第 36 页

“是的，同志们，这些日子对我们来说是沉痛的。一方面，问题弄不明白，脑子晕头转向，经常浮现出这样的想法：你这是在跟谁斗？另一方面，又把矛头指向自己的党。这确实非常痛苦。两面受到夹击，搞这种党内斗争会有什么结果？我回想起一次谈话，内心非常羞愧。朱赫来同志大概记得这次谈话。有一次，他在街上遇见我，叫我上车，到他那儿去。我当时正被斗争冲昏头脑，对他说：‘既然有人出卖革命，我们就要斗，必要的时候，不惜拿起武器。’朱赫来回答得很简单：‘那我们就把你们当作反革命，抓起来枪毙。留神点，保尔，你已经站在最后一级台阶上。再跨出一步，你就到街垒那边去了。’说这话的，是我最亲爱的人，是我的启蒙老师，是以自己的英勇无畏和坚强性格博得我深深敬重的人，是我在肃反委员会工作时的老首长。我没有忘记他说的话。当我们这些死硬派被开除出组织的时候，我们每一个人都明白了，什么叫政治上的死亡，是的，是死亡。因为离开了党，我们没法生存下去。我们以工人的诚朴，公开并且直截了当地对党说：‘请还给我们生命。’我们又重新回到了党的队伍里。这几个月里，我们明白了我们的错误。离开了党就没有我们的生命。这一点，我们每个人都清楚。没有比做一个战士更大的幸福，没有比意识到你是革命军队中的一员更值得骄傲的。我们永远不会再离开无产阶级起义的行列。没有什么宝贵的东西不能献给党。一切的一切——生命、家庭、个人幸福，我们都要献给我们伟大的党。党也对我们敞开大门，我们又回到了你们中间，回到了我们强大的家庭里。我们将和你们一道重建满目疮痍的、血迹斑斑的、贫穷饥饿的国家，重建用我们朋友和同志的鲜血喂养起来的国家。而已经过去的事件，将成为对我们坚定性的最后一次考验。

“让生活长在，我们的双手将和千万双手一起，明天就开始修复我们被毁的家园。让生活长在，同志们！我们会重新建设一个世界！胸中有强大动力的人，难道会战败吗？我们一定胜利！”

保尔哽住了，他浑身颤抖，走下了讲台。大厅轻轻晃动了一下，爆发出震耳欲聋的掌声，仿佛房基塌陷，四围的墙壁向大厅倾倒下来。呼喊的声浪从圆形屋顶奔腾而下，千百只手在挥舞，整个大厅如同滚开的水锅在沸腾。

保尔看不清台阶，他向一个边门走去。血涌向头部。为了不跌倒，他抓住了侧面沉重的天鹅绒帷幕。一双手扶住了他，他感觉到被一个人紧紧搂住了。一个熟悉的声音面向着他悄声说：“保夫鲁沙，朋友，手伸给我，同志！我们牢固的友谊今后再也不会破裂了。”

保尔头疼得要命，差点要失去知觉，但是他仍然聚集起力量，回答扎尔基说：“我们还要一道生活，伊万。一道大踏步前进。”

他们的手紧握在一起，再也没有什么力量能把它们掰开。

使他们团结起来的不单单是友谊……

Part Two Chapter 1

Midnight. The last tramcar has long since dragged its battered carcass back to the depot. The moon lays its cold light on the windowsill and spreads a luminous coverlet on the bed, leaving the rest of the room in semi-darkness. At the table in the corner under a circle of light shed by the desk lamp sits Rita bent over a thick notebook, her diary. The sharp point of her pencil traces the words:

May 24

"I am making another attempt to jot down my impressions. Again there is a big gap. Six weeks have passed since I made the last entry. But it cannot be helped.

"How can I find time for my diary? It is past midnight now, and here I am still writing. Sleep eludes me. Comrade Segal is leaving us: he is going to work in the Central Committee. We were all very much upset by the news. He is a wonderful person, our Lazar Alexandrovich. I did not realise until now how much his friendship has meant to us all. The dialectical materialism class is bound to go to pieces when he leaves. Yesterday we stayed at his place until the wee hours verifying the progress made by our 'pupils'. Akim, the Secretary of the Komsomol Gubernia Committee, came and that horrid Tufta as well. I can't stand that Mr. Know-All! Segal was delighted when his pupil Korchagin brilliantly defeated Tufta in an argument on Party history.

Yes, these two months have not been wasted. You don't begrudge your efforts when you see such splendid results. It is rumoured that Zhukhrai is being transferred to the Special Department of the Military Region. I wonder why.

"Lazar Alexandrovich turned his pupil over to me. 'You will have to complete what I have begun,'

he said. 'Don't stop halfway. You and he, Rita, can learn a great deal from each other. The lad is still rather disorganised. His is a turbulent nature and he is apt to be carried away by his emotions. I feel that you will be a most suitable guide for him, Rita. I wish you success. Don't forget to write me in Moscow.'

"Today a new secretary for the Solomensky District Committee was sent down from the Central Committee. His name is Zharky. I knew him in the army.

"Tomorrow Dmitri Dubava will bring Korchagin. Let me try to describe Dubava. Medium height, strong, muscular. Joined the Komsomol in 1918, and has been a Party member since 1920. He was one of the three who were expelled from the Komsomol Gubernia Committee for having belonged to the 'Workers' Opposition'. Instructing him has not been easy. Every day he upset the programme by asking innumerable questions and making us digress from the subject. He and Olga Yureneva, my other pupil, did not get along at all. At their very first meeting he looked her up and down and remarked: 'Your get-up is all wrong, old girl. You ought to have trousers with leather seats, spurs, a Budyonny hat and a sabre. This way you're neither fish nor fowl.'

"Olga wouldn't stand for that, of course, and I had to interfere. I believe Dubava is a friend of Korchagin's. Well enough for tonight. It's time for bed."

The earth wilted under the scorching sun. The iron railing of the footbridge over the railway platforms was burning to the touch. People, limp and exhausted from the heat, climbed the bridge wearily; most of them were not travellers, but residents of the railway district who used the bridge to get to the town proper.

As he came down the steps Pavel caught sight of Rita. She had reached the station before him and was watching the people coming off the bridge. Pavel paused some three paces away from her. She did not notice him, and he studied her with new-found interest. She was wearing a striped blouse and a short dark-blue skirt of some cheap material. A soft leather jacket was slung over her shoulder. Her sun-tanned face was framed in a shock of unruly hair and as she stood there with her head thrown slightly back and her eyes narrowed against the sun's glare, it struck Korchagin for the first time that Rita, his friend and teacher, was not only a member of the bureau of the Komsomol Gubernia Committee, but....

Annoyed with himself for entertaining such "sinful" thoughts, he called to her.

"I've been staring at you for a whole hour, but you didn't notice me," he laughed. "Come along, our train is already in."

They went over to the service door leading to the platform.

The previous day the Gubernia Committee had appointed Rita as its representative at a district conference of the Komsomol, and Korchagin was to go as her assistant.

Their immediate problem was to board the train, which was by no means a simple task. The railway station on those rare occasions when the trains ran was taken over by an all-powerful Committee of Five in charge of boarding and without a permit from this body no one was allowed on the platform. All exits and approaches to the platform were guarded by the Committee's men. The overcrowded train could take on only a fraction of the crowd anxious to leave, but no one wanted to be left behind to spend days waiting for a chance train to come through. And so thousands stormed the platform doors in an effort to break through to the unattainable carriages. In those days the station was literally besieged and sometimes pitched battles were fought.

After vainly attempting to push through the crowd collected at the platform entrance, Pavel, who knew all the ins and outs at the station, led Rita through the luggage room. With difficulty they made their way to coach No. 4. At the carriage door a Cheka man, sweating profusely in the heat, was trying to hold back the crowd, and repeated over and over again:

"The carriage's full, and it's against the rules to ride on the buffers or the roof."

Irate people bore down on him, waving tickets issued by the Committee under his nose. There were angry curses, shouts and violent jostling at every carriage. Pavel saw that it would be impossible to board the train in the conventional manner. Yet board it they must, otherwise the conference would have to be called off.

Taking Rita aside, he outlined his plan of action: he would push his way inside, open a window and help her to climb in. There was no other way.

"Let me have that jacket of yours. It's better than any credential."

He slipped on the jacket and stuck his revolver into the pocket so that the grip and cord showed.

Leaving the bag with Rita, he went over to the carriage, elbowed through the knot of excited passengers at the entrance and gripped the handrail.

"Hey, Comrade, where you going?"

Pavel glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder at the stocky Cheka man.

"I'm from the Special Department. I want to see whether all the passengers in this carriage have tickets issued by the Committee," he said in a tone that left no doubt as to his authority.

The Cheka man glanced at Pavel's pocket, wiped his perspiring brow with his sleeve and said wearily:

"Go ahead if you can shove yourself in."

Working with his hands, shoulders, and here and there with his fists, holding on to the ledges of the upper berths to climb over the passengers who had planted themselves on their belongings in the middle of the passage, Pavel made his way through to the centre of the carriage, ignoring the torrent of abuse that rained down on him from all sides.

"Can't you look where you're going, curse you!" screamed a stout woman when Pavel accidentally brushed her knee with his foot, as he lowered himself to the floor. She had contrived to wedge her 18-stone bulk onto the edge of a seat and had a large vegetable oil can between her knees. All the shelves were stuffed with similar cans, hampers, sacks and baskets. The air in the carriage was suffocating.

Paying no heed to the abuse, Pavel demanded: "Your ticket, please!"

"My what!" the woman snapped back at the unwelcome ticket-collector.

A head appeared from the uppermost berth and an ugly voice boomed out: "Vaska, what's this 'ere mug want. Give 'im a ticket to kingdom come, will ya?"

The huge frame and hairy chest of what was obviously Vaska swung into view right above Pavel's head and a pair of bloodshot eyes fixed him with a bovine stare.

"Leave the lady alone, can't ya? What d'ye want tickets for?"

Four pairs of legs dangled from an upper side berth; their owners sat with their arms around one another's shoulders noisily cracking sunflower seeds. One glance at their faces told Pavel who they were: a gang of food sharks, hardened crooks who travelled up and down the country buying up food and selling it at speculative prices.

Pavel had no time to waste with them. He had to get Rita inside somehow.

"Whose box is this?" he inquired of an elderly man in railway uniform, indicating a wooden chest standing under the window.

"Hers," replied the other, pointing to a pair of thick legs in brown stockings.

The window had to be opened and the box was in the way. Since there was nowhere to move it Pavel picked it up and handed it to its owner who was seated on an upper berth.

"Hold it a moment, please, I'm going to open the window."

"Keep your hands off my things!" screamed the flat-nosed wench when he placed the box on her knees.

"Motka, what's this feller think he's doin'?" she said to the man seated beside her. The latter gave Pavel a kick in the back with his sandalled foot.

"Lissen 'ere, you! Clear out of here before I punch your nose!"

Pavel endured the kick in silence. He was too busy unfastening the window.

"Move aside, please," he said to the railwayman.

Shifting another can out of the way Pavel cleared a space in front of the window. Rita was on the platform below. Quickly she handed him the bag. Throwing it onto the knees of the stout woman with the vegetable oil can, Pavel bent down, seized Rita's hands and drew her in. Before the guard had time to notice this infringement of the rules, Rita was inside the carriage, leaving the guard swearing belatedly outside. The gang of toughs met Rita's appearance with such an uproar that she was taken aback. Since there was not even standing room on the floor, she found a place for her feet on the very edge of the lower berth and stood there holding on to the upper berth for support.

Foul curses sounded on all sides. From above the ugly bass voice croaked:

"Look at the swine, gets in himself and drags his broad in after 'im!"

A voice from above squeaked: "Motka, poke him one between the eyes!"

The woman was doing her best to stand her wooden box on Pavel's head. The two newcomers were surrounded by a ring of evil, brutish faces. Pavel was sorry that Rita had to be exposed to this but there was nothing to be done but to make the best of it.

"Move your sacks and make room for the comrade," he said to the one they called Motka, but the answer was a curse so foul that he boiled with rage. The pulse over his right eyebrow began to throb painfully. "Just wait, you scoundrel, you'll answer for this," he said to the ruffian, but received a kick on the head from above.

"Good for you, Vaska, fetch 'im another!" came approving cries from all sides.

Pavel's self-control gave way at last, and as always in such moments his actions became swift and sure.

"You speculating bastards, you think you can get away with it?" he shouted, and hoisting himself agilely on to the upper berth, he sent his fist smashing against Motka's leering face. The speculator went tumbling onto the heads of the other passengers.

"Clear out of here, you swine, or I'll shoot down the whole lot of you!" Pavel yelled, waving his revolver under the noses of the four.

The tables were turned. Rita watched closely, ready to shoot if anyone attacked Korchagin. The upper berth-quickly cleared. The gang hastily withdrew to the neighbouring compartment.

As he helped Rita up to the empty berth, Pavel whispered:

"You stay here, I'm going to see about those fellows."

Rita tried to stop him. "You're not going to fight them, are you?"

"No," he reassured her. "I'll be back soon."

He opened the window again and climbed out onto the platform. A few minutes later he was talking to Burmeister of the Transport Cheka, his former chief. The Lett heard him out and then gave orders to have the entire carriage cleared and the passengers' papers checked.

"It's just as I said," growled Burmeister. "The trains are full of speculators before they get here."

A detail of ten Cheka men cleared the carriage. Pavel, assuming his old duties, helped to examine the documents of the passengers. He had not broken all ties with his former Cheka comrades and in his capacity as secretary of the Komsomol he had sent some of the best Komsomol members to work there. When the screening was over, Pavel returned to Rita. The carriage was now occupied by a vastly different type of passenger: Red Army men and factory and office workers travelling on business.

Rita and Pavel had the top berth in one corner of the carriage, but so much of it was taken up with bundles of newspapers that there was only room for Rita to lie down.

"Never mind," she said, "we'll manage somehow."

The train began to move at last. As it slid slowly out of the station they caught a brief glimpse of the fat woman seated on a bundle of sacks on the platform and heard her yelling: