delivering painted postcards and congratulating the owners on the holiday. Where they will give you a quarter, and where they will give you fifty dollars. He collected Chernobylnikov and took his friends to the Churilov tavern: Timosha, Baryba and the treasurer's son-in-law. Timosha has faded by spring, plucked, he walks like an autumn sparrow, sways in the wind - but he swaggers and invigorates there. “You should have received treatment, Timosha, by God,” Chernobylnikov collapsed. “Look what you have become.” - Why should we be treated? It's all the same - I'll die. Yes, to me, it’s interesting to die. Well, of course: all my life in Kis Posad, nowhere, and here - to unknown countries, travel, with a free ticket. That's flattering. Know yourself Timosha chuckles. “You shouldn’t drink like that, it’s bad for you.” No, whatever. He drinks, keeps up, according to his old custom - beer with vodka. And everyone coughs into a red cotton handkerchief: he got himself a handkerchief - a whole rope. “And this,” he says, “so that in a noble place you don’t spit on the floor.” They struck for Vespers. Old man Churilov transferred the silver from his right hand to his left and crossed himself, earnestly, sedately. - Hey, Mitka, get it! - Chernobylnikov shouted. The four of us left. The spring sun is merry, the bells are dancing. Somehow I don’t feel like leaving and breaking up the company. “Eh, I love Easter vespers,” Timosha closed his eyes. “Dance vespers, not vespers.” Let's all go together, shall we? He called Baryba to the monastery, since he was close here: “And after Vespers, I’ll take a monk I know to drink tea—he’s such an eccentric.” The treasurer's son-in-law took out his watch: “No way, he promised to be in time for dinner, but it’s not customary for the treasurer to be late.” - Oh, what a bruise: not accepted! - Timosha laughed, coughed, reached for his handkerchief: no. - Wait, guys, I dropped the handkerchief upstairs. I'm running now. He waved his arms and flew up - a little sparrow. Merry bells are ringing, dressed people are marching to a merry Easter Vespers. - Wait a minute, they’re yelling upstairs... what’s that? - Baryba pricked up his big bat ears. The Treasury's son-in-law made a face. - There's probably a fight again. They don’t know how to keep themselves in a respectful place. Ding-ding! - they dropped the glass at the top, the fragments came down with a ringing sound. And it immediately became quiet. “Wow,” Chernobylnikov listened, “no, there’s something here...” And suddenly Timosha rolled out head over heels, red, disheveled, gasping for breath. - There they... above... ordered. And everyone... raised their hands and stood. Tr-cancer, tr-cancer! - it crackled above. The treasurer's son-in-law stretched out his long neck and stood for a second, looking up with one eye, like a turkey at a kite. Then he shouted subtly and pitifully: they’re shooting! And he took off running. And on the stairs they rattled boots, roared, and everyone fell from above. - E-and-and! Hold it... And again: tr-rak, tr-rak. For a second: in the doorway in front of everyone is a red, eyeless face. “He must have closed his eyes out of fear,” a thought flashed through his mind. And he, eyeless, had already disappeared in the alley opposite. And then everyone poured out from above like drunks - wild, unbelted, hounds. - Hold him too! Don't let it go! WOW-HERE he is! They grabbed someone down at the entrance, attacked them, pressed them, beat them - and still they roared: hold on - it was so simple, they had to pour it down their throats. Bending his head like a ram, Baryba made his way forward. For some reason this was necessary, I felt with all my gut what was needed, I clenched my iron jaws, and something ancient, bestial, desirable, robber moved. To be with everyone, to yell like everyone else, to hit everyone. On the ground, in a circle, lay a little black boy, with eyes closed. The collar of the shirt is torn on the side, and there is a black mole on the neck. Old man Churilov stood in the middle of the circle and kicked the boy in the side. So sedate, his beard is all tangled, his mouth is twisted - where has all his piety gone? - They took it away! Ah, devils! Run away alone, run away with a hundred rubles! Eh, devils? And he kicked again. From behind his back, sweaty fists reached out to the lying man, but they didn’t dare: they stole from Churilov, he was now the owner here, he was the one to beat. Timosha suddenly emerged from somewhere, right in front of the old man Churilov’s nose—he jumped up, red, angry, and pecked him, fell asleep, and waved his arms. - What are you, you old bastard, evil spirit? Do you want to kill a boy for a hundred rubles? Maybe he already killed him? Look, he's not breathing. Devils, animals, or is a person not worth a hundred rubles? Old man Churilov was at first taken aback, and then lost his temper: “Are you at one with them?” Intercessor? Look, brother. You also have good conversations in the tavern, people have heard. Hold it, Orthodox! They came closer, but hesitated: after all, Timosha seemed to belong to him, and these were not ours. So, it’s probably in vain, the old man... The red-haired, red-haired tradesman, the horse handler, put on paper cuffs on the occasion of the holiday. In the dump, the cuffs had slipped down, red hair stuck out between the sleeve and the white one, and were worse his huge hands. Hands reached out to Timosha and lightly pushed him out of the circle. The red-haired tradesman said: “Get out, get out while you’re still alive, protector.” We'll manage without you. And he busily began to rummage around the dark little boy, turning him over like a carcass. Where to go to the monastery - is that it? Baryba sat with Timosha all evening. Chernobylnikov came up later. And he said: “That means I’m walking along Dvoryanskaya... I hear them sitting on a bench by the gate and saying: “And he helped them,” he says, “our Timoshka the tailor, he’s a lost man.” “Fools,” said Timosha. “Gossipers.” And Churilov, the evil one, the devil, serves it right. What will he gain from a hundred? Maybe they haven’t eaten for two days? He paused and added: “Well, will it really come to us?” And if it came to that, by God, I would have jumped into the deep end. They'll kill me - well, that's the way to go, anyway - I have half an inch left in my life.

21. Police department troubles

Well, there was no sadness, so the devils pumped me up. Hands up, right there, it’s ours! And now police officer Ivan Arefich has a lot of trouble. They came in large numbers from the province, a military court - and all because of some bastard boy. The chairman, a colonel, thin, with a gray beaver, suffered from stomach pain. That's how Ivan Arefiich felt grief with him! He can’t eat this one, he can’t eat another - well, it’s a real misfortune. The first time the uninvited guests arrived, Ivan Arefiich arranged a marvelous breakfast: bottles on the table, unopened boxes, ham, kulebyak. And the colonel even turned green with anger. He pokes here and there with a fork and sniffs: “It seems very fatty.” And it turns sour and doesn’t eat. The police officer, Marya Petrovna, was in complete agony: “Oh, for God’s sake, Colonel, why aren’t you eating?” “Well, now it must be good for my Ivan Arefich.” But the prosecutor-soul supported. Round, bald, pink, like a piglet. He probably goes to the bathhouse twice a week. And everyone rolls up, laughs, and only serves two pieces for themselves. - Come on, some more mother’s kulebyaki. Only, you know, in moldy places like your suburb, now in Rus' they know how to bake pies in a real, old-fashioned way... And in the evening, in the police officer’s office, candles are lit on the desk (they have never been lit in their life), papers are laid out. Ivan Arefiich puffs on his cigarette-cannon and pushes the smoke aside: God forbid, the smoke gets into the colonel. The colonel re-read the papers and frowned sourly: “What are we going to do with this boy alone?” When you can’t get a word out of him. It's terribly offensive. That's why you're a police officer, so you can find them. Sitting on the bed, Ivan Arefiich pulled off his boots and kept pestering the police officer: “I can’t even imagine, Masha.” Give them more, one is not enough. But where will I get it if he ran away? Yes, don’t forget this: tomorrow at twelve o’clock the colonel will have some rolled oats with milk, boil it thoroughly, and give him a bottle of narzan. Oh, I’m afraid of him, lest I play a dirty trick on him, he’s angry! Marya Petrovna wrote down: “Hercules... Narzan... And tell you what, Ivan Arefich, you should consult with Morgunov.” He'll pass, he'll get whatever you want - by God, try it. Ivan Arefiich got it off his chest and slept a little more peacefully. On the square in front of the police, in front of the yellow peeling walls, there is a bazaar. Raised and tied shafts, horses with sacks of oats tied to their muzzles, squealing piglets, tubs of sauerkraut, carts of hay. They clap hands, bargain; they call loudly; carts creaking; Zemstvo's coachman in a sleeveless jacket tries out the harmonica. And in the police officer's office they are conducting an interrogation. The colonel listens to himself with longing, inside: his stomach growls dully. “Oh, Lord, it hasn’t happened for a whole week, but now again, it seems...” Old man Churilov entered, a sedate, long-haired, gray-haired harrier. Crossed himself. - How was it? Yes, that’s how it is, if everything is in order... He told me and wiped himself with a cotton handkerchief. I stood there and thought: “It would be nice to take advantage of Timoshka, the daring one, the bosses seem to be kind.” “And here, your honors, there is a tailor named Timoshka, a lost man, a daredevil.” He began to stand up for this boy - for the same one who shot. And I told him: are you one of them, or what? And he told me in front of all the people... The old man was released. The prosecutor rubbed his soft, sweaty hands, unbuttoned the bottom button on his uniform and said quietly to the colonel: “Hm.” This Timosha... What do you think? Outside the window they were bargaining, shouting, creaking. The colonel could not stand it: “Ivan Arefiich, close the window!” My head is pounding. What a manner - a market right in front of the office! Ivan Arefiich, on tiptoe, closed the window and called: “Next.” The treasurer's son-in-law spoke languidly, coyly. The prosecutor asked: “So, he returned to the tavern and then ran out again?” Yeah. Well, what about the scarf? I think you mentioned something about a scarf? Did he come back for the scarf? The treasury's son-in-law remembered Timoshkin's spit-out red handkerchief, winced sourly and said nasally, with annoyance: “What handkerchief?” I don't remember any scarf. It was somehow indecent even for him to remember this scarf. Baryba followed the prosecutor’s questions with his usual nose. And when it came to the scarf, he confidently said: “No, there was no scarf.” He simply said: there is work at the top. When Baryba was released, the prosecutor took a sip of iced tea and said to the colonel: “Will you order to write a decree on the detention of this very Timosha?” In my opinion, all these testimonies... I know you are sometimes too careful, but here... The colonel felt a tingle in his gut, and he thought: “The devil knows! This police officer, a fat fool, what a provincial manner of doing this.” everything is fat..." - So, I say, Colonel... - Oh, leave me alone, for God's sake! Write whatever you want. My stomach hurts terribly.

22. Six quarter notes

No one was even surprised when Timosha was taken away. - I’ve been looking there for a long time. - He was a master at loosening his tongue. Dishonorable! He still talked about God like he talked about the shopkeeper Averyan. “And he poked his nose in everywhere he shouldn’t, judging everyone.” Please tell me what kind of elder Maremyana was found - she is sad about everyone. And Morgunov said: “We don’t have such heads for long.” Here we will live with Baryba. He patted Baryba on the back and looked at him with his iconographic eyes, either contemptuously or affectionately: go figure - he’s a pretender. In the evening of the same day, Semyon Semenych was invited to his place by police officer Ivan Arefiich for a cup of tea. And he begged by Christ God: “Guide this man of yours... what’s his name... on the true path.” Well, yes, Barybu of this. To show it more clearly in court somehow. I know he’s your specialist, so what’s up, what’s up, his people. By God, they screwed my whole neck, these provincial ones, I wish I could deal with them - and out of the bell tower. And this colonel with his picky people: this is not right for him, this is not like that... They bargained and agreed on six quarters. - Well, what is not enough there is not little. And for this... what's his name... some kind of place can be arranged for Baryba. What's even better? Well, as a clerk there, as a police officer... And the next day, over Kronberg beer, Morgunov approached Baryba in all sorts of ways and cajoled him. Baryba was still hesitating. “Yes, he and I seemed to be friends, it was strange, very awkward.” - Eh, darling, should we be shy and think about something? We'll get bogged down and perish. It’s like in some fairy tale: look back and die of fear. It’s better without looking back. But it’s still a long way from the trial. If your teeth set on edge, you will have time to refuse. “And really, to hell with it, there’s still this consumption there... And here, if you could get a place... Well, the whole century, or what, from bread to kvass?” And out loud Baryba said: “Perhaps only for you, Semyon Semyonich.” If it weren't for you, no way. - If it weren’t for me... Yes, I, dove, know that without me such a treasure would not have come out of you. Neither this nor that. And now... He was silent, then suddenly bent down to Barybin’s ear and whispered: “Don’t you dream of devils?” And I see it in my dreams every night, every night - do you understand?

23. Annoying goosebumps

He agreed, and went to the police officer, and the police officer gave him a whole lot of money and promised this... Then Baryba would rejoice. But something was bothering me, getting in the way. Some small, creepy mosquito crawled into the inside and crawled there, and crawled, and there was no way to catch it or crush it. Baryba went to bed and thought: “Tomorrow evening. That means there’s still a whole day before the trial. If I want to, I’ll go and refuse. I’m my own master.” I slept and didn't sleep. And it was as if he was thinking out some half-thought-out thought in his sleep: “And there’s only half an inch of life in him.” And again I dreamed of the district office, exams, a priest putting his beard in his mouth. “I’ll fail again, the second time,” thought Baryba. And he thought: “And he was brainy, Timosha, to tell the truth.” “Why “was”? How about “was”?” I completely opened my eyes in the darkness and could no longer sleep. An annoying tingle crawled and tormented me. "Why 'was'?"

24. Goodbye

It was late, about noon, when Baryba woke up in his Streletskaya little room: everything around was bright, clear, and everything was revealed so simple that it was necessary to do it at the trial. As if none of this that was tormenting me at night - nothing like that ever happened. Aprosya brought a samovar and a sieve and stood at the threshold. The sleeves are rolled up, the left palm is under the elbow of the right hand, and on right hand laid down her unwise head. And I should listen to Anfim Yegorych, listen, stand like that, gasping, sighing pitifully, shaking my head compassionately. Baryba finished drinking tea. Aprosya handed the coat to Anfim Yegorych and said: “You’re somehow cheerful today, Anfim Yegorych.” Ali receive money? “Receive,” said Baryba. At the trial, Timosha was fine, he was cheerful, he turned his head, and his neck was long, thin, so thin - it’s scary to look at. And the dark-haired boy was absolutely strange: he was all over the donkey, as if all his bones had suddenly become soft and melted. So he fell to the side. The guard kept straightening him and leaning him against the wall. Baryba spoke confidently and intelligently, but was in a hurry: he still wanted to get away from here somewhere as quickly as possible. When he finished, the prosecutor asked: “Why were you silent before?” So much valuable material. The court was about to leave when Timosha suddenly jumped up and said: “Yes.” Well, goodbye, everyone! No one answered.

25. On the morning of market day

In the morning, on a cheerful market day, in front of the prison, in front of the public places - the squealing of piglets, dust, sun; the smell from carts of apples and horses; confused bell ringing, surrounded by the din of the market - somewhere it goes procession, asking for rain. Police officer Ivan Arefiich, in a green uniform, with a cigarette-gun, satisfied, went out onto the porch and said, looking sternly at the crowd: “The criminals have suffered their legal punishment.” I'm waiting for you... In the quiet crowd, there suddenly rustled and swayed: like a wind blew in the forest. Someone took off his hat and crossed himself. And in the back rows, away from the police officer, a voice said: “Hanged men, devils!” Ivan Arefiich turned abruptly and left. And right in front of the porch - how we woke up. Everyone started playing at once, their hands went up, everyone wanted to be heard. A red-haired tradesman was brushing away the seedlings. “They’re lying, they didn’t hang you,” he said with conviction. “It’s unthinkable: how can you hang someone alive?” Surely he will be given away, alive? It will be done with hands, with teeth... And so that a living person can be lashed on his neck - is this something of a mental thing? “That’s it, education, books,” said the old merchant. “Timoshka, he was too smart, he forgot God, that’s it...” The red-haired tradesman looked angrily at looked up at the old man and saw that hair was growing out of his ears, long and gray. “You should be silent, you’re looking into your own coffin,” said the red-haired man. “Look, the hair has already grown out of your ears.” The old man turned angrily and, crawling out of the crowd, muttered: “All sorts of people got divorced... The old life in the village ended, they stirred things up, yes.”

26 . Clear buttons

A white tunic that has never been washed, silver sun buttons, gold cords on the shoulders. “Holy Mother! Is this really true? Balkashinsky yard and all that - and now I’m walking, Baryba, in uniform?” I felt it: here it is. Well, it turns out it's true. From the notary, from the entrance with a sign, the postman Chernobylnikov came out with a bag. He stopped and took a closer look. He saluted, indulging: “Mr. And Baryba choked with pride. He casually raised his hand to the visor. - How long ago was it produced? - Yes, three days. The jacket was just finished today. The trouble now is to sew the uniform. - It’s important! The authorities, then? Well, I have the honor. We said goodbye. Baryba moved on: he must report to the police officer today. He walked and shone, satiated with himself, the May sun, and shoulder straps. And he smiled a quadrangular smile. At the prison, Baryba stopped and asked the guard: “Is Ivan Arefiich at home?” - No way, they went to kill. And the watchman, from whom Baryba, who was stealing through the bazaars, was once hiding—the watchman saluted politely. Baryba was even glad that the police chief had gone on a killing spree: he could walk around in the sun in a new jacket, and let everyone show off. “Oh, it’s good to live in the world! And what a fool - he almost refused.” The iron jaws clenched - now they could gnaw on some of the strongest pebbles, as happened in the district. - Hey! That's what! That's when to go to your father. The old fool drove him away, but let him take a look now. Past Churilov's tavern, past empty fair stalls, along a sidewalk made of rotten boards, and then without a sidewalk at all, along a side street - along the grass. At the door covered with torn oilcloth - oh, old friend! - stopped for a minute. Almost loved my father. Eh, what’s up, he could kiss the whole courtyard right now: how could he not kiss him when he puts on a tunic with shoulder straps and clear buttons for the first time. Baryba knocked. Father came out. Wow, brother, how old he is! Gray stubble on his cheeks, he pulled his glasses down his nose and stared for a long time. He found out - he didn’t recognize him, who knows - he is silent. -- What do you want? - muttered. Look, he's so angry. Well, I didn’t find out, that’s clear. - Well, don’t you recognize it, old man? And he drove me away, remember? However, now you see. Three days since they made it. The old man blew his nose, wiped his fingers on his apron and said calmly: “I heard about you, I heard about you, of course.” Good people speak. Again he looked over his glasses calmly. - And about Yevsey, about the monk. And about the tailor too. The gray stubble on his chin suddenly began to jump. - And about the tailor, of course, of course. And suddenly the old man shook all over and screamed and splashed with saliva. - He’s out of the house, he’s out, he’s a scoundrel! I told you not to dare approach my threshold. Get out, get out! Crazy, Baryba widened his eyes and stood there for a long time, unable to understand. When he had chewed, he silently turned and walked back. It was already cloudy outside. A gloomy breeze blew through the window. In the Churilovsky tavern, Baryba was sitting at a table, legs apart, hands in his pockets, already heavily loaded. He muttered under his breath: “Well, I don’t care.” Out of my mind survived. I don't care... But something has already settled at the bottom, something has become muddy. It was not a merry May day. Three Krasnoryad clerks sat at the table in the corner opposite Baryba: one, crouched down, was telling something, two were listening. And suddenly all three of them burst into tears and burst into tears. It must be something very wonderful - Ah, right? A-ah, are you like that? So I, s-I’ll show them all,” Baryba muttered under his breath. His eyes were swollen, his angry square mouth was grinning, and his chewing iron nodules were tense. The clerks laughed merrily again. Baryba suddenly took his hand out of his pocket and tapped the knife on the plate with drunken, stumbling blows. The policeman, Mitka the scraggly head, jumped up and bent down, grinning with one cheek turned to the clerks, and expressing respect with the other cheek - to Mr. Constable. The clerks stretched out their noses and listened. - Ps-listen. T-tell them that th-I don't let them laugh. Th-I them... Laughing here is now strictly not allowed... No, ps-wait, I’m doing it myself! Swaying, huge, rectangular, pressing, he stood up and, thundering, moved towards the clerks. It was as if it wasn’t a person walking, but an old resurrected Kurgan woman, an absurd Russian stone woman. 1912

One autumn, on the way back from the field I had left, I caught a cold and fell ill. Fortunately, the fever caught me in the county town, in a hotel; I sent for the doctor. Half an hour later the district doctor appeared, a short man, thin and black-haired. He prescribed me the usual diaphoretic, ordered me to put on a mustard plaster, very deftly slipped a five-ruble note under his cuff, and, however, coughed dryly and looked to the side, and was just about to go home, but somehow got into conversation and stayed. The heat tormented me; I anticipated a sleepless night and was glad to chat with a kind man. Tea was served. My doctor started talking. He was not a stupid little guy, he expressed himself smartly and quite funny. Strange things happen in the world: you live with another person for a long time and are on friendly terms, but you never speak to him openly, from the heart; you barely have time to get acquainted with another - lo and behold, either you told him or he, as if in confession, blurted out all the ins and outs. I don’t know how I earned the trust of my new friend - only he, out of the blue, as they say, “took it” and told me a rather remarkable case; and now I am bringing his story to the attention of the sympathetic reader. I will try to express myself in the words of a doctor.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev. Author of the story " County doctor" Portrait by Repin

“You don’t deign to know,” he began in a relaxed and trembling voice (such is the effect of pure Berezovsky tobacco), “don’t you deign to know the local judge, Mylov, Pavel Lukich?.. You don’t know... Well, it doesn’t matter.” (He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.) Well, if you please see, it was like this, how can I tell you - no lie, during Lent, at the very beginning of the thaw. I sit with him, our judge, and play preference. Our judge is a good person and a keen player of preference. Suddenly (my doctor often used the word: suddenly) they say to me: your man is asking you. I say: what does he need? They say he brought a note - it must be from a patient. Give me a note, I say. That’s right: from a sick person... Well, okay - this, you know, is our bread... But here’s the thing: a landowner, a widow, writes to me; he says, his daughter is dying, come, for the sake of the Lord our God himself, and the horses, they say, have been sent for you. Well, that’s all nothing... Yes, she lives twenty miles from the city, and it’s night outside, and the roads are such that wow! And she herself is getting poorer, you can’t expect more than two rubles either, and it’s still doubtful, but maybe you’ll have to use canvas and some grains. However, duty, you understand, first of all: a person dies. I suddenly hand over the cards to the indispensable member Kalliopin and go home. I look: there is a little cart in front of the porch; The peasant horses are pot-bellied, the wool on them is real felt, and the coachman, for the sake of respect, sits without a hat. Well, I think it’s clear, brother, your gentlemen don’t eat on gold... You deign to laugh, but I’ll tell you: our brother, poor man, take everything into consideration... If the coachman sits like a prince, but doesn’t break his hat, and still chuckles from under his beard, and wiggles his whip - feel free to hit two deposits! But here, I see, things don’t smell right. However, I think there is nothing to do: duty comes first. I grab the essential medications and head off. Believe it or not, I barely made it. The road is hellish: streams, snow, mud, waterholes, and then suddenly the dam burst - disaster! However, I'm coming. The house is small, covered with thatch. There is light in the windows: you know, they are waiting. I'm coming in. A respectable old lady came towards me, wearing a cap. “Save me,” he says, “he’s dying.” I say: “Don’t worry about it... Where is the patient?” - “Here you go.” I look: the room is clean, and in the corner there is a lamp, on the bed there is a girl of about twenty, unconscious. She is bursting with heat, breathing heavily - she has a fever. There are two other girls there, sisters, scared and in tears. “They say that yesterday I was completely healthy and ate with appetite; In the morning today I complained about my head, and in the evening I was suddenly in this position...” I again said: “If you please, don’t worry,” it’s a doctor’s duty, you know, and I started. He bled her, ordered her to put mustard plasters on, and prescribed a potion. Meanwhile, I look at her, I look, you know, - well, by God, I have never seen such a face before... she is a beauty, in a word! Pity makes me feel so bad. The features are so pleasant, the eyes... Well, thank God, I’ve calmed down; sweat appeared as if she had come to her senses; she looked around, smiled, ran her hand over her face... The sisters bent over to her and asked: “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing,” she said, and turned away... I looked and fell asleep. Well, I say, now we should leave the patient alone. So we all tiptoed out; the maid stayed alone just in case. And in the living room there is already a samovar on the table, and a Jamaican one is right there: in our business we cannot do without it. They served me tea and asked me to stay overnight... I agreed: where to go now! The old lady keeps groaning. “What are you doing? - I say. “She’ll be alive, don’t worry, if you please, but rather rest yourself: it’s the second hour.” - “Will you order me to wake up if something happens?” - “I will order, I will order.” The old lady left, and the girls also went to their room; They made a bed for me in the living room. So I lay down, but I can’t fall asleep, what miracles! Well, it seems like he's worn himself out. My patient is driving me crazy. Finally, he couldn’t stand it, he suddenly stood up; I think I’ll go and see what the patient is doing? And her bedroom is next to the living room. Well, I got up, quietly opened the door, and my heart kept beating. I look: the maid is sleeping, her mouth is open and she’s even snoring, she’s a beast! and the sick woman lies facing me and spreads her arms, poor thing! I approached... She suddenly opened her eyes and stared at me!.. “Who is this? who is this?" I was embarrassed. “Don’t be alarmed,” I say, “madam: I’m a doctor, I came to see how you feel.” - “Are you a doctor?” - “Doctor, doctor... Your mother sent for me to the city; We bled you, madam; Now, if you please, rest, and in two days, God willing, we will get you back on your feet.” - “Oh, yes, yes, doctor, don’t let me die... please, please.” - “What are you talking about, God be with you!” And she has a fever again, I think to myself; I felt the pulse: definitely, fever. She looked at me and suddenly took my hand. “I’ll tell you why I don’t want to die, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you... now we’re alone; Just you, please, no one... listen...” I bent down; she moved her lips close to my ear, touched my cheek with her hair - I admit, my head went spinning - and began to whisper... I don’t understand anything... Oh, yes, she’s delirious... She whispered, whispered, but so quickly and as if not -Russian finished, shuddered, dropped her head on the pillow and threatened me with her finger. “Look, doctor, no one...” Somehow I calmed her down, gave her something to drink, woke up the maid and left.

Here the doctor again sniffed tobacco fiercely and became numb for a moment.

“However,” he continued, “the next day the patient, contrary to my expectations, did not feel better.” I thought and thought and suddenly decided to stay, although other patients were waiting for me... And you know, this cannot be negliged: practice suffers from this. But, firstly, the patient was really in despair; and secondly, I must tell the truth, I myself felt a strong disposition towards her. Besides, I liked the whole family. Although they were poor people, they were, one might say, extremely educated... Their father was a learned man, a writer; He died, of course, in poverty, but managed to impart an excellent upbringing to his children; I also left a lot of books. Is it because I worked diligently around the sick woman, or for some other reason, only I, I dare say, was loved in the house like one of their own... Meanwhile, the mudslide became terrible: all communications, so to speak, stopped completely; even medicine was delivered with difficulty from the city... The patient did not get better... Day after day, day after day... But here... here... (The doctor paused.) Really, I don’t know how to explain it to you, sir... (He sniffed again tobacco, grunted and took a sip of tea.) I’ll tell you without mincing words, my patient... as if that... well, she fell in love with me, or something... or not, not that she fell in love... but by the way... really, as it is, that, sir ... (The doctor looked down and blushed.)

“No,” he continued with liveliness, “what I fell in love with!” Finally, you need to know your worth. She was an educated, smart, well-read girl, and I even forgot my Latin, one might say, completely. As for the figure (the doctor looked at himself with a smile), there also seems to be nothing to brag about. But the Lord God didn’t make me a fool either: I won’t call white black; I also guess something. For example, I understood very well that Alexandra Andreevna - her name was Alexandra Andreevna - did not feel love for me, but a friendly, so to speak, disposition, respect, or something. Although she herself may have been mistaken in this regard, but what her position was, you can judge for yourself... However,” added the doctor, who said all these abrupt speeches without taking a breath and with obvious confusion, “I seem to be a little reported... You won’t understand anything... but let me tell you everything in order.

- Yes, yes, sir. My patient was getting worse, worse, worse. You are not a doctor, dear sir; you cannot understand what is happening in our brother’s soul, especially at first, when he begins to realize that the illness is overpowering him. Where does self-confidence go? You suddenly become so shy that you can’t even tell. So it seems to you that you have forgotten everything you knew, and that the patient no longer trusts you, and that others are already beginning to notice that you are lost, and they are reluctant to tell you the symptoms, they look at you from under their brows, they whisper... uh, bad! After all, there is a cure, you think, for this disease, you just have to find it. Isn't that it? If you try, no, it’s not! You don’t give the medicine time to work properly... you grab this, then that. You used to take a recipe book... because here it is, you think, here! Honestly, sometimes you reveal it at random: maybe, you think, it’s fate... And meanwhile the person dies; and another doctor would have saved him. A consultation, you say, is needed; I don't take responsibility. And what a fool you look in such cases! Well, you'll get over it over time, that's okay. A person died - it’s not your fault: you acted according to the rules. And here’s what else is painful: you see the trust in you is blind, but you yourself feel that you are not able to help. This is exactly the kind of trust that Alexandra Andreevna’s entire family had in me: they forgot to think that their daughter was in danger. I, for my part, also assure them that it’s nothing, they say, but the soul itself is sinking into their heels. To top off the misfortune, the mud became so bad that the coachman used to drive for medicine all day long. But I don’t leave the sick room, I can’t tear myself away, I tell different, you know, funny jokes, I play cards with her. I sit through the night. The old lady thanks me with tears; and I think to myself: “I’m not worth your gratitude.” I confess to you frankly - now there is no need to hide - I fell in love with my patient. And Alexandra Andreevna became attached to me: she used to let no one into her room except me. He starts talking to me, asking me where I studied, how I live, who are my relatives, who am I visiting? And I feel that there is no point in talking to her; but I can’t forbid her, decisively, you know, forbid her. I used to grab myself by the head: “What are you doing, robber?” Otherwise he will take my hand and hold it, look at me, look at me for a long, long time, turn away, sigh and say: “How kind you are!” Her hands are so hot, her eyes are big and languid. “Yes,” he says, “you are kind, you are a good person, you are not like our neighbors... no, you are not like that, you are not like that... How is it that I still didn’t know you! “-“Alexandra Andreevna, calm down,” I say... “believe me, I feel, I don’t know what I did to deserve it... just calm down, for God’s sake, calm down... everything will be fine, you’ll be healthy.” Meanwhile, I must tell you,” added the doctor, bending forward and raising his eyebrows, “that they had little contact with their neighbors because the small ones were no match for them, and pride forbade them to know the rich. I’m telling you: it was an extremely educated family—so, you know, that was flattering to me. She took the medicine from my hands alone... the poor thing will rise up, take it with my help and look at me... my heart will skip a beat. And meanwhile she was getting worse and worse: she would die, I think she would certainly die. Would you believe it, even going to the coffin yourself; and here my mother and sisters are watching, looking into my eyes... and trust disappears. "What? How?" - “Nothing, sir, nothing!” Why, sir, the mind is in the way. Well, sir, I was sitting one night, alone again, next to the patient. The girl is also sitting here and snoring at the top of her lungs in Ivanovo... Well, it’s impossible to recover from the unfortunate girl: she, too, has slowed down. Alexandra Andreevna felt very unwell all evening; the fever tormented her. Until midnight everything was rushing about; finally seemed to fall asleep; at least he’s not moving, he’s lying down. The lamp in the corner in front of the image is burning. I’m sitting, you know, with my eyes down, dozing too. Suddenly, as if someone had pushed me in the side, I turned around... Lord, my God! Alexandra Andreevna looks at me with all her eyes... her lips are open, her cheeks are burning. "What's wrong with you?" - “Doctor, am I going to die?” - “God have mercy!” - “No, doctor, no, please don’t tell me that I’ll be alive... don’t tell me... if you knew... listen, for God’s sake don’t hide my situation from me! - And she breathes so quickly. “If I know for sure that I have to die... then I’ll tell you everything, everything!” - “Alexandra Andreevna, have mercy!” - “Listen, I haven’t slept at all, I’ve been looking at you for a long time... for God’s sake... I believe you, you are a kind person, you are an honest person, I conjure you with everything that is holy in the world - tell me the truth! If you knew how important this is for me... Doctor, for God’s sake, tell me, am I in danger?” - “What can I tell you, Alexandra Andreevna, have mercy!” - “For God’s sake, I beg you!” - “I can’t hide it from you, Alexandra Andreevna, - you are definitely in danger, but God is merciful...” - “I will die, I will die...” And she seemed to be delighted, her face became so cheerful; I was afraid. “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, death doesn’t frighten me at all.” She suddenly stood up and leaned on her elbow. “Now... well, now I can tell you that I am grateful to you with all my heart, that you are a kind, good person, that I love you...” I look at her like crazy; I’m terrified, you know... “Do you hear, I love you...” - “Alexandra Andreevna, what did I do to deserve it! “-“ No, no, you don’t understand me... you don’t understand me...” And suddenly she reached out her hands, grabbed my head and kissed me... Would you believe it, I almost screamed... I threw myself on my knees and hid my head in the pillows. She is silent; her fingers are trembling on my hair; I hear: crying. I began to console her, assure her... I really don’t know what I told her. “Wake up the girl,” I say, “Alexandra Andreevna... thank you... believe me... calm down.” “Yes, that’s enough, that’s enough,” she repeated. - God be with them all; Well, they’ll wake up, well, they’ll come - it doesn’t matter: after all, I’m going to die... And why are you timid, why are you afraid? Raise your head... Or maybe you don’t love me, maybe I was deceived... in that case, forgive me.” - “Alexandra Andreevna, what are you saying?.. I love you, Alexandra Andreevna.” She looked me straight in the eyes and opened her arms. “So hug me...” I’ll tell you frankly: I don’t understand how I didn’t go crazy that night. I feel that my patient is ruining herself; I see that she is not entirely in my memory; I also understand that if she had not honored herself at death’s door, she would not have thought about me; but, as you wish, it’s terrible to die at twenty-five years old, without loving anyone: that’s what tormented her, that’s why, out of despair, she even grabbed hold of me, do you understand now? Well, she doesn’t let me out of her arms. “Spare me, Alexandra Andreevna, and spare yourself, I say.” “Why,” he says, “why regret? After all, I must die...” She kept repeating this. “Now, if I knew that I would survive and again end up with decent young ladies, I would be ashamed, as if ashamed... but then what?” - “Who told you that you would die?” - “Eh, no, that’s enough, you won’t deceive me, you don’t know how to lie, look at yourself.” - “You will live, Alexandra Andreevna, I will cure you; we will ask your mother for a blessing... we will unite in ties, we will be happy.” - “No, no, I took your word, I must die... you promised me... you told me...” It was bitter for me, bitter for many reasons. And just think, these are the kind of things that sometimes happen: it seems like nothing, but it hurts. She took it into her head to ask me what my name was, that is, not my surname, but my first name. It must be such a misfortune that my name is Tryphon. Yes, sir, yes, sir; Trifon, Trifon Ivanovich. Everyone in the house called me doctor. Having nothing to do, I say: “Tryphon, madam.” She squinted, shook her head and whispered something in French - oh, something bad - and then laughed, not good either. This is how I spent almost the whole night with her. In the morning he came out like he was mad; I entered her room again in the afternoon, after tea. My God, my God! It is impossible to recognize her: they put her in a more beautiful coffin. I swear on your honor, I don’t understand now, I absolutely don’t understand how I survived this torture. My patient creaked for three days and three nights... and what nights! What did she tell me!.. And on the last night, can you imagine, I was sitting next to her and I asked God for one thing: clean her up as quickly as possible, and me too right there... Suddenly the old mother walked into the room ... I told her the day before, my mother, that there is not enough hope, it’s bad, and a priest wouldn’t be bad. The sick woman saw her mother and said: “Well, it’s good that you came... look at us, we love each other, we gave each other our word.” - “What is she, doctor, what is she?” I'm dead. “He’s delirious, sir,” I say, “fever...” And she said: “Enough, come on, you just told me something completely different, and you accepted the ring from me... why are you pretending? My mother is kind, she will forgive, she will understand, but I am dying - there is no need for me to lie; give me your hand...” I jumped up and ran out. The old woman, of course, guessed.

“I won’t, however, torment you any longer, and I myself, to admit, have a hard time remembering all this.” My patient died the next day. The kingdom of heaven to her (the doctor added quickly and with a sigh)! Before her death, she asked her people to go out and leave me alone with her. “Forgive me,” he says, “I may be to blame for you... illness... but, believe me, I didn’t love anyone more than you... don’t forget me... take care of my ring...”

The doctor turned away; I took his hand.

- Eh! - he said. – Let’s talk about something else, or would you like to have a small preference? Our brother, you know, has no reason to indulge in such sublime feelings. Our brother, think about one thing: no matter how the children squeal and the wife scold. After all, since then I managed to enter into a legal, as they say, marriage... How... I took the merchant’s daughter: seven thousand dowry. Her name is Akulina; Something to match Tryphon. Baba, I must tell you, is evil, but fortunately she sleeps all day... But what about preference?

We sat down in preference for a penny. Trifon Ivanovich won two rubles and a half from me - and left late, very pleased with his victory.

Evgeniy Ivanovich Zamyatin

"District"

The district small Anfim Baryba is called “iron”. He has heavy iron jaws, a wide rectangular mouth and a narrow forehead. And all of Baryba is made of hard straight lines and angles. And some kind of terrible harmony comes out of all this. The district boys are afraid of Baryba: the beast will drive him into the ground under a heavy hand. And at the same time, for their amusement, he chews pebbles for a bun.

The shoemaker father warns: he will drive him out of the yard if his son can’t stand it in school final exams. Anfim fails at the first step - according to the Law of God and, fearing his father, does not return home.

He settles in the courtyard of the abandoned house of the Balkashins merchants. In the vegetable gardens of Streletskaya Sloboda and at the market, he steals everything he can manage. One day Anfim steals a chicken from the yard of the rich widow of a leather manufacturer, Chebotarikha. It is then that the coachman Urvanka tracks him down and drags him to the mistress.

Chebotarikh wants to punish Baryba, but, looking at his animal-strong body, he takes him to his bedroom, supposedly to make him repent of his sin. However, Chebotarikha, spreading like dough, decides to sin herself - for the orphan.

Now in the house of Chebotarikha Baryba lives in peace, with everything ready and wanders in sweet idleness. Chebotarikha dotes on him more and more every day. Now Baryba is already establishing a routine in the Chebotarev yard: he commands the men, he fines those who are guilty.

In the Churilovsky tavern Anfim meets Timosha the tailor, small, sharp-nosed, like a sparrow, with a smile like a warm lamp. And Timosha becomes his friend.

One day Baryba sees in the kitchen a young maid, Polka, a barefoot fool, watering an orange tree with soup. It has been growing this tree for six months, taking care of it and caring for it. Anfim snatches the tree by the roots and out the window. The Polish woman roars, and Baryba kicks her into the cellar. It was then that a millstone turned in his head. He follows her, lightly leans on Polka, and she immediately falls. He moves obediently, but whines even more often. And this is the special sweetness of Barybe. “What, the old feather bed, ate it, huh?” - he says out loud to Chebotarikha and shows the fig. He comes out of the cellar, and Urvanka is fussing under the barn.

Baryba is sitting in a tavern having tea with Timosha. He starts his favorite thing - about God: He doesn’t exist, but you still have to live according to God. Moreover, he tells how, sick with consumption, he eats with his children from the same bowl in order to find out whether this disease will stick to them, whether God will raise his hand against the foolish children.

On Ilyin’s Day, Chebotarikh Barybe interrogates him about Polka. Anfim is silent. Then Chebotarikha splashes saliva and stomps her feet: “Get out of the house! Snake under the well!” Baryba goes first to Timosha, then to the monastery to the monk Yevsey, who has known Anfim since childhood.

Fathers Yevsey and Innokenty, as well as Savka the novice, treat the guest to wine. Then Yevsey, having borrowed money from Anfim, goes with him and Savka for a walk further, to Streltsy.

The next day, Yevsey and Baryba go to the Elias Church, where Yevsey’s money is kept, and the monk returns the debt to Anfim. Since then, Baryba has been hanging around the church and one night after the festive service, he goes to the altar to get Yevsey’s money: why the hell does the monk need it?

Now Baryba rents a room in Streletskaya Sloboda from Aprosi-saldatka. Anfim reads popular prints. He walks in the field, they are mowing there. That's how it would be for Baryba! No, he shouldn’t be a man. And he submits a petition to the treasury: maybe they will hire him as a scribe.

Yevsey finds out about the missing money and realizes that Baryba stole it. The monks decide to give Anfimka the thief tea with enchanted water - maybe she will confess. Baryba takes a sip from the glass, and I want to say: “I stole it,” but he remains silent and only smiles bestially. And the deacon exiled to this monastery jumps up to Baryba: “No, brother, you can’t get through any gaping grass. Strong, cast."

Baryba can’t feel well. On the third day it only got better. Thanks to Aprosa, Anfima came out and became his little lady from then on.

Autumn this year is kind of awkward: the snow is falling and melting, and Barybin-Evseev’s money is melting with it. A refusal comes from the Treasury. This is where Timosha introduces Anfim to lawyer Semyon Semenovich, nicknamed Morgunov. He leads the merchants in all their dark affairs and never talks about God. Baryba begins to act as his witness: he stipulates who Morgunov is ordering.

Everything in the country is on fire, the alarm bells are sounding, and the minister has been killed. Timosha and Baryba with friends are sitting in a tavern before the Easter supper. The tailor keeps coughing into his handkerchief. They go outside, and Timosha returns: he dropped his handkerchief in the tavern. There is noise above, shots, Timosh rolls out head over heels, followed by someone like an arrow and into the alley. And the other, his accomplice - a dark-haired boy, lies on the ground, and the owner of the tavern, old man Churilov, kicks him in the side: “They took him away! Run away alone, run away with a hundred rubles!” Suddenly the angry Timosha jumps up: “What is it, you infidel, you want to kill a kid for a hundred rubles?” According to Timosha, Churilov would not lose a hundred, and they may not have eaten for two days. “If it came to our sleepy lake, I would climb into the deep end!” - Timosha tells his friends about the revolutionary events.

They came in large numbers from the province, the court was military. During interrogation, Churilov complains about Timoshka the impudent one. Baryba suddenly tells the prosecutor: “There was no scarf. Timosha said: there is work up above.”

Timosha is arrested. Police officer Ivan Arefiich and Morgunov decide to bribe Baryba so that he will testify against his friend in court. Six quarters and a police officer's place is not enough!

On the night before the trial, Baryba has some kind of annoying tingle inside her. It would be kind of weird to refuse, my friend. But life is only half an inch in Timosha. I dream about exams, pop. Anfim will fail again, for the second time. And he was brainy, Timosha. "Was?" Why “was”?..

Baryba speaks confidently in court. And in the morning, on a happy market day, Timosha and the dark-haired boy are executed. Someone's voice says: "Hanged devils!" And another: “Timoshka forgot God. The ancient life in the village has ended, they have stirred things up, yes.”

Brand new white jacket, shoulder straps. Baryba goes, joyful and proud, to his father: let him look now. The aged father mutters: “What do you need?” - "Heard? They made it three days ago.” - “I heard about you, of course. And about the monk Yevsey. And about the tailor too.” And suddenly the old man began to shake and splattered with saliva: “He’s from home, he’s a scoundrel!” Whoa!”

Crazy, Baryba goes to the Churilovsky tavern. The clerks are having fun there. Already heavily loaded, Baryba moves towards the clerks: “Laughing is strictly not allowed here now...” A huge, quadrangular, oppressive woman is swaying, as if not a person, but an old resurrected kurgan woman, an absurd Russian stone woman.

The district Anfima Baryba has heavy iron jaws, a wide quadrangular mouth and a narrow forehead. That's why it is called "iron". The district boys are afraid of him. His father, a shoemaker, warned that he would kick him out if he did not pass his final exams at school. Anfim did not pass the exam on the Law of God and, fearing his father, decided not to return home, settling in the courtyard of the abandoned house of the Balkashin merchants. He steals whatever he can from the gardens and markets.

One day he stole a chicken from Chebotarikha, but the coachman Urvanka tracked him down and dragged him to the owner. She wanted to punish Baryba, but when she saw his strong body, she took him to her bedroom in order to make him repent of his sin. However, as a result, she sinned herself. From then on, he began to live in Chebotarikha’s house with everything ready. He is idle, and Chebotarikha refuses him nothing. He began to command the men in her yard.

In a tavern he met a small, sparrow-like tailor, Timosha. One day he saw a young maid, Polka, watering an orange tree with soup. He uprooted the tree and threw it away. The maid burst into tears, and Baryba pushed her into the cellar and lightly leaned on her. Coming out of the cellar, he saw Urvanka fussing under the barn

On Elijah’s Day, Chebotarikha interrogated Baryba about Polka, but he remained silent. Then she kicks him out of her house. He first goes to his friend Timosha, and then to the monastery to the monk Yevsey, whom he knew from childhood. Seeing where the monk hides the money, he takes it from the altar a large sum, gathered after the festive service.

Baryba began renting a room in Streletskaya Sloboda and submitted an application to the treasury to work as a scribe. Yevsey learned about the missing money and realized that Baryba had stolen it. The monks gave the thief tea with enchanted water so that he would confess. After drinking, Baryba has a desire to confess to the theft, but he remains silent and only smiles.

In the fall, the monastic money began to run out, and a refusal came from the treasury. Then Timosha introduced Anfim to lawyer Semyon Semenovich Morgunov. He leads all their dark affairs and never talks about God. Baryba begins to work as a witness for him: he stipulates who Morgunov orders

Everything in the country is on fire and arrests are becoming more frequent. One day, when Timosha and Baryba and their friends were sitting in a tavern, there was a commotion and shots were fired. Suddenly a boy rolled out of the tavern head over heels. He lies on the ground, and the owner of the inn kicks him in the side and is indignant that he stole a hundred rubles from him. Timosha could not stand it and attacked the innkeeper, shouting about how he could kill a child for a hundred rubles.

The military trial began. During the interrogation, the innkeeper complains about Timoshka, and Baryba suddenly takes his side. Timosha was arrested. For his testimony at the trial, Morgunov paid Baryba six quarters and a position as a police officer. Timosha was executed, and Baryba, in a brand new white jacket and shoulder straps, joyful and proud, went to his father. However, the father knew everything about both the innkeeper and the monk and again kicked his son out.