Literature lesson “Alexander Green. Analysis of the problems of the story “The Green Lamp”

20.04.2019

Analysis of A. Green's story "At Leisure", written in 1907. The author himself was convicted of membership in the Socialist Revolutionary organization and propaganda work, and was twice in exile. The action takes place in a prison office, showing the powerless and dependent position of convicts, whose destinies are decided by petty prison officials who while away their time and “at their leisure” read other people’s letters.

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Chuiko Alexandra Nikolaevna

Teacher of a separate discipline (Russian language and literature) FGKOU "Moscow Cadet Corps" Boarding school for students of the RF Ministry of Defense"

City of Moscow.

Analysis of Alexander Green's story “At Leisure”

Having read the title of the story “At Leisure”, you tune in to an easy and enjoyable read, without in any way expecting what the author is presenting to us.

Alexander Green wrote the story in 1907. In November 1903, Green was arrested for the first time for membership in the underground Socialist Revolutionary organization and propaganda work; he was exiled twice in 1907 and 1910. What attracted him to the Socialist Revolutionary program was the lack of strict party discipline and the promise of universal happiness after the revolution. The story “At Leisure” probably reflects an episode from the life of the author himself, his cellmates or fellow sufferers.

The action takes place in a confined space, in a prison office. At first there are two characters: a clerk and a senior warden. The situation is depressing. A red thread running through the story is the leitmotif of terrible, unbearable heat, heat, when the air seems to melt and the mind becomes clouded. You even begin to feel sympathy for the young man who is forced to vegetate in such a place for a 30-ruble salary.

But the author does not allow us to do this. At the very beginning of the story, there is a discussion about work that clearly characterizes the clerk: a person is not born to work, work for the benefit of the state is a curse, otherwise God would not have wished Adam to “eat bread by the sweat of his brow.” Next comes the portrait young man: a red calf's face with protruding ears (it is no coincidence that the author intersperses epithets with comparisons with an animal - harmless, but stupid). And also his thoughts about the young ladies on the boulevard in the evening: vulgar conversations, meager speech (a very important detail author's characteristics), interspersed with “laughs”, “hee-hee” and “he-he”. In several stages, Green presents us with an empty creature that is already unpleasant to us.

Here the senior guard appears, endowed by the author with the following portrait: an old prison rat (a very offensive talking animal comparison), with gray protruding mustaches and red, watery eyes, yawns as if he wants to swallow all the flies in the room. To top it all off, the warden is a thief, he makes money from firewood, kerosene, coal, but not so much from food: the beast prisoners don’t want to eat “economical” food.

A messenger appears and brings letters to political prisoners, and the following action unfolds, which gives the story its name. So, in their spare time, the clerk and the senior warden read other people's letters and decide other people's destinies. In this way they relieve their boredom and escape, among other things, from the sweltering heat.

The chronotope is clearly defined: space is a prison, signs of time are political prisoners, not robbers, not murderers, but, one might say, the advanced part of society, those who suffered for the idea, the engines of progress, the elite. Perhaps their letters should be examined, but we are witnessing unpleasant scenes - the letters are not just read for anything inappropriate, they are discussed, they are mocked. The author, speaking about reading letters, uses many epithets that help to describe the readers: the clerk squeals joyfully, grabs the letter with greedy curiosity, the warden squints, grinning maliciously with his hollow, toothless mouth, his thin, goatee jumps (another animal comparison!)

The space seems to be expanding, new characters appear: those to whom they write, and those who write. The first couple of unfortunates are Abramson and his father. The second is Kozlovsky and his fiancee Katya.

In the scene of reading letters, the author uses the technique of antithesis; the heroes-readers and the heroes, participants in the correspondence are contrasted. Every detail of the letters, accompanied by comments and chuckles from the clerk and the overseer, makes them even more vivid. negative images, and, on the contrary, creates a certain halo around unfamiliar to us, but already attractive images on the other side of the letter and their addressees. We begin to love people without knowing them, we already sympathize with them.

The fate of the long-awaited letter depends on the desire and attitude of the readers, and it is not difficult to guess about the attitude. So, Abramson is not worthy of a letter, even his father wrote in the previous one (which means we were not mistaken, letters are always “inspected”) that he will not write again. But the parent’s heart softened, because whoever loves your child will forgive him, if not he himself.

The warden likes to watch Kozlovsky through a peephole when he receives a letter. The observer receives true pleasure from seeing other people's experiences: he cries, laughs, hides them in his boot, “and I use the keys - fuck: for a walk!” The letter is written in nervous female handwriting, this is how the off-screen heroine’s experience is conveyed. The bride writes about love, that her mother is sick, so she cannot visit him, but “I’ll see you in Siberia.” Narrow-minded people cannot understand such sacrifices and relationships, so they trivialize everything, but we can sympathize with Kozlovsky and Katya, and the unfortunate readers, the makers of destinies.

The writer raises the problem of the personal tragedy of a man who ended up in prison, separated from outside world who lost his freedom. Only love and faith hold him, but he can lose them too, because his fate is in the hands of low people who decided that Kozlovsky is not worth a letter because he is too obstinate and proud. Warden: “I... was it out of malice? ...There is no respect in a person...” And the clerk: “I’ll take the picture for myself...”

The story ends with a scene in the cell. We see Kozlovsky suffering. The author expands the space even further: the heat is scorching in the cell, and shameless in the lattice window blue sky. Again the antithesis: horror - beauty, prison - freedom. A man is deprived of everything, lives in hope, his lips whisper: “Katya, honey, where are you? Write to me, write!..”

This is how the story ends. What is it: screaming hopelessness or faith in spite of everything?

I would like to answer the hero: wait, dear, and believe!

Analysis of the story “At Leisure”

In his work, A. S. Green raises the topic of the personal tragedy of a man who ended up in prison and found himself cut off from the outside world.

Story by A.S. Green is somewhat biographical. Perhaps the author is telling us the story of his life or the life of a cellmate, because the writer was arrested for participating in the activities of the Social Revolutionaries during the turning points of Russian history.

The title of the story is taken lightly and does not at all prepare the reader for what will actually happen in the work.

Behind this title lies the sad irony of the author, the plight of a prisoner, cut off from the outside world by the bars of his cell window.

The hero is doomed to imprisonment in a stuffy closet, but, despite these difficult circumstances, the hero’s soul lives with love for his bride.

Unlike the clerk and the warden, the prisoner is depicted as alive. The technique of antithesis is clearly expressed here, where prison is a symbol of imprisonment, and “distant purple mountains” are freedom. This man is deprived of everything, but continues to live in hope, whispering the words: “Katya, honey, where are you? Write to me, write, write!..”

Also in his work, the writer contrasts the heroes, participants in the correspondence, and the warden with the clerk who read it.

Looking through letters addressed to prisoners, prison observers actively comment on details and use monosyllabic “He-he-he!..”, “Ugh!” in their speech. With the help of this technique, the reader perceives more clearly negative traits heroes and enthusiastically watches the fate of the characters to whom the letters are addressed, and those who wrote them. In this episode, the space seems to expand, and we see new characters whom we do not know so well yet, but already love and deeply sympathize with them.

Before our eyes, the deep tragedy of the prisoner unfolds, while the clerk and the warden, imagining themselves as “arbiters of human destinies,” decide who should deliver letters and who not.

The author skillfully describes the episode of reading letters, using many epithets and synonyms, which helps to draw the images in more detail: the clerk “squeals joyfully”, “with greedy curiosity” grabs the letter; the warden “squints, grinning maliciously,” with a sunken, toothless mouth, “a thin, goatee jumps.”

When describing Ivan Pavlych, A. Green uses an analogy with an animal. He compares the warden to a “prison rat.” His appearance immediately repels him. The author uses a number of synonyms and a metaphor to describe his appearance: “... rats, with gray, protruding mustaches and red, watery eyes.” The hero's eyes lead the reader to think that this person is somewhat unpleasant in communication, cunning and hypocritical, and also further description we learn that he is engaged in theft, making money from firewood, kerosene and coal. Such details in the description of the warden as: “toothless, black mouth”, “thin, goatee” - make the hero even more unpleasant.

The author compares the image of the clerk to a stupid animal, as can be seen from the words: “...his red, calf-like face with protruding ears.” We immediately understand that the hero is not sufficiently educated and well-mannered person. Also monosyllabic answers: “Hee, hee!”; “He-he!”, stupid chuckles and vulgar thoughts about evenings with the ladies characterize him as a limited person. The writer makes it clear that this character is not worthy of the readers' respect.

The image of the prisoner is a contrast to the main acting persons. The warden says that the hero is “the opposite of everyone,” but his image is not devoid of romance. The prisoner sees the world differently from everyone else; from his windows there is a view of “purple mountains”, blue sea swell, “golden” air and “milky” clouds. This description and the details of the landscape characterize the character as a romantic who lives for the love of his bride. His image is imbued with warmth and desire for life, which distinguishes the hero from other prisoners.

Speaking about the chronotope of the work, one cannot fail to note the clarity of the definition: space is a prison, signs of time are political prisoners. The composition of the story is a multifaceted picture. The author does not reveal his intentions at the beginning of the story, but gradually, like a ball of thread, unravels the plot.

The culmination of the work is the episode when the messenger brings letters for political prisoners, because it is here that the leisure of the prison guards is fully revealed, their idleness and complete lack of concentration on work is described. After this, the action that characterizes the title of the story unfolds.

The theme of a soul yearning for freedom, imprisoned in a prison camp, is found in the work of A. I. Solzhenitsyn “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.” The hero of the story is also a prisoner who has loving family. He dreams of his life in freedom and boldly thinks about what he will do when his prison term ends. Ivan Denisovich wants to start weaving carpets to feed his family. This concept of the prototype of the hero-worker contradicts the beliefs of the clerk, from A. S. Green’s story “At Leisure,” that: “Man is not born to work.” Solzhenitsyn's hero is a jack of all trades. He earns extra money by patching shoes, making knives, and laying brick walls with ease.

The boss hasn't come to the office yet. This was to the advantage of the clerk and the senior warden. Man is not born to work. Labor, even for the benefit of the state, is a curse, and nothing more. Otherwise, God would not have wished Adam, in the form of a farewell farewell, to “eat bread by the sweat of his brow.”
This thought incidentally reminded the exhausted clerk that it was unbearably hot and that his red, calf-like face with his protruding ears was drenched in sweat. Thoughtfully he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped himself melancholy. Really, it’s not worth coming so early for a thirty-ruble salary. His years are young, ebullient... Sitting and copying numbers and fiddling with arrest tickets is such a boring task. Either way it’s evening. Colorful lights flash on the boulevard. The plates in the buffet clink appetizingly and young ladies walk around. Various young ladies. In scarves and hats, thick, thin, short, tall, to choose from. The clerk walks, twirls his mustache, twitches his butt and plays with his cane.
- Sorry, mademoiselle! Young, but alone... And not boring, sir?..
- Hee, hee! What kind of punishment is this, really!.. Such gentlemen, but you pester!..
- And you, young lady, don’t be prissy!.. It’s so nice to walk with you arm in arm on a May evening!.. And it’s so nice to drink Chinese tea with your dear one!..
- Hee, hee!..
- Hehe!..
The clerk's light thoughts are disturbed by the yawning of the warden, an old prison rat with a gray protruding mustache and red, watery eyes. He yawns as if he wants to swallow all the flies flying in the room. Finally, his toothless mouth closes and he mutters:
- But they don’t deliver coal... It turns out that we need to go to the contractor...
He has some deals with the contractor on the basis of sinless income. Here's more firewood - also a profitable item. You won't get fat on prison cereals and potatoes. No, no - yes, and “bagpipes”, a riot. The beasts don’t want to eat “economical” food. So, with breaks, you feed it, and then it goes back into your pocket. Restless. Whether it’s firewood, kerosene, coal... A sacred occupation, one might say...
The clock strikes ten. The heat intensifies. Poplars, bathed in a hot shine, stand motionless in the lattice windows. There are cabinets all around, books with labels, old shackles in the corner. The fly flounders helplessly in the ink. Silence.
The clerk sleepily numbs, lounging on a chair, and opens his mouth, exhausted from the heat. The warden stands with his legs apart, moves his mustache and mentally counts the lamp oil. Silence, boredom; both yawn, cross their mouths, say: “ugh, damn!” - and yawn again.
On the porch there are quick, measured steps; a shadow flashed outside the window. The door opens slowly, squealing as a block. The frail figure of a delivery boy with a black briefcase and a delivery book enters the office and bares his sweaty head.
- From a comrade prosecutor... Letters to political...
The silence is broken. Joyful animation bares the white, horse-like teeth of the clerk. The pen is boldly and playfully scrawled in the book, and the screeching door slams again. On the table there is a small pile of letters, postcards, smeared with stamps. The clerk rummages through them, brings them to his eyes, moves his lips and puts them aside.
- That's it! - he exclaims triumphantly, casually, as if accidentally raising a large blue envelope with two fingers. - So, you, Ivan Palych, said that father would not write to Abramson! I immediately recognized his handwriting!..
“Something I don’t know,” the warden yawns lazily, moving his mustache: “what did he write last time?”
- What did you write? - the clerk continues loudly, pulling out the letter. - And then he wrote that you, so to speak, are no longer my son. I, he says, consider your ideas to be mere fantasy... And therefore, he says, don’t expect any more letters from me...
“Well,” the “senior” resonates melancholy, sitting down at the table. - When there is such resistance on the part of your child... Forgetting God, for example, the king...
- Ivan Pavlych! - the clerk squeals joyfully, grabbing the warden by the sleeve. - A letter from the fiancée to Kozlovsky!.. Well, they write interesting things, my God!..
“That means he won’t go for a walk today,” Ivan Pavlych squints. - He's always like that. I looked through the peephole. He reads letters for a long time...
The clerk hastily, with greedy curiosity in his eyes, runs through the postcard, finely written in nervous, feminine handwriting. The postcard shows a foreign view, wooded mountains, bridges, a waterfall.
“I looked through the peephole,” continues Ivan Pavlych and squints, grinning maliciously, causing his toothless, black mouth to collapse and his thin goatee to jump. - When she cries, when she laughs. Then he hides it so that it won’t be taken away during a search... He’ll roll it up into a small tube - and even into a boot... Laughter! ! - “I, he says, won’t go today”... - “What, I say, won’t you go? According to the instructions, I say, you are obliged to take the required time off!” - He’ll scream, he’ll tremble... Laugh!..
- “My dear... m... my. Pe...cha...” the clerk reads solemnly, trying to give his voice a natural, amused expression. - I'm sorry it took so long for you not to write. Ma-ma-la-pain-on-and...
The clerk coughs and winks at the warden.
- Mom had a mustache! We know! - he says, and both laugh. Reading continues.
- ... I'll be waiting for you... you'll go to Siberia... We'll see you there... You know, you can't- why...
- He's lying! - Ivan Pavlych decides categorically. - What does she need in this brainchild? Thin as a cockroach... I saw her card in Kozlovsky's cell... Beautiful!.. Can a woman get by without a man? He's lying! He just puts the fog in his eyes so that he doesn’t bother me with letters...
- By itself! - the clerk nods. - I also think: they have it there - ideas, all sorts of fantasies... And about the crib, go ahead - no, no - and they will remember!..
“Like a lord’s bone,” says Ivan Pavlych impressively, “like a bourgeois bone, like a peasant’s bone.” Everything is one. This means that nature requires one position...
- Wait for him! - the clerk exclaims indignantly. - Yes, he will be good for anything until Siberia! He'll be completely exhausted! It won’t be a man, but... ugh! She also wants, I suppose, ha, ha, ha!..
- He-he-he!.. Love, then, is such a thing... Be-e-dy!..
- Here! - the clerk raises his finger. - It is written: “there are many-interesting-people here”... See? So it goes: you are here, my dear, sit, and I’ll wave my tail there!.. Ha-ha!..
- He-he-he!..
- What a panorama! - says the clerk, examining the Swiss view. - Different types!..
- Ugh!.. - The warden jumps up and suddenly spits with fury. - What do people do! They are cheating romances!.. There are different cupids, Jewish bastards, they are letting you in... And you are responsible for them, worry... Pa-a-litika!..
He squints his eyes disdainfully and moves his mustache excitedly. Then he sits down again and says:
- But this Kozlovsky is not worth giving him letters... The opposite of everyone... The day before yesterday: “End your walk,” I say, it was already time to drive it. - “He says, half an hour has not passed yet!” - A scream, a noise made... The boss ran out... And what, - Ivan Pavlych changes his tone and smiles sweetly, maliciously, - is he waiting for a letter?
The clerk raises his eyebrows.
- It doesn’t wait, it dries! - he says gravely. - Every day he hangs around in the office to see if there’s anything, if they’ve sent him to the prosecutor for inspection...
- So please, don’t give it to him, huh? Because I didn’t deserve it, by God!.. After all, am I... perhaps out of malice? But the person just doesn’t have any respect...
The clerk thinks for a minute, holding his nose with two fingers and closing his eyes tightly.
- Why? - he finally drops, casually but decisively. - It’s possible... I’ll take the picture for myself...
The heat in the cell is scorching. The blue, shameless sky sparkles dazzlingly in the lattice binding.
A man walks around the cell and, stopping for a long time at the window, looks longingly at the distant, purple mountains, at the blue, swell of the sea, where melted, golden air lulls huge, milky clouds.
His lips whisper:
- Katya, honey, where are you, where? Write to me, write, write!..

NOTES

At leisure. For the first time - in the newspaper “Comrade”, 1907, July 20 (August 2).
Be prim - here: from prim, strictly observing the rules of decency.
Comrade Prosecutor - in pre-revolutionary Russia the word “comrade” in combination with the name of the position meant the concept of “deputy”.

The clerk hastily, with greedy curiosity in his eyes, runs through the postcard, finely written in nervous, feminine handwriting. The postcard shows a foreign view, wooded mountains, bridges, a waterfall.
“I looked through the peephole,” continues Ivan Pavlych and squints, grinning maliciously, causing his toothless, black mouth to collapse and his thin goatee to jump. - When she cries, when she laughs. Then he hides it so that it won’t be taken away during a search... He will roll it up into a small tube - and even into a boot... Laughter! .. - "For a walk!" - “I, he says, won’t go today”... - “Why, I say, won’t you go? According to the instructions, I say, you are obliged to take the required time off!” - He’ll scream, he’ll tremble... Laugh!..
- “My dear... m... my. Pet... cha...” the clerk reads solemnly, trying to give his voice a natural, amused expression. - I'm sorry it took so long for you not to write. Ma-ma-la-pain-on-and...
The clerk coughs and winks at the warden.
- Mom had a mustache! We know! - he says, and both laugh. Reading continues.
- ...I'll be-waiting for you... You'll-go-to-Siberia... We'll-see-you there... Come-on- I, you know, can’t...
- He's lying! - Ivan Pavlych decides categorically. - What does she need in this brainchild? Thin as a cockroach... I saw her card in Kozlovsky's cell... Beautiful!.. Can a woman get by without a man? He's lying! He just puts the fog in his eyes, so as not to disturb him with letters...
- By itself! - the clerk nods. - I also think: they have it there - ideas, all sorts of fantasies... And about the crib, go figure - no, no - and they will remember!..
“Like a lord’s bone,” says Ivan Pavlych impressively, “like a bourgeois bone, like a peasant’s bone.” Everything is one. This means that nature requires one position...
- Wait for him! - the clerk exclaims indignantly. - Yes, he will be good for anything until Siberia! He'll be completely exhausted! It won't be a man, but... ugh! She also wants, I suppose, ha, ha, ha!..
- He-he-he!.. Love, then, is such a thing... Be-e-dy!..
- Here! - the clerk raises his finger. - It’s written: “there are a lot of interesting people here”... Do you see? So it goes: you are here, my dear, sit, and I’ll wave my tail there!.. Ha-ha!..
- He-he-he!..
- What a panorama! - says the clerk, examining the Swiss view. - Different types!..
- Ugh!.. - The warden jumps up and suddenly spits with fury. - What do people do! They are cheating romances!.. There are different cupids, Jewish bastards, they are letting you in... And you are responsible for them, worry... Pa-a-litika!..
He squints his eyes disdainfully and moves his mustache excitedly. Then he sits down again and says:
- But this Kozlovsky is not worth giving him letters... The opposite of everyone... The day before yesterday: “End your walk,” I say, it was already time to drive him. - “He says, half an hour has not passed yet!” “A scream, a noise made... The boss ran out... And what,” Ivan Pavlych changes his tone and smiles sweetly, maliciously, “is he waiting for a letter?”
The clerk raises his eyebrows.
- It doesn’t wait, it dries! - he says gravely. - Every day he hangs around in the office to see if there’s anything, if they’ve sent him to the prosecutor for inspection...
- So please, don’t give it to him, huh? Because I didn’t deserve it, by God!.. After all, am I... perhaps out of malice? But the person just has no respect...
The clerk thinks for a minute, holding his nose with two fingers and closing his eyes tightly.
- Why? - he finally drops, casually but decisively. - It’s okay... I’ll take the picture for myself...

The heat in the cell is scorching. The blue, shameless sky sparkles dazzlingly in the lattice binding.
A man walks around the cell and, stopping for a long time at the window, looks longingly at the distant, purple mountains, at the blue, swell of the sea, where melted, golden air lulls huge, milky clouds.
His lips whisper:
- Katya, honey, where are you, where? Write to me, write, write!..

NOTES

Be prim - here: from prim, strictly observing the rules of decency.
Comrade prosecutor - in pre-revolutionary Russia, the word “comrade” in conjunction with the name of the position meant the concept of “deputy”.

Alexander Stepanovich Green

At leisure

This thought incidentally reminded the exhausted clerk that it was unbearably hot and that his red, calf-like face with his protruding ears was drenched in sweat. Thoughtfully he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped himself melancholy. Really, it’s not worth coming so early for a thirty-ruble salary. His years are young, ebullient... Sitting and copying numbers and fiddling with arrest tickets is such a boring task. Either way it’s evening. Colorful lights flash on the boulevard. The plates in the buffet clink appetizingly and young ladies walk around. Various young ladies. In scarves and hats, thick, thin, short, tall, to choose from. The clerk walks, twirls his mustache, twitches his butt and plays with his cane.

Sorry, mademoiselle! Young, but alone... And not boring, sir?..

Hee, hee! What kind of punishment is this, really!.. Such gentlemen, but you pester!..

And you, young lady, don’t be prissy!.. It’s so nice to walk with you arm in arm on a May evening!.. And it’s so nice to drink Chinese tea with your sweetheart!..

The clerk's light thoughts are disturbed by the yawning of the warden, an old prison rat with a gray protruding mustache and red, watery eyes. He yawns as if he wants to swallow all the flies flying in the room. Finally, his toothless mouth closes and he mutters:

But they don’t deliver coal... It turns out that we need to go to the contractor...

He has some deals with the contractor on the basis of sinless income. Here's more firewood - also a profitable item. You won't get fat on prison cereals and potatoes. No, no - yes, and “bagpipes”, a riot. The beasts don’t want to eat “economical” food. So, with breaks, you feed it, and then it goes back into your pocket. Restless. Whether it’s firewood, kerosene, coal... A sacred occupation, one might say...

The clock strikes ten. The heat intensifies. Poplars, bathed in a hot shine, stand motionless in the lattice windows. There are cabinets all around, books with labels, old shackles in the corner. The fly flounders helplessly in the ink. Silence.

The clerk sleepily numbs, lounging on a chair, and opens his mouth, exhausted from the heat. The warden stands with his legs apart, moves his mustache and mentally counts the lamp oil. Silence, boredom; both yawn, cross their mouths, say: “ugh, damn!” - and yawn again.

On the porch there are quick, measured steps; a shadow flashed outside the window. The door opens slowly, squealing as a block. The frail figure of a delivery boy with a black briefcase and a delivery book enters the office and bares his sweaty head.

From a comrade prosecutor... Letters to political...

The silence is broken. Joyful animation bares the white, horse-like teeth of the clerk. The pen is boldly and playfully scrawled in the book, and the screeching door slams again. On the table there is a small pile of letters, postcards, smeared with stamps. The clerk rummages through them, brings them to his eyes, moves his lips and puts them aside.

That's it! - he exclaims triumphantly, casually, as if accidentally raising a large blue envelope with two fingers. - So, you, Ivan Palych, said that father would not write to Abramson! I immediately recognized his handwriting!..

“Something I don’t know,” the warden lazily yawns, wiggling his mustache: “what did he write last time?”

What he wrote! - the clerk continues loudly, pulling out the letter. - And then he wrote that you, so to speak, are no longer my son. I, he says, consider your ideas to be mere fantasy... And therefore, he says, don’t expect any more letters from me...

Well, - the “senior” resonates melancholy, sitting down at the table. - When there is such resistance on the part of your child... Forgetting God, for example, the king...

Ivan Pavlych! - the clerk squeals joyfully, grabbing the warden by the sleeve. - A letter from the fiancée to Kozlovsky!.. Well, they write interesting things, my God!..

That means he won’t go for a walk today,” Ivan Pavlych squints. - He's always like that. I looked through the peephole note 1. He reads letters for a long time...

“I looked through the peephole,” Ivan Pavlych continues and squints, grinning maliciously, causing his toothless, black mouth to collapse and his thin goatee to jump. - When she cries, when she laughs. Then he hides it so that it won’t be taken away during a search... He’ll roll it up into a small tube - and even into a boot... Laughter! ! - “I, he says, won’t go today”... - “What, I say, won’t you go? According to the instructions, I say, you are obliged to take the required time off!” - He’ll scream, he’ll tremble... Laugh!..

- “My dear... m... my. Pe...cha...” the clerk reads solemnly, trying to give his voice a natural, amused expression. - I'm sorry it took so long for you not to write. Ma-ma-la-pain-on-and...

The clerk coughs and winks at the warden.

Mom had a mustache! We know! - he says, and both laugh. Reading continues.

- ... I'll be waiting for you... you'll go to Siberia... We'll see you there... You know, you can't- why...

He's lying! - Ivan Pavlych decides categorically. - What does she need in this brainchild? Thin as a cockroach... I saw her card in Kozlovsky's cell... Beautiful!.. Can a woman get by without a man? He's lying! He just puts the fog in his eyes so that he doesn’t bother me with letters...

By itself! - the clerk nods. - I also think: they have it there - ideas, all sorts of fantasies... And about the crib, go ahead - no, no - and they will remember!..

Like a lord's bone, says Ivan Pavlych impressively, like a bourgeois bone, like a peasant's bone. Everything is one. This means that nature requires one position...

Wait for him! - the clerk exclaims indignantly. - Yes, he will be good for anything until Siberia! He'll be completely exhausted! It won’t be a man, but... ugh! She also wants, I suppose, ha, ha, ha!..

He-he-he!.. Love, then, is such a thing... Be-e-dy!..

Here! - the clerk raises his finger. - It is written: “there are many-interesting-people here”... See? So it goes: you are here, my dear, sit, and I’ll wave my tail there!.. Ha-ha!..

Hehehehe!..

What a panorama! - says the clerk, examining the Swiss view. - Different types!..

Ugh!.. - The warden jumps up and suddenly spits with fury. - What do people do! They are cheating romances!.. There are different cupids, Jewish bastards, they are letting you in... And you are responsible for them, worry... Pa-a-litika!..

He squints his eyes disdainfully and moves his mustache excitedly. Then he sits down again and says:

But this Kozlovsky is not worth giving him letters... The opposite of everyone... The day before yesterday: “End your walk,” I say, it was already time to drive it. - “He says, half an hour has not passed yet!” - A scream, a noise made... The boss ran out... And what, - Ivan Pavlych changes his tone and smiles sweetly, maliciously, - is he waiting for a letter?

The clerk raises his eyebrows.

It doesn't wait, it dries! - he says gravely. - Every day he hangs around in the office to see if there’s anything, if they’ve sent him to the prosecutor for inspection...

So, please, don’t give it to him, huh? Because I didn’t deserve it, by God!.. After all, am I... perhaps out of malice? But the person just doesn’t have any respect...

The clerk thinks for a minute, holding his nose with two fingers and closing his eyes tightly.

Why? - he finally drops, casually but decisively. - It’s possible... I’ll take the picture for myself...

The heat in the cell is scorching. The blue, shameless sky sparkles dazzlingly in the lattice binding.

A man walks around the cell and, stopping for a long time at the window, looks longingly at the distant, purple mountains, at the blue, swell of the sea, where melted, golden air lulls huge, milky clouds.

His lips whisper:

Katya, honey, where are you, where? Write to me, write, write!..

NOTES

Be prim - here: from prim, strictly observing the rules of decency.

Comrade prosecutor - in pre-revolutionary Russia, the word “comrade” in combination with the name of the position meant the concept of “deputy”.

A peephole is a round hole in the cell door.