Summary “Red Room”
Most of all I hate the sun, loud human voices and knocking. Frequent, frequent knocking. People are afraid of the fact that if in the evening I hear footsteps and speech in the corridor, I start to cry out. Therefore, my room is special, deceased and best, at the very end of the corridor, e 27. No one can come to me. But in order to better protect myself, I longly asked Ivan Vasilyevich (crying in front of him) that he give me a certificate on the typewriter. He agreed and wrote that I am under his protection and that no one has the right to take me. But I did not really believe, to tell you the truth, because of his signature. Then he forced the sign and the professor and attached a round blue seal to the paper. This is another matter. I know many cases where people stayed alive only because they found in their pocket a piece of paper with a round seal. True,
In fact, even before Kolya something happened to me. I left, so as not to see the man being hanged, but the fear left me
“Mister General, you are a beast!” Do not you dare hang people!
You can already see from this that I am not a coward, I did not speak about the press for fear of death. Oh no, I’m not afraid of her. I myself will shoot myself, and it will be soon, because Kolya will lead me to despair. But I will shoot myself, not to see and hear Kolya. The thought is that other people will come. It’s disgusting.
All day long I lie on the couch and look out the window. Above our green garden, an air failure, behind him a yellow bulk of seven floors turned to me a deaf wallless wall, and under its roof – a huge rusty square. Signboard. Dental laboratory. White letters. At first I hated her. Then I got used to it, and if it were removed, I, perhaps, would miss her. It looms all day, I focus on it and reflect on many important things. But here comes the evening. The dome darkens, white letters disappear from the eyes. I become gray, I dissolve into the gloomy thick, how my thoughts dissolve. Twilight is
The old mother told me:
“I will not live that long.” I see: madness. You are the eldest, and I know that you love him. Give Kolya back. Return it. You’re the elder.
I was silent.
Then she put all her thirst and all her pain into her words:
“Find him!” You pretend that you need to. But I know you. You are clever and have long understood that all this is insane. Bring him to me for a day. One. I will release him again.
She lied. Would she have let him go again?
I was silent.
“I just want to kiss his eyes.” After all, he will still be killed. In fact it is a pity? He is my boy. Who else should I ask for? You’re the elder. Bring it.
I could not restrain myself and said, hiding my eyes:
– All right.
But she grabbed my sleeve and turned so as to look in the face.
“No, you swear that you will bring him alive.”
How can you give such an oath? But I, the insane man, swore:
– I swear.
Mother is faint-hearted. With this thought, I left. But I saw in Burdyansk a lopsided lantern. Mr. General, I agree that I was as criminal as you, I am terribly responsible for the man soiled with soot, but my brother has nothing to do with it. He is nineteen years old.
After Berdyansk I firmly carried out my oath and found it twenty versts near the river. The day was unusually bright. In the muddy clubs of white dust on the way to the village, from which the heat was drawn, the horse-drawn rally was moving. In the first line with the edge he rode, pushing the visor over his eyes. I remember everything: the first spur went down to the heel itself. The strap from his cap stretched his cheek under his chin.
– Kolya! Kolya! I cried out and ran to the roadside ditch.
He faltered. In the rank, gloomy sweaty soldiers turned their heads.
“Ah, brother!” he shouted back. For some reason he never called me by name, but always by his brother. I’m ten years older than him. And he always listened attentively to my words. – Stop. Stay here, “he continued,” by the forest. ” Now we will come. I can not stop the squadron.
At the edge, away from the dismounted squadron, we smoked greedily. I was calm and firm. All is madness. Mother was absolutely right.
And I whispered to him:
– Only from the village you will return, you go with me to the city. And immediately from here and forever.
“What is it, brother?”
“Be silent,” I said, “be silent.” I know.
The squadron sat down. They cried, trotted to the black clubs. And knocked on in the distance. Frequent, frequent knocking.
What can happen in one hour? Will come back. And I waited at the tent with a red cross.
An hour later I saw him. He returned with the same trot. And the squadron was not there. Only two riders with peaks skipped on each side, and one of them – the right one – continually bowed to his brother, as if something was whispering to him. Squinting from the sun, I looked at a strange masquerade. He left in a gray cap, returned to the red one. And the day is over. A black shield appeared, with a colored head-piece on it. There was no hair and no forehead. Instead of it there was a red corolla with yellow tines-tiny ribbons.
The horseman – my brother, in a red shaggy crown, sat motionless on a soaked horse, and if he did not support him carefully, you might think: he goes to the parade.
The horseman was proud in the saddle, but he was blind and dumb. Two red spots with streaks were there where clear eyes gleamed clear hours… The
left rider dismounted, with his left hand seized the motive, and the right one quietly pulled Kolya by the hand. He rocked.
And the voice said:
“Ah, our freedom-determining… a splinter.” Doctor, call a doctor…
Another gasped and replied:
“S-s… Well, brother, doctor?” Then give the priest.
Then the black fleshing grew thicker and it tightened, even the headdress…
I’m used to everything. To the white of our building, to the twilight, to the red-haired cat that rubs at the door, but I can not get used to its parishes. For the first time downstairs, at 63, he left the wall. In the red crown. There was nothing to worry about. So I see it in a dream. But I know perfectly well: if he is in the crown, then he is dead. And then he spoke, his lips moved, gore blood. He pasted them, brought his feet together, put his hand to the crown and said:
“Brother, I can not leave the squadron.”
And since then, always, always the same. Comes in a tunic with straps over his shoulder, with a crooked sword and soundless spurs and says the same thing. Honor. Then:
– Brother, I can not leave the squadron.
What did he do to me for the first time! He scared the whole clinic. My case was over. I argue sensibly: once killed in the coronet, and if the dead comes and speaks, then I’m crazy.
Yes. It’s twilight. An important hour of reckoning. But there was one time when I fell asleep and saw a drawing room with old furniture of red plush. Cozy chair with a cracked leg. In the frame is dusty and black, a portrait on the wall. Flowers on the stands. The piano is opened, and the score of “Faust” is on it. In the doorway he stood, and a joyful joy lit my heart. He was not a rider. He was like before the damned days. In a black jacket with a chalk smeared with chalk. Live eyes slyly laughed, and a clump of hair hung on his forehead. He nodded his head.
“Brother, come to my room.” What will I show you.
In the living room was light from the beam that stretched out of my eyes, and the burden of remorse melted within me. There has never been a sinister day in which I sent him, saying: “Go,” there was no knock and smoke. He never left, and he was not a horseman. He played the piano, there were white knuckles, everything splashed a golden sheaf, and the voice was alive and laughed.
Then I woke up. And there is nothing. No light, no eyes. Never again had such a dream. And on the same night, in order to intensify my torment of agony, the rider in combat equipment nevertheless came, silently stepping, and said how he decided to speak to me forever.
I decided to put a stop to it. I said to him with force:
“What are you, my eternal executioner?” Why do you go? I’m all aware. With you, I take the blame on myself – for sending you to a mortal business. The weight of the fact that he was hanged, I also put on. If I say this, forgive and leave me.
Mr. General, he did not say anything and went away.
Then I was hardened by the torment, and with all my will I wished that he would come to you at least once and attach his hand to the crown. I assure you, you would be finished, just like me. In two accounts. However, maybe you are also not alone in the hours of the night? Who knows if he does not go to you, dirty, in soot, from a lantern in Berdyansk? If so, in fairness we tolerate. I sent Kolya to help you hang, you hung. By verbal order without a number.
So, he did not leave. Then I scared him with a cry. All stood up. A paramedic came running, waking up Ivan Vasilyevich. I did not want to start the next day, but I was not allowed to ruin myself. They tied a canvas, pulled out glass from their hands, bandaged them. Since then, I’m in number twenty-seven. After the drug, I began to fall asleep and heard the medical assistant say in the corridor:
“It’s hopeless.”
It’s right. I have no hope. In vain, in a burning anguish in the twilight, I await sleep – the old familiar room and the peaceful light of the radiant eyes. There is nothing of this and never will be.
The burden does not melt away. And on the night of me submissively I expect that a familiar horseman with blind eyes will come and tell me hoarsely:
“I can not leave the squadron.” Yes, I’m hopeless. He will torture me.
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