Grigory Zeitlin. Memories

Part 4.

Katya

My father still ran from one merchant to another, from one bank to another. He kept his promise to hire me a teacher. Really, in a year and a half.
My first teacher was Solostyansky. He graduated from the teacher’s institute and after graduation went into the revolution, made incendiary speeches, but after the defeat he became an idealess jouir of the Artsybashev Sanin type. Our classes didn't work out. Beautiful women came to class, looked at me with a strange look, the meaning of which I did not understand at the time. The eyes of my teacher sparkled at that time with an oily spark.I remembered his speeches at rallies, and I did not like such frank frivolity. The memories of the pogrom were too vivid.
One day my older sister asked me to give a letter to my teacher. I agreed. She put in the envelope a picture depicting a frolic stallion. I refused to take the letter. A few days later, my teacher spoke to me very badly. Of all the reproaches I caught only one: I seemed to interfere in the affairs of the elders. The stallion apparently reached him, I thought and replied:
I don't interfere in anything. My response was obviously very strong. The teacher thought and was very distracted during class. I never went to class again. He told his father, but refused to explain his actions.
Well, I'll pay him back, my father said. I went to see Arkady Efimovich Ratner. By training as a doctor, he did not do his specialty. He gave private lessons. There were rumors that he was actively involved in the revolutionary movement.
I will work with you for an hour three times a week. You will pay ten rubles a month. Is that okay with you?
It's fine, I said.
There is one obstacle, he said, and measured me with his eyes from head to toe. You'll have to come to me from eight to nine in the evening.
I'll walk.
Aren't you afraid to come to my Horse Square at this time?
I'm not afraid.
It's not safe for Jews.
Nothing. I'll walk.
I have willpower. If I had to shoot a gendarme, wouldn't my hand flinch?
The question was surprisingly rhetorical and didn't require an answer, but it made me take a close look at my future teacher. I saw a straight, low forehead topped with a grey hedgehog. Under his forehead, weary brown eyes looked from the distant past. It all rested on a pale blue wide, square shaved face with a large chin. There was peace on his face, bought at a price.
It's not Solostyansky, I thought.
Your days: Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I heard as my eyes got to the long coat on my broad shoulders.
I'm sorry, they're waiting for me, he said, and he reached out to me as an equal.
In the first class, he said to me,
In the spring you will take exams in three classes. I was pleased with my teacher. He spoke little, but listened attentively to me. Quickly checking what I wrote. I felt the weak spots and brought them to my consciousness. His main concern was to teach me how to write correctly in Russian. I read a lot of books, but I didn’t know how to write well.Learning grammar rules was boring and unproductive, and to my mentor he didn't rape me. With short, well-chosen dictations, he taught me to write competently.
Soon, my teacher introduced me to another student who, like me, was preparing to take exams in three grades. He was very sociable. His parents had a large dress store. His name was David Zachary Alter Brachkovsky.
They called me David Zechariah, he told me. When I was a kid, I got scarlet fever, and they added the name Alter. I'm Alter now.
Like me, he was a good swimmer and loved to ride a boat.
His parents bought him an Ensfield bicycle. I certainly couldn't have dreamed of it. It put a chill in our relationship. We went out of town once. He's in his new Ansfield, I'm on an old, rented one. We went next to the wheel. I really enjoyed the fast, friendly ride and felt serene, like a bird in flight.
- How do you feel at your rental? - Asked Brackowski.
- I like that kind of ride.
- Amazing!
- What surprises you?
- I'm surprised you keep up. How do you do that?
- I didn't realize you wanted to beat me.
- Nice pressing! I can't beat you.
Yes. I feel good at the rental too, I replied.
But I didn't overtake him, even though I could.
This conversation brought us closer together. In the woods, we sat down and talked. And I've known you for a long time, Brachkovsky told me.
- I was surprised. On the first day of the pogrom, I watched you at the head of a gang of boys throwing stones with thugs. You got a stone in your head. You fell stunned. Your gang trembled, ran. You jumped up and stopped her. I was admiring you at the time, you were apt to throw and not be cowardly.
- Don't mention the pogrom!
- You're still worried. I'm calmer than you.
He was really calmer than me. His mood was always smooth. He studied all subjects with equal diligence. Even grammar and geography, which I found boring. The teacher considered him his best student. I wanted to tell him that, but instead I said,
We're going back or I won't have enough money to pay for my rental.
At that time, we lived on Irininskaya Street (in Khorodin’s house). We occupied three rooms in a wooden house in the back of the courtyard. One room served as a bedroom for parents. The room was very small and apart from two beds there was nothing. The second small room was occupied by the middle sister Saine (now she called herself Sonya). She was dreamy and wayward. All the time, day and night. She was reading and dreamed of becoming a writer. She didn't study anywhere.The third room was shared. She served as a dining room and an office for her father. There was an iron bed for Sister Rachel, a hard sofa covered with cloth, for me, a dining table and six chairs. I was cooking at the dinner table. When someone came to us, I interrupted classes and left. The same was done by Rachel, who at that time was studying at the Jewish progymnasium Syrkina. Progymnasium was only by name Jewish.The program was no different from the Russian school. They were taught singing by a Russian priest. I remember her singing the songs that the priest taught her:
“Israel, you build me temples and temples with gold.”
brilliant. They smoke incense, lights burn day and night.
The older sister, unable to apply her dental treatment in Gomel, went to the province, to the Posad Klintsy. She gave all her earnings to the party.
I did my father’s work and was a courier for him. Chop wood for my mother. Rachel helped with the housework. No one demanded anything from Sonya, and she was free from all duties.
I didn’t have the opportunity to practice regularly, but I did my homework carefully. I used Russian language and arithmetic. I neglected the rest of the subjects.
Time passed quickly for me, and my first trials took me by surprise. My documents were submitted to the office of the gymnasium by my father. When the clerk asked if he applied for admission or for a certificate, the father replied: "On evidence."
- Why not come in? - Asked the clerk.
“My son has outgrown for a year and a half and will not be accepted,” the father replied.
He could not answer that he knew the mechanics of the admission of a Jewish boy to the gymnasium!
Strange," replied the clerk, "why are you telling me this? It's up to me to accept your application or not.
The first exam was written Russian. We were seated in desks. I sat at the desk for the first time in my life. She seemed very comfortable to me.
Here comes the teacher in his uniform. In obedience to the general movement, I greeted him by standing up. On the command "Sit down!" sat down. My attention was focused on the teacher. From his solemnly calm face with a light beard, from sleepy eyes, from a straight figure, chained in a uniform, it smelled unusual cold.
You will write an exposition of Pushkin’s composition “The Song of the Things Oleg”. You all probably know it, and I will not read it, said the teacher, climbed up to his pulpit, sat down and began to survey us.
I like this task, I thought. The story reminded me of Samuel chapter 28 of the death of King Saul. When I first read The Song of the Things Oleg, I was struck by the similarity of the plots in different forms of their presentation. The skill of the brilliant Pushkin conquered me then, and I felt that I loved the Russian language. Now, with great enthusiasm, I began to write my story. I got so carried away that I forgot everything.When I woke up, I saw a teacher standing by my desk looking into a sheet I had written. I was confused, my inspiration evaporated. The teacher noticed this and went to his chair. The inspiration did not return, but fortunately the exposition was almost completed. I wanted to end by saying, This song is beautiful! The author is brilliant! Great people who gave birth to such an author!
But I thought: this does not apply to the presentation. They'll think I'm sucking up. I reluctantly began to rewrite completely. Belovik was not much cleaner than the draft, and I hesitated what to give and what to bring with me. I wanted to show my work to Arkady Efimovich.
When I visited Arkady Yefimovich the next day, I found my sister in his room. Before them lay a sheet of paper in Brachkovsky’s correct handwriting. It's clear, no smudges, I thought and looked at my sheet. Mine's worse, I thought.
Arkady Yefimovich, without raising his head, read everything I wrote. Without raising his head, he said:
The prince and the magician are alive. The plot is conveyed very briefly, but correctly. I find no mistakes. I was sure Bachkovsky would write better.
You will have to change your mind about him, said the sister. His work was shown to the director.
I’m just lucky to have been given the opportunity to write something I love, I thought.
Encouraged by the first success, the next day I boldly approached the table at which the teachers were sitting, who were studying Russian orally. At the table sat a teacher I knew who was examining me in Russian writing, and a tall stranger with an unpleasant face and a bump on his forehead. As I later found out, they said about him: "The bump on the bump is coming." His surname was Chikidovsky, the nickname of Chicky Driki.Besides them, at the table sat the director, a harsh old man in uniform, a real state councillor Romensky.
The man with the bump asked me:
Do you know Church Slavonic? and opened the Gospel. The question was unexpected and I was silent. I did not receive the Gospel revealed to me.
You don't know? said Shishka. We're not gonna test you.
We have no right.
He looked at the director with a look demanding confirmation of his decision. I felt no better than at the time of the pogrom and looked at the director with little hope. The tough old man, without looking at Shishka, said:
- Take it, read it. I took a book and read, "In the beginning was God." The director said:
Enough. You know the poem?
“Do I walk along the noisy streets?” you know? The attention given to me by the director silenced Shishka. I was saved. The rest of the exams passed without incident, and I received a certificate with a sewn photographic card, fastened with a surg seal. From the card looked a boy of twelve years. I looked younger than my age, with a half-open mouth on my face expressing surprise.
The first success in life gave me hope that the path to life was not closed for me. From my memory, however, the question has not yet been erased: “Do you know Church Slavonic?”
My dad and I decided that I would take one class exam every year. “I want you to study the Talmud.”
All summer and autumn I studied the Talmud. My teacher was Melamed Jeruhim, who was our distant relative. From my first lessons I was struck by the depth and abstractness of the Talmud writers’ thinking, and I told my teacher about it.
Is it really necessary to write a large folio to decide that an egg laid by a chicken on a holiday is allowed to be consumed? The answer was:
- I'm just Jewish. I believe in God. But if you think that I imagine God in the form of a formidable old man with rods in his hands, you are mistaken. He is the Creator who leads us to the truth. The Talmud leads us to self-improvement. Those who study the Talmud for a long time cannot break away from it. You and I went through a dozen pages. It's too early for you to ask such questions.
The answer was not substantive, but it was respectful to my teacher and the Talmud.
I didn't ask any more questions. I made an effort, tried to understand the meaning of deep-thinking interpretations, stretching a long chain around issues that little interested me. My teacher understood this and once told me:
You understand, but the Talmud doesn't interest you much. I teach little kids the Bible. I study the Talmud with you at your father's request. He wants you to get some insight into the Talmud.
We were often distracted from the "Bob Beitz" we were studying and had free conversations.
The Talmud is so different from the Five Books of Moses and the Prophets.
The Pentateuch and the Prophets were created many centuries earlier, when the Jews had their own state, and the Talmud was begun and completed after the conquest of Judea by Rome.
“So if the Jews had their own state, wouldn’t the Talmud have been created, but something else?”
The face of my teacher was extremely astonished. So did I. I remember when I asked my mother as a child, “Mom, when will we have our own land?” Then I doubted the gentle women on the hay. Now my truthful, kind teacher, a simple Jew who believes in God, has deepened this doubt. The Talmud replaced the land taken away. It lasts two thousand years. What force carried these huge folios studded with small letters through two millennia of pogroms?The letters are Jewish and the language is not Jewish.
I was immersed in these sad thoughts. My teacher didn't bother me.
How did the Jewish people lose their homeland? Why couldn't he defend himself? Does he have the worst of sins? Inability to build a state? These thoughts swarmed through my head and sought solutions.
How many years did the Jews live in the state?
He began to question the good Jeruhim. Alas! He, the limped, didn't know at all.
Recalling dates from history that previously seemed to litter only memory, I establish that from the exodus from Egyptian slavery to Bar Kokhba, fifteen hundred years passed.
It was not by prayer that they defended themselves fifteen centuries, I think.
The mighty Rome existed for only four hundred years.
Russia has existed for about a thousand years. The great empires of Alexander the Great and Cyrus of Persia were short lived. I remember biblical heroism, and the thought of the weakness of the people disappears like a deep dream. The tragedy, however, remains, and I am inextricably bound to it, rounding my thoughts and looking at the good Jeruhim. But he doesn’t know what tragedy is! comes to mind.
Time passed. Winter has come. Father took from the top shelf in the kitchen a dusty multicorn lamp made of white tin. Mother cleaned it with chalk, hung it on a cloves on the wall, poured sunflower oil into one horn, put a thin wick. The father, lighting it, reads a prayer today the first day of the festival of Hanukkah in memory of the liberation of the temple from the enemy.
More than two thousand years ago, the Hasmonean family revolted and expelled the troops of powerful Syria. The temple to one God has been restored, and the Jews for more than two millennia, year after year, celebrate for eight days the anniversary of the renovation of the temple, lighting on the first day a light in the lamp and adding every day one, until the eighth day, when all eight horns are lit. Unlike other holidays, peace is not mandatory.All work is allowed. The holiday is celebrated with pancakes, which are eaten without special ceremonies. The historian Renan writes that the Jews at that time showed examples of military art, which has not lost its value to the present day. He notes that their leader, Yehuda Hasmonei, never shied away from combat, even in unfavorable circumstances. The historian notes coldly that this hero allowed himself the luxury of falling in an unequal battle in the name of the triumph of this principle.
Jewish historians note the fearlessness of their national hero in a different way. He dared to violate the sanctity of the Sabbath and allowed his soldiers to defend themselves on this day of rest as on a weekday. This probably explains why such a great feast of liberation is celebrated so routinely.
In the morning, as a child, I went to my mother in the kitchen.
She didn't tell stories anymore. Sometimes she timidly asked:
Did you remember to pray?
I didn't forget. After the pogrom, somehow I stopped praying. I answered her question in silence. She suffered a lot from it. I suffered with her.
"To the age-old shame,
a miserable life,
shamefulness
There is no forgiveness for the helpless God!
(Beir Gagareigo)
Falcon
And then:
Don't pray!
Blow your fist to pieces.
Heaven and my throne

            *****
Late at night I passed a small wooden synagogue on Horse Square. There was a faint light in one window. I went to the lonely voice coming from there. I clearly distinguished the recitative of the psalms, sung in low voices. The voice was young and did not get in touch with complaining, continually shedding viscous notes. The human soul seemed to wriggle an earthworm under a sharp shovel. No prayer, no hope, but the meek, impotent groan of the shrivelled human soul.
How dare he humiliate himself! I thought. I really wanted to destroy the singer along with the impression I made. I, however, suppressed this desire and remained standing under the window until the psalmist was tired and stopped his complaints.
That's what our prayers turned out to be. Our majestic Col Nidre and Galel. This has to end, I thought.
My mother once asked me why I didn’t hire a teacher. I explained to her that I studied textbooks myself, and four months before the exams I would hire a teacher. My old teacher stopped doing private lessons. He received permission and opened a private Jewish gymnasium. I could go to the fourth grade, but I was afraid of the high fee for teaching 140 rubles a year. The teacher would have to pay only forty rubles in four months.It seemed to me that if I successfully passed the exams in three grades, then it would not be difficult to pass them in one fourth.
My mother approved of my plan, and in December I arranged with the “perpetual” student Altshuller to start classes. My new teacher was very different from Arkady Efimovich. I had no sense of purposeful leadership. Lessons were given and listened sluggishly, uncertainly, only in mathematics and the Russian language. Other subjects were left without guidance. In April, my teacher went to St. Petersburg to take exams at the university. He was a mathematician.
I submitted the application with a certificate for three classes myself. I passed the exams in Russian language and mathematics safely and was sure that I would get a certificate for four classes, but my happiness changed. I cut down on geography. I have read Blioch’s textbook several times, but I have not mastered the main thing. I could say very little about the lake economy. The teacher had to ask me if there was a lot of fish there. I answered briefly that a lot.He asked what was the name of a fish that could feed Russia. I didn't know. The teacher tried to tell me: three...
“Cod,” I picked up, stressing on the first syllable, and it decided my fate. I got a D.
Failure discouraged me. My concern never left me. Now I had to prepare for the exams in two classes at once, but the faces of the “eternal” externals loomed before me. I used to think they were funny losers, but now I know I can share their fate. What was most frustrating to me was the prospect of staying for many years at the expense of my father.
Moses is on vacation. He moved to the fifth grade and was free of all responsibilities all summer. When I told him the details of my geography failure, he remarked:
- That's what you want, asshole!
- Are you gloating?
- I'm not gloating, but it's clear to me that this was supposed to happen.
He paused and began to explain to me:
By geography, we spent the whole year coloring maps, diagrams and in this way memorized a lot. I learned a lot in class, too. No wonder you didn't know her. Geography is not the main subject, and it is usually not cut. It's only in Gomel gymnasium like that. I also had to go to Novgorod-Seversk. Externs also do not take exams and go to another city.
I feel a little better. I realized that the reason for my failure largely did not depend on me, but I did not see a way out of the situation. To go to another city or to go to Ratner's gymnasium, I thought, but my father would not be able to do that.
It was as if Moses had guessed my thoughts and said,
Now you have to go to another city or go to the Ratner gymnasium. In the state gymnasium, of course, it is easier to study, but you need a large bribe to enter, and the life of strangers is expensive. In Ratner's gymnasium, the tuition is more expensive, but if you do not take a bribe, you will live at home. The only bad thing is that there will be inspectors appointed by the educational district. It's not much easier than externalizing.
Now we go to Melnikov Meadow. I pay for the boat, he added.
Why did you call me a fool?
Because you thought it was your fault, so you hung up your nose.
Mother and father were noble enough to refrain from reproach, and smart enough not to comfort me. They did not show their grief and let me go through the bitterness of failure on my own. Sister Sonia joked:
Alexander the Great conquered the East in your years, and you could not pass even for the fourth grade.
And that's harder, I countered.
All she had to do was laugh, which she did. The father who witnessed the conversation asked:
What shall we do, my son?
Can you pay one hundred and forty rubles a year?
Okay, go see Ratner.
A few days later, Moses and I had a conversation that cooled our friendship. We were out of town. We were overtaken by a cart on which lay a pair of calves with bound legs. Next to them sat a young Jew, apparently a butcher. One calf was crooking. The butcher patted him lovingly.
"Lucky to the slaughterhouse and caresses," I said.
Have you ever been to a slaughterhouse? asked Moses.
- No, and you?
- Recently.
- How's that?
- Nothing. The cows and bulls don’t want to kill. When they cut, they rush. And sheep do not resist and take everything for granted.
- How do you see it?
- It didn't make a big impression on me. And you?
- That's not good. I want to become a vegetarian.
- One more bull.
- And Fat Bull?
Tolstoy became a righteous man in his old age, and you are still a boy.
When I told my mother that I would stop eating meat, she said,
- God allows. You don't have to be super righteous.
Dad didn't say anything. His eyes said, Decide for yourself.
In the fifth grade of Dr. Ratner’s Jewish gymnasium, I became a vegetarian. My relationship with animals has been defined.
To some extent, it also revealed my position among people. They thought it was weird. From this “weirdness” I was cured in an original way. I was cured by the most ordinary pigs. They climbed into the garden that my mother and I had built under the windows of our house and devastated it. I was so angry that I dealt with them with a club. This scene was watched by my cousin David, who happened to pass by. He said,
You can't eat them, so you can beat them.
I was thinking. I didn't feel sorry for battered pigs. So my vegetarianism is far-fetched, I decided.
I became a schoolboy for seventeen years. There were many gaps in my preparation. I started studying late and worked in snags, irregularly. Before entering the gymnasium, my attention was focused on the Hebrew language, literature and history. This deviation in my development alienated me from the entire mass of students. Most of them dreamed of becoming doctors.I also understood that this was the only field of activity for the Jewish intelligentsia, but the position of a doctor in society did not seduce me. I read Chekhov's short story "Ionich." I was attracted to technology, but the gymnasium could give me very little in this regard.
I started looking at the students in my class.
Lack of frolicity, sloppy clothes pushed me away from many. Brachkovsky had been studying at the gymnasium for a year, and now we were in the same class. After a year of regular training, he felt more confident.
"We're boring people in our class," I told him once.
- Yeah, boring, but I'm not interested.
- What are you interested in?
- Fives. I want to finish with a medal and go to university.
- That's boring, too. Let's get people moving.
- And how?
- Here's how. Let's flip 360 degrees over this puffy Shifrin turkey. He wants a medal too. We're holding hands. We sneak up from behind, throw one pair of hands over the head and, with a couple of forces, easily turn our victim over. The first reaction to such violence is to strike. But the courage is usually lacking, and I throw an insulting nickname - "carrier".Soon there are followers, and we form the shop of cab drivers: cars, crowbars, bandyuzhniki. We're perfecting our art. Achieving dash in jumps, breaking hands and blood, playing cochihalu. It replaces physical education and sports. Brachkovsky was not in this company.
I was hoping to get more out of school than they could give me. I didn't miss class. With intense attention he caught every word of teachers, but was not always rewarded with the joy of knowing the truth. The process of transferring knowledge, it turns out, was complicated, and most teachers did not know how to manage it. To attract the attention of forty-two students of our fifth grade was possible only one teacher Arkady Emmanuilovich.He was able to keep the classroom from unnecessary noise, and by the end of his lesson I didn't feel tired or dissatisfied. He taught literature and Latin. Russian epics were so vividly understood in his lessons that they did not have to be memorized at home. Chronicles, ritual songs revived the old days. One day he asked, What do we know about Jewish wedding songs? No one knew, and he said it was not good. This is one of the two times we have been reminded that we are Jewish.
The second case occurred when we read the chronicle of the adoption of Christianity. Prince Vladimir asked the rabbis who suggested he recognize the Jewish one God: Where is your kingdom? They said: God has scattered us all over the world as punishment for our sins. The prince became angry and said: Why do you want God to be angry with us?
I thought about it for a long time. It seemed to me that the question of God should be independent of the state and the benefits that the state can provide. For thousands of years, the Jews have shed blood in the name of one God, and then they so easily dismissed him!
Is it not because the question was about accepting a ready-made, unsuffering God? I didn't know then that Napoleon once said:
But I, too, stopped praying after I had to endure the Jewish pogroms, so I thought, and decided that there was such and such a connection between the earthly being and the heavenly Father.
I thought about it and heard:
- And Zeitlin's thinking something. No part of our class.
I woke up, looked around and remembered that I was just a fifth-grade student.
Soon it was explained from the school district that a Jew had no right to teach Russian literature, and a young teacher appeared in the class, a protégé of the minister, handsome, with an unfinished higher education. He was successful with gymnasts who called him by the eyes of Sasha. He adhered to the program and did not honor Tolstoy. The merit of “Dead Souls” he considered that in them Gogol finally renounced the “little Russian element”.
Brachkovsky was very pleased with the new teacher, it became easier for him to get fives. I lost interest in classes and put up with the triples received from Sashenka.
Sashenka had no organic hostility to the students as Jews. There was only the alienation of an intellectual official who accepted autocracy and Orthodoxy. My prowess and pranks were unpleasant to him.
One day he was watching the students play in the snow. One student, by the name of Rybakov, put an empty can on his head and shouted: who will knock down the prize!
A lot of people threw, but nobody got into the bank. Apparently, out of fear of hitting the brave, they sent their shells past. Sashenka was critical of this fun. I thought it was offensive. I walked up to him and said,
First of all, we reward Rybakov for his bravery! and slammed himself on the back of the head.
Sasha looked at me indifferently and said nothing.
The snowball I threw slammed Rybakov on the back of his head, and he fell. Sashenka said:
- Hey, Wilhelm Tell, you'd be more accurate.
- And I warned you I'm awarding a brave man.
And the brave man stood up and showed no pleasure in being targeted.
- I got it and I don't want it anymore!
- Our Fisherman is a coward!
Hurray to the brave man! sounded from all sides, and Rybakov again stood up with a jar on his head.
- Now I will. - I said and exchanged unfriendly views with Sasha.
I dumped the jar. Sashenka turned his back on me, clearly not wanting to meet me with a look. My classmate, Irma Kosnik, approached me. “You played Sashenka well,” he said. Do you always throw so well?
- No, we need a lift.
- Let's stick around. When everyone's in class, we'll leave with you.
- We've got no target for range. I was defeated.
- Don't be upset, Kosnick said. I've never been beaten in this case. I throw twice as far as the others.
I looked at him with interest. Dark brown hair over a pale large face. Under the steep forehead of iron-rimmed glasses. Because of the glasses, myopic gray eyes with short shameless eyelashes looked intently, curiously. Under a slightly hooked nose are large, voluptuous lips. The suit is worn, contrived, hides broad shoulders. On a superficial glance, Kosnik seems plugacious, inconspicuous, but it is not. He has a strong body and a restless soul.
"Okay," I said to him, "I'm going to dedicate you to passenger cabs." You're not good at crowbars, palms are weak. Why do you often miss lessons? Are you sick?
- No way. I'm not always full. Nothing interesting in class.
One night in July, Irma came to my house.
"We're going on a boat tonight, overnight," he said.
- Okay, but no third.
- You have to pay for the boat.
- I agree with that.
- And you'll row.
- All right. You don't want anything else?
Nope. What does your condition mean without a third? No
Hamburg, is it?
-Nope. Just no third.
- That's it. Don't hurt my Hamburg!
- Who will offend your "socialist"! Can you read it, Herzen?
Not so much reading as collecting books. Why did you call him a socialite?
- There you go. He's a chain in life. Not like you and me.
- He reads Chernyshevsky, too. Somewhere I got the novel "What to do."
I wonder what he is interested in in this novel.
- Rakhmetov, of course. As an attempt to introduce a new revolutionary hero into literature.
- I wonder how Chernyshevsky takes the sexual question out of our sight. Tolstoy does it differently.
- You're not just a cab driver, you're a philosopher.
- Well, I'm eighteen years old. Moved to seventh grade.
Why are you talking about sex and not love?
I don't know. Maybe it's because I can't forget the pogrom. Are you still sighing about Mana Kovaleva?
Irma fell silent, and we reached the shore of Sozha without saying a word.
Irma's small, single-paired boat headed upstream. I stayed closer to the shore, where it was easier to overcome the fast current. I leaned on oars.
The cloudy sky, the deserted, dark shore, the murmur of the fast flow under the nose of the boat, the wind in the back very soon determined my condition. I felt like I was going to need a lot of effort.
In the beginning, we encountered oncoming boats. They went down the stream, and the oars did not work on them. The riders looked at us with surprise, we walked towards the night and bad weather. Soon the oncoming boats disappeared. Occasionally, only from the clinging to the bushes of the "sponge" there was a quiet grunt of a dissatisfied fisherman.
The purpose of our trip was a tiny island at the turn of the river. We crashed into its shore at full speed. The fisherman on the sponge, without saying a word, left and sailed away. There were two of us, and he was alone. We took possession of the island. They found a place protected from the wind and laid a fire. I sat down with my back to the fire to dry my sweaty shirt. Irma, shivering from the wind, curled up in the sand and did not move. He was obviously thinking hard.
I kept the fire going. He broke dry branches in the bushes, put them in the fire. I was sorry that I had so rudely touched on such a delicate subject as love, and did not know how to fix it. Irma spoke first:
There was no agreement that you would be the only one to serve the fire.
- What do you do when you're dirty?
- I'm not dirty. Let's continue our conversation.
Come on. Only I can't spare.
- It's not necessary. Don't you have a need for love?
- I don't know what love is yet. Is it worse than the Jewish massacres?
After much thought, Irma said:
Tell me about a meeting where you thought love was possible.
- Let me tell you. I was told that Katya Stepanova, the daughter of Colonel Stepanova, was interested in my specialty. She said, “He has bright eyes.” I'll meet him.” She has beautiful legs, shoes in elegant shoes, a slim figure and a bold, bruising head. I was not sure that I would resist her onslaught, but I did not want to avoid meeting her.As you know, our gymnasium arranged an evening that was supposed to benefit poor students. Our class chose me as a steward, and I walked around with a bow on my chest. In a secluded corner, Katya decidedly went to me. Against her, no less decisively, went plump, blushing Junker, the nephew of the policemaster. He intercepted her a few steps away from me, took her by the hand. Without taking her hands off, she looked point-blank at my “radiant eyes.”Juncker turned in the direction of her gaze and saw me. He looked at me as a Russian officer looked at a Jew. I didn't pay attention to him, I looked at Katya. Juncker lowered Katya's hand, took a step towards me and in the tone of the order said:
Get back there. I pointed with my hand. He had no doubt that the order would be carried out.
I was looking at Katya. Her bold head no longer seemed daring to me. I even felt sorry for her. I thought: what is the secret of the self-assured arrogance of this young man with red, galooned epaulettes? Without taking my eyes off, I said,
Please, I won't disturb you.
As I turned away, I heard her whisper:
How cruel you are!
She was wrong. He wasn't violent. He was just as stupid as a pig. I was cruel. Maybe she told me that.
Irma was silent, and I said,
Now tell me.
There was no response.
Okay, I'll tell you about love. - I said. You know I used to take three-grade exams at the state high school. At the same time, both brothers of Felsenbaum were tested for admission. Their parents have a large manufacturing shop on Rumyantsevskaya Street. The eldest entered the fourth and the youngest in the second class. Both got in. They were prepared by Fedorovich, who often came to the store with his fiancée. “Type, Ninochka, anything,” he told her.
Fedorovich's mother once, during an exam, stopped the director of the gymnasium of Fomensky on the stairs and asked about Felsenbaums. He said to her:
- All right, we'll see.
It's about love as if it had nothing to do with it. Listen, though, keep going. Brachkovsky recently told me that Felsenbaum’s servants had sued them. The eldest son, it turns out, made her a child. She was fired and found herself with a child with no means and no hope of getting anywhere. Felsenbaum's mother said in court, "My boy can't do that." And the boy is a little smaller than the fathom. The magistrate dismissed the suit. The child is clearly illegal.What is it, love or sex? Keep listening. In the sixth grade, the son of wealthy parents, Bibitsky, came to us. One day he asked me, “Do you want to be third?” I thought it was about drinking, and I was inclined to agree. Noticing that I was hesitating, he added: "Girl is good." I guessed it, and I said,
- No, I don't recognize a dog wedding!
This Babitsky was looking for companions so that the servants would not get pregnant. What is it, love or sex?
Keep listening. I was jealous of Brachkovsky. He's always in a serene mood. It works like a clockwork. One day he complained to me: I am not in the mood to study. It was unexpected for me, and I looked at him perplexedly.
What's not clear to you? We should go see Hatzkel. (To the brothel). What is it, love or sex?
Irma couldn't stand it.
You're really cruel. Enough.
No, listen to me. I know you're fond of our free-thinking geographer, naturalist Vyrvo. I even watched you cramp the cobblestone as it passed by. Thought you'd put it in. You're a good thrower. What didn't please you? Couldn't you give an answer in love or sex? Did you talk to him? Admit it!
Irma was silent, and I continued:
He was in vain. He won't answer.
Irma strained:
Why?
He spoke out in class. He was talking about a plant that blooms once and dies. How happy a man would be if he could be like this plant!
I thought: sentimental, vague and cowardly. He inflates the meaning of the sexual question and is afraid to give an answer to it.
Irma couldn't stand it.
Aren't you afraid? Juncker was scared!
I'm not at all angry.
Juncker wasn't scared. At least I'm ready to fight him now, if you say so. As for sex, listen to what Tolstoy says. He argues that love is sinful, in other words, imperfect, and people should be chaste like Christ. Of course, I am not going to copy Christ, but I will protect myself from monkey love, and from doggies too. Chernyshevsky considers it possible to give up love for women in the name of revolution. He's not afraid of sex.I just don't understand why you have to live with a mythical widow before you make that decision. After all, everyone starts with a real servant or a woman from a brothel. Tolstoy did not accidentally make Katyusha Maslova a servant and inhabitant of a brothel.
Irma begged:
Why are you having this conversation?
There must be no lie in love. There must be no cowardice.
A man must protect himself from this. There's no need for violence.
You teach me! You're still an innocent boy!
I'm ready to stay like this for a long time. Whatever it costs me. You decided to continue the conversation. Don't be a woman, smile!
His smile was sour, pathetic. It is not easy to be hopelessly in love at eighteen.
Irma was in love with gymnasist Mania Kovaleva. I didn't know her, but we noticed each other. We did not try to get to know each other. I chose the path of Rakhmetov, and she was obviously sure that others should seek acquaintance with her she was beautiful free Russian beauty: slim, golden-haired, blue-eyed. From her slender figure, from her beautifully planted head, it smelled of rude truthfulness. Hamburg said about her that she has a soul with reeflinks.Irma loved her with a timid, ingratiating, stubborn first love. He was bold and strong, but in appearance, because of glasses in an iron frame and a sloppy suit, very little like the hero of the novel. He was poor, and poverty is not a virtue. This was whispered to me by the pampered, voluptuous sons of rich parents. A shadow was cast on his male dignity. It remained to play the role of Zibel, which Irma faithfully did.His inseparable friend Hamburg believed that he did not give in to obstacles.
Faust turned out to be a bastard nicknamed Munk Sobakers. Irma was jealous. I was patient. The highest judge for him was Manya Kovaleva, and he humbly waited for her to be merciful and appreciate his loyalty.
Summer night is short. Before dawn, we fell asleep by the fire.
Awoke us to the thunder. The fire went out long ago. We trembled, and then there was another thunderstorm. We decided to hide our clothes under the boat and meet the rain naked in the water. They pulled out and turned the boat over, stripped and hid their clothes under it, and climbed into the water themselves. To warm up, we swam to the other side. Soon, however, the lambs turned back, and the current was blowing away from our island.The rain caught us on a sandbank, where we were sitting on soft sand, up to the neck submerged in water. The rain whipped us furiously in the face. Thunder thunder thundered over his head. Lightning seemed to be pointing right at us.
It's your glasses that attract them, I joked. Irma didn't even take them off while swimming.
The storm howled over me,
Thunder in the sky rumbled,
The weak mind feared fate,
The cold entered the soul, I said. Irma continued:
But I did not fall from suffering,
Proudly withstood the blow...
I smiled, I noticed, and Irma fell silent.
The storm soon passed. The sun appeared above the horizon. We swam to the island. We climbed to the highest point and admired the picture worthy of Levitan’s brush.
The lambs on the river are dead. The silver surface in the distance rose in the oblique rays of the sun. Wet after the rain, the sand grayed on the other bank with a barely noticeable strip. The river seemed vast. A large red disk of the sun promised warmth and affection.
The idyll was broken by a boat going downstream not far from the shore. There were two women in the boat. Old on the stern and young on the oars. The young one shouted:
Standing naked. At least hide it, Jews!
It made me laugh, and I shouted back:
Hide, hit the shore.
The young woman laughed and shouted:
I really need you! I can do better with officers, with clean ones.
I said,
You molest. We'll make better officers!
The young woman laughed with a mischievous laugh. Irma looked at me reproachfully and said:
So you're so clean! You better make officers?
The young woman understands the conversation better than you.
Why do you think that?
She laughed and you grunted.
I can't talk to women like that!
How so?
So straight, so bold and so rude. Katya's in love with you.
Why do you think that?
Everyone knows that except you.
I'm heartbroken.
What are you thinking? Would you have that conversation with her, too?
No, the conversation with her would be different.
Hypocritical, then. Fall in love with her. I want to see you fall in love. If you don't fall in love with her, you won't love anyone. Why don't you meet her?
Robey, Irma.
Don't fuck with me. Everyone knows that you, impudently, not being acquainted with the gymnasium student Babushkina, introduced her to your comrade. When they met, Grandma told you: I can't remember where we met. I have to admit that we have never met you anywhere, you replied.
Answer me, Jew's face, why don't you meet her?
- I don't know if I know her or not.
- That's beyond my comprehension. Explain!
- If you insist, listen and don't interrupt. One day, three guys met three girls, stopped them, grabbed them and got a punch and started talking. The pants of the guys, according to Russian custom, were tucked into boots "bottles", bright Russian shirts under jackets, on the head of the well-known chuskies. The girls, apparently servants, were dressed in colorful sweatshirts and skirts. One over the jacket hostess jacket and in his hands a beautiful folded umbrella, also, apparently, the hostess.The conversation ended with the fact that the umbrella was in the hands of one of the cavaliers, who handed it to another, another third, the third through the gate ran into our yard and quickly hid the umbrella in the front garden. When the lady ran into the courtyard, she could not find the umbrella. She looked around helplessly. On the fence, she spotted me and begged at me. Taking my silence for fear, she turned to the guy:
- Yudka, give me the umbrella! The lady will drive me away. Where am I going?
The guy with reproach repeated after her: Yudka?!
It was a scratch. After his baptism, his name was Vanka, but the ladies did not recognize the new name. Feeling that there is no need to expect pity from Yudka, the young lady again looked at me with a plea. Yudka spoke to me in Jewish:
- Goys are bastards. They're lost. Burn them! Don't you dare say it!
“Why do you speak Jewish?” he replied.
- Liver, spleen!
- Do you want a rock on your head?
Yudka rushed to me, and I shouted to the lady:
Umbrella in the front garden, in the corner, near the fence!
I jumped off the fence into the street and grabbed a cobblestone. Yudka appeared on the fence, but he did not dare to jump after me. The lady ran through the gate into the street. She held her umbrella with both hands. All three girls ran away, and the guys looked after them with frustration. On the other side of the street stood a well-dressed girl with a bonna. Bonna tried unsuccessfully to divert the girl's attention from the street scene, but she greedily, wide-open eyes looked at what was happening.When I waved a stone at Yudka, she shouted in delight: "Good job!" I looked at her and thought, “How beautiful!” I was eleven at the time and she was eight. It was Katya. Her eyes shone like sweet stars. Only Russian girls have such eyes. When we meet by chance, we recognize each other, but we don’t talk. Recently, a lady with an umbrella noticed how Katya and I looked at each other and stopped me. There was a conversation:
- You're Jewish.
Is a Jew bad?
- I don't say bad, but you're Jewish.
I understood her and said,
- The lady is Jewish, too.
- That's not true, Russian lady. I serve them.
- Have you ever mixed up with Yudka?
- He's baptized!
This is stupid, of course, but I am afraid that Katya will have to read Al Gashhit by Bialik.
- Nonsense! I'm Jewish, but Bialika can't read.
- And how Kevesh, who was killed during the pogrom, shouted, you didn't hear either. And that's what I have to tell you. Okay, I'll read her Megilas Goyes.

Soge's spilled widely. I can't see the shores. The flooding was early, and grandfather Sparrow (Sparrow) did not have time to tar and paint his rental boats. They lay underside up near his hut, on the bank of the river approaching his courtyard. Only one large, heavy, unpainted boat (oak) was launched into the water, with wooden pegs instead of switches. For six hryvnia, Sparrow agreed to rent it.
Look, guys! The water is big. Take you away!
Don't worry, Grandpa! You are a Nikolaev soldier, I reproached him.
Abram sat on the stern. Moses and I sat down in one large shop for one pair of oars. On a wide, boundless surface of water the ship sailed straight in the direction of Melnikov Meadow, now hidden under water. Trees near the grove went into the water almost to the tops. The city with the castle of Prince Paskevich on the high bank remained far behind the stern. A wide, deserted water plain beckoned us forward into a silent distance.
Our loneliness, however, was broken. There was a boat among the treetops. Out of curiosity, we approached her. Soon we were noticed and apparently recognized we were in the open. We heard:
Hey, schmendriks! Stay away!
Keep on them, said Moses, and we went the same way.
At the stern sat the same Junker, who at the ball intercepted Katya Stepanova from me. On one pair of oars sat a dozen gymnasist Kronrod, the son of a merchant of the first guild, nicknamed the Dog. On the second sat his comrade in debauchery Ivanov, the son of the prosecutor. I knew that the Dog was winding around Mani Kovaleva, with whom Irma was hopelessly in love.The prosecutor often wrote to Kronrod's father: "Our sons gave the Lucullus a dinner in Kazakov's restaurant, beating dishes and mirrors." Be kind enough to pay half on this occasion.”
- Where are you going? Haven't you heard? We'll clear your ears! we rushed to meet you.
Moses' white eyebrows frowned. There was a crease on my forehead. His eyes looked fierce. He put down the paddle, pulled a folding knife out of his pocket, opened it. I didn't like it, so I told him:
- You gonna fight with a knife?
My mockery angered Moses, and he rushed me:
I don't know if you're going to fight or not.
I suppressed the anger at the insult and calmly said:
- Put the knife in your pocket. Let me act.
Moses obeyed. The enemy boats rushed towards us.
- That's it! Don't mess with me! said Abram and turned the boat.
- Cowards! Redeemer Rakhmetov! Snot will. Ivanov said dispassionately.
- Stop talking, Goldens! Get down to business, I warmed up the golden youth.
- On board! With a battle cry, the Junker blurted out.
Abram's maneuvers didn't interest me. I knew we couldn’t get away from the two-paired light boat anyway, so I decided to take advantage of our advantage in the stability of our heavy vessel. I stood on the bench with a paddle in my hands and made a false move, as if I were going to hit my enemies the moment they were on board. My enemies bowed down, saving their heads from my oar. But I didn't mean to hit the head.I calmly poked my oar to the bottom of their boat, leaning on it, and my foot swung its side. The boat scooped up water and began to sink. My enemies were in the water.
Munka Sodakar and the Ivanovs grabbed overboard our boat, and the Junker I had to give a paddle, which he did not hesitate to grasp. Wet, trembling, placed our enemies in our vessel. There was no talk of military action. We also enjoyed the successful outcome of the battle. We took the flooded boat tow and set off on the return journey. Juncker looked at me with respect as a winner.
The story of the naval battle spread throughout the city.
My classmates looked at me with envy. For junior high school students, I became a hero. Gymnasists savored the details of the event. They were delighted with the defeat of the golden youth. There were rumors that the prosecutor would demand my expulsion from the gymnasium.
And his son, who said,
Why expel him? He punished your dissolute son. Don't you dare, Daddy!
Juncker feared that the rumors would reach the military school, and asked his uncle-policemaster not to inflate matters.
I met Katya shortly afterwards on Rumyantsevskaya Street.
She bowed to me first. I went up and held out my hand to her. She had no hesitation, bravely gave her. The friend she was walking with disappeared and we were alone. We walked towards the square.
Wonders tell of your bravery, Katya.
I don’t know who the author of these stories is.
I was told about this by the Junker you met at the ball. Remember?
So what did he tell you?
What he said doesn't matter.
What's important?
The important thing is that I couldn’t stop laughing.
The father even asked what kind of hysteria it was. Juncker had to tell him all over again. He also laughed and asked the youngster what he was going to do. Juncker said it was all so unexpected for him... His father looked at him contemptuously, and he did not finish the sentence. I noticed there was nothing unexpected here. My dad looked at me and asked if I knew this kid, you, so.I said I knew, and I felt my father was worried about me. As you can see, it was easy for me to worship you as a friend.
I was silent for a long time, and Katya asked why I was silent.
“I have a good feeling for you, and therefore I am silent,” I replied.
- I wonder how you feel. Does Rakhmetov also have good feelings?
- The tone is playful, almost flirty, but it can't hide Katya's excitement.
How do you know about Rakhmetov?
- Here we go! All the gymnasium students call you Rakhmetov.
The square was deserted. The summer theater is boarded up. There's mud on the paths. The benches are wet. I opened my overcoat, sat down on a bench and covered one floor for Katya. She sat on it. I took her hand. She didn't fight back.
- Let's be friends, Katya!
- Will we, Grisha, or what do they call you there, Grishka, Girshka? - Katya switched to "you", without noticing it.
When I'm around you, I don't notice anyone else. It's not good to lose my head, but what can I do when I'm a little girl?
- You want me to call you sister?
- That's a good idea. I wish I had a brother like you.
And to whom did you say, “How cruel you are!” Remember that ball?
- Of course you do. He didn't exist to me then.
I wonder how your parents will feel about us. I wanted to say love, but I said friendship.
Katya understood my delay and said:
- Probably, just like yours.
We, sister, are going to face great trials, but we have to endure them.
I thought, or rather, went into myself, and when I woke up, I saw Katya’s eyes fixed on me. Gray, attentive like my mother, but in Russian with a braid, they seemed to look at my face from all sides and pull towards them with crushing force. I took her head with both hands. With pleasant surprise I felt the tenderness of the skin, silky hair. He drew him and kissed him on the lips. She accepted my kiss with all her being, but immediately jumped up, pulled away from me.I started straightening my hair. She looked at me from afar. After a little silence, she said:
- I didn't expect such courage from you.
- You contradict yourself. You just said that miracles tell of my courage.
- I didn't tell you. I was just listening,
- But I thought you believed it. I'm sorry if I made a mistake.
- All right, Grisha, let's not pretend. It's not good.
I thought: she is three years younger than me, and speaks to me like an elder, and I willingly obey her.
- Manya Kovaleva told me that you did not meet me because you are timid. But you're not a coward.
- Irma told Manet. Unscrupulous!
- What was I scared of? It's really nice.
She laughed and immediately became serious. The speed with which her mood changed for some reason disturbed and upset me.
I thought I was naked and defenseless in front of you, and I was wearing a bunch of clothes.
She came up, sat down, looked me in the eye with a long look, and said,
- You kissed for the first time. Look, don't kiss anyone else!
I was surprised. It was already clear to me that I would not kiss anyone else.
Without looking away from me, she said:
- He'll kill me. So be it!
Who?
- Yes, Father, she brushed it off.
I felt relieved.
I walked her home. We walked silently, shocked.
- Are you okay? asked Katya.
- Don't, Katyusha. Let me know what happened.
- You're right, Rakhmetov.
Her ridicule stirred me, but it did not drive away the joy of so recently experienced bliss. We kissed goodbye with a hasty kiss.
When I got home, my mother looked at me attentively, but said nothing.
I didn't take lessons. I refused to eat. I was fed up with the happiness that filled me so suddenly fell on me.
Our love was carefully concealed, but it was obviously impossible to hide it. We were teased with transparent innuendo. One student turned to me:
Katka, tell me you were asked in Latin.
Katya was teased by Rakhmetov. We were patient, looking for support from each other. I moved to eighth grade. She's in seventh. Our friendship has never been marred by a quarrel. We wanted to meet each other. Meeting, hugging, kissing. Share their successes and failures. Since the fifth grade, I have been teaching. Helping my parents. Katya was proud of it. I once bought her an elegant notebook. She was touched, kissed me.Another time I bought her tulips in a small pot.
You know what I like, she said simply. At each meeting, she told me that the tulips were still alive and pleased her. During the holidays we played together in the drama club. It gave us the opportunity to meet often. We were led by artist Glubokovsky. We prepared for the production of “Tomboy” Krylov. We had no scenery, so we decided to build a garden on the stage from live birch trees. We rented a horse and a cart. I dressed up as a cabbie and went to get birch trees.When I arrived, and Katya saw me in this outfit, she laughed to tears.
A real cab driver! They called you a cab driver for a reason.
"Tomboy" we played with great success. Katya played Tomboy, I'm Zakrutina. I was called for a long time and the troupe decided that I played the best. It wasn't without trouble. Bob was played by Boris Yakubovich, and in the course of the action he had to kiss Tomboy Katya, which he did with pleasure. Boris’s father, the noble father Vyacheslav, although he is not supposed to, was at the play. He liked my game.He sent me one bar of chocolate through the head of the free fire brigade, but told me that he had sent two to Gomolitsky, who played the general. It was an injection for my Jewish pride. Father Vyacheslav was a member of the Union of the Russian people, which explains his behavior. I told you to say thank you for yourself, and especially for my friend Gomolitsky. Katya nodded her head approvingly. I got very close to the troupe.Both the male and female parts loved me. Glad to see my success. Vsevolod Gomolitsky, always, as his name was, walked in a pelerin. We used to walk around with him. My hand rested on the slit of his pelerin. When he was not near me, he unconsciously reached for an imaginary neckline. I missed him. He agreed to go hand in hand with me for the rest of his life.
When I play with you on stage, I have a lot of trouble not laughing with pleasure. You're academically blending into the role. Reincarnate.
I enjoyed listening to that.
One day, we decided to go boating.
We met Brachkovsky and decided to take him with us as a good rower. We arrived at an island I know from the night. Landed. “Artists” turned their boxes and began to treat the “artists”. Brachkovsky settled down near Marusi Kirkevich, not far from me with Katya. He was very gentle with her. She was treating him to plums.
Your plums are so sweet, sweet! he pulled in a honeyed voice.
I put it in. If plums are sweet, then the voice should be sweet.
There was a deafening laugh of the whole troupe. Brachkovsky became embarrassed, turned pale. I leaned over to him and said,
Hatzkel's got you so tender, too?
Katya said:
Not good, friends! He's our first time in the company, and we embarrass him so much.
She leaned over to me and whispered:
What did you say in his ear?
I can't tell you that, Katya!
It was as if we had told each other everything.
I felt that Katya would not give in, and, choosing delicate expressions, explained to her what was the matter. To my regret, I heard:
Your comrade is cruel. Forgive him. That's what she said.
Brachkovsky.
Gentlemen, there was a pleasant bass of one "artist"
What do you hear from the mouth of our diva? She threw a heavy charge against our comrade. She accuses him of cruelty. We are now on a deserted island that is open to the accused. He brought us here. What an island, you can see for yourself. It is so small that we cannot be divided into groups according to the attraction of our hearts and secluded for conversations pleasing to God, for the salvation of our souls.We are forced to live on it as one Kahal, like the Jews brought out of Egypt by Moses into the wilderness. It is known that the Kahal rebelled against Moses, and only to the god of Sabaoth he owed his salvation. Let's rebel and resort to an axe, as Chernyshevsky put it. Toppling a brutal tyrant. We'll give him a people's trial. If he is not a false prophet, God save him. As you know, I graduated from theological seminary, and now I serve as a scribe for the justice of the peace.Spiritual judgment and worldly judgment are known to me. I offer my services as a prosecutor.
Judgment! – heard from all sides.
The voice of the people is the voice of God! I propose the following procedure: each of you will speak according to the dictates of his conscience for or against the accused. No one should be silent. The first will be the respected General6 Vsevolod Ardalonovich Gomolitsky.
I accuse, I began Vsedyad, I accuse Grisha of bewitching me with his demonic play on stage, and instead of focusing on my role, I looked at him. Such insidious cruelty towards his brotherhoodist must be severely punished. I want to give you one more fact that proves his cruelty. What you don't know is that there's a dangerous whirlpool on Sozha that sucks people into it.On one such day, when the two victims were recovered, the accused defiantly bathed in this dangerous place. Such a test of God proves his cruel temper. I suggest we take him to this whirlpool and drown him.
The second word will be given to our Lord Prince Bobi Boris.
Vyacheslavovich Yakubovich! the prosecutor declared.
Accuse me! Unlike previous speakers, I accuse without curtsey towards the accused and without reference to such authorities as Moses, Chernyshevsky and other foreign ideologues. I think like a Russian who understands Pobedonostsev better than Tolstoy and Purishkevich better than Plekhanov. The demonstration of your sympathy for the revolution, for the Jews, does not inspire me.The fact that the accused successfully played the Russian landowner Zakrutin is not a justified pretext for forgetting the interests of the Russian people.
He was interrupted by the voice of Marusi Kirkevich:
Not the Russian people, but the Union of the Russian people! This caused everyone to laugh, and Boris continued:
Nor is it a reasonable excuse to show our sympathy for the Jews. I will not speak in general places, but will deal with a specific case. The accused did not play, but was playing a Russian landowner. And where to play Ivan Khristoforovich Zakrutin, a Jew! He wandered with his characteristic cruel dislike of Russian reality. I emphasize cruel. It even felt Katya, with whom he is friends.Note the characteristic detail: he was nicknamed Rakhmetov. This is a stilted hero of Chernyshevsky, preaching a massacre with an axe. I fully support the accusation of insidious cruelty and suggest that we baptize it into the Russian Orthodox faith and issue a silver cross at our expense. He'll take it. A bar of chocolate from my father, the chairman of the local branch of the Union of the Russian people, he took and ate.
- Are you finished, High Prince? - The prosecutor thundered.
- I'm done, Boris answered.
Thank you, Creator, Aki did not create eloquence infinite! the prosecutor quipped, and everyone laughed.
“The word has a pole noblewoman Ekaterina Ivanovna Stepanova,” the prosecutor added.
Katya was angry, but tried to seem calm.
Gentlemen, she started. I was the unwitting culprit in bringing our comrade to justice. It hurts me that this comrade, who calls me, as you know, a sister, suffered because of me. Yes, I said, and not for the first time, that he was cruel. I'm not denying it now. But his cruelty is not criminal. On the contrary, it is truthful and directed against the lies that eat our souls. Without such cruelty, neither bold thought nor real human feelings are possible.Grisha has all this in abundance. Only such a limited person as Boris can not see this. We must not be aloof from this struggle if we are guided by our human conscience, if we feel our duty to the people.
- What kind of people? - Boris.
- To the working people. Russian, Jewish and other working people. I believe that the time is not far off when not only will there be no Jewish pogroms, but also the interests of the Jewish people will not be ignored.
- Now let's proceed with the execution.
I ran to the shore. I was followed by All and Brachkovsky. We stripped and swam. The fast current was taking us down. We fought with each other to the best of our ability and soon broke away from each other. More blown away by everyone. Brackowski was behind him. I'm after Barczkowski. He was always exhausted and shouted for help. Brachkovsky shouted to me, "It's always drowning!" I didn't believe it and said, "What nonsense!" Brachkovsky replied and added: Quickly! It won't be too late!
I'm coming! - I squeezed out of myself and rushed to them.
I didn't have to save everything. He touched Brachkovsky’s outstretched hand and declared that he needed nothing more. We sailed back, without breaking away from each other. All in the middle of me and Brachkovsky.
The island noticed our confusion. The boat left, rushed to us. On the stern sweepingly, freely, in Russian, Katya rowed with the correct paddle. She pointed the boat at me.
What happened?
Nothing, Katya! False alarm.
And I was terrified. You said you were going to execute the sentence.
No, I've been thinking. I will only do the part that concerns you.
And I, the fool, was worried like Anna Karenina at the races.
Always grabbed the stern, and Katya took him to the island, and Brachkovsky and I sailed on our own. When we were tired, we approached our comrades, All told about what had happened.
You know, I felt it was hard to reach for them, but I was ashamed to admit it, and soon I was exhausted. When I was supported, I calmed down, and the strength returned to me. You see, I was weaker than them.
In this confession there was dissatisfaction with himself, admiration for us, and bewilderment that he, a Russian, was weaker than us Jews.
The national antagonism I found in Ally surprised me.
I didn't see him in my room. I remembered the gentle women on the hay. I didn’t notice this antagonism between Katya and me either. Is it only the love of women that can overcome it? This thought was supplanted by Russian vodka, the song “From a country, a country far away...” and Katina’s hand on my shoulder.
We returned with an armada of four interlocked boats. We felt like a family. The exception was Boris. No one spoke to him. At the whirlpool, Katya shuddered: “I am a woman.”
Until now, Katya was a girl, a sister, and the tone with which he discovered a woman also seemed to me childish. I smiled as they smiled when I heard a serious phrase from the child’s mouth. Katya interpreted my smile differently:
Don't celebrate. I'll think about it. That's what the woman said. Noticing that I was sad, she said:
He said I was nice to you. He's good, Grisha, isn't he good?!
Yes, sister! It hurts because I hit him. It hurts so much that it would be easier to get hit like that yourself.
What we kept hidden in the subconscious, came out of the electric spark, which caused the victim Ivanov. There was a chasm in front of me and Katya that we had to cross. We were scared. I didn't want to leave the path we walked together like happy children. We were inspired by our innocence. When we met, we were happy with each other, but the former serenity was not. We started to be ashamed of each other. Stop kissing.Katya once told me:
I had a serious conversation with my father. Shall I?
Tell me.
He demanded that I stop seeing you. I told him I wouldn't give up alive, and he wouldn't have enough gunpowder to kill me.
There's another way.
What?
He'll leave you.
You won't intimidate him. He's as stubborn as I am.
But I've got enough gunpowder for him.
No, not enough! It's like me.
But understand this: he has shaken my authority in the regiment.
So the whole question is your authority, not my fate?
It's the same thing.
Nope. It's not the same thing. Recently, Grisha beat Ivanov only for dropping an irreverent phrase about me. He did so without concern for his authority or safety. He loves me more unselfishly than you do.
Beaten, you say?
Yeah, I hit him in the face.
Will the prosecutor swallow it again?
It will. Vanya said that he loved this bear, and ordered to be gentle with him.
Ordered, you say?
Ordered.
That's it. Invite him in.
I will, but I'll make sure he doesn't get in trouble.
Does he seem to defend himself well? All right. Invite me for Sunday.
I went to Katya's on Sunday night. I felt like I was going to have a big ordeal, and I was afraid I wouldn't stand it. The colonel did not know Jews. I had to face a hardened representative of a closed hostile caste. But the fact that he was Katya's father complicated the matter. I realized that I lacked flexibility and had to replace it with courage. But I'm shy.My debut will be less successful than on the amateur stage, I ironically over myself. I called. The batman opened it to me, and I told him to tell the lady that Grisha had come.
He answered me, and I thought: at least in front of the batterer did not drift!
Katya came out to meet. Said:
I wonder how you will talk to each other.
I felt that she was confident in me and that reassured me. She was wearing a simple white dress with a thin blue border. The red braid wrapped its head like a wreath, the eyes radiated heat. Her eyes look bright, too, I thought. I wanted to hug her and kiss her. I felt like she wanted that, too. We both suppressed our impulse at the same time. Nothing frightens us, I thought.
Katya took me into the living room. To meet me, a dense man of the same height as me rose, with a flat Russian beard and the colonel's shoulders. We looked into each other's eyes. His eyes were cold, but not hostile. We said hello, and after a short sentence, I heard a mocking voice:
- I need to introduce myself, young man!
The attack has begun! I thought. I calmly replied:
I'm sorry, but I was sure you knew who you were inviting into your house.
Katya said arrogantly:
- Dad, you know it's Grisha.
The colonel paid no attention to this and said:
- But do you have a name? In the eyes of the ridicule was obvious.
Katya broke out, wanted to say something, but I reassured her:
Don't worry, sister, I like soldier's language.
At the word “sister”, the colonel shuddered, and at the words “soldier’s tongue” turned pale. I calmly observed:
- I really like soldier's language. There's no mockery here. If you really want to know my name, you will have to listen to me patiently. I was recorded by Girsha Ioselevich Zeitlin, but this is wrong. It would be better to write me down Hirsch Iosifovich Tseytlin. But since the Jews identify their names, my name in Russian will be Grigory Iosifovich Tseytlin.Gymnasists and gymnasists know me under the name Grishka Zeitlin, or under the nickname Rakhmetov.
He said,
I listened patiently, but I don't know your name.
"Yes, it's hard to remember, of course," I replied, not without ridicule, but you understand me well. Of the four options, you have the right to choose any. I'm even wondering which one you'll choose.
The colonel turned pale for the second time, but I continued the offensive:
- What's your name?
It was a clear challenge, but there was nothing to complain about. I told him tone.
The colonel was silent, and I continued:
Judging by your epaulettes, I have the right to call you your noble.
- No, why? Ivan Ivanovich, - weighed a slight bow.
How old are you? he asked.
- It'll be twenty in April.
And I thought, seventeen, like... He's gone. He obviously wanted to say "like Katya," but caught on in time.
"In that case, I can offer you a cigarette," he said, handing out a cigarette case.
- Thanks, I don't smoke.
Rakhmetov does not smoke, Katya inserted.
Do you drink? the colonel asked.
I felt offended by Katie's remark and replied:
- I'm not saying no.
"Rakhmetov should not drink," Katya said emphatically.
Rakhmetov should not drink, should not be friends with Katya, but I am not a literary type. I'm alive, sister.
Katya was silent. I hurt her. The colonel asked:
- Are you a revolutionary?
- I haven't earned such a high rank yet.
"Give us some wine," said the colonel.
I turned around. At the door stood a similar Katya, but twenty years older. I bowed. She answered politely and walked out. Soon she appeared with a tray on which stood a bottle of red wine and two glasses. There was a pack of cookies on the plate. The colonel said nothing, went out and returned with a bottle of vodka and two glasses.
Katya said:
- Grisha, I forgot to introduce you. It's Mom.
- I know him from the fifth option, like Zakrutina. You played very nicely, said the mother, holding her hand.
A friend of mine said, I don’t know how to congratulate you. Is it Fedor?
Enough, enough, said the colonel. - Cheers!
I took a glass and said to my mother, “For you!”
"Thank you," she said coldly. - Why for me?
- You have the same eyes as Katya. And you watch them like Katya.
The couple were confused. Katya laughed quietly. I drank a glass in one shot. The colonel followed my example.
"Great honor," said the mother. - Can I get you something sour? she asked sympathetically.
From your hands I am ready to take sweet, sour and bitter, but this time we will do one bitter.
“You seem to know how to say compliments,” said the mother.
After the vodka, Katya said.
- Let's get to it! Let's go to the office, the colonel said. Katya followed us, but he said affectionately:
- You, girl, stay here. The colonel put me on the couch. Sit down. Noticing that I was looking at a gun hanging on the wall, he asked:
- Do you like guns?
- I love cramping.
- Really?
- Seriously.
- Strange, you're Jewish.
The Jews defended themselves for a thousand and a half years with weapons in their hands.
- I didn't know that.
- It's natural. They don’t know anything about Jews, or they know something bad.
- Evil said, young man. Now, know that I am not a Jew, but my fate had much in common with yours. Poor lieutenant, round orphan fell in love with a noble lady.
- I thought you wanted to offer me a duel.
- At least not.
- I won't shoot you.
Why not?
- Katya will be very upset. Very upset, he repeated.
- He'll be very upset. What will you do then?
- You're gonna have to shoot me.
- I'm not a killer.
- Me too.
- Someone wants to be a murderer. The officers are plotting something bloody. If it comes to a fight, of course you will not refuse?
- I don't think so.
But they probably won't fight. You're Jewish.
- Yes, I'm Jewish.
I will not let my officers turn into murderers. And Katya will be very upset, as you say.
- What are you going to do?
- What I'm going to do is off the record. Take the browning. If the police arrest you, tell them it's mine. That's the whole conversation. I wanted to warn you.
- I knew all about it. I can tell you.
- Tell me.
I'll tell you without giving you names. Your officers had this conversation: we need to remove this Jewish boy. You're so brave. Turned all the gymnasium girls' heads. Rakhmetov! What is it? A revolutionary or something. He beat up the prosecutor's son. Sinked the casket like a puppy. He'll take over the officers soon. Send me this operation. What are you gonna do? I'll pour a beer on him, and then let Katka kiss him. Where are you gonna spill it? He's not in here.He's not going to the pub with you. And it's not safe. Bayonets. Vanya was knocked down with one blow.
I wonder if we are officers or high school students. Crush and close! It's the liberal. His daughter's out with a lousy Jew. He will be happy to free his daughter from him. There's a contender. The bride will be free. The liberal is reminded that he forbade the officers from any connection with the Union of the Russian people. Suddenly there will be a mocking "Ugh." What is it? Listen, gentlemen, I like the boy. He's doing the right thing. And the girl is worth it.I'm taking them under my protection. Any move against them will lead to a fight with me. Maybe someone is in a hurry and doesn’t want to delay? Tell me!
- Yes, an accurate verbatim record. My intelligence doesn't know any such details. How did you know that?
- Very simple. Your officers look after the gymnasium girls.
Gymnasists learn everything from them and pass it on to us.
- Katya knew about it?
- That's what dad's gonna ask his daughter.
- You'd make a good officer.
- Yes, baptism, etc. Tell me, by the way, Colonel, where was your regiment during the pogrom?
- The regiment was in the barracks. Neither officers nor soldiers participated in this disgrace.
- You mean not actively involved!
- Yeah, right reproach. But I couldn't do otherwise.
- Katya can.
- Katya's a girl.
Are you saying that when she gets older, she can't do it either?
Yes. Exactly that.
- And for that future, you want to deprive her of her present?
- Our present is better than you think.
- It will happen without my intervention.
- I love Katya, but you don't.
- Ivan Ivanovich!
- What, honey?
How did you talk to the king?
- Oh, they even told you about it!
- Yeah, even that.
- Just like you and me.
- No, tell me!
- He stared at the damaged ephesus of my checker and asked: what does this mean? “This, Your Majesty, is a Japanese shard, and I have decided not to part with this shard.” Why aren't you a general? My name is Stepanov, Your Majesty. That's the whole conversation. I reminded him that the army was dominated by Germans. He didn't like it, and I didn't get a general.
- So you're a revolutionary?
“No, I don’t deserve such a high rank,” he laughed.
- All right, Grisha's safe. And you were worried about him. He said as he entered the living room.
- We were both worried about you! - Katya snapped.
- You did the right thing. Grisha said he'd shoot me, but he doesn't want to upset you.
Katya looked at me and I laughed and said,
- Congratulations, Ivan Ivanovich!
- With what?
- You chose the latter option.
- We're even. Women, don't hurt him. I have somewhere to go. Not goodbye. I hope to see you again.
Colonel's gone. Mom invented an excuse and left us alone. I sat next to Katya.
- Congratulations, brother. You got him!
She noticed that my pocket was protruding and asked:
- What have you got?
- Browning, I replied.
- Why?
- He gave it to me. Says the officers are plotting something against me.
- Intelligence means he's working. Now I have to conquer your mother.
- It won't help you.
- I already know her a little.
I was surprised.
- From your diary. Shura took it out of your pocket and gave it to me. At first I was ashamed, but I began to read and read. Did she faint when you came back from abroad?
I went through my pocket. The diary was there.
- I put you back. I already tried. I came and asked, Can I see Grisha? She said, "Girshka's not home." Tell me what? You don't give him anything. She looked at me very carefully. Her eyes are radiant, too. Deep, good, pure, she can be loved. Why is she dressed so badly?
- She doesn't just dress badly. She fasts twice a week. She has a special relationship with the Jewish God.
I'll tell her I'm going to be Jewish.
- She's in a lot of pain. She does not say anything, although she feels that something terrible is coming at her.
- Yeah, she can keep quiet. Grishka, you don't understand anything.
- What am I supposed to understand, Katyusha?
You don't have to understand, you're not a woman, and we're both women and we like each other. That rarely happens.
Katina's mother is back. Said:
- I'm bored without you.
- Welcome, Olga Vasilievna. I said.
She was not surprised that I called her by name and patronymic. Said:
When I saw you in Zakrutin, I thought you had talent. You obviously decided to become an artist?
I decided not to be a professional actor.
- And by whom?
If fate does not fail, I will be a mathematician.
She was surprised, but said nothing more. She said,
- You sing?
- Very bad. I don't dance at all.
- Sing something Jewish.
If you sing, I'll sing too.
- What do you want?
- The lonely sail is whitening.
- Okay, she said softly.
She sang to Katie's accompaniment. Very successfully shaded Lermontov's soulfulness. She made me anxious. There was silence in the room.
- The agreement is more expensive than money! - said Olga Vasilievna.
- Have mercy, Olga Vasilievna!
“I thought you never asked for mercy,” Katya said.
- Olga Vasilyevna, it turns out, please.
- Why is that? interested Olga Vasilievna.
After your speech, I realized that I was illiterate, and I was afraid.
- No, you keep your word!
- All right, I will. Let the fear pass.
- You're afraid of your mom, and you're not afraid of me? I'm jealous!
- How do you like her?
- I really like her.
- Two against one?
- No, three against the world.
- You specified as a real mathematician. Do you like Russian composers? asked Olga Vasilievna with the explicit intention of defusing the tension.
- I love it.
- Who?
- Gurilev for "Bells", Glinka for "Lark", Varlamov for "White sail lonely." Don't expect any more mature judgments from me.
Olga Vasilievna said softly:
- Fear's gone. Sing!
I sang Bialik's "Home Me." I didn't look at Katya. I knew she was biased and would forgive me even for being illiterate. I was looking at Olga Vasilievna. I feared her trial. She said:
- You know how to feel. You succeed in the Jewish motive. I sighed like after my final exam. They demanded a transfer. I willingly did that.
“Hold me under your wing!
Be my mother and sister!
May your breasts be a refuge for my head,
The nest of my rejected prayers ... and so on, literal translation, white verses ...
Katya recorded the translation. Silently read and thought. Against the habit, I couldn't tell by her face what she was thinking.
It was as if you were singing non-Jewish, said Olga Vasilievna. Katya stared at me.
"In Hebrew," I replied.
- The deal was to sing in Jewish.
- You are ruthless, Olga Vasilievna!
- That's not true. I challenge you for an encore. There's nothing ruthless here.
- I'm still afraid of your trial.
I don't think you're a coward, so you'll sing again.
I was puzzled: there was not a single Jewish song in my poor repertoire. I've just discovered it. I was ashamed to confess, and I sang "Take away my soul..."
- A Russian song with a Jewish motif?
"A Jewish song in Russian," I corrected.
- Who's the author?
- The author is Jewish Frug.
- Very rusty, then.
- A lot more than you've got.
- I'm not crazy at all.
- And Jesus Christ?
Yes, it is. Tell me something about Froug.
I will tell you what Chekhov says about him. Okay? Interesting.
Chekhov once defined the merits of writers before Russian literature as follows: if Russian writers could be distributed on a list of ranks, it would look like this:
1. Real Privy Councillor: "Vacancy"
2.Secret Counselor: Leo Tolstoy, Goncharov
3. Actual State Advisor: Pushkin, Lermontov
4. State Councillor: Gogol
5. Adviser: Frug, etc.
No rank: Okreuz.
- Who's Okreuz?
- An anti-Semitic writer.
Everything you said is very interesting, but you will still sing in Jewish.
Katya said all the time:
If you don't spare him, at least spare your daughter. Let me wake up. I thought he didn't sing at all. You told me that.
- I still think so. It was Olga Vasilievna who provoked me. I'm not thinking about you.
- What is it?
- That you're a good dancer and you've never sung or danced for me.
- All right, let's go dance!
She fascinated me and started teaching waltz. I couldn't do it. Katya was upset and said:
- You really are a bear.
I invite you to the waltz! I answered and famously turned it around.
She was beaming with pleasure, but suddenly she dodged so cleverly that I almost fell. She stood in a fighting position and said angrily:
- So you pretended, lied?
- No, Katyusha! It was strange that you were making me do learned movements. I didn’t feel comfortable thinking about every step and I didn’t do anything.
- But you're dancing!
- I don't know how I did it. I wanted you not to be upset, and I had confidence.
- Were you afraid Katya would be upset?
- I don't want to upset you.
- Did you say something like that to your father?
I told him I wouldn't shoot him because it would make you very sad.
- All right, bear, I'll kiss you.
Olga Vasilievna hastened to leave the room. I thought there were tears in her eyes.
- You have moments when you're out. You forget everything, and I think you're leaving me. I'm getting scared. When you sang, "The stars deceived me, there was a dream, and it passed." Now I have nothing, nothing in the world, I thought to myself: Is your joy as deep as your sorrow? Do you know how to rejoice deeply? I want you to know how. I must give you such joy.”
The joy of which Katya spoke burst into my heart with wild force and overwhelmed him. But what is it? She's not serene at all! It felt like Katya had taken my soul into her fingers. Fingers are tender, but they hurt. I said,
- Katya, why didn't you ever sing to me?
She said,
- We were all right without the songs, I insisted:
- Why did you stop singing and dancing?
- That's it! But you didn't sing for me either.
I was not satisfied with the answer, but I felt that in this case Katya had the right not to say7 We were silent, and then Katya said:
Bear, if I ever forget that moment, kill me.
- That's impossible, Katya.
- If so, you don't have to carry a gun in your pocket.
Browning was in her hands before I could argue. Katya continued:
If you have to shoot, the colonel's daughter will.
Browning is mine. He had no right to give it.
I hate to be disarmed, but I have a six-shot bulldog. Remember, he will never threaten you. By the way, Chekhov wrote Ivanov. Read it?
I read and thought: now you are Ivanov and I am Sarah.
- What do you mean by that?
I want to say against Chekhov that if you weren't Jewish, I wouldn't love you.
I can only say that if you were not Russian, I would not love you.
Let’s agree: if they insult the Jews, then I act, if they insult the Russians, you.
- We seem to feel the same way.
- It's been known for a long time.
We have managed to protect our right to mutual affection, and the recent tensions in our relations have disappeared. Sex drive has receded into the background. Our friendship deepened. We felt confident that we could continue to defend it. We didn't hide our meetings anymore.
We got better, but the colonel got harder. The fact that I was openly received in the house was universally condemned. The regimental ladies stoked the discontent of officers who felt a danger to their caste traditions. A supporter of the Union of the Russian people, Captain Feoktistov openly called the colonel “Jewish father”.When the colonel once “kicked” a dumbass (so called Feoktistov) for shortcomings in the combat training of the 4th company, which the captain commanded, he reacted to it in a strange way. He beat up two Jewish soldiers. He hit one on the head. The second one was stronger.Having received a blow, he did not stand in the position of "attention!", but clenched his fists, asked with surprise: "What are you fighting for?" This was a clear defiance, and Feoktistov had to continue the massacre, but he felt the hated eyes of all the soldiers and retreated. The soldiers who kept the grave silence barked after him:
Whoa! I hit him like a pole! Didn't even swing!
Feoktistov’s calculation was simple: if the colonel takes under the protection of soldiers, then the nickname “Jewish Father” will be established for him, but if he does not intercede for the soldier, then this will be considered cowardice. The beaten soldiers had to complain about Feoktistov through him. They did not, and the colonel had no formal right to intervene. He took advantage of that. A duel between commander and subordinate could not take place, but nevertheless it was brewing.
It wasn't a duel. The dark forces were able to slander the colonel. The regiment was taken from him and appointed military commander in the city. Katya's gone. We broke up. We parted while our hearts were reaching out to each other. When Katya promised me joy, joy, deep as sorrow. My yearning for her never left me for a minute. I often woke up at night and each time my first thought was of her. She and I were texting.Letters addressed on demand were full of anxiety about the future. Even the final exams didn't displace that anxiety.
In June, I finally received a certificate of maturity and in a student cap and an old gymnasium suit appeared at the house of the military chief. I saw Katya through the crack of the fence in the garden. She was sitting in a sun lounger. She was wearing a white dress with a blue notch. She knew I liked this dress. Is she expecting me today?
I wanted to approach her unnoticed. I succeeded.
Katya sat with her eyes closed. I stopped and started looking at her face. The traits remained the same, but there was no more childish expression in them. Katya, without opening her eyes, said:
- How long are you gonna stand like this? I saw that you wanted to go unnoticed, and I thought I'd give you the pleasure.
- Hello, Katya!
- Hello! That you're not right? Did I get sick?
- No, Katyusha. I got out of the car dirty. You're wearing a white dress.
- I noticed it! I put it on for you. I knew I'd see you today. Well, let me kiss you. You're always clean to me.
She jumped up, ran into the house and came out with a towel.
There's no juice here, but there's a pond. Let's go swimming, it's uncomfortable to show you to your mom.
She threw a towel over my head, hung on it, looked me in the eye and said,
You're wearing a college cap, but you're still a bear!
We walked alongside. Random touches of our shoulders, elbows shook us off like decayed rags, the weaving of alienation with the longing of separation. As our hearts melted, I took her tender maiden hand. Our hands were bent at our elbows. We snuggled together and felt the familiar intimacy of first love. Our movements were coordinated, as was the beating of our hearts.
We slowly walked along the clean streets of a Ukrainian town that I did not know. We were in no hurry to have something to talk about. I met a gymnast. Katya intercepted their curious glances and said:
- They're looking at you. Well, you're an interesting student.
You looked at me carefully today. What did you discover about me?
- Your childish facial expression is gone.
- And my old man says I'm yellow. You're right, I think about things that kids don't think about. I'm thinking about our future. I speak of ours because I do not think of us alone without the other. Do you agree with that?
- I agree with that.
So I decided to go to medical school.
I understand. Do you think a doctor would be a better friend than a ballerina? I can't help but appreciate this victim.
No kidding! It is clear that I will not be a landlord, a general, or a merchant. It follows that I must adjust to a modest life. See, for the first time in my life, I washed my dress. Not bad, huh?
- No, not bad.
- What's good? Is it nice to wash or is it nice to do this?
- Both.
- I knew you'd say that. Keep listening. I read Bialik, in translation, of course. I don’t know how Rakhmetov will react to this, but I think he won’t be angry with me.
I was thinking. Katya didn't bother me. I said,
- I think such a smart girl can understand Bialik.
I thought about it when you sang “Home Me.” By the way, you're just thinking, and for the first time I thought you were leaving me. Now it remains to resolve the last question, but that's after. Tell me about yourself. How did the final exams in Gomel go?
- So, listen, my clever reader Bialika, a page from Russian reality. Listen and be a judge. Mishka Ivicsky shot himself. The exam in mathematics was attended by Kosakovsky from the Vilna academic district (whose surname is Kosa!) He cut it off. The absurdity of this death is obvious. Mishka Ivitsky, as you know, a capable, tall, handsome, strong and brave young man, shot himself in the forehead because of the hopelessness of his situation.His father is a wealthy landlord. He'd be admitted to military school. The fact is that all his fellow students believe that he knew mathematics well, and his failure is considered a misunderstanding. After my Latin exam, everything became clear to me. It was one of the last exams. I passed it, as it seemed to me, not bad, and left without waiting for the announcement of marks.The next morning I learned that Shumeyko, who had been appointed inspector from the district for this exam, had given me a deuce, and all my work was wasted. I thought I was wrong about yesterday's exam, so I went to see my Latinist, Mark Osipovich. I ask, why did I get a double? “Not a two, but a four.” Mark Osipovich, please. Tell me, do you think the four you gave me yesterday deserved? Was there any leniency?“I consider the four deserved. What led Shumeyka, I cannot judge.” I went to Shumeyko's.
- Yeah, I gave you two, he told me.
- I know that. I also know that Mark Osipovich gave me a four. Are you sure about the fairness of your assessment?
Oh, yeah! Beginning with Caesar, I was sure I would give you two.
- But Caesar is the start of the exam! So from the beginning of the exam, you already knew you'd cut me off? You had no right to approach me with prejudice!
Shumeyko had no answer, and I concluded:
- I'm clear now.
The point, of course, is not personal animosity, but that he is a psychopath with power. At the beginning of the exam, I had the imprudence to disagree with his remark. I translated Caesar. It was said that the bank of the river was fortified with pointed stakes. And the stakes were under water and above water. I literally translated that. Shumeyko asked:
- The stakes, I hope, were rows?
- It's not about rows. The stakes did not have to be multi-row, but depending on the relief of the protected coast.
Mark Osipovich observed:
I'm a Latinist, and you're both arguing about military fortification. I don’t risk joining either opinion.
As I later learned from the students of Shumeyko, the latter does not allow objections, he puts two.
My visit to Shumeyko had the consequence of his agreement to give me the average mark (4 + 2): 2 = 3, and I was saved.
Now tell me, honey, why did this incident happen to me? My mother says it's because I'm an only son.
Katya laughed infectiously. *
- I'm not interested in that question. It could happen to anyone. I'm glad you were able to protect yourself. Same thing happened when you sank the Junker in the cold spring water. I recognize you, my bear. And Mishka Ivitsky, obviously, was killed by a fool like this Shumkiko.
Well, honey, you celebrate early. I defended myself from Shumeyko, but I did not defend myself from my lawlessness. I'm not going to university. You won't insist that I be baptized, will you?
- No, honey, I won't insist. You don't have to do this.
- Then we'll have a long separation. Can we hold her?
- We gotta hold it.
- I decided to go to Belgium, to Liège. There are no national restrictions. I'm not going there this year. In the fall, I am called. I am an only son and I am entitled to the first benefit. This means that if enough people are selected, I will not be taken into the army and I will be able to go abroad.To enter the University of Liège, you need to pass a serious entrance exam, and if I leave next spring, then by the beginning of the academic year in autumn, then I will be a student of the University of Liège. That's my immediate target. Ten months until next spring. During this time, I hope to save 500-600 rubles in my lessons. That's enough for me to leave for my first year. And whatever God gives. As you can see, I have a plan of struggle. It only needs to be approved.
- Where do I get it?
- In one instance.
- Which one?
- You're the authority.
- That's good. You, too, think of us as inseparable from each other. Affirmative.
At this time we passed by a white Ukrainian hut, alone standing outside the city. The gate to the yard was open, and from there a huge dog rushed at us. There was nowhere to wait, and I decided the best defense was the offensive. I went to her holding the towel with both hands at both ends. My intention was to throw a towel around the dog’s neck and try to take it into the noose when it throws itself at me. I had something to protect.Katya was behind me.
The dog stopped and backed up. She was puzzled by my towel. A triangular yellow big head, angry, bloodshot eyes, snapping jaws with large fangs and barking bass left no doubt that I was facing a strong and dangerous enemy. I was maneuvering with a towel. My enemy was looking for an opportunity to throw. At this time, a woman came out of the hut and calmly began to watch our fight. Katya shouted to her to remove the dog. The woman calmly said:
- That wine isn't afraid of her.
She was offended that I was not afraid of her dog. She did steal the dog.
Katya took me by the arm, snuggled up to me, and I was happy with the result of the fight.
We walked silently to the pond. We chose a cozy bump on the shore and settled on it. I insisted that Katya take a bath first. I was motivated by the fact that we have one towel, and after me it will be dirty. Katya didn't accept the victim. I undressed. Left in his underwear. Katya wasn't ashamed of me. I bathed in glory.
"Dirty shit makes sense," I said.
"Well, you're clean," she said, seated on my stubble.
- You said I was always clean for you, didn't you?
- It's clean for everyone now. Get dressed.
I got dressed.
Isn't it time to solve the last question?
- Oh, you remember?
- Yeah, I remember.
- I decided to get a haircut.
- As a nun?
- On the contrary. I want to be a haircut nihilist. Lots of long hair stuff.
- Cut your hair?
Yes. My hair. Why are you confused?
- I remember.
- What did you remember?
- They seemed so good to me then!
- When then?
- The first time I kissed you.
Katya paused and said,
- I want you to let me.
Do what you want, Katya, but let me say goodbye to them.
- Goodbye.
I sprained her braids. My hair crumbled down my back. I pinned
to their face. I smelled them.
- Do you like them that much?
- Yes, Katya.
- Them, not me?
I forgot my hair and I thought about Katya. Kissing lips, eyes. Kissing her face. Started undressing her. She grabbed her dress with both hands. A struggle ensued, in which it was difficult to determine whether she was hindering me or helping me.
- Grisha, what are you doing? I gave my word.
But her eyes caressed, beckoned, encouraged.
She slipped out of the dress, and the struggle unfolded.
The rest of her toilet. At this time, we heard the abuse in the purest Ukrainian language. My meager knowledge has only allowed me to understand that we are shameless, that we will be driven away by the wood. Behind the bushes stood the owner of the dog with a tailwood in his hand. It wasn't even a strawberry, it was a thick aspen stick.
The woman with the tailwood was not at all terrible, rather funny, but nevertheless she forced us to obey her will. We came to our senses and stopped fighting. Katya jumped up, began to straighten the dress. When she realized she was not wearing a dress, she laughed and said:
You stripped me. I can swim now.
She ran to the pond. She stopped at the water itself, dumped all the rest of her toilet, turned to me completely naked, slightly supporting her breasts. She seemed dazzlingly beautiful to me. It hurt to look at her. After all, her slender figure seemed to say: See, bear, I am not ashamed of you at all.
It went on for a moment. She threw herself into the water like a frog and swam. The same way, moving all four of their limbs femininely. The loose hair stuck to her slender, beautiful neck, making her look like a mermaid. To get out naked from the water she still did not dare.
- Grisha, get out of the bushes! I hope you're not afraid of that woman.
I took my time. A reckless impulse gave way to depression.
She stood up in the water and waited:
- You're not leaving. I'm going to stay here, she invented a new word. That's it!
I slowly began to sink into the water. I got scared. I went to the bushes. The terrible woman left the wood and left.
Katya came up to me dressed, with my hair in her hands. She did not carry her side, but in front of her. Apparently blocking a crumpled dress. She had a guilty face. Said:
- Grisha, pull yourself together. You know, I'll do anything for you.
- I know, Katyusha. Don't spare me. Who did you give your word to?
My old man took my word that I would not surrender myself to anyone until I was twenty. I understand, I say that I have no power over your feelings, but make this sacrifice to me if you care about my life. I promised. I decided to hide it from you. You know, I wasn't sure I'd keep my word.
She looked away, blushed.
I kissed both hands that were holding my hair. She is.
I got it and put it on. She told me to take a stick to protect her from the dog.
I hope you agree that our relationship is not limited to what we have decided? You and I have been so good friends for two years.
We will fight, Katyusha, to preserve this friendship for life.
- For life! In your eyes I saw an impulse that I could not resist. If it weren't for that woman, I'd be your wife. Let's assume we're husband and wife. We will give each other our word that in two years we will see each other as close as we are now.
- My word, Katya!
- My word, Grisha!
We kissed a friendly kiss and walked side by side, enlightened, free from passion, worries and desires. As we approached the scene of the dog's attack, I was distracted by the question of whether it would happen again and looked in the direction where the enemy might have come from. I was armed and had no doubt about the outcome of the fight. As I stepped back to a safe distance, I threw a stick and turned around. There was no grumpy woman. There was no evil dog. There was no Katya.I didn't know what to think. I felt like I was with her all the time. Katya came from behind the trees. She ran, even though no one was chasing her. I heard:
- How awful it is to look at an old well!
- What well? - I was surprised. I didn't see him, he was off the path.
There was fear in Katya's eyes. The fear in Katya's bold, clear eyes stunned me. I rushed to the well. Katya delayed me. She grabbed both hands, snuggled up to me. I didn't want to get away from her trembling body. I stayed there and looked anxiously into her eyes, from which fear was gone. Something strange slipped between us. The anxiety passed as suddenly as it appeared. Youth did not want to leave us, and we went all the way back like carefree children.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to see you, Olga Vasilievna!” I said, greeting my mother.
- You're welcome, too, she said. You look very cheerful. Where were you?
Katya talked about our bathing, about my fight with the dog. Olga Vasilievna listened condescendingly and asked:
- Where are your things, Grisha?
That meant I was going to live with them.
I confessed that I had come without belongings for a day.
When the colonel arrived, I reported in military terms:
An uninvited guest has arrived, Colonel!
"My daughter's friends and my friends," he replied and looked at me and Katya closely.
Grisha said that he came for one day, said Olga.
Vasilievna.
- Why is that? asked the colonel.
- I have lessons, Ivan Ivanovich! Going abroad. Saving money.
- I know a way to keep you longer.
- What kind of remedy?
- Give me your word you won't tell anyone.
- I'm interested in you. I promise.
Katya looked at me reproachfully and left the room.
The tool turned out to be very simple. The colonel offered me
Take some fencing lessons from him.
I knew you wouldn't give up, he said.
The temptation was great, and I agreed.
- Don't forget! You promised not to tell anyone about it.
We will fencing from five to seven in the morning. Which weapon would you choose?
- A four-sided bayonet rifle. She shoots, stabs, butts. A universal weapon.
The colonel gave me a lecture on the rifle, explained what techniques he would teach me tomorrow. I'm sorry we won't have time to do a checker.
At dinner I sat between Ivan Ivanovich and Katya. He and I drank vodka. It brought us closer. The colonel was outspoken.
The Japanese war proved that our army is not all right. It is necessary to draw appropriate conclusions, but no one makes them. At the head of the army are either the Germans or the highest nobility. The nobility degenerates and cannot allocate enough capable officers. Technical equipment in the modern army is of paramount importance. We need personnel who are able to quickly master new equipment, and the whole mass of soldiers is illiterate.In these conditions, the lack of rights of Jews, more literate than others, brings considerable harm. In the French army, the Jews (Nei) were capable commanders, and this is impossible with us. It is all the fault of our politics. The slightest freedom of thought is brutally persecuted. I'm also christened a liberal. To complete our misfortunes, after Peter the Great, our kings shredded. No outstanding person!
You, Ivan Ivanovich, are not a liberal, but a true revolutionary. The trouble is that you are doomed to inactivity.
May God make you happier, he said.
Katya followed our conversation, but did not participate in it. Olga Vasilievna said:
- Enough politics! The servant hears everything.
For a new Russia! - I went crazy with Ivan Ivanovich.
He drank silently.
It's time to sleep, said Olga Vasilievna. Grisha, follow me!
She took me to a separate room where a bed was made for me. I bowed down and kissed her tender, laborless little hand. She kissed me on the forehead, said,
- What am I gonna do with you? I wanted to talk to you, but you smell like that nasty stewooge. Clean as a baby, and you drink vodka! It's complicated, it's complicated. Go to bed!
She left quickly, leaving me confused. I undressed, went to a clean bed. From the experience of the day, vodka slightly dizzy. As always, when I was alone, I thought of Katya. I remembered our struggle at the pond. I remember her words: for life, I give my word, Grisha! Our feelings are overwhelming. They are huge and cool us down like the atmosphere we breathe, I thought.
Well, Rakhmetov! Can I give up female love? I joked at myself and immediately remembered that the last few hours I was separated from her. I didn't exchange a word with her. I remembered how she looked at me reproachfully when I promised not to tell anyone. I didn't even say goodbye to her when I went to bed. Getting close to her parents takes her away from me! They understand that.
I really wanted to see Katya. I was ready to sneak into her room at night, although I was clearly aware of the folly of such an act.
I remembered and decided: no, Katyusha, I will not come to such brutality.
I fell asleep. Sleeping soundly. Impossibly. I woke up like a windmill and went into the garden. I sat in the chair where I found Katya when I arrived. Three days and then a long time apart, I thought. “For life!” I remembered, and the anxiety increased.
Ivan Ivanovich left at exactly five o'clock. I approached him and said,
- Rookie Zeitlin is on your orders!
He looked at me and a barely noticeable smile touched his face. Obviously, my dressing was not quite military.
- We'll take care of the barn, he said.
A rifle with a bayonet was leaning against the wall, and ten steps between two stakes stuck in the ground, a stuffed person was hung. I made it for me! I thought.
Take the rifle! he commanded, keeping an eye on me.
I took the rifle with great eagerness, and it did not escape his attention.
- Well, here we go!
- I'm ready, Ivan Ivanovich!
- No, I'm not. You didn't check if the rifle was loaded, he besieged me abruptly.
I corrected my mistake based on his lecture yesterday. The techniques of bayonet combat were easy for me. My instructor was clearly pleased and tried to test my stamina. Many times he commanded: “Stay on the fall, if you will!” and made great restraint. This difficult test I withstood, for which he gave me a brief “well done!” When it came to the stuffed man, it turned out that my bayonet beats were deflecting from the center of the stuffed man.I ran up to the stuffed man many times, made a strong attack, but I never managed to pierce the stuffed man “in the center”. I was angry with myself, lost patience, and because of this my bayonet veered further to the right. I was sweating, breathing heavily, but I didn’t stop trying until I heard the command “Stop!”
Your right hand is much stronger than your left. They're great. Enough for today, said Ivan Ivanovich, looking at the clock. We'll fencing tomorrow. Now put the effigy in the shed.
Will you go to sleep? he asked.
- No, I'm going for a swim. Clear my doubts.
- What doubts?
- All of them, I evasively answered. Thanks for class!
I undressed on the same bump where I had my first impulse yesterday. Before her eyes closed, Katya turned to me before throwing herself into the water. I didn't want to open my eyes so I wouldn't let that vision go. I thought to myself: I love her, I am friends with her, I am devoted to her, and this did not prevent me from so rudely attacking her yesterday! Repentance gnawed at me, but deep down I could not judge myself. What is the essence of our relationship?I asked myself a question. There's no answer, I decided. This is life with its contradictions. It is important that Katya did not condemn me. My dear, you forgive me everything, so you love me! I did not think about how complex these contradictions were and what danger they posed.
When I returned, Katya was sitting in the garden in a sun lounger. I approached her. Sitting on the ground at her feet.
Where did you run away from me? she asked.
- I went swimming. I was thinking about you.
- I thought about you all night.
- What do you think?
- I thought we should pull ourselves together. I've been up all night thinking you'd sneak in, but you've obviously been lying drunk. What a sour mine! You can't be kidding me! Good thing you didn't come. It would be a betrayal of our future, of our friendship, and we gave our word.
- I wanted to sneak in, but your mom got in the way.
Was she watching you? she was watching you.
I told you about our conversation. About how she puzzled me.
My poor mother had a tragedy when she was young. She never talks about it. She's afraid for me and, judging by this conversation, for you. Be kind to her, "clean baby." By the way, you still smell like a stew.
What does your formula mean: pull yourself together? Shouldn't we kiss?
Kate laughed like she did two years ago.
- No, I don't want that. You will do everything you have done so far. But you won't go any further than that. Hold on! You can handle it. You're Rakhmetov. You're late for breakfast. I'll get you something to eat.
She brought me some ham sandwiches and tea in a thermos.
- Here, eat the hater. I won't tell your mother.
You'd better show me the pig's ear. That would be more understandable.
- Don't worry. I'll never do that. How many days will you and I spend together?
- Three days, then separation.
- And that's what your father did?
Yes, he is. You didn't ask me to do that.
Katya was silent for a long time. I couldn't stand it. Said:
- You can't be kidding me!
- All right! What are you hiding from me?
- I promised not to tell anyone.
- Okay, don't tell me. I'll find out. Just remember one thing: our relationship is about us. I'll be ruthless.
- I won't take pity on you.
- Sorry! I think I said something stupid.
We spent the whole day together, inseparable. Katya was affectionate with me, but I felt her head working on the question of what purpose my father had kept me for three days. At lunch, she looked at me and back. And the next morning, this is what happened.
Ivan Ivanovich and I went out at five in the morning and started fencing. I armed myself with a rifle, and he fought me off with a checker. The pace of our struggle was gradually accelerating, but I was always careful, afraid that my bayonet would hurt him. Ivan Ivanovich noticed this and said:
Don't be afraid for me! Act boldly!
There was a duel between us. At this time, Katya, who had tracked us, rushed to us with a cry of “Stop it!” We had already stopped and looked at Katya with surprise, not losing sight of the enemy’s weapons by inertia. Kate was wearing a light white jacket, a flap tucked into a white short skirt, and slippers on her barefoot. Her hair was disheveled. Girl's breasts, not tightened by a bra, dangled under the jacket in the beat of running.She ran like a woman, with slightly twisted legs. The whole figure represented female confusion. Katya stopped, read the surprise on our faces and ran away with a cry of “Well, I’m a fool!” The colonel looked after her with disgust and contempt. I wanted to catch up and comfort her, but I had a rifle in my hand, and the colonel in front of me, and I stayed there.
I said,
You didn't look well at Katya, Ivan Ivanovich. What are you thinking now?
"I'm thinking about the fact that she was not worried about her father, but about you," the colonel replied.
- Katya saved you.
- It would be funny if I ran into a bayonet of a recruit.
- You've already run into it. Look at your left hand above your elbow.
- Yeah, almost upset Katya!
- I've already upset her by keeping my word to you. Did you intentionally do that?
Yes. I wanted to tame your recklessness and see if you would keep your word.
- You don't know Katya well. Don't do that again.
- Okay, I won't. Well, go explain to her that I didn't mean to kill you. I defended myself and you attacked.
I entered the room without knocking. She stood by the window and was not surprised by my appearance.
- Forgive me, Katya!
After what you've seen, you might not have apologized.
I hugged her tight. A light jacket opened, and I kissed her maiden breasts. She didn't fight back. Light clothing did not hide her body. We both felt that there were no barriers between us, that the fateful merger that we had long been greedy for was about to happen. Katya hung helplessly on me. In a whisper, I asked:
What are you gonna do to me?
I carried her to bed, but I didn't bring her to bed. There were heavy footsteps in the corridor. The Colonel warned us. He came in without knocking, looked at us, understood everything. Said:
Come on! Make sure she's cleaned up.
I'm out. The colonel followed me as an arrested man.
The kitchen door was open. I went to the sink, put my head under the water tap, and held it under a cold stream until the colonel said,
You can't!
It was unclear: you can not keep your head under the tap or you can not do this with Katya. The servant who didn't understand gave me a towel.

I stood on the platform of the third class carriage and from behind the conductor I looked at Katya standing on the platform. In my hands was a neat package that she prepared for me on the road. When the train started, I put the package into the hands of the perplexed conductor, jumped onto the platform, hugged and kissed the lost Katya and jumped back to the platform on the move. Katya stood frozen like a statue and watched me with unblinking eyes.
Good girl! said the guide, handing me the package.
It had provisions and a beautiful leather wallet with a silver K. I put my wallet in the side pocket of a stub, which I did not remove, despite the fact that the carriage was stuffy.
I remember everything I had experienced over the past three days. A lot has changed in our relationship. I have never called her a sister, she is very mature, serious at seventeen years old. For the sake of our future goes to medical school. Dooms himself to a modest life. Reading Bialik. Cuts her gorgeous hair. She smelled of charm, devotion, willingness to sacrifice.Her simplicity, sensitivity and truthfulness drew to her with no less force than her feminine beauty. Everything in her seemed to me perfect, reliable. Our souls grew together. They can only be separated by a surgeon's knife, cutting live. I read in novels that time cripples people beyond recognition, but I had no fear. The six-month separation was powerless against us.
Happiness comes with luck. I've had enough lessons. From morning to evening, my nervous energy was pumped into the brains and souls of my students. I did not sting to let it go with my full hand, as if I had infinitely many. Her source apparently fed on the knowledge that I was successfully implementing the plan approved by Katya. She wrote me that she was ashamed to idle when I was so exhausted.I replied that her conscience could be perfectly calm: I had a serene mood, and it was bestowed upon me by her.
The serenity was once broken by a classmate of mine. When, after a day of work, I sat exhausted, feeling like I was being cut. Short, feeble, slouchy, with an ugly big nose, he was always unpleasant to me as a physically insignificant creature. My cabbage pranks didn't apply to him. I felt sorry for him. He gave the impression of a cartoon Jew on the stage of a talentless theater.In the class magazine he was recorded: Kamenir AvrumZus. Brachkovsky often teased him with this "AvrumZusem." He responded with caricature pride: "I!"
- I came to consult you, he said.
- Please, I answered.
- I decided to be baptized.
- Well, cross yourself if you're not embarrassed.
"Nothing bothers me," he replied readily and added: So you recommend it?
"I recommend it," I replied with a cruel squeamishness that he did not notice.
- I've decided to embrace Lutheranism. I have a request for you: come with me to the father. One person is scared.
Nope. You're fired.
AvrumZus shuddered, and we were silent for a long time.
I have another request for you, he said.
- Ask.
- I got a custom-made student cap. I had it stolen on my prom night. I suspect Irma. Tell him to give it back to me.
- Did you ask him to do that?
Yes. He told me he had been to Hatzkel's and had forgotten her there. I went there, but I didn't find my caps. Good girls there.
For four days that I was absent, so many events! I thought: AvrumZus is baptized, Irma steals her hat at the prom, goes to a brothel!
Well, I said, I'll talk to Irma.
The conversation with Irma was this:
- I learned a lot about you.
Irma was surprised.
- You were at Hatzkel's.
- Are you crazy?
Did you steal Kamenir's cap, too?
- That's the thing! I was offended that he suspected me of stealing a cap, and I sent him to Hatzkel to make fun of him. Did he, the fool, go there?
Yeah, come on. He liked it there. He's baptized.
- If you want to go to university, cross yourself.
- I don't want to be baptized. And you?
I don't want to either.
- You don't have to do that?
- I'm not asked to.
Irma looked at me carefully. I thought he was jealous of me. I remembered that he had pushed me towards Katya, and I felt grateful.
Do you want to be a doctor, too?
- I don't want to be a doctor.
- What do you want to be?
In the coming years, I am free from this problem. My father died, and I, as the eldest son, “save” my brothers, sisters, mother. I'll probably get either consumption or heart disease soon. The lessons tortured me. Underneath me is Sister Luba. I went tailoring. I earn very little. His younger brother Joseph serves as a “boy” in a pharmacy for two rubles a month. My brother and sister are not happy either. My situation is "Jewish."Russians are for the most part clinging to village huts and vegetable gardens and do not fall into such a desperate situation. There is no such thing as having to “rescue.” They are healthier and experience things less deeply and tragically. And they're mentally healthy. For example, look: Lyuba sewed my undershirt. Asked for straight sleeves, and she did with cuffs. He does not understand that the straight sleeve is freer, freer. It's a lot easier to sew.
He took scissors and cut off the cuffs.
- Are you crazy, Irma?
- No, he replied calmly. - Why weren't you at the party?
- I was leaving.
- Katya?
- To her.
- How are you?
- I love her.
- What about sex?
- I love you without question. Despite the Hatzkels, the servants, the widows.
Are you going to live on a desert island?
- Let's live our lives. We won't betray each other.
- That's what I thought, your robber head, Rakhmetov! And Lev.
Gurovich was baptized and baptized his beloved, Sonia Sosina. Go to university. They'll have children. They accepted Orthodoxy, and even with a claim to nobility. They decided to tell the Russians that they were Jews and the Jews that they were baptized. Have you ever wondered why the insignificant fact of the baptism of a few slave souls bothers us? You and I are indifferent to religion.
- This isn't about slave souls, it's about the rest. We are being pushed out of the midst of intellectual work, and we are not even struggling. True, you say you don't want to be a doctor, but you don't even try to plow the earth like Tolstoy.
We won't be allowed to plow the land, even if we cross ourselves.
Trade and small crafts remain until the peasants become wiser and organize cooperatives. Hamburg says the revolution will solve the problem, but I don't believe it. Here he revels in his revolutionary Herzen, but from the few lines in which the latter casually mentions Jews, it is clear that his Jewish question is of no interest at all. Among thinking Jews there is a whole range of sounds from Marx to Jabotinsky.Marx is concerned with world problems and views the Jewish question from a philosophical point of view in which morality is subordinated to the state economy. Jabotinsky believes that we in the Diaspora will be exterminated. Between them lies the Bund, renouncing the past and accepting our shaky present. If we do not abandon human morality, the Jewish question in Russia will fall on the conscience of the Russian intelligentsia. Vladimir Solovyov understands this.
I wonder how Katya looks at the Jewish question. She's serious.
She doesn't want me to be baptized. Reading Bialik.
- That's it! Did the pogrom wound heal?
- Katya's doing it. He's going to medical.
- Did you tell her you loved her?
- That's clear without words. What about you, Irma?
- I can tell you. I'm afraid I'll get to the point where I'm incapable of killing myself.
- I hope it won't be soon! Let's go drink vodka.
I took Irma to Kozakov's restaurant. We took a table in the corner. I wanted to have fewer regulars next door. I ordered vodka, pickled herring with onions and pickles, tea.
Here's what, Irma. I only drink vodka after the conversation is over.
What do you mean?
On the conscience of the Russian intelligentsia.
That's not what I thought. What do you mean?
Conscience of the Russian people, Tolstoy. It is difficult to find a more worthy candidate for this honorable position. Even in his old age, the truth reached his consciousness that the pogroms and persecutions of the Jews disgrace the Russian people. Even if we assume that the policy of the Russian state will be guided by the conscience of the Russian people, it will give liberation from pogroms and persecution. Nothing more positive can be expected.There is no solution to the Jewish question. This is a matter of real politics that can only rely on the strength of the Jewish people. This question is raised by Mendel Moyher Sphorim in his Klyach and other works, but finds no answer. In such a tragic situation, your talk of suicide is simply vain nonsense.
No conscience can save the Jewish people from bloodletting or even extermination. The army of Bogdan Khmelnytsky exterminated the entire Jewish population of Gomel. There was a girl who was nicknamed Grandma. From her came the family of Gomel grandmothers.
At this time, the head of the combat squad of the Union of the Russian People Davydov sat down to the next table, a good-natured man with a flat beard, with brazen, pig eyes. He began to look at us unceremoniously and overhear our conversation. We didn't pay attention to him. It hurt him. He turned to Irma:
What's your last name, young man?
Irma replied:
- My name is Caspan.
- Is that an alias?
- No, my real name.
I can see from my glasses that he's a revolutionary.
I told Irma:
- Don't talk to him.
- Let's make you talk! Let us teach respect to the Union of the Russian People.
I poured vodka from the decanter into a glass. Irma said:
- Glasses are for tea. Here's a drink for vodka.
- I don't want vodka, I want a decanter.
- Wait! Maybe that'll stop.
- I really wanted to!
Davydov went to our table. I stood up to meet him, laid out a place on his forehead. I blocked the decanter. At this time, a high-ranking officer with the staff captain's epaulettes approached us and, without raising his voice, said: "Out." He did not address anyone, and each of us could take him out at his own expense.
Don't let your spirit be here! Around! It was already sent to Davydov, and he obeyed.
- Who is this?
- My volunteer defender.
- You know him?
- He thinks I don't know him. It's not the first time he's come to my defense.
- Why didn't you thank him?
- There's nothing to thank him for, he just got in the way. He was kicked out of the guards, killed in a duel by a prince. All right, let's drink vodka!
We agreed to drink vodka after the conversation.
- Davydov interrupted.
If we consider your conversation as a distraction, then I must say that Davydov had more time in this direction.
- I'm very grateful to him for that.
- You son of a bitch. Accept Orthodoxy. Davydov will welcome you into his fighting squad!
- Katya doesn't say. She says that Rakhmetov is capable of real life. Nor do I agree to trade the Jewish one God.
Okay! You have the last word.

My dear! It's been a while. I decided, as you put it, to realize the new things that fill my life. After all, I am now a "curricha" and a medic. I have noticed that my colleagues are cynical. A living person is a machine and a dead body. After the introductory lecture, she hated physiology and physiology. I don't want to, I can't admit that our friendship is physiological.I understand that the study of medicine, the influence of the environment cannot pass without a trace for me, but I can guarantee that everything that we have decided will remain untouched for me. I want you to have no doubt about it, as little as possible to “go into yourself”. Thank you for saying, “I am in a serene mood, and it has been given to me by you.” Only you could say that.
You're probably being drafted now. You know, of course, I'd be very upset if you decided to go for a year as a freeman. I forbid you to. So far, we've listened to each other. It will continue to be so.
My old man took me to Moscow, rented a room with a very nice old lady. I wanted to enter some houses, but I refused. Said it would interfere with my studies, and I was going to cram, cram and cram. And as you know, I can cram. No wonder I was spoiled in the gymnasium with fives. He and I went to the theater. You can't imagine how contemptuous he looked at the phantom officers who gave me frankly "physiological" views.On the other side of me I felt you, although I knew perfectly well that you were six hundred miles from me. You can be jealous of me, I love him. He is not only a father but also a knight. We watched “Faust” with the participation of Chaliapin. They looked at each other, forgetting everything. That's obviously what I took from you. I can't be Gretchen's helpless dumbass. I need your first life, your first love. I was thinking about your diary, which I lost. You wanted to be Gideon when you were a kid.Be Gideon, be whatever you want, but don't forget me, Katya.

“My dear Katyusha! Thanks for the letter. Through his lines you look at me like you did on a bench on the high bank of Sozha on the first day we met. That's how you'll stay for me. I don’t have to “understand” anything new, so I answer without delay. I've gotten used to the fact that you can guess my thoughts without error, and yet 6 I was surprised that you knew about my desire to decide on a year in the army.It is reckless, even stupid, but I am still drawn to the art of war, where the door is closed to me. Of course, I will obey your orders: I am not going to change anything in our relationship. For a few days now, I have been wandering around the yard of the recruiting station among the conscripts. No one wants to be a soldier, neither Russians nor Jews. The only difference is that rejected Russians are angry when they are teased that they are not suitable for soldiers, and the Jews do not even react to this.Characteristically, they are all aware that they will be treated like Jews in the army and do not want to put up with it. It is a pity that you can organize a good army. The board found me fit. They said that if he were not a Jew, he could join the Navy. Now you'll have no reason to tease me that I'm not a soldier.Now I can return to my students, whose number has decreased by almost half, as those who passed the re-examination with me said goodbye. I use my free time to study French, which is taught at the University of Liège. As you can see, the plan you approved will hopefully not be foiled.
I'm very happy for you. I'm sure you'll be a good doctor and stop hating physiology because it's not an enemy to our friendship. Don't blush, my dear sister, you're a medic now. Kissing your cut head.
Forgive me for not being jealous of Ivan Ivanovich. There is no reason for this: he never looked at me with contempt, as at front-line quarry-makers. As for Olga Vasilievna, whom you do not mention, it seems to me that she justifies the fact of my existence, and you have reason to be jealous of her. Say hello and tell them not to be angry with me. Don't forget!
Your Grisha.”

"Grishunya, dear one!"
You're going abroad and I'm not talking about it!
You're not looking after me at all. You got me ready. I came to you, bear, and I don't want to get out. If you wanted to open your bear paws, I couldn't stand it. You wrote me that I had reason to be jealous of my mother, and imagine that I was jealous. When I got jealous, I don't know. All this chatter I am happy with our strong friendship, our love. My classmates say I'm a recluse.They suspect I'm hiding something from them. The thing is, I don't need anything but you. She made peace with physiology. And I didn't even blush, not because I'm a medic, but because we're close enough not to be embarrassed. Don't forget!
I recently received three students. I went to my old lady's house to get a treat. When I got back to my room, they were looking at a picture of our body. Remember when we filmed on the island where you were tried? They extracted this band from my Tretyakov postcard album. One of the friends pointed a finger at you and the three of them shouted, “He?” I was speechless for a long time. When I woke up, I said, "Yes." Him. How did you know? They didn't answer.They said, "Now I understand." Wondering who you are. You're in your underpants, but they didn't think for long that the officer was young. No, he's Jewish.
I decided to puzzle them, but they looked at me with respect. I stayed up all night. I couldn’t help but think: how did they know? I had a fever all night, and in the morning I did not go to a lecture. Mystery?! Psychopathy?
The first seminar was successful for me. I'll pick myself up. I'll keep cramming. I want to be on my own.
Write about yourself, dear. Make it easier for me. Oh, how I miss your warm, cozy, strong legs. Your lively, free, thin soul. Say hello. I don't think they're mad at us. Bless you! Your Katya.”

Honey, my own little girl!
Your last letter says that you are anxious. I have an anxious soul. Bear paws I can't open. I want to believe it will calm you down a little.
What you mean to me was shown by a conversation with my mother.
She told me she had recently been to the rabbi. I was surprised. She believes in God, but does not love his priests. Calls them "sacred dishes." The conversation with the rabbi was this:
I came to you for advice.
What advice do you need?
I have an only son, but I'm not sure he'll be the way I want him to be: honest, decent, religious.
How can I help you?
Tell me, should I renounce him?
What dishonest thing did he do?
He doesn't pray.
Who told you that if a person does not pray, then you should renounce him?
That was the end of their conversation.
“Who told you that if a person does not pray, then one must renounce him?” she repeated. Not very smart for a rabbi. I'm telling you this because it's my fault. I feel like I want the impossible.
The point, of course, is not that I am not praying. She got used to it in six years. She's afraid of loving you. She's afraid I'm being baptized, which is worse than death for her. Her maternal instincts, however, told her that even in these circumstances I could not be asked to abandon you. She didn't give me or the rabbi a single word. How do you like that recognition of our love? She has not read any novels or fairy tales except the Bible.What endurance, what dedication! Here you can not even jokingly say: “mystery”, “psychopathy”. It's not good for us young. I'll never disown you! I forbid you to think about it!
I will be heading to Liege in the next few days. In the police I have all issued a "Governor" passport will give me. I will come and understand my position among the Belgians and after that I will write to you in detail about it. I will be preparing for the entrance exams all summer. If I pass them safely, I will start my first year in the fall. More than a year, so I won't see you again. My student years, as you can see, are very similar from the beginning to the years of exile.No bad, though, without good. If you ever sneak in with me, we can formalize our union. This does not require religious ceremonies. You're never gonna refuse to be my wife, are you, my little girl?
I wish you a serene mood, success in class.
Your Grisha.”

“My dear one
I write from Liège. I wanted to give you my address first and limit myself to that, but I can't help but share with you some impressions. The strange thing is that Warsaw and Berlin struck me much more than Liege. You probably got ready to read something about the sights of these cities and of course you were wrong. My impressions are “station” or “station” and concern living people.The Poles I addressed in Russian responded with a look full of hatred. Carriers did not make exceptions in this regard. When I told one of them that I did not understand his Polish speech well, he scornfully replied that he did not speak French to me and that I had to understand him. I realized then that my Russian speech provoked hatred, not my persona. It was new to me, and I have to admit, a little uncomfortable.After all, the only language that I know well is Russian, and this attitude to it seemed unfair to me. Still, such a unanimously directed psyche showed that I was faced with a phenomenon full of deep meaning. I thought I didn't know my country well. We gotta figure it out.
In Warsaw, I took a train to the German border. The third class car is cleaner, lighter, without three-tier benches. Passengers are polite. The waiters are delivering tea. Poles drink tea and put a glass with a saucer on the floor, under the bench. I followed their example, and lost peace returned to my soul. But as soon as I answered the waiter's question, "Yes, I paid," I saw his hateful eyes, and they were clearly intent on punching me in the face.An old Pole stood up for me, who began to explain himself to the waiter in Polish. I did not understand the conversation and addressed a Jewish passenger in Hebrew. Jews are easily recognized by their long-brimmed black, monastic clothing. I asked him why Jews in Poland dress so strangely. He told me he was Jewish and dressed in Jewish clothes.
“Why do you think they are Jewish?” he asked.
I'm not attached to the shape of my clothes. I just want to emphasize to her that I am Jewish. was the answer.
If you need a uniform, you could choose something better than a monastic robe.
The Jew was offended and silenced, and I thought: What is the cause of such a stubborn desire for isolation? And I said to myself again: we need to understand!
If Poles and Polish Jews aroused in me sympathetic bewilderment and compassion, then the Germans in Berlin are disliked. I'll try to explain to you how it happened. I had lunch at the Berlin station buffet. There was a couple sitting next to me: a German officer with his well-dressed, distilled young lady. Between them, the kelner put on their table the dishes they ordered.The officer had to approach his lady, and instead of bypassing the kelner with a tray, he pushed him away like a chair. Kelner wasn't human to the officer. As an amateur artist, I confessed to myself that even on stage I could not repeat such a gesture. It was necessary to see this scene to feel how cruelly it exposed the German, Junker ideology. Yes, I have not seen such pathetic stupidity among Russian officers.But with every officer I was ready to fight, as with the personification of my lawlessness! But not with everyone, I couldn't shoot your father. In him I felt a person, a piece of your soul, which I accept, which I love. Now, from afar, I can tell you that the first time I saw you and looked from head to shoes, I felt that something real was possible between us.
I went outside. Clean houses, suited to each other like a line of soldiers, copious jets of water from hoses washing the pavement, neatly dressed passers-by, the blond Gretchen smiled at me did not displace the impression of the pale face and small steps of the pushed kelner.
Now for Belgium and the Belgians. The first impression does not compare with what he described before. But I will write about this more seriously, not by first impression.
I'm sorry, honey, for being too talkative. As you see, I had not yet begun to carry out the plan approved by you, when I set myself the goal of understanding things that have nothing to do with it. I hope that the free air, which is easy to breathe here, will allow me to combine the incompatible. I am writing this to you because I want you to live with me. Write! Don't forget!
Your Grisha.”

My dear!
Thanks for the letter. It was the first day we met. You've made it your mission to look into things that have nothing to do with the plan I approved. I'm not at all mad at you for that. On the contrary, I am very glad that you see things as I would see them.
I'm not happy with myself. I went headlong into cramming, I don't see people or events around me. I forgive myself only because the goal I set for which I limit myself is not entirely selfish, but is dictated by necessity. I can make you happy. I beat the first year. Your confidence that I would be a good doctor was passed on to me. Thanks for supporting me.Although you're not interested in medicine, you'll have to put up with your best friend being a doctor. I've been thinking a lot about getting in. My old man won't refuse my support if I go to you. See if I'll be accepted into medical school. I believe it is necessary to formalize our union. I'm sure you agree with me. I’m sure you and I will live our whole lives without disagreement.Sometimes I think about the fact that long separation, different interests can threaten our love. In Europe, women are frivolous and graceful. You write that blonde Gretchen smiled at you. All this flashed and was replaced by indignation against himself. It's not good, Grisha, to think so! You don't think so. I'm sure of that. I want to be as strong as you.Although I know you very well, I continue to look for clues to your soul: I am interested in Jewish history and literature. Now I have to be interested in the French language. You can't be followed. I have no doubt that you will pass the entrance exams. I want to send you some money. I decided to work in the hospital with my sister in the summer. This will be the first money I earn. Under all circumstances, we must see you by my twenties.I hope you remember that. I don't dance, I don't play, I don't sing. You'll have an uninteresting wife. I don't think that would have happened if I hadn't been separated from you. My friends say I'm in love. I don't understand why they're making fun of me.
Bless you. Good luck. Your Katya.

Grisha! A hundred rubles sent to you came back. I
I took it as a punch in the face. I remember you hit Vanya. I was so confused that I didn't know what to do. Are we strangers and my money insults you? Explain!
Katya.

"Katyusha, darling!"
I'm in a hurry to explain. I'm a bear, but I own myself and my paws. Under no circumstances could I punch you in the face. I just forbid you to spoil me, but I promise that if necessary, I will not refuse your help. You have formulated the motto of a humble life. Let me also use this motto. I wrote to you about this in relation to courses in Moscow. You obviously didn't get my letter because you're in Kharkiv now.Obviously, you work in a hospital there.
The exams begin in a few days. Have a good day! Don't be mad at me! I will write a detailed letter after the exams.
Your Grisha.
    
Telegram.
"Sorry. Good luck. Katya.

I received this telegram on the eve of my first exam. Katya apparently sent it immediately after receiving the letter. The words were Russian, the letters were Latin. It made me laugh. It was easy on my soul. The first exam was written in analytical geometry. In Russia, it is referred to as higher mathematics and takes place only in high school. I was preparing for the exams completely on my own, and I did not know what my degree of readiness was.The tasks and theoretical questions given to me seemed to me simple, and I fulfilled them at the given time.
The next day an oral examination was scheduled for the subject. The old professor, director of the astronomical observatory, read a number of names, none of which were mine. I approached him, gave him my last name and asked if he had missed me. The professor rummaged through his notebook and replied exasperatedly:
- If you were needed, you'd be called.
The tone was dissatisfied, and I thought: did he cut off on the first exam? A Belgian student who witnessed the conversation reassured me:
It means that you wrote well and you are exempt from the oral exam.
I know, I thought, the old man didn't like my insecurity. It won't happen again.
The first floor of the university is basement. To get out, you have to walk many stairs. I ran away and jumped over everything at once. Everyone looked at me in surprise. There was a risk of breaking my legs, but there was no uncertainty, I thought.
The exams lasted 18 days, and I made sure that they carefully check knowledge, and the element of randomness that is so characteristic of exams in Russia is much less. This was achieved by the fact that in written exams, where the examinee shows complete independence, questions are asked a variety of ways. Even in the arithmetic exam, four questions were asked: two problems and two theoretical questions.If someone accidentally finds it difficult to solve one question, then he will have three more where he can prove himself. If the written examination satisfies the examiners, the examiner is exempt from the oral examination. This suited me, for I did not naturally tolerate any examiners or judges, and in the oral examination they could not help feeling this. It is necessary to give justice to the Belgians, they are the least relished in their power over the examinees.I also had the French textbooks that I used to read.
Written exams saved me from oral exams. The exception was algebra, in which the exam was oral. The professor was a very demanding Italian. I sat on the desk and waited for his turn while he was examining a Bulgarian who had been given a polynomial study. All foreigners usually cut on this question, as it is not included in the course of their secondary school, and there was no corresponding textbook in Belgium.The professor, however, explained to the examiner what was required of him, and even indicated how to analyze the question. The Bulgarian was helpless, and his exam was delayed. The professor's patience was exhausted when he heard the student's remark:
If a polynomial has imaginary coefficients, it does not exist.
The professor replied:
- But here he is on the board, in front of you!
I followed a Bulgarian, and I inherited the question.
I, as a foreigner, was not prepared for this question either, but he interested me in his novelty, and, forgetting that I was taking an examination, I began to closely follow the course of the professor's thought on his leading questions. I made no secret of the fact that my answers were the fruit of the professor’s thought. Despite the ignorance of the intricacies of the French language, we managed to bring the issue to a successful end. The exam continued. I was prepared for other questions.He'll put ten, I thought.
Belgium has a twelve-point rating system. Ten points is considered an average score.

“Honey, my dear girl!
I hasten to inform you that I have passed the exams well, accepted for the first year. And all because of your little telegram. Exam fever has given way to longing. Everything in me rebels, demands you. Come on, honey, let's decide what to do. The medical school has been studying here for seven years. Teaching in French.You may get some first-year readings, but if you take into account the difficulties created by a foreign language and then the state exams in Russia, you have to admit that it will take you at least seven years to become a doctor. Three years more. Do I have the right to demand such a sacrifice from you? I do, obviously. And we turned away from each other in every way. And yet I don't want you to sacrifice that much.Katyusha, honestly, I don't have the strength to abandon you, but I can't bring myself to accept a sacrifice from you that could ruin your life. What do you say to that, my good girl? Because you're already big. I don't call you sister anymore. You're in your second year, and I'm only in my first year.
Your Grisha.

Grishunya!
Congratulations. I'm so glad. Thank you for crediting your well-deserved success to my telegram. This is where my tender part of the letter ends, and the heart-to-heart conversation begins. I can't yet recover from the blow you gave me. If I send you something, you don't dare brush it off so rudely. I'll tame you, bear. It's not the end of the puzzle. How could you say, “I don’t have the strength to abandon you?”Why would you actually abandon me? If it's for me, then such a sacrifice offends me. At the pond in R., you never thought of that. Then we were with you, now between us two thousand miles. Does distance work that way for you? But this is a calculation that you rightly dismiss. The truth is, death is a righteous death. It is as if the Jew had sacrificed himself out of love for his fellow man.I don't want such sacrifices. I can sacrifice everything for you without hesitation. Time and space don't scare me. I want to beat you unconscious. Beate and surrender to you.
I cried, calmed down and continue. You probably didn't cry. You're iron. I'm sorry, honey, for being nervous! I decided to come to you and arrange your honeymoon, even though you forbid "pampering" you. I came to R., wanted to talk to my old man about it, but I couldn't. Left with nothing. It is my destiny to divide myself between you and him. I gave him my word. There's a year and two months left.My old people understand that there is something real between us, and they will not interfere with us anymore. It's time to cram. That's our salvation. I'm in the best conditions and I'll probably come to independence before you. By then you will be tamed and I will have the opportunity to "pamper" you. You promised to write about the Belgians. Don't forget to write about yourself.
Kissing. Katya.

"Katyusha, darling!"
It was with great satisfaction that I read and reread your letter. And the stingy tenderness and the hot wash made me equally happy. I would gladly be beaten, only by you, of course, with the consequent consequences. Unfortunately, there are two thousand versts between us, and I have to rejoice only that you made the only correct conclusion.If I understand you correctly, this conclusion can be mathematically defined as follows: the law of universal gravitation is unsuitable for you and me. The gravitational force may be proportional to the square of the distance. Looking like you're so smart, please explain to me why I don't want to and can't beat you up.
Now the Belgians. The most characteristic of them is politeness. This feature is not a well-acquired way of education, training. It is so subtle and natural that it causes us surprise, respect, desire to respond in kind. In Russia, it is customary to think that freedom of morals here borders on debauchery. Women here feel more free than we do, but that doesn't mean they're depraved.Their love is shallow, but they are not corrupt, but only more free to express their sympathy. In the relationship of people to each other, as a rule, respect for the human person is felt. I saw no signs of arrogance or rudeness. There are a lot of beer and restaurants here. People like to drink and eat, but in all the time I've been here, I've only ever met a man zigzag.He was very drunk, but noticed that he touched my sleeve, and immediately I heard a sincere "pardon."
Characteristic of Belgians and cases of violation of politeness.
They are not as sharp and not as rude and angry as ours. Here's an example. I arrived in a Russian student cap. Many passers-by looked at me, but I did not attach any importance to it. One day, the wind ripped my cap off and carried it to the railroad track where the workers were changing the rails. One of them caught my cap and went to me. I was sure he would politely give it to me, and our meeting would end with my Mercy. But I was wrong.My cap was so tightly clamped in the hand of the worker that its pellets crumpled. The worker waved it in front of my nose, took his time to hand it over, and spoke something irritatedly to me in Walloon. I didn't understand anything except that he hated my cap. For a moment I looked with my eyes incomprehensible, tore his cap out of his hand and, without saying a word, left. As they later explained to me, he took my cap for a German one, and the Walloons do not like the Germans very much.They do not like the second, equal in number, Flemish part of the population. National discord is mitigated by French politeness, but it is no less acute than ours. Even more. The Walloons say of the Flemish: “thet kare”, which means a square head. The Flemish say of the Walloons that they have "hair close to the head" a hint of expansiveness.National antagonism is incomprehensible and unpleasant to me, but as I observed it here, I realized that hostility to the Jews is not the only one of its kind, but is an inevitable evil generated by the national narrowness of people. Religion is separated from the state. Most schools are secular in nature, but there are also Catholic schools, where teachers walk in cassocks, where prayers are read before and after classes.I was advised to see the famous Catholic church in the vicinity of Liege. I went there on foot. The road there is very neglected. Getting to the temple is worth a lot of work, all the time stumbling on potholes. This surprised me because the other roads are great. I was told that the road was not being repaired so that the pilgrims would be rewarded by God for the difficulty of walking on it. Among the pilgrims scurry young workers with rags on sticks instead of banners.They look in the eyes and sing "A ba la kalot!", in other words, "Down with the priests!" The latter are not angry, obviously accustomed.
I went to the temple and was rewarded. The walls are magnificently painted with paintings from the Old Testament. The faces of the characters are openly Jewish. Big monks sang in black soutans. I heard the Hebrew words correctly pronounced:
Gallu Ea, Aleia! I guess it was Hallelujah and Amen. I didn't know that before. When a monk stood before me, with pretendedly humble eyes and a tray in his hands, I was confused. There were a bunch of leaky nickel coins on the tray. I knew I had to pay for Mass, but I didn't know how much. I threw a handful of coins on the tray, and a barely noticeable mockery appeared in my humble eyes. As I learned later, I had to put one small coin down.
I thought that my interest in the religion of the Belgians would be limited to what I had already seen, but I was mistaken. She passed by the house where I live, and I, despite the advice of sitting at home, went outside and saw this: in front of the procession, inside the rectangular frame, in vestments there was a clergyman. His right hand is raised to eye level, and there's a small object in it that I didn't see. Face tense, step hasty.The rama is carried by four men, at its four corners. Behind the frame are a host of clerics in vestments. Among them, one small, young peep caught my attention. His face grimaced frantically. This was supposed to mean communication with God. It took me a lot of effort not to laugh. Behind the clergy were pretty girls dressed as angels with large white wings. I didn't like the pagan tribute at all, I thought.Then came the first row of believers, and then I felt the hated, menacing looks of fanatics. The fact is that all the people who came across the frame fell to their knees. Because you just let me be Gideon, I didn't kneel.
I've written a lot about religious rites, and you might think I've lost my indifference to them. To prove otherwise, I will describe to you the working demonstration of May Day, even though it was a few months ago. I saw many peacefully walking workers and many red banners. Vandervelde performed. The Belgians call it Kamarad Emile. He is representative, in a pot and a black beard. Keeps himself simple. He spoke out against religion.He called the Christian Socialists “poor relatives” of the bourgeoisie and estimated that the members of the Socialist Party and their families were more than a million. I'd write more about it, but I'm afraid the unscrupulous censor will rule it out.
Belgian students are not much different from schoolchildren. They learn a lot, their ideological needs and general development do not stand comparison with our students. Well, enough about the Belgians. From this, you can imagine more clearly and accurately how much I yearn for our university. Everything here seems good, but not their own. I'm a foreigner here, "Rus." Nationality is identified with the state. Jews are not recognized as nationalities.
I live in a small room. I pay 12 francs a month for a room, cleaning and bed linen. I pay 2 francs a month for lunch. I have two mistresses: mother and daughter. The old lady, Madame Fali, runs the house and works as a sewer. The daughter is a widow, as is the mother. She's over thirty. Her husband was a Flemish and left her a girl and a school-age boy. She's a Singer sewing machine agent. Life here is cheap, but both women can barely make ends meet.They have a large room of a Polish student. He was in his final year and promised to marry a young mistress. Now they have a free union. It's normal here. Both widows share their secrets with me. I give them confidence. An old woman talks about the love of a young couple. She talks about how difficult it is for her to earn a living.People do not pity her, because they believe that she is on the maintenance of a foreigner, and the opposite is true, she still has to help him. Familiar people whisper that the Pole will not fulfill his promise, and she, a proud roller, to get rid of “well-wishers”, answers: “Yes, this can happen.” The Pole, Mr. Tadeusz, instills in them an aversion to the Jews, but he does not succeed in this. An old lady once told me she wasn't a Rothschild.I replied that I knew that she was Madame Foley and not Mr. Rothschild, but that I did not care. The young woman asked me if I really liked pork chops because I was forbidden to eat them. I told her that maybe it is, but I am not interested. She mumbled: there's something wrong.
The next day, at lunch, Mr. Tadeusz was exquisitely polite to me. He pretends he doesn't know Russian at all, but he understands that I can't speak Polish to him. We speak French. One day, while we were dining in the kitchen, he was visited by an elegantly dressed, red-cheeked, fat Pole who smelled rude. He did not bow to me and held as if he did not notice me. I looked at him as a rare mansion.The Pole felt my eyes on himself, but did not accept the challenge. When he left, he bowed to me, and I did not answer him. Pan Tadeusz pretended not to notice anything, and the hostess whispered to me: "I thought you would shoot him." She knew I had bought a revolver and was going to shoot. It's not forbidden here. There are always a lot of Polish students. They fire rifles under the supervision of Belgian officers.Characteristically, when they see me with a revolver in their hands, they forget that they are anti-Semites.
I did, however, hang out. Sorry. Write about yourself. How's sophomore class going?
Hi I.I. and O.V. Have a good day.
Your Grisha.

“My dear talker!
If you knew how much I revel in your chatter, you'd write to me more often. You haven't spoiled me yet. Now I'm satisfied. Thanks. When I read your letter, I was touched to the depths of my soul by the consciousness that we look at the world of God in the same way, think the same way, feel, react to everything. There's one thing I disagree with you about. It's that you won't hit me. I am a Russian woman, and a Russian woman can only be happy when her husband beats her.I still hope to be happy with you, even if you don't beat me. Judging by the way you formulated the law of gravitation, the University of Liège is doing you a lot of good. Try to use it in the future and thereby compensate for the damage caused to you by years of exile.
Zubri, Grishenka, bison!
Why don't you write about your classes? Of Belgium and the Belgians, I had a vivid impression from your letter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. The country is good. Don't fall in love with the Belgian. Don't forget that you are Rakhmetov, and Belgium is a temporary haven for you. You write a lot about anti-Semitism. I know you can't help but react to him. I'm totally on your side. I am ready to prove it with my whole life.Still, I wouldn't want you mutilated by Polish students. Only I have the right to do that. It's easy for me to do that because you refuse to hit me. It will be harder for the Poles. Take care of yourself. If you don't think of yourself, think of us both.
I want to test you. Tell me what is Asoro Garugei Malhus? I can imagine your surprised face. You never told me that. How do I know that? I found out without you, and this is how. I was looking for someone to help me get acquainted with Jewish history and literature, and I found him as a young student.He is the same height as me, and when I first saw him, I thought: how I still did not notice that I am small! But I'm a woman and he's a man. Thin, feeble, dark-haired, black-bearded, with sunken eyes, he made a repulsive impression on me. My friend Kaganskaya told me that you knew Hebrew well, I told him. “She may not be wrong,” he replied, and I immediately felt that my dislike of him had evaporated.
Can you give me an hour twice a week?
Your request is so unusual that I would not dare to refuse you.
- How much do I have to pay?
- I'm not taking money from a colleague.
I felt like I was dealing with a future unmercenary doctor like Brooke, but I didn't give up right away.
- I'm ashamed. You need it.
- Suit yourself.
I decided I had found what I needed and we started studying. He brought a primer. Explained "alefbais" to me, gave me a lesson. On the first day, I learned that there are many prayers, the Bible, the Talmud and many other books in the Hebrew language, that there are modern literature, newspapers, magazines. I asked him to recite to me a childhood prayer that I learned from your diary.He did not immediately understand what the conversation was about, and when he understood it, he was very surprised, but did not ask how I knew about it. In his eyes he has no incomprehensible intransigence. Instead, there is a deep, deep suffering. He is the exact opposite of you, and at the same time you have something in common. Maybe straight, without any cat scythe like my look.I wanted to feed him, but he drank tea, ate some biscuits, an apple, and did not touch the cakes and sandwiches. When I asked him not to disdain my treat, he took a penknife out of his pocket and buttered a piece of bread. When I asked him why he didn't use a table knife, he admitted that the Jewish religion prescribed separate knives for dairy and meat food, and I shared a knife.I wondered why religion had established such a separation of knives. He replied that the Bible said, Do not cook a child in his mother's milk. If the dishes are common, then it is possible to get into the stomach of the mother's milk and the meat of the baby. I told him it was logical and asked what I needed to do to make him feel freer. He replied that he was not going to persuade me to accept the Jewish faith, especially since it was very difficult to be a Jew.I told him he was full of stupid religious prejudices, but he had the last word:
It's all that's left of the past that I don't want to break with.
In the second lesson, I asked him to sing Galea, which I learned from your diary. He asked me where I had this awareness and how to explain my interest in Jewish prayer. I said I was looking for the key to the Jewish soul. For the third lesson he brought another, festive prayer book and translated to me word for word that part of the "Asoro Garugei Malchus", where the commander's daughter asks for mercy handsome righteous man.I was amazed by the beauty of the plot and as an amateur artist admitted to myself that I had never heard anything better. I went into myself, like you, when you want to realize something, and immediately I was caught by a feeble man, like a little one. I heard:
- You love a Jew.
I was silent and heard more, whispering:
- Leave him alone. Nothing good will come of it.
I felt offended, but I could not be angry with a small, feeble man. She said,
- Why should I leave him and not him me?
And was caught a second time. I heard:
A Jew can only leave you when he feels that you do not love him. The Jews are very sensitive to this.
The key has been found, I thought, and I was overwhelmed by the fear that left me after you jumped off the carriage and kissed me. Your wife's a psychopath. I write to you frankly about this because I know that you will not stop loving me anyway.
I did, however, talk. Did you give you a little talk? I do not dare to dream that my chatter will be as successful as yours. I have a lot of teeth. Your wife's a dumbass, a nerd. Don't forget her after all. Bless you.
Your Katya. Old men bow both.
R.S. I misrepresented you with a little man. I asked him why he was so confident in judging someone he didn't know. Does he think all Jews are the same? He replied that he did not think all Jews were the same.
I judge him on you, he told me.
I asked and saw the first time a little man smiled.

"My dear!
If I had my hands up on my god, I'd beat you up for slandering my wife. If you want to get me into a fight with her, you can't. I love her and this is an irreversible process for me. If you've been in chemistry, you should know what that means. Give it to your little teacher. Tell him Belgians cook pork chops very well.I eat them, and it never caused an earthquake or a break with the past. On the contrary, my wife is beginning to take an interest in this past and is fascinated by the plot of Asoro Garugei Malkus, which is really very beautiful, like so much of this past. Thank you, however, for your work.
Since you won't stop slandering my wife, I want to take revenge on you with the same weapon. I'll slander your husband. It's more like a confession than a slander, but you'll figure it out for yourself. So listen to me.
A student, a Polish Jew, with a sonorous name Pupko, mocked my monastic way of life. He even threatened to debunk me in front of my fiancée, if I had one. According to him, any woman will stop loving me if she finds out that I am a monk.
"I don't know what women tell you, but I can prove otherwise," I told him.
I'm interested in Pupko.
I'll get you down the stairs.
- Oh, you can do that! Only you can't prove anything.
- What other proof do you want?
- Trust me for one night.
I became curious and trusted. He took me to the dance. I stood and watched the couples dancing. Bad orchestra, dirty wallpaper, stale air, exhausted, brightly painted faces of women in cheap outfits did not inspire love. This is not even physiology, but a surrogate of physiology. In between the dances, Pupko flashed a woman and she approached me.
- Why don't you dance, sir?
I don't want to.
- Why did you come here?
- Look at Belgian women.
Oh, my God! What women we are! We're prostitutes.
- I'm not a man or a judge. You're women to me.
- Well, then. Only five francs. It's cheap.
- All right, you get five francs. Don't you care who you go with?
- To tell you the truth, it disgusts me. There are only so-called “salbet” (rough animals) that come to us. I have a mother and a brother. I see you want to sneak out, handsome? Let's dance.
She grabbed me by both hands and wanted to carry me away. I remembered how you did it once, and I was disgusted. I clutched her hands and she screamed, "Oh my God, what a bear!"
It reminds me of you again. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but at that time I noticed that Pupko was quarreling with someone in Polish. I came closer. We argued over Dulcinea. Pupko conceded after the Pole shouted to him * "Ai Vai!" That's how they tease Polish Jews. I laughed, and I laughed. The Pole took my laughter for encouragement and, seeking sympathy, began to scold the Jews in Polish. I told him in Russian:
- Ride while you're safe!
The Pole turned green. He was insulted twice: by my rudeness and Russian language. We should have fought or left. He's gone. I took my young lady by the hand.
- Come on, let's go.
I didn't walk with her long. I explained to her that I would go with her, but I have a beautiful bride. He gave her five francs and told her to go to her mother.
The next day, Pupko came to see me.
- You took her to your place? That's right. Why pay for the office? Isn't that a good girl?
- Better than you, Sal Bet!
- Nice shaving off Janek!
- Which Janek? Did you forget? He wanted to fight, but your Marietta whispered to him, "Bear."
- I'll get you down the stairs someday.
- You ungrateful man! I'll repeat your maneuver someday.
And he repeated it. When this same Janek once met him on the street and addressed him in Polish. Poopko said:
- I don't understand. Why don't you speak Russian?
Janek chopped him on his forehead with an axe, which he wore on his stick as a knob.
Afterwards, I took off my hat and put on a Belgian student cap with a long visor. On the front of the cap is a blue white Jewish ribbon. There are two stars on the ribbon. One white for the entrance exams and one gold for the first lesson.
When my hostess saw me in a cap, she said,
"Woo zet bo avek vor casket."
Now my Polish colleagues can easily recognize me. I won't shy away from meeting them. One day, as I was walking down the steps from the bridge to the sidewalk, I saw a group of Poles, eight people, about to meet me. They took the sidewalk. I had to turn back. The forces were too unequal. Instead, I decidedly went straight at them, and they had no choice but to part ways. My ribbon got a confession. It is good to have a revolver in your pocket.
Be patient, my girl, I have not finished confession. The hostess had a boy, Albert, confirming. The Catholics are putting up this celebration. I asked her what kind of gift to buy him.
"A little umbrella, just in case it rains during confirmation," the mother said. The boy gave his consent. When I asked him if he could not have chosen something more interesting, he replied that he did not want to contradict his mother. This is typical of a Belgian family.
I was invited to a party. I drank a lot of wine, to the surprise of the Belgians (their wine does not work on me), sang Walloon songs with them, which made them laugh, because it was clear that I sing without understanding the words. Among the guests were people of different political parties: liberals, Catholics, one socialist. From their conversation, I learned that belonging to a party is a kind of family tradition.The socialist Monsieur Gallopan, a prominent trade unionist, argued to Mr. Tadeusz that Catholic rites were not faith but fanaticism. He courted and, as if, was the groom of a blond girl with a surname of English origin - Smies. She was not bad herself, well-dressed, brisk, rich, that is, possessed the qualities most valued by the Belgians, regardless of their party affiliation. And when everyone was drunk, Mademoiselle Smith said to Monsieur Gallopan:
- I don't love you. I love Mr. Zeitlen (that means me).
She snuggled up to me, took my hand and took me aside. I took it as a joke, and when I asked her what I would say, I said that women like to intrigue, and Belgian women are obviously no exception. She was surprised and said,
- Mae non, which means no! I said,
Your name is Angelin, and I love Katya.
She made me write Katya and read Katya.
- Not a pretty name, she said.
"No, she's beautiful, and the name is beautiful," I said.
- Show me the picture.
I brought a group photo of our troupe and asked her to guess where Katya was. She looked carefully at the picture and pointed at you.
- How did you guess? - I asked her. She said,
- Mae Seth Evidan! (It's clear)
How do you like that?
Well, she said, she's in Russia and you're here.
- She writes me good letters.
She was surprised, but I thought: really, why friendship, why affection, why fight on a bump by the pond, when you can go straight to a soft bed?
When the guests made noise and demanded that we kiss, I said:
Nope. Katya said no.
Confession is over. Do what you want with me.
A lot of teeth. I need more, but I can't do it. I found myself drawing well. I did not learn French so much that it did not prevent me from delving into science, but I did not lag behind the lectures. I keep looking around like a beast caught in a foreign environment.
Good for you. I wish you a quiet life in the future. Have a good day.
Your Grisha.

Grisha! I read your confession. I won't comment on her.
I have to warn you that I don't think I could forgive you if you cheated on me with another woman. And you weren't far from that. If you wanted to know how women react to a man's abstinence and loyalty, you could talk to me about it. I'm a woman, too. What do you think? But your "curiosity" that made you trust Pupko is obviously of a different order.You did tell me everything with your own truthfulness, but confession is only half of redemption. You will be punished. I won't write to you for three months. I think I have the strength to do that. I don't think about what it's going to cost you, so I'm mad at you.
Katya.

Katie's letter hit me like a club on the head. I will not write to her about it. I'll move it in silence. It's not a break or a prelude to a break. The letter has undisguised love and jealousy. That means she can't stop loving. The key found with the help of a little teacher tells her that under these conditions I can not leave either. It's strange that I'm talking about her and leaving myself. Yeah, I can't stop loving her. I can only leave if she stops loving.He's that I might make a mistake in defining her feelings, she doesn't think. Are you sure she's in me or risking the most precious thing we have? To punish me by separation! She's clever. It's strange she didn't feel sorry for me. Yeah, I told her once I wouldn't take pity. She remembers that. I went with Pupko out of curiosity. The fact that I would not cheat on her under any circumstances was clear to me. It's strange that she doesn't understand that.Does she overestimate physiology as a doctor? Or she thought I overestimated her. My fault, of course, is why I called this galimatia a confession! However, I reminded her that she should figure out for herself whether it is confession or slander. So I've taken a brutal revenge for slandering my wife. She did not realize that it was impossible to confess to people. I didn't know because she wasn't Jewish. Well, then? You, a Jew, can gloat. I can't. I love her.How would you confess before God? It was like that. I was recently in the zoological garden. I saw the “love” of monkeys there. They do this act roughly like dogs, but not as passionately or collectively. There is, however, in their love and human tenderness. After the act, the male puts his head on the lap of his girlfriend, and she begins to catch insects with her agile human hands.This meager tenderness lasts only a few seconds, and it seems that they do it in imitation of a person. When Pupko asked me to trust him, I had the idea of comparing him to a monkey. Everything was going well until Marietta spoke to me.
From the first words I felt that I was in front of a man, not a monkey. When I asked her if she had any men with lousy heads, she calmly replied: there are lousy, there are also clean heads, but everyone’s souls are lousy. You can believe my experience. You have nothing to do with me, either. I can see through you. You have a scrubbed, clean bride, and I sell for five francs cheap. You wouldn't even dare tell her you talked to me.And I wanted to feel sorry for you, innocent angel!
I really have a girlfriend and I tell her everything.
She's waiting for you to start making a lot of money.
You're gonna give me five francs. I like you. You're not like everyone else.
- I'm not sorry. Take that.
Now I could run away from you and make money elsewhere, but I won't. If you stop loving your beautiful girl, come. If you don't have money, come without money.
- I can't stop loving her.
- Then she'll stop loving you. Come. Why are you frowning? You think I'm afraid of you, bear? By the way, what did you say to that Pole? I thought you'd kill him.
I couldn't have told Katya that conversation. I stopped talking. Katya felt it. Which one of us is right? Me, Katya, Marietta or Pupko? First of all, what drew me to Mariette? The Talmud says that sinning in thought is the same sin. But I could not lie to myself and say that I did not see something real, human, alluring about Marietta. No, I don't want to be Pupko! What do I want to be? I was dubbed Rakhmetov. There's probably some truth to that.So Rakhmetov in Liege learns analytical mechanics, higher algebra, goes to dances, puts on his head a Belgian cap with a Jewish ribbon. I'll go to Plekhanov's report tomorrow. What about Katya? I'll drink a cup of love with her, whatever it takes. It's easy to get rid of Pupko. And Marietta? She is truthful, suffers, has a soul. This isn't Rakhmet's widow. Why can't I give up on her? What secret will she tell me?
Antre, I said when I heard a knock on the door.
- You're not waiting? said Pupko.
- I never expect you.
- If you knew what I came with, you wouldn't be so rude.
- Interesting! Marietta slapped Janek.
- Another brothel scandal.
- You're not in a good mood today. Not a brothel, but free love. Do you know what a tue le vo is? Did you read Hugo?
- Free love with prostitutes.
- Marietta was messing with you. She's a medic, working. I slapped Janek for you.
- Tell me!
- She asked Janek what that guy told him, so.
He replied, “He is not a Ruth, but a Juif.” All right, that juif.
Janek replied:
- Nothing to argue about.
Marietta said:
- You're lying because you're full.
Janek swung and received a ringing slap from her. The Belgians threw him out the door. Said:
- We don't beat women.
Now she wants me to bring you. What did you do to her? I should go to the bathhouse with you, check it out.
- You monkey!
Marietta was happy with me. Said:
- I thought you weren't. I thought I was offended.
- Why did you call?
- Don't worry! I won't rape you.
Why is that?
- I want to give you five francs.
- Just because of that?
- No, it's not just that. I wanted to see you. I feel sorry for you.
- What do you mean?
- Why are you here?
- How can you not come when you're fighting for me? Let's get out of here. We'll drink those five francs in the squash.
Oh, yeah! You're noble. Do you drink?
In Russia, it is customary to drink all dubious money.
We went to zucchini. Got a table. Ordered two feathers.
Repeat. The tongues were untied, and after half an hour we knew everything about each other. Marietta could not understand my relationship with Katya. In Belgium, all men have mistresses, even a bishop. The basis of the relationship between a man and a woman is sexual desire. Family life is based on material security. In her opinion, I could marry Mademoiselle Sias and take her as mistress.
- I'm not interested, I told her.
- What are you interested in?
- Tell me about your first love.
- Oh, you shameless! - You laughed drunkenly. Okay, I'll tell you. He was a chauffeur. Driving some important gentleman. You're good. Said he loved me. Convinced him to look naked. He promised "only to see." But he wasn't just watching. I was in pain. I wanted to scream. And then I felt so good! And then I got bad. I don't like anyone. I give for money. I was sixteen at the time. Are you happy?
No, I'm not happy. I don't want Katya to be bad! I don't want to fool her.
- What did you call her? Katia? What a strange name. You philosopher with a hole! Nothing will happen to your Katia if you spend the night with me. You didn't tell her you were talking to me, so you're lying to her.
- No, I did.
- So what did she say?
She said she wouldn't forgive me if I cheated on her with another woman. She won't write to me for three months.
Oh, you! My poor student! Write her what the student song says:
“Viv climbed the etudean, ma mayor!
Or zon de fam, pa' danfan!
We have another student song.
Marietta was drunk before I was. Said:
- I'm sick of you and your Katia. She's "Puppar," your Katia.
Cheating you with someone else, and you're a fool.
- You're not afraid of me. I'm not Janek.
- What are you gonna do to me?
- Katya is still alive! I blurted it out in Russian. My hand was twitching.
We were drunk, we were angry. A scandal was brewing. But after my Katia, Marietta suddenly laughed kindly:
- You Russian bear! Now I understand what you said to Janek. I still love you. And Katya isn't cheating on you. You can't be fooled. She blurted it all out with a tongue-in-cheek and ran away.
So I sent Marietta away. I did it very rudely, but she was not angry with me. Why is she lenient to me? Like a baby, I thought.
I'll kick the navel out. Katya kicked me out for three months. I do not accept an easy, carefree life with a Belgian mistress. I can't give myself completely to cramming either. I think I really am Rakhmetov. But Rakhmetov had a clear goal, a beckoning idea. What prevents me from becoming like Rakhmetov? Is it that I'm Jewish? Will the revolution not solve the problem of the defenselessness of the Jewish people? I listened very carefully to Plekhanov’s report, but he did not make a strong impression on me.It was about the role of Pushkin in Russian literature and the tasks of the new Russian literature. Not so long ago I read about Ovsyanik-Kulikovsky and Kotlyarevsky, and I learned nothing new about Pushkin. As for the tasks of the new Russian literature, the assertion that it should be ideological and be in the sphere of influence of marskism, in itself correct, was not sufficiently substantiated.
The straight figure of Plekhanov, his thin face, bordered by a rare dark graying beard, restrained, devoid of theatrical effects speech, lost over the years of emigration, the Russian accent created the impression of prophetic simplicity and grandeur. The report was listened to with great attention, but did not cause debate. The aureole of the father of Russian Marxism defended Plekhanov as the armor of a medieval knight.A reporter for a Belgian newspaper the next day noted the enormous authority Plekhanov enjoys among Russian youth. The son of a Russian consul denied the report on the grounds that the reporter had Jewish, not Russian, youth. Plekhanov himself ignored this fact. The unknown son of the Russian consul was more observant.
Katie's silence weighed heavily on me. I felt that there was an obstacle in my way much more serious than the announced three-month spat. This obstacle had to be fought, but I didn't know how. Introspection began to corrode. I wondered what place I could take in her life. I started looking at other students, Belgians and foreigners. Many had connections with the powerful of this world, others coveted before them.I didn't have connections and I didn't know how to cuddle.
One consolation, ironically, I don't know how you're going to overcome your student years. From these questions I have so far been saved by the undiminished love of Katya. Now Katya is silent. There was something sinister about that silence.
One day, at Lunacharsky’s report, I heard his flowery phrase: “The fairy tale about the son of a carpenter (Christ) took possession of the minds of people for thousands of years.” This fairy tale will now be replaced by scientific socialism, which will create paradise on earth.” At that moment, someone touched my sleeve. I saw a large black-haired broadheaded head with large black eyes behind the thick glasses. The massive torso matched the head.
My old grandfather was killed in a pogrom, and he talks about heaven on earth!
You don’t believe in socialism, I said.
"No," replied the head, "Marxism takes hold of people's minds, but it does not solve the Jewish question, just as Christianity did not solve it." My grandfather was killed in the name of Christ. And not just my grandfather. Both Christ and Marx were Jews. It is true that Marx was baptized and considered himself free from any duties towards the Jewish people.
But Marx’s worldview does not fit into any national framework.
Tolstoy’s worldview also does not fit into the national framework, but he does not renounce his people. By the way, why didn't you get baptized?
- Don't ask stupid questions.
- Don't be angry! I see who I'm dealing with. You're not a reptile. What are your plans for the future?
- Right now, I'm confused. Tell me about yours.
- I'll graduate and go to Palestine. I'll work there.
- You don't have to go to university.
- No, I'm going to graduate.
- And then there's the rich bride, the trade.
No, I'm sure no one, ugly, will love me. Maybe it's a handsome guy like you. So the question of love is solved for you?
- Decided. I don't dance. I'm not looking for lovers.
- Are you referring to me?
Nope. I don't know anything about you. I can only see that your soul hurts. Tell me.
- No, it doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you for your participation. And your plan smells of Jewish romanticism.
- Like your Belgian cap with a Jewish ribbon.
My Jewish ribbon is only a red rag for Polish bulls, and your escape from Russia is only an escape.
- Red rag, bulls are Spanish romanticism, and you're a Jew, judging by the ribbon. I don't see any other signs yet.
- I can give you an undeniable sign.
You're kidding, you're laughing, and there are places where you shouldn't put laughter. Did you watch the pogrom? Pale means I saw it.
- There are worse things than a pogrom.
- What are you talking about?
I am saying that the prospect of our existence in Russia, and in the whole of Europe, is eerily short. Small trade, handicrafts are doomed. Proletarization is impossible because of our dispersion. The working environment pushes us as hard as the military caste. The political situation has every reason to turn towards our extermination.
Your reasoning is not without the most sober, Jewish logic. Since you decided to go to Palestine, you must have a Hebrew dictionary. I decided to write to my father in Hebrew. Give it a while.
I don't have a dictionary. Let's go to the Jewish student club Heirus, freedom in Russian.
In Heirus I took a dictionary and translated into Hebrew Mendele Meyher Sphorim’s Knachi. All night, until the morning, I read Haususa. I read it in a volley. In the ancient language, the voice of conscience seemed helpless. Only the Jewish Chernyshevsky and his Rakhmetov could respond to this voice. I wanted to share my feelings with Katya, but I loved her too much to beg for mercy. Let the time of three months do its job, I decided.
The concept of the “Jewish people”, embodied in the image of a moaning calf, turned from an abstraction into a reality that stood in the way. You could walk around her, miss her, but that would be cowardice, a lie. Conscience rebelled against it and closed all roundabouts. I had to stop before the knave and enter into a dialogue with her, the outcome of which could only be one.
What's Katya doing now? What did the little teacher tell her to leave me? She doesn't accept workarounds either, I thought.
“Gasus” looked at me with reproach, despite the fact that I decided to be honest with her. I took it to Hoyrus and saw an announcement there that Chaim Shidlovsky, PhD, was giving a report. I stayed until the evening and listened to the doctor. He acted like a Marxist. He believed in the inevitability of social revolution, in proletarian internationalism. However, he objected to the vulgarization of this concept.He ridiculed the tendency to smear the national question and ignore one’s belonging to a particular nation. It reminded him of a joke:
Once the birds caught a strange, unprecedented bird and sent it to the scientist for study. The scientist spent a long time tinkering with the specimen sent to him and gave the answer: it is a bird. This happens when a person, instead of calling himself a Jew, says he is a human being. The Jews represent a distinct nation and, like every nation, have their own interests. Ignoring these interests he condemned. He was concerned about the non-proletarianization of the Jewish masses.We have an overproduction of useless doctors like me, but we have been rejected from agriculture, from factories, the doctor said, but he did not give an answer to such a directly posed question.
The opponent took advantage of this and said with perplexity that he still does not understand why a person cannot be only a person, and people should be united by national characteristics, and not by their natural internationalism.
I thought, and I said to myself, I have been cramming for two days. Second night. It's Katya. Everything else depends on her, I thought, falling into a comfortable Belgian bed in exhaustion.

Grisha!
I dare not write, dear, as I wish, but I can no longer be silent. I knew well that I would not expect a letter from you, but everything was hoping and waiting for him. Of course you're right. Our relationship should be above jealousy and mistrust. Deep down, I know I can trust you without limit. I know that’s the only thing that matters in relationships.
I have to admit that I was a weak woman. You have the right to doubt me now, but for the sake of the past, please don't do this! You're strong. You can keep what was so sincere, so true. Confirm it to your penitent Katya.
Grisha! I'm not ugly. I won't slander your wife anymore. Katya.

“My dear girl!
You are what you were the first day we met. Life goes on and I want everything to be like then. Anything that hurt you seemed like curiosity to me. It turned out, however, that it was an unconscious desire to know what sacrifices our forward life would require in the struggle for the unity of our souls. I have no doubt that I have not forgotten our promise to meet after a difficult separation the same as they broke up.You were the first to say that, and I had no doubt that you had the strength to do that. I don't doubt that now. As for me, I can tell you that I did not cheat on you with another woman, I did not cheat on you without another woman. If you find weaknesses in my soul, I advise you to look elsewhere. I will not be the culprit for the collapse of our love. L.N. Tolstoy divides love into:
1.A beautiful love
2.Selfless love
3. Active love.
I perceive this division as an ancient Jewish prophet-monotheist classification of ideals. To love it is to be truthful. I never lied to you. You mistook for a lie what I kept silent, did not finish, sparing your beloved ears. In my mind, I didn’t have to profit from this silence. I want to see life naked, naked, and I don’t stop at being rude. I forgive myself as a man. But I want to protect you from it.I have the same attitude towards my mother. You shouldn't be mad at this. No matter how much we love each other, we remain heterosexual, and we will have to forgive each other a lot. I couldn't write to you. I love you too much to beg for mercy. I atone for my cruelty with verbose words. I started my classes at the university. Belgians don't forgive that. Your letter brought me out of my stupor. Don't think I didn't fight, though.I treated myself with cold: I did not sink my cast-iron anthracite stove, went to all political reports, took fencing lessons. Nothing, however, helped. I had to decide it was up to you. At one time I thought rapier would help me, but then I had to think about you.
My teacher, a Belgian officer, taught me mainly to fight back, to fend off his blows, and I remembered Ivan Ivanovich, who demanded an offensive. When asked how I was doing, the teacher replied, “Sa wa bien,” but I didn’t believe him. I don't know how to fear for myself, I don't know how to dodge myself, so I decided I went over to your father's tactics. The teacher scolded, "Sapristi," and began to exercise caution. I was not interested, so I gave up fencing. What else would I do, I don't know.I wanted to go to the mines as a roller, but I knew that for this I would have to leave the university. He hesitated. Your letter arrived on time. Now I'm gonna cram. Bless you. I wish you success in class.
Your Grisha.

Katie’s short letter gave me back my youth and vigor. Interest in university studies has returned. I set out to eliminate my backlog as soon as possible. It wasn't easy. The program at the University of Liege is extensive. Professors are demanding. To transfer to the next course, you must pass all exams immediately in the spring or autumn session. The Belgians do not recognize the re-examination.Failure in one subject cancels all exams. In this case, you have to stay for the second year. I felt, however, that with the ability to work, my faith in success returned to me. I wrote short Belgian postcards. She answered me with Levitan. It was as if we were both afraid to break the serenity that had returned to us. It was, however, violated in the most brutal manner by the Baylis process.A detailed account of it was published in Russian and Jewish newspapers, and I read them avidly, losing the hours necessary for my studies.
The Jewish history of the Middle Ages is replete with pogroms, exiles, and blood libels “alilas smoke”, and here, according to all the rules of modern legal proceedings, a process was organized to prove that Jews, guided by the Talmud, use “Christian blood”.
I knew well that in the Talmud, with the rare tenacity of the scholastics, the persecuted people’s eternal striving for moral self-improvement was compressed. It is absurd to seek in him the idealization of cannibalism. And, nevertheless, people with higher education prosecutor, jury attorney Shmakov and Zamyslovsky engaged in this absurdity. Defender Zarudny, also with a higher education, hesitated to defend the Talmud.Specially selected jurors who handed down the sentence would not sympathize with him. He only proved that Baylis didn't kill the baby. The owner of the thieves’ den Vera Cheberiak and expert xendz Prokoitis proved the opposite, accused both Baylis and the Talmud. I have read detailed accounts of this ridiculous process. I couldn't get away from them. Why?
Tolstoy, who knew the Talmud, argued that the Russian people were innocent in this monstrous process. Only the government is to blame. But the Russian people did not need protection. The Jewish people needed it.
Katya didn't comfort me. She only wrote that she wanted to go through it with me, that she felt obliged to do something. Do what? Does she, the colonel's daughter, want to shoot? Who? Where does that lead?
Belgians reacted to the process with protest rallies. I went to one of those meetings. An old professor-semitologist, stood at a table littered with a mountain of huge Talmud tomes. One of them was open, and the professor was quoting something, poking into a huge folio with a small, dry finger. I didn't understand him well. People came in and out. They probably didn't understand him well either.
What I had to do, I didn't know. It was clear to me, however, that I could not remove the process from my consciousness until the end of my days. I wanted to know what Grinshput was going through at that moment. I found him at Heirus and brought him to me.
“You have not yet become a Palestinian laborer,” I said.
"You keep joking, despite the Baylis trial," he replied.
- No, I'm not into jokes. And you?
This process is not unexpected to me. Read the history of them was not enough.
- Yeah, but it was in the Middle Ages.
No one can guarantee that in the new centuries we will be better than in the middle. The trial is proof of that. We have to be prepared for the worst.
- What do you think is the worst?
- Total extermination. We are a tiny minority everywhere, and the technique of extermination is improving. In order to understand this, you do not need to study higher mathematics. It's arithmetic.
- Jabotinsky says so.
Yes, he claims it, but no one really denies it.
- Even Marx?
- Even Marx.
Do you think the Baylis trial is possible in Germany?
- Possibly all the way to total extermination.
- That's the secret to your peace of mind?
Yes. When everything is clear, you don't have to worry.
- What do you think the sentence will be?
- Probably an acquittal. The Russian autocracy is too loose, will not be able to carry out its plans to the end. It is too monstrous a lie for a jury to unanimously accept as true.
So the chances of being exterminated aren't so great?
- Right now, that's probably true.
- Congratulations. You're looking for ways to reconcile with reality.
I felt hurt, but I could not object.
He didn't give up, though. Said:
What did the Jews do to reduce their history to simple arithmetic? You even allow the complete extermination of a people that has existed for a millennium.
- This is our trouble, not our fault. Total extermination is possible if the resistance of the people does not increase. For my part, I will do everything in my power to make sure that our story is not arithmetic.
- Meaning?
- I'll take the Belgians' stock of higher mathematics to the Judean Mountains.
- I'm beginning to understand why I can't be mad at you.
- I wonder why.
- You remind me of Katya.
- Katya who?
- The Russian girl I love.
Ah! Moavatdika Ruth! Maybe she'll give birth to a second King David.
- Don't touch her. I won't see you're six-pood.
- I'm not touching her. If I look like her, obviously she looks like me. As for your threat, I will respond with action.
He poked me in the side with his fist, and I fell off the chair I was sitting on.
I jumped up and, noticing an unprotected chin above me, hit him. Grinspoon's pumped. I gave him my thanks, and he gave me his thanks, and he gave me his thanks. I dodged, hit my pelvis and wash jug. They crashed to the floor and crashed. The door opened without knocking. Madame Foley and Pupko showed up. The first one shouted:
Oh, my God! What's going on here?!
Pupko laughed and said,
- Call ajana, Madame Foley!
- We should buy another device, I told her. She shrugged and left, and Pupko entered the room.
- It's too early to pogrom. The Baylis trial is not over yet.
I wonder what you think of the trial?
I have already said that this process is ideological preparation. It will be followed by organizational work, pogroms.
- You're getting serious. Quit dancing or something?
- You're exaggerating my frivolity.
Your frivolity has passed to us. Let's go wandering, comrades! We won't study anyway.
We walked down the narrow sidewalks of the suburb of Bressou. On the right is a tall, dodgy Grinshpoont, next to him, half a head below me, and on the far right is a little Pupko who gave way to oncoming passers-by. Pupko was tired of giving way to everyone and he went ahead of us. We walked silently behind him. When a wide and high stone staircase appeared before us, Pupko stopped and said:
- How do you like this building? In order to get to the top, you have to rest four times. For this, there are four platforms with benches. You can't get up in spirit.
- I bet I told him.
“I agree, a bottle of cognac,” said Pupko.
Grinschupunt looked up through the thick glasses and said:
- And I put the bottle.
It's profitable: one is mine against your two, I said and ran up.
I ran to the first place, to the second cheerfully reached. Between the second and the third I walked with the thought that I could lose the bet. For the last two flights I had difficulty putting my feet and, in order to overcome my weight, put my hands on stones. When I reached the last step, my heart was pounding unmercifully, my legs were shaking. I didn't try to stay on my feet, it would have been useless, and I fell to the ground.
A Belgian came up to me and asked if I needed a doctor. I answered him with a short, rude phrase by Lesse moi trankil!
The Belgian realised he was dealing with a foreigner and asked what nationality I was.
- Rüss, I replied.
"These Russians have horse hearts," he told another Belgian.
I am a Jew, and the Baylis trial drove me here, I thought, but said nothing.
Grinszpunt obviously didn't hope for his eyes and looked at Pupko. The last one looked up, but he didn't see me lying down.
As they climbed up, Grinspoont said:
- If you don't get up, your cognac cried.
We found a cozy zucchini and set about two bottles of French cognac.
"Your theory is limping," I told Grinspoont.
- What's the matter?
You poked me in the side, and I fell from my chair to the floor. If we consider that you weigh a little more than six poods, and I weigh a little less than four, it is clear as arithmetic that this should have happened. But I didn't stay calm, I hit you on the chin. The French call such a blow “manton”, and it is clear to everyone, like arithmetic, that they lose consciousness from it. You shouldn't have been worried, and meanwhile, you attacked me like a tiger.The human psyche is not guided by arithmetic.
Yes, he agreed, the human psyche is complex and inexplicable, and you can expect anything from it. However, I do not think that Katya prevents you from understanding this truth. You said I reminded you of her.
- No, not Katya. I have a thousand ties to my stepmother, and Katya loves a Jew in me.
It was as easy as confession. A strong French cognac helped. I came home drunk. Madame Foley shook her head like an old man, and I thought, nothing, now I'm going to learn. I won't upset Katya.
The jury acquitted Baylis and he went to Palestine. Russia was saved from shame and the Jews from pogroms. The tsarist autocracy was defeated by the Russian intelligentsia. It was condemned by public opinion throughout the civilized world. Even the Pope, as head of the Catholic Church, denounced the participation of Xenza Propoitis in the trial.Russian Old Believers have expressed themselves in the sense that their Christian blood is purer, they do not drink or smoke, and are more suitable for consumption, but they consider it shameful to accuse Jews of ritual murder. The cadets attributed the victory to themselves. Their lawyers, journalists, and Duma deputies helped their party make political capital.
I, who read all the detailed reports of the court hearings, all the speeches of individuals, received the greatest satisfaction from a short letter from Professor Kokovtsev to the newspaper Gatsfara, written by him in Hebrew. The threads that connected me to my stepmother were stretched to the limit. Baylis' acquittal eased that tension. I remembered my speech on the island.I said then: I believe that the time is not far off when not only will there be no pogroms, but the interests of the Jewish people will not be ignored. Could I say that now? I thought. I confessed to myself that the ill-fated process had left an insoluble residue in my soul. Will it affect my relationship with Katya? flashed in my head a thought that I hastened to drive away as absurd.
The money I earned was spent. Every month the father sends 25 rubles. This is enough for a modest, ascetic life, including the cost of books and fees for teaching. I'm heavy on dependence on my father. It is difficult for him, and I know it well, but he selflessly endures difficulties and even tried once to send instead of 25 rubles ZO. I only got 25 and the rest went back. He and I correspond in ancient Hebrew.It's the only joy I can give him. Mother doesn't write, she's illiterate and ashamed of it. The sisters are busy. The elder pulls and fills his teeth. Earnings give to the party. Hiding illegal literature. He's making nights for the underground. He reads Lunkevich’s pamphlets in working circles. The average person dreams, reads books in bed day and night. The youngest graduated from progymnasium and gives penny lessons. For my father and mother, I am the only hope.They believe in me. Their son will be an engineer. I'm worried. At twenty-three, I'm on my father's payroll. I don’t know what place I’ll be in life if I graduate from college. However, I take myself in hand and begin to study hard. At the mandatory seminars for students, they begin to notice my progress. Listening to my answers, the Belgians whisper "il e for." One tall, representative suggests working together.I agree, although I understand that we think differently, perceive differently. My memory is rational and his memory is mechanical. He expands his knowledge evenly, without ups and downs, and I have plenty of them. My ups surprise him, and my downs he criticizes slyly: It's okay, the professors will attribute it to ignorance of the language!
About the famous Professor De Gehen, he says that if during the exam his large tube goes out, the student will fail. I was not inclined to believe it, but the Belgian shrugged his shoulders and assured me that it was. The professors were most interested in him as examiners, and he studied them well.
When we were tired, the Belgian (Theodor Zhodonj) offered a fair en peti tour, and we went for a walk outside. Here we talked about love, about morality, about politics. My friend claimed that he was a freethinker, although he belonged to a wealthy bourgeois family.
I'm almost a socialist, he defined himself.
What does that mean in practice? I asked.
- I don't recognize religion. There is nothing Christian in Catholic rites and in practical life. I feel for the workers.
- You're not a socialist. You have bourgeois psychology.
- How do you prove that?
When factory girls smile at us, you look at them with contempt.
- Yeah, that's right. I couldn't have an affair with a factory girl. You're different. You are a foreigner. Nobody knows you.
For a woman, you're ready to open the skull of an opponent.
- You don't have the courage, do you?
- Enough to ask if she loves me and give her a free choice.
- You make me laugh, but it's still interesting what you say.
Socialists are internationalists, and you hate the Flemish, the Germans.
- Yeah, but it's from the heart, not the theory.
You will graduate from university, become an engineer and help exploit workers.
-Yes, but everyone wants an adusir sa vi.
- I'm not aiming for it.
- You're mixing me with dirt. That's cruel!
I'm thinking. Why is everyone accusing me of cruelty?
When we meet a Belgian infantry unit, Jodong asks my opinion about it. I do not like their easy and uncoated step. Soldiers look like school children to me. I told him:
When the Russian infantry moves, the ground trembles under it, and these are too lightweight.
Jordon is upset and snaps:
Why did you lose the war with Japan?
The theater of war was too far from our centers, and our government was bad.
No, Zhodonj objected, the Germans would not have lost the war against Japan. If you fight them, they will destroy you.
- We'll see about that!
Jodonna likes my answer. He says:
- There's going to be a war. This year you and France will fight against Germany.
Is it possible to determine exactly when war will begin?
- We know that for sure. I don't understand why you don't know anything about this.
- How do you know that?
Our and French intelligence know for sure that the Germans will complete all preparations for war this spring, and it will be unprofitable for them to postpone the start of hostilities. They'll go through Belgium. It is estimated that Liege fortifications against their artillery will last a day and a half.
Jodon's confident tone makes me laugh, but doubt still creeps into my soul. If this is so, I think, then we should hurry to hand over the drawings, seminars, laboratories and go home. If there is no war, then I will come to the autumn session to take exams. You can prepare for them at home, and I will release my father for a few months from the cost of maintaining me.
Katya is now in Moscow, lives in a dormitory, listens to lectures at the university, works in a clinic, is going with Olga Vasilievna in Yalta.
I make a decision and one day in May I go to the station. There are some laundry and textbooks in the suitcase. The rest of the things (clothing, books, revolver) I leave with the hostess for safekeeping.
On the Russian border, a gendarme officer looked at my suitcase and asked:
- No literature?
Russian language caresses your ears. I look at him without dislike and ask:
- What literature?
Do you know what kind of literature I am talking about? It's amazing.
- No illegal, only textbooks.
The officer shows generosity despite recognizing a Jew in me. He's making a sign to his assistant, and my suitcase isn't being inspected. I recall his brother handing over governor's passports when crossing the border two years ago: a Pole who didn't want to answer in Russian, he poked his passport in his face. There was a conversation with the Jew:
- Last name?
- Yampolsky.
- Name, patronymic?
- Moses Lazarevich.
- No, your national name!
- I'm telling you my national name.
- You're Movsha Leiserowicz. You have no national pride!
It is not for you to teach Jews national pride.
How do you explain that gendarmes have become polite? Do they smell war? I thought.
Less than three years have passed since I jumped off the carriage and kissed Katya. After much questioning, I went out into the street where the dormitory she now lived was located. Not without excitement, I was looking for the room I needed. I noticed a female figure sneaking into the entrance, but did not pay attention to her. It dawned on me that this figure was familiar to me when she disappeared behind the door. It was Katya I decided and ran after her.There were three doors on the stairs. A woman came out of one. We looked at each other as a healthy young man and a beautiful young woman. We smiled at each other.
- Are you coming?
- Yes, to you, I said.
- I'm listening.
Tell me: Katya Stepanova has just entered this door?
She laughed and said,
Come in.
- Help me. I want to appear in front of her completely unexpectedly.
- Follow me.
We entered a long corridor with doors on both sides. To one of them my companion came, opened it, put his head and shouted:
- Girl, don't undress! You have a visitor.
She said to me,
- Well, quick!
I fell in and started looking around. At the iron bed was a white figure. I looked at her and didn't recognize Katya. A white uniform concealed her figure. Rusty hair was cut as a boy and created a contrast with the serious expression of a pale powdered face. She didn't drink powder before. I looked at my tired, pale face and didn't recognize him. Her eyes were looking for the real Katya, and she probably didn't recognize me either.
Finally, I heard:
- Grisha! You? I've never seen you European before!
We looked into each other's eyes. The ice broke. I rushed to her, but I heard:
- Stay back! I'm infectious. Typhoid on duty.
I didn't listen, though. He hugged through his robe, bent his head and kissed his native eyes, pale lips.
- You're always clean to me!
Here we heard:
- Bravo! I'm talking like a woman. Now, kids, break up! I'm talking like a medic.
The medic came and set us apart.
- Trust me with your Grish. Don't be jealous 7 Go to the bathroom! Put yourself in order.
Katya ran away.
I was shocked by the meeting. Shut up.
But they kept me quiet.
- How long will you keep quiet? I'm a woman! She's good.
- Yeah, that's true.
- So why are you silent? I want to know what kind of husband Katie has.
- I want to know what Katya's girlfriend is. Let's do this: you ask and I will answer.
- Agreed. Do all Jews have such faithful wives?
- I can't vouch for everyone, but I have one.
- That's right. Now tell me, why aren't you an officer? I saw you in the picture and thought you were an officer.
It is very easy for Jews not to be officers.
- Can I be the husband of the colonel's daughter?
- I'll complain to Katya about you.
- For God's sake, don't do that!
- All right, for God's sake, I won't.
You're good even though you're Jewish.
You're not good if you slander a whole nation.
- That's right! You're interesting. And not stupid.
- I feel better when I'm being scolded, not praised.
- I didn't guarantee you well-being. What will you do to me if I slander your people?
I took her cleaned hands with both hands. She looked at me curiously. As she squeezed her arms with force, she shouted "Oh!" and knelt down.
- I brought you to your knees.
- I'll complain to Katya.
- I'm not hiding anything from her.
Oh, right? I didn't think you were that strong. This saint seems to understand men.
I put her on my knees for the second time.
- That's Katya.
Don't! I already know you're strong, she said, freeing her hands. I had an idea.
- What?
- Promise to help me.
- What role do I have to play? Page, lover, friend?
It's enough for you to know that I love Katya.
I promise.
She fluttered out of the room like a little pranks, and after a few minutes came back with an officer I mistook for a police warden. He remembered his “right of residence”, which he did not have, and thought: they will be sent out in a staged order. They won't even let you talk to Katya!
My fears were in vain. He was a real officer. I heard:
- Meet the guards lieutenant Peshkov, student Zeitlin.
She seemed to know my last name!
Before we could shake hands, we heard:
- Now, boys, change your clothes.
We both stared at her in surprise, but she didn't let us come to our senses. I told the officer,
- You promised to obey. Your officer's word!
Turn away! he said, took off his checker and began to undress.
By the time Katya appeared, we, according to Zhenya's plan, were called Katina's friend, took our places. I, in an officer's uniform, with a checker, stood in the corner at the door so that Katya would not notice me. The officer in my suit and Zhenya stood at the window in the pose of an intimate couple. Katya could only see the back of their heads.
Katya entered with a cheerful gait with a comb in her hands and, seeing the couple talking, said:
- And you, crook, have already made friends with Zhenya! That's good!
No one answered her.
- I'll take care of the house. Nightingales don't feed fables.
Everyone was silent. She covered the bedside table with a white napkin and placed all the food on it. I walked up to the couple talking and pulled the officer by the sleeve of my jacket.
Come on, honey, I'll feed you. You're hungry.
The officer turned to her and said,
- You're obviously wrong.
- Excuse me! I was really wrong. But where's Grisha? I trusted you, she turned to her wife.
- There he is, your Grisha! Brilliant officer. I identified him long ago: the officer is young. I want you, you idiot, to look at him.
It's hard to surprise me with an officer's uniform. My soul accepts him in the uniform of a cabman. And you let yourself change! she sadly left me.
Zhenya found a magical word, I said and thought: he remembers the cabman!
- All right! I don't care about jokes. My mother is sick. Get dressed! We have a lot to talk about. Come on, Zhenya, let them change.
- And your Grisha is not as modest as you think.
- How do you know that?
- He brought me to my knees.
- He doesn't kneel himself!
-Yes, you're both proud. It pisses me off.
As they approached the door, Zhenya whispered something to Katya. Katya turned around, looked at me, blushed thickly and shook her head in denial.
The girls were back soon. Zhenya took the officer.
-Please! he said to Kate. The only time you've been affectionate to me is because of a misunderstanding.
- I hope you don't regret this misunderstanding.
“Well, here we are at last alone!” said Katya with a sigh. Now the family will have dinner. Eat, eat, Grishenka! Are you used to drinking wine abroad? You're not getting wine. After dinner, I'll put you in bed, and you'll tell me everything.
She really undresses and puts me in her bed like a baby. I am weak-willed in her tender hands. Twenty years ago, my mother put me in this way. I remember that well.
The bed is hard. Only the pillow is soft. Brought her own, I think. The bed linen is clean, snow-white. After two days in 3rd class cars, I enjoy falling apart on a hard mattress. Tired dicks absorb peace. It's easy at heart. The gentle girl's smell, Katyn the smell coming from the pillow, spins its head. Is happiness at peace? I think.
Katya carefully wraps me in a blanket. He sits on a mattress, puts his hand on my head, rubs my hair.
- Tell me!
I look at my dear face. Cut hair doesn't seem strange to me. I'm used to them.
I start talking without thinking. Words come out. When I stop to hide something, I hear:
- Tell me, tell me, darling!
I'm going on. I want to be truthful. I'm coming. Katie has tears in her eyes that she doesn't want to drop.
This confession can only be heard once in a lifetime. And you thought it was impossible to confess before a man. Katya said that.
There was something huge, eternal, climaxing, frightening, lightning-fast about that recognition. I'm getting scared. Fear turns into mad desire. I'm attracting Katya. She's not resisting.
- Give it to me!
Nope! Not today.
I let her go, she jumps up and sits back down.
- You've changed! I'm scared. Listen to me. Well, calm down! Listen to me. I'm bleeding today. But that's not the point. Listen to me! Or is that all you need?
-I'm listening.
How hard it was for me to say those two words!
- Listen to me! I want you to have a baby, but right now we can't take care of him. Wait a minute. You can handle it. I've studied this as a medic. Smile! Don't hurt me! Zhenya teases me of the saints, but you must be with me. Because I haven't confessed yet, and you don't know if I've kept that promise to be what I was. That's it! Get dressed! We'll walk around town with you all night. It's better this way. I still have so much to tell you!
Suddenly, the passion extinguished like an autumn shooting star. Katya's arguments reached me like a soothing doctor's words to the ears of a hopeless patient. The bed that sheltered me has become a stranger. I wanted to leave her as soon as possible, but some stupor prevented me from moving.
- I'll strip you and you'll dress yourself. You're already big, kindly joked Katya, but this caress hit me like a whip. I jumped up. Katya shuddered. She's pale.
I got dressed. She made the bed for a long time. She didn't get along.
I took the powder, but thought and threw it back.
We calmed down a little outside. Katya spoke first.
- Now you're gonna beat me up? That's what I want.
I tried to imagine how I would beat her, but I couldn’t. She was as dear to me as ever. I took her by the arm, but she was free.
Don't be angry. So he's wrong. When I got mad at you, I repented. Repent, too!
If you're imitating you, we're not supposed to talk for two and a half months.
Nope. Don't! It's costing us too much. Kiss me! There! We're good again, aren't we? Look, the officer is young! Zhenya loves you. Did you kiss her? Remember when I said to you, ‘Look, don’t kiss anyone else!’ We were kids then. We were so happy then! This lecherous Zhenka demands that I give myself to you. You know, it's not her, it's you and I who are going to decide this. We're not kids anymore.I felt that when I read the Baylis trial report. I decided I had to fight. I'm talking about political struggle. I'm a spark now. I hope you know what that means. Of course, I couldn’t write about it.
- How did this happen?
- I've been to my old men's. I read a report on the process in the Russian Word. The old man came up, noticed that I was reading, and looked at me so heartfeltly warmly that it seemed to me that he was blessing the feat. And I saw a feat in the fact that I had to shoot Shmakov, who seems to me a wild boar, and Zamyslovsky, whom I saw in the form of a poisonous snake. I wanted to express this protest on behalf of the Russian people. I'm Russian.When I returned to Moscow, I told the Iskra people about it. I was told:
An act of individual terror is inappropriate and we reject it. This could lead to Jewish pogroms.
But my conscience demands that I protest against the villains committed in the name of the Russian people!
Why did you choose this trial as a pretext for protest?
- He resents me the most.
- You'd think you were Jewish.
If this continues, I will become a Jew.
My comrades began to take great care of me and did not leave me alone until I agreed that the protest I planned would benefit my political enemies. I was nicknamed "Jewish." Now you and I are the same tribe, although we remain heterosexual.
- You feel like you're sorry we're not sexless, my folk avenger?
- Grishka, don't you dare! We're not kids!
- Okay, I won't. If I'm not an Iskra, at least I'm a man of sparkling. How's your Hebrew? Wouldn't it benefit your political enemies?
Nope. In less than a year, you and I will write in Hebrew.
- All right, all-sex fellow-tribe, I'll assume you kept your word. I didn't doubt that, by the way. You can finish your confession and feel free.
- Thank you, honey. Thank you, honey. Where do you want to roam the A or B ring?
- I don't know either A or B. I want a place where nighttime adventures threaten you less.
- I'm not a coward. I'm just a little scared of you. If you're good, I'll show you where I go when I miss you.
All night we roamed the wide deserted Moscow boulevards, bordered on both sides by endless rows of stone houses. We walked holding hands. When they sat on the bench, they did not open their hands. Talking about indifferent things. They were carefree happy.
I came to my senses first.
And you, Katyusha, think in vain that we are not children.
- Remark, native, timely. The night is over, and today I'm leaving for my poor mother. I already have a ticket. I promised you I'd show you the corner of my privacy. Let's go there. We'll talk about our business on the way. Now the philistine wife will speak:
- How are you doing academically?
If I pass the exams in the fall, I will go to the third year and get the title of "candidate-enzher". There will be special subjects at the Faculty of Electrical Engineering. Three years and then state exams in Russia.
I promise to be a doctor in two years. I'll be your real wife. I'll pull you. All right?
- All right.
- All right. Now we're kids again. We will not stop until we reach the corner.
Now we were no longer wandering, but quickly moving towards the goal.
"It's not boring garden," said Katya.
- How is it boring, funny?
- No, not boring. Something touching about that title.
It's dangerous to walk here at night, but it's light now.
As if to refute what was said, there was a robber cry from behind the bushes: “Stop!”
We stopped.
A tall and wide figure in boots, a cotton jacket and a mint cap proclaimed:
- Come closer, Barchuk!
I decided to get closer with the calculation, so that the distance to Katya remained the greatest.
- Stay away, I told her.
- Well, she replied slyly, but she didn't move.
I approached a formidable figure. I was glad to see she was unarmed and looked her in the face. Shaven, pale cheeks. From under the steep forehead, squinted eyes look with contempt from the underside.
What can I do for you?
Give me the cigarette or I'll take the lady!
I'd give you a cigarette if I did, but I won't give you a lady.
- You're not afraid, are you?
- What are you afraid of? I'm talking to you as a human being.
- Don't talk to me. Do you have a gun?
- I got a gun, Katya intervened, get the hell out of here!
She put a little browning on him.
- That's what they say! I'll go. You're not wearing a bad finger. The Cavalier must be frozen without a finger.
How did it not occur to me that you were cold without a coat?
- Thank you, comrade spark, for your protection.
- Would you handle that bear?
- I couldn't have given my lady away.
- Yeah, you're a bear too! Well, I didn't want to risk it.
We rounded the Andreevsky Monastery, climbed the hill and walked along the high, steep bank of the Moscow river. We got to the bench. Katya sat down, opened her coat, covered the floor and said:
- That's what you did on the first day we met!
That was five years and one month ago. We were young, almost children, but our feelings did not deceive us. It's gratifying to know that.
Katya pulled her hands out of the sleeves of her coat and we wrapped ourselves in them.
She snuggled up to me. I hugged her. Pushed his cheek against his cheek.
- Are you okay, Grisha?
- I'm fine with you, Katya.
And then you said, "Don't, Katyusha!" Let me know what happened.”
I kissed you like this, and it was my first kiss.
- Then you didn't ask me for anything, and today you said,
"Give yourself to me!" Like I'm supposed to be your property.
Demanded like that hooligan to a cigarette.
That sounded reproachful. There's a pause. I loosened my arms. Katya felt it and whispered:
- Stupid! I'm not mad at you for that. I just wanted to say that we have changed, but we have kept the love.
She shut up and said,
- The bench is exactly the same. The steep shore is the same.
But there was a huge dome of the sky over the endlessly overflowing river, and here the muddy, narrow Moscow River, and behind it nondescript wooden buildings. Church bulbs all around.
- Are you embarrassed by these bulbs?
-Nope. They cemented the state well for many centuries.
It is strange that in the name of a great internationalist, a purely national state was built. Hypocrisy was building.
All this must perish with the autocracy. Zoological nationalism will give way to internationalism.
It is possible, Katyusha, that the history of Russia will go this way, but I do not understand the place of the Jewish people in it.
- And you and I will take care of that, too. It's gonna be fair.
- From your mouth to God's ears.
- What does that mean?
That's what the Jews say when they want to believe.
- You want to believe? What's stopping you?
I am concerned that Marx and his followers ignore the tragedy of the Jewish people. You can judge by yourself. Your outrage over the exit process didn't find. They called you a Jew.
- Well, then? I didn't give up that title.
- Katyusha, there are very few as sensitive as you.
- You're idealizing me. Well, then. I don't refuse to be an exception. I'm the Ruth you fought with Grinsput over. We'll call our son David. Lenin will cure your doubts. There's no need to heal. I love your doubts.
Let us build an international state despite hypocrisy.
I hope we don’t have hypocrisy in our personal lives. Even though it's hard.
- Why is it difficult?
- Here's an example. Dostoevsky writes that Russians do not know the Holy Scriptures, but they have Christ in their hearts.
- I don't see it being hypocritical.
- Take your time. Christ is a Jew, and Dostoevsky is a Judophobe.
No, I will not come to such hypocrisy in my personal life, although the very term “personal life” is fraught with ambiguity and hypocrisy.
- Give me an example.
- Please. When I decided to shoot Shmakov and Zamyslovsky, I understood that this was dictated by a personal impulse. In doing so, I thought you wouldn't stop loving me, despite the disaster that would have followed. It was not fear that stopped me, and yet, despite the arguments of the Party members, I cannot escape the realization that there is some hypocrisy here. Find out where it is personal and not personal! Don't you despise me?
-Nope. I'm glad you didn't do that.
If so, tell me, are you with me or not with me?
I'm a spark.
- You seem to be giving me an ultimatum.
We were silent for a long time. Katya spoke first. There was pain in her whisper.
- You're avenging me for not giving up on you. Shame on you.
- I'm not ashamed. You seem angry.
- You're cruel.
- It's been known for a long time.
Katie's got tears. I gave up. I said,
- I don't want to upset you.
Katya’s face became tense, as if she was trying to remember something long forgotten. She said, imitating my tone,
- It's known! Speak! There should be nothing unsettled between us. "I'm not ashamed!" she teased me, and I paid tribute to her artistic talent. I remembered that we were playing at a price. She did it nicely, I thought.
- Okay, honey, I'll try. You know that from the age of eleven I studied with the writer Berman of Hebrew wisdom. The basis of our studies was the history of the Jewish people. A brief history of Alexander Ziskind Rabinovich told in Hebrew about persecutions, libels, pogroms, expulsions in many countries. I asked the teacher how to explain that all nations have done so much harm to the Jewish people.The Master opened the Pentateuch of Moses and gave me to read the passages which prescribe the good treatment of foreigners. Now compare this to the laws that apply to us when we are forced to live among others. The Master wanted me to conclude from this that the Jews are better than other nations, and this is the cause of their suffering. I objected, however: The Pentateuch should not be compared with legal laws, but with the New Testament. It says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
As the teacher became angry, I realized that he was wrong, and his arguments that for Jews the Old Testament was not only the foundation of religion, but also the law of law, did not convince me. I knew from the same Bible that Jews were cruel in ancient times. At fourteen, I had the courage to admit that my question was unanswered. A little later, the story of Rabinovich made me think again. She was talking about Lassalle.This courageous leader of the German proletariat has proved by his struggle how great the vitality of the Jewish people is, from which he emerged, but from which he has renounced. I asked: Is it not good to renounce your people? The teacher answered briefly and added: And Marx was a baptized Jew.
Why do great people deny their people?
- These great men are immoral.
Why do great Jews become immoral?
- You're saying it's people. You're not Girshka, you're Grishka.
- I didn't mean to say that, although I did respond to the appeal "Grishka". Now I don't ask that kind of question to anyone. They are standing before me, however.
When I read the book, I decided to be honest with her. I understand that it is very difficult, that even Lassalle could not do it, that I risk being maimed, but it is a matter of conscience for me. I am afraid that the Iskra people, whom I sympathize with, will admit that my doubts may be useful to their political enemies. Now you talk. Do you still love my doubts?
- I do, and I do. We'll be together. We must also be honest about the revolution. You'll understand that.
- So, revolution. He baptized Dobrynya with the sword, and Putyata with fire.
- What do you mean?
- Say nothing. I want to ask: which of us is good, and who is pathetic?
- Which one looks more like Gideon?
Why am I happy when you ask the right questions?
- Now I know why I love you. I didn't know that before.
Why not?
Only you could formulate such a purely mathematical question.
I held out, not knowing what to say, and laughed.
Katya took over the initiative. She pretended to be angry.
- Why are you laughing?
I remembered you playing Tomboy, I said.
And I forgot, she said in the tone of a little guilty girl.
- Katka, don't you dare! I shouted at her.
But Katya's gone crazy. She stamped her foot and blurted out:
- Tell me, are you gonna hit me?
- I won't, I replied to her.
- Suit yourself. I'll still love you.
We walked to the hostel tired of a sleepless night, devastated by a stormy meeting after a long separation, covered with the sadness of a soon breakup.
Jenny wasn't in the room. The pristine bed said she didn't sleep at home.
I gave the room to the newlyweds, said Katya, and smiled sadly.
We ate breakfast. Katya packed her suitcase. I wrapped the pillow in a blanket and strapped it to my suitcase.
"Significantly present!" she told me. She took a ballet with a robe and doctoral supplies.
We walked silently to the first cab driver, whom Katya ordered to take us to the Bryansk railway station. There, a porter took possession of things and put us in a second-class carriage. When the porter left, Katya moved things in her own way. I watched her lovingly. Noticing this, she showed me her tongue.
We're on the platform. Silently looking at each other. When the conductor asked for the car, we kissed. I wanted to cry. I helped her climb the step. When the train started, Katya made a move as if she was about to jump. She reminded me of the last time we said goodbye. I told her not to jump. We both thought that our youth had passed, that time was passing us by.