第 68 页

“真是个好的开端……”保尔说。“你把什么人领到房里来了！这样下去怎么得了啊？”

杜巴瓦显然不愿意再谈下去，他大声喊道：“连我该跟什么人睡觉也要你们下指示吗！这些说教我早就听够了！你从哪儿来的，滚回哪儿去吧！去告诉大家，就说我杜巴瓦现在又喝酒，又嫖女人！”

保尔走到他跟前，激动地说：“德米特里，把这个女人撵走，我想最后再跟你谈一次……”

杜巴瓦把脸一沉，转身走进了房间。

“呸，这个坏蛋！”保尔低声骂了一句，慢慢走下楼去。

两年过去了。无情的时光一天天、一月月流逝着，而生活，飞速前进而又丰富多彩的生活，总是给这些表面似乎单调的日子带来新的内容，每天都和前一天不一样。一亿六千万伟大的人民，开天辟地第一次成为自己辽阔土地和无穷宝藏的主人，他们英勇地、紧张地劳动着，重建被战争破坏了的经济。国家在日益巩固，在积聚力量。不久前不少工厂还废置着，没有一点生气，一片荒凉，可是现在烟囱全都冒烟了。

保尔觉得，这两年过得飞快，简直是不知不觉地过去的。

他不会从容不迫地过日子，早晨不会懒洋洋地打着哈欠迎接黎明，晚上也不会十点钟准时就寝。他总是急急忙忙地生活，不仅自己急急忙忙，而且还催促别人。

他舍不得在睡眠上多花时间。深夜还经常可以看到他的窗户亮着灯光，屋子里有几个人在埋头读书。这是他们在学习。两年里他学完了《资本论》第三卷，弄清了资本主义剥削的精巧结构。

有一天，拉兹瓦利欣突然来到保尔工作的那个专区。省委派他来，建议让他担任一个区的共青团区委书记。保尔当时出差在外。在保尔缺席的情况下，常委会把拉兹瓦利欣派到一个区里。保尔回来后，知道了这件事，但是什么也没有说。

一个月过去了。保尔到拉兹瓦利欣那个区视察工作。他发现的问题虽然不多，但是其中已经有这样一些情况：拉兹瓦利欣酗酒，拉拢一帮阿谀奉承的人，排挤好同志。保尔把这些事情提到常委会上讨论。当大家一致主张给拉兹瓦利欣严厉申斥处分的时候，保尔出人意料地说：“应该永远开除，不许重新入团。”

大家都很吃惊，感到这样处分过重，但是保尔坚持说：“一定要开除这个坏蛋。对这个堕落的少爷学生，我们已经给过他重新做人的机会，他纯粹是混进团里的异己分子。”

保尔把在别列兹多夫发生的事讲了一遍。

“我对柯察金的指摘提出强烈抗议。他这是报私仇，谁都可以捏造罪名陷害我。让柯察金拿出真凭实据来。我也会给他编几条，说他搞过走私活动——凭这个就把他开除吗？不行，得让他拿出证据来！”拉兹瓦利欣大喊大叫。

“你等着吧，会给你证据的。”保尔对他说。

拉兹瓦利欣出去了。半小时后保尔说服了大家，常委会通过决议：“将异己分子拉兹瓦利欣开除出团。”

入夏以后，朋友们一个个都去休假了。身体不好的都到海滨去。一到这个时候，休养成了大家热切盼望的事，保尔忙着给同志们张罗疗养证，申请补助，打发他们去休息。同志们走的时候，脸色苍白，神情倦怠，但是都很高兴。他们留下的工作全压在保尔肩上，他就全力以赴地工作，像一匹驯顺的马拉着重载爬坡一样。这些同志晒得黑黑的回来了，个个精神饱满，精力充沛。于是，另一批同志又疗养去了。整个夏天总有人外出，可是生活是不会在原地踏步的，生活要前进，保尔也就没有一天能够离开他的岗位。

年年夏天都是这样过的。

保尔不喜欢秋天和冬天，因为这两个季节给他肉体上造成很多痛苦。

今年，他特别焦急地盼望夏天快到。精力一年不如一年了，即使只向自己承认这一点，也使他感到非常难过。现在只有两条出路：要么承认自己经受不了紧张工作带来的种种困难，承认自己是个残废；要么坚守岗位，直到完全不能工作为止。他选择了后一条。

有一回，专区党委常委会开会的时候，专区卫生处长巴尔捷利克，一个做过地下工作的老医生，凑到保尔跟前，说：“保尔，你的气色很不好。到医务委员会检查过吗？身体怎么样？大概没去过吧？我记不清了。反正你得检查一下，亲爱的朋友。星期四来吧，下午来。”

保尔有事脱不开身，没有到医务委员会去。可是巴尔捷利克并没有忘记他，亲自把他拉到自己那里。医生给保尔仔细检查了身体，巴尔捷利克也以神经病理学家的身份参加了。

检查之后，写了如下处理意见：医务委员会认为柯察金同志必须立即停止工作，去克里木长期疗养，并进一步认真治疗，否则难免发生严重后果。

处理意见的前面，用拉丁文写了一长串病名。从这些病名中，保尔了解到的只是：他的主要灾难不在腿上，而是中枢神经系统受到严重损伤。

巴尔捷利克把医务委员会的决定送交常委会批准，没有一个人反对立即解除保尔的工作，但是保尔自己提议，等共青团专区委员会组织部长斯比特涅夫休假回来之后他再离开。保尔怕丢下专区团委的工作没有人负责。这个要求虽然遭到巴尔捷利克的反对，大家还是同意了。

再有三个星期，他就可以去度他一生中的第一次休假了。

抽屉里放着到叶夫帕托里亚去的疗养证。

保尔这些日子工作抓得更紧了。他召开了专区团委全体会议，为了能够放心离开，他竭力在走之前把工作安排妥当。

就在他要去休养，要去看他一生中从未见过的大海的前夕，他遇到了一件十分荒唐而可憎的事，这是完全出乎他的意料的。

下班以后，保尔来到党委宣传鼓动部办公室，坐在书架后面敞开窗户的窗台上，等着开宣传工作会议。他进来的时候，办公室里没有人。过了一会儿，进来几个人。保尔在书架后面，看不见他们，但是从说话声音里听出有法伊洛。法伊洛是专区国民经济处处长，高高的个子，一副军人派头，长得很漂亮。保尔不止一次听说他爱喝酒，见到好看点的姑娘就纠缠。

法伊洛过去打过游击，一有机会就眉飞色舞地吹嘘，说他每天都砍下十个马赫诺匪帮的脑袋。保尔非常厌恶他。有一回，一个女团员找到保尔，大哭一场，说法伊洛答应同她结婚，可是同居了一个星期以后就抛弃了她，现在见面连招呼都不打。监察委员会调查这件事的时候，那个姑娘拿不出证据，法伊洛蒙混过了关。可是保尔相信她说的是实话。保尔留心听进屋的人说话，他们不知道他在里面，其中一个人说：“喂，法伊洛，你的事情怎么样？又搞了点新名堂没有？”

问话的是格里博夫，法伊洛的朋友，跟他是一路货。格里博夫浅薄无知，是个大笨蛋，可是不知道为什么也当上了宣传员，而且很爱摆出一副宣传家的架势，不管什么场合，一有机会就显示一番。

“你给我道喜吧，昨天我把科罗塔耶娃搞到手了。你还说成不了事呢。不，老弟，要是我盯上了哪个娘们，你就放心吧，我准能……”法伊洛接着说了一句不堪入耳的脏话。

保尔感到神经一阵震颤——这是他极端愤怒的征兆。科罗塔耶娃是专区党委的妇女部长。她和保尔是同时调到这里来的。共事期间他们成了好朋友。她是个大家都愿意接近的党员，对每一个妇女，对每一个向她求助或请教的人，她都热情接待，体贴关怀。科罗塔耶娃受到专区委员会工作人员的普遍尊敬。她还没有结婚。法伊洛讲的无疑就是她。

“法伊洛，你没撒谎吗？她可不像是那种人。”

“我撒谎？你把我当什么人了？比她强的我也搞到过。这得有本事。一个娘们一个样，要用不同手段来对付。有的当天就能弄到手，这样的当然是不值钱的货。有的得追上一个月。要紧的是要会打攻心战。干什么都有一套专门的办法。老弟，这可是一门高深的学问！我在这方面是个专家。哈——哈——哈——哈……”

法伊洛自鸣得意，兴奋得连气都喘不过来了。一小群听众怂恿他往下讲，他们迫不及待地想知道细节。

保尔站起身来，攥紧了拳头，他觉得心在急剧地跳动。

“像科罗塔耶娃这样的女人，你想碰运气，轻而易举就搞到手，那是白日做梦，可是把她放过去，我又不甘心，何况我跟格里博夫还打了一箱葡萄酒的赌。于是我就开始运用战术。假装顺便走进她屋里，去了一回，又一回。一看，不行，她尽给我白眼。外面对我有不少流言蜚语，说不定已经传到她耳朵里去了……一句话，侧击是失败了。于是我就迂回，迂回。哈——哈！……你明白吗，我跟她说，我打过仗，杀过不少人，到处流浪，吃足了苦头，可是连个可心的女人都没给自己找到。现在我的日子就像一只孤苦伶仃的狗，没人体贴我，没人问寒问暖……我就这么胡诌瞎编，一个劲地诉苦。

一句话，抓住她的弱点进攻。我在她身上可下了不少功夫。有一阵子我想，见他妈的鬼去吧，演这种滑稽戏，不干了！但是事关原则呀，为了原则，我不能放过她……最后总算弄到手了。老天不负苦心人——没想到我碰上的不是个婆娘，竟是个黄花闺女。哈——哈！……嘿，太有意思了！”

法伊洛还在把他的下流故事讲下去。

保尔不记得是怎么一下子冲到法伊洛跟前的。

“畜生！”他大喝一声。

“你骂谁？偷听别人的谈话，你才是畜生！”

保尔大概又说了句什么，法伊洛伸手揪住他的前襟：“你竟敢这样侮辱我？！”

说着，他就给了保尔一拳。他是喝醉了的。

保尔操起一张柞木凳子，一下就把法伊洛打倒在地。保尔衣袋里没有带枪，法伊洛才算拣了一条命。

于是，就发生了这样的荒唐事：在预定动身去克里木的那天，保尔不得不出席党的法庭。

党组织的全体成员都到市剧院来了。宣传鼓动部里发生的事件使与会者很愤慨，审判发展成为一场关于生活道德问题的激烈辩论。日常生活准则、人与人之间的关系、党的伦理道德等问题成了辩论的中心，审理的案件反而退居次要的地位。这个案件只是一个信号。法伊洛在法庭上非常放肆，他厚颜无耻地摆出一副笑脸，说什么这个案件人民法院会审理清楚的，柯察金打破他的头，应该判处强制劳动。向他提出的问题，他一概拒绝回答。

“怎么，你们想拿我这件事当做谈笑的资料吗？对不起。你们愿意给我加什么罪名就加吧。至于那帮娘们对我有那么大的火，道理很简单，那是因为平时我根本不答理她们。那件事不过是小事一桩，连个鸡蛋壳都不值。要是在一九一八年，我会按自己的办法跟柯察金这个疯子算帐的。现在没有我，你们也可以处理。”法伊洛说罢，扬长而去。

当主席要保尔谈谈冲突经过的时候，他讲得很平静，但是可以感觉得出来，他是在竭力克制自己。

“大家在这里议论的这件事所以会发生，是因为我没能控制住自己。以前我做工作，用拳头用得多，动脑子动得少，不过这样的时候早就过去了。这次又出了岔子，在我清醒过来之前，法伊洛的脑袋已经挨了一下子。最近几年，这是我仅有的一次暴露出游击作风。说实在的，虽然他挨打是罪有应得，但我谴责自己的这种举动。法伊洛这种人是我们共产党的生活中的一个丑恶现象。我不明白，一个革命者、共产党员，怎么可以同时又是一个下流的畜生和恶棍，我永远也不能同这种现象妥协。这次事件迫使我们讨论生活道德问题，这是整个事件中唯一的积极方面。”

参加会议的党员以压倒多数通过决议，把法伊洛开除出党。格里博夫由于提供假证词，受到警告和严厉申斥处分。其余参加那次谈话的人都承认了错误，受到了批评。

卫生处长巴尔捷利克介绍了保尔的神经状况。党的检察员建议给保尔申斥处分，由于大会的强烈反对，他撤回了这个建议。保尔被宣布无罪。

几天以后，列车把保尔载往哈尔科夫。经他再三请求，专区党委同意把他的组织关系转到乌克兰共青团中央委员会，由那里分配工作。他拿到一个不坏的鉴定，就动身了。阿基姆是中央委员会书记之一。保尔去见他，把全部情况向他做了汇报。

阿基姆看了鉴定，见到在“对党无限忠诚”后面写着：“具有党员应有的毅力，只是在极少的情况下表现暴躁，不能自持，其原因是神经系统受过严重损伤”。

“保夫鲁沙，在这份很好的鉴定上，到底还是给你写上了这么一条。你别放在心上，神经很健全的人，有时也难免发生这类事情。到南方去吧，恢复恢复精力。等你回来的时候，咱们再研究你到什么地方去工作。”

阿基姆紧紧握住了保尔的手。

保尔到了中央委员会的“公社战士”疗养院。花园里有玫瑰花坛，银光闪耀的喷水池，爬满葡萄藤的建筑物。疗养员穿着白色疗养服或者游泳衣。一个年轻的女医生登记了他的姓名，把他领到拐角上的一座房子里。房间很宽敞，床上铺着洁白耀眼的床单，到处一尘不染，寂静异常。保尔到浴室洗去旅途的劳顿，换了衣服，径直朝海滨跑去。

眼前是深蓝色的大海，它庄严而宁静，像光滑的大理石一样，伸向目力所及的远方，消失在一片淡蓝色的轻烟之中；熔化了的太阳照在海面上，反射出一片火焰般的金光。远处，透过晨雾，隐约显现出群山的轮廓。他深深地吸着爽心清肺的海风，眼睛凝视着伟大而安宁的沧海，久久不愿移开。

懒洋洋的波浪亲昵地爬到脚下，舐着海岸金色的沙滩。

Part Two Chapter 7

The garden of the central poly clinic adjoined the grounds of the Central Committee Sanatorium.

The patients used it as a short cut on their way home from the beach. Pavel loved to rest here in the shade of a spreading plane tree which grew beside a high limestone wall. From this quiet nook he could watch the lively movement of the crowd strolling along the garden paths and listen to the music of the band in the evenings without being jostled by the gay throngs of the large health resort.

Today too he had sought his favourite retreat. Drowsy from the sunshine and the bath he had just taken, he stretched himself out luxuriously on the chaise-lounge and fell into a doze. His bath towel and the book he was reading, Furmanov's Insurrection, lay on the chair beside him. His first days in the sanatorium had brought no relief to his nerves and his headaches continued. His ailment had so far baffled the sanatorium doctors, who were still trying to get to the root of the trouble. Pavel was sick of the perpetual examinations. They wearied him and he did his best to avoid his ward doctor, a pleasant woman with the curious name of Yerusalimchik, who had a difficult time hunting for her unwilling patient and persuading him to let her take him to some specialist or other.

"I'm tired of the whole business," Pavel would plead with her. "Five times a day I have to tell the same story and answer all sorts of silly questions: was your grandmother insane, or did your great-grandfather suffer with rheumatism? How the devil should I know what he suffered from? I never saw him in my life! Every doctor tries to induce me to confess that I had gonorrhea or something worse, until I swear I'm ready to punch their bald heads. Give me a chance to rest, that's all I want.

If I'm going to let myself be diagnosed all the six weeks of my stay here I'll become a danger to society."

Yerusalimchik would laugh and joke with him, but a few minutes later she would take him gently by the arm and lead him to the surgeon, chattering volubly all the way.

But today there was no examination in the offing, and dinner was an hour away. Presently, through his doze, he heard steps approaching. He did not open his eyes.

"They'll think I'm asleep and go away," he thought. Vain hope! He heard the chair beside him creak as someone sat down.

A faint whiff of perfume told him it was a woman. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dazzling white dress and a pair of bronzed feet encased in soft leather slippers, then a boyish bob, two enormous eyes, and a row of white teeth as sharp as a mouse's. She gave him a shy smile.

"I haven't disturbed you, I hope?"

Pavel made no reply, which was not very polite of him, but he still hoped that she would go.

"Is this your book?" She was turning the pages of Insurrection.

"It is."

There was a moment of silence.

"You're from the Kommunar Sanatorium, aren't you?"

Pavel stirred impatiently. Why couldn't she leave him in peace? Now she would start asking about his illness. He would have to go.

"No," he replied curtly.

"I was sure I had seen you there."

Pavel was on the point of rising when a deep, pleasant woman's voice behind him said:

"Why, Dora, what are you doing here?''

A plump, sunburned, fair-haired girl in a beach costume seated herself on the edge of a chair. She glanced quickly at Korchagin.

"I've seen you somewhere, Comrade. You're from Kharkov, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Where do you work?"

Pavel decided to put an end to the conversation.

"In the garbage disposal department," he replied. The laugh this sally evoked made him jump.

"You're not very polite, are you, Comrade?"

That is how their friendship began. Dora Rodkina turned out to be a member of the Bureau of the Kharkov City Committee of the Party and later, when they came to know each other well, she often teased him about the amusing incident with which their acquaintance had started.

One afternoon at an open-air concert in the grounds of the Thalassa Sanatorium Pavel ran across his old friend Zharky. And curious to relate, it was a foxtrot that brought them together.

After the audience had been treated to a highly emotional rendering of Oh, Nights of Burning Passion by a buxom soprano, a couple sprang onto the stage. The man, half-naked but for a red top hat, some shiny spangles on his hips, a dazzling white shirt front and bow tie, in feeble imitation of a savage, and his doll-faced partner in voluminous skirts. To the accompaniment of a delighted buzz from the crowd of beefy-necked shopowners standing behind the armchairs and cots occupied by the sanatorium patients, the couple gyrated about the stage in the intricate figures of a foxtrot. A more revolting spectacle could scarcely be imagined. The fleshy man in his idiotic top hat, with his partner pressed tightly to him, writhed on the stage in suggestive poses. Pavel heard the stertorous breathing of some fat carcass at his back. He turned to go when someone in the front row got up and shouted:

"Enough of this brothel show! To hell with it!"

It was Zharky.

The pianist stopped playing and the violin subsided with a squeak. The couple on the stage ceased writhing. The crowd at the back set up a vicious hissing.

"What impudence to interrupt a number!"

"All Europe is dancing foxtrot!"

"Outrageous!"

But Seryozha Zhbanov, Secretary of the Cherepovets Komsomol organisation and one of the Kommunar patients, put four fingers into his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. Others followed his example and in an instant the couple vanished from the stage, as if swept off by a gust of wind. The obsequious compere who looked like nothing so much as an old-time flunkey, announced that the concert troupe was leaving.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" a lad in a sanatorium bathrobe shouted amid general laughter.

Pavel went over to the front rows and found Zharky. The two friends had a long chat in Pavel's room. Zharky told Pavel that he was working in the propaganda section of one of the Party's regional committees.

"You didn't know I was married, did you?" said Zharky. "I'm expecting a son or a daughter before long."

"Married, eh?" Pavel was surprised. "Who is your wife?"

Zharky took a photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Pavel.

"Recognise her?"

It was a photo of himself and Anna Borhart.

"What happened to Dubava?" Pavel asked in still greater surprise.

"He's in Moscow. He left the university after he was expelled from the Party. He's at the Bauman Technical Institute now. I hear he's been reinstated. Too bad, if it's true. He's rotten through and through. ... Guess what Pankratov is doing? He's assistant director of a shipyard. I don't know much about the others. We've lost touch lately. We all work in different parts of the country. But it's nice to get together occasionally and recall the old times."

Dora came in bringing several other people with her. She glanced at the decoration on Zharky's jacket and asked Pavel:

"Is your comrade a Party member? Where does he work?"

Puzzled, Pavel told her briefly about Zharky.

"Good," she said. "Then he can remain. These comrades have just come from Moscow. They are going to give us the latest Party news. We decided to come to your room and hold a sort of closed Party meeting," she explained.

With the exception of Pavel and Zharky all the newcomers were old Bolsheviks. Bartashev, a member of the Moscow Control Commission, told them about the new opposition headed by Trotsky, Zinoviev and Kamenev.

"At this critical moment we ought to be at our posts," Bartashev said in conclusion. "I am leaving tomorrow."

Three days after that meeting in Pavel's room the sanatorium was deserted. Pavel too left shortly afterward, before his time was up.

The Central Committee of the Komsomol did not detain him. He was given an appointment as Komsomol Secretary in one of the industrial regions, and within a week he was already addressing a meeting of the local town organisation.

Late that autumn the car in which Pavel was travelling with two other Party workers to one of the remote districts, skidded into a ditch and overturned.

All the occupants were injured. Pavel's right knee was crushed. A few days later he was taken to the surgical institute in Kharkov. After an examination and X-ray of the injured limb the medical commission advised an immediate operation.

Pavel gave his consent.

"Tomorrow morning then," said the stout professor, who headed the commission. He got up and the others filed out after him.

A small bright ward with a single cot. Spotless cleanliness and the peculiar hospital smell he had long since forgotten. He glanced about him. Beside the cot stood a small table covered with a snow-white cloth and a white-painted stool. And that was all.

The nurse brought in his supper. Pavel sent it back. Half-sitting in his bed, he was writing letters.

The pain in his knee interfered with his thoughts and robbed him of his appetite.

When the fourth letter had been written the door opened softly and a young woman in a white smock and cap came over to his bed.

In the twilight he made out a pair of arched eyebrows and large eyes that seemed black. In one hand she held a portfolio, in the other, a sheet of paper and a pencil.