Part 1 Chapter 32

A PRISON QUARREL.

Maslova got the money, which she had also hidden in a roll, and passed the coupon to Korableva. Korableva accepted it, though she could not read, trusting to Khoroshavka, who knew everything, and who said that the slip of paper was worth 2 roubles 50 copecks, then climbed up to the ventilator, where she had hidden a small flask of vodka. Seeing this, the women whose places were further off went away. Meanwhile Maslova shook the dust out of her cloak and kerchief, got up on the bedstead, and began eating a roll.

"I kept your tea for you," said Theodosia, getting down from the shelf a mug and a tin teapot wrapped in a rag, "but I'm afraid it is quite cold." The liquid was quite cold and tasted more of tin than of tea, yet Maslova filled the mug and began drinking it with her roll. "Finashka, here you are," she said, breaking off a bit of the roll and giving it to the boy, who stood looking at her mouth.

Meanwhile Korableva handed the flask of vodka and a mug to Maslova, who offered some to her and to Khoroshavka. These prisoners were considered the aristocracy of the cell because they had some money, and shared what they possessed with the others.

In a few moments Maslova brightened up and related merrily what had happened at the court, and what had struck her most, i.e., how all the men had followed her wherever she went. In the court they all looked at her, she said, and kept coming into the prisoners' room while she was there.

"One of the soldiers even says, 'It's all to look at you that they come.' One would come in, 'Where is such a paper?' or something, but I see it is not the paper he wants; he just devours me with his eyes," she said, shaking her head. "Regular artists."

"Yes, that's so," said the watchman's wife, and ran on in her musical strain, "they're like flies after sugar."

"And here, too," Maslova interrupted her, "the same thing. They can do without anything else. But the likes of them will go without bread sooner than miss that! Hardly had they brought me back when in comes a gang from the railway. They pestered me so, I did not know how to rid myself of them. Thanks to the assistant, he turned them off. One bothered so, I hardly got away."

"What's he like?" asked Khoroshevka.

"Dark, with moustaches."

"It must be him."

"Him--who?"

"Why, Schegloff; him as has just gone by."

"What's he, this Schegloff?"

"What, she don't know Schegloff? Why, he ran twice from Siberia. Now they've got him, but he'll run away. The warders themselves are afraid of him," said Khoroshavka, who managed to exchange notes with the male prisoners and knew all that went on in the prison. "He'll run away, that's flat."

"If he does go away you and I'll have to stay," said Korableva, turning to Maslova, "but you'd better tell us now what the advocate says about petitioning. Now's the time to hand it in."

Maslova answered that she knew nothing about it.

At that moment the red-haired woman came up to the "aristocracy" with both freckled hands in her thick hair, scratching her head with her nails.

"I'll tell you all about it, Katerina," she began. "First and foremost, you'll have to write down you're dissatisfied with the sentence, then give notice to the Procureur."

"What do you want here?" said Korableva angrily; "smell the vodka, do you? Your chatter's not wanted. We know what to do without your advice."

"No one's speaking to you; what do you stick your nose in for?"

"It's vodka you want; that's why you come wriggling yourself in here."

"Well, offer her some," said Maslova, always ready to share anything she possessed with anybody.

"I'll offer her something."

"Come on then," said the red-haired one, advancing towards Korableva. "Ah! think I'm afraid of such as you?"

"Convict fright!"

"That's her as says it."

"Slut!"

"I? A slut? Convict! Murderess!" screamed the red-haired one.

"Go away, I tell you," said Korableva gloomily, but the red-haired one came nearer and Korableva struck her in the chest. The red-haired woman seemed only to have waited for this, and with a sudden movement caught hold of Korableva's hair with one hand and with the other struck her in the face. Korableva seized this hand, and Maslova and Khoroshavka caught the red-haired woman by her arms, trying to pull her away, but she let go the old woman's hair with her hand only to twist it round her fist. Korableva, with her head bent to one side, was dealing out blows with one arm and trying to catch the red-haired woman's hand with her teeth, while the rest of the women crowded round, screaming and trying to separate the fighters; even the consumptive one came up and stood coughing and watching the fight. The children cried and huddled together. The noise brought the woman warder and a jailer. The fighting women were separated; and Korableva, taking out the bits of torn hair from her head, and the red-haired one, holding her torn chemise together over her yellow breast, began loudly to complain.

"I know, it's all the vodka. Wait a bit; I'll tell the inspector tomorrow. He'll give it you. Can't I smell it? Mind, get it all out of the way, or it will be the worse for you," said the warder. "We've no time to settle your disputes. Get to your places and be quiet."

But quiet was not soon re-established. For a long time the women went on disputing and explaining to one another whose fault it all was. At last the warder and the jailer left the cell, the women grew quieter and began going to bed, and the old woman went to the icon and commenced praying.

"The two jailbirds have met," the red-haired woman suddenly called out in a hoarse voice from the other end of the shelf beds, accompanying every word with frightfully vile abuse.

"Mind you don't get it again," Korableva replied, also adding words of abuse, and both were quiet again.

"Had I not been stopped I'd have pulled your damned eyes out," again began the red-haired one, and an answer of the same kind followed from Korableva. Then again a short interval and more abuse. But the intervals became longer and longer, as when a thunder-cloud is passing, and at last all was quiet.

All were in bed, some began to snore; and only the old woman, who always prayed a long time, went on bowing before the icon and the deacon's daughter, who had got up after the warder left, was pacing up and down the room again. Maslova kept thinking that she was now a convict condemned to hard labour, and had twice been reminded of this--once by Botchkova and once by the red-haired woman--and she could not reconcile herself to the thought. Korableva, who lay next to her, turned over in her bed.

"There now," said Maslova in a low voice; "who would have thought it? See what others do and get nothing for it."

"Never mind, girl. People manage to live in Siberia. As for you, you'll not be lost there either," Korableva said, trying to comfort her.

"I know I'll not be lost; still it is hard. It's not such a fate I want--I, who am used to a comfortable life."

"Ah, one can't go against God," said Korableva, with a sigh. "One can't, my dear."

"I know, granny. Still, it's hard."

They were silent for a while.

"Do you hear that baggage?" whispered Korableva, drawing Maslova's attention to a strange sound proceeding from the other end of the room.

This sound was the smothered sobbing of the red-haired woman. The red-haired woman was crying because she had been abused and had not got any of the vodka she wanted so badly; also because she remembered how all her life she had been abused, mocked at, offended, beaten. Remembering this, she pitied herself, and, thinking no one heard her, began crying as children cry, sniffing with her nose and swallowing the salt tears.

"I'm sorry for her," said Maslova.

"Of course one is sorry," said Korableva, "but she shouldn't come bothering."

玛丝洛娃从面包里掏出钱，把一张息票一交一给柯拉勃列娃。柯拉勃列娃接过息票，瞧了瞧。她不识字，但信任那个无所不知的俏一娘一们。俏一娘一们告诉她息票值两卢布五十戈比。柯拉勃列娃爬到通气洞一口，取出蒙在那里的一瓶酒。女人们，除了贴近玛丝洛娃的几个外，看到这情景，纷纷回到自己的铺位上去。玛丝洛娃抖掉头巾和囚袍上的灰土，爬到铺上，开始吃面包。

“我给你留着茶，恐怕凉了，”费多霞说着从墙架上取下一把用包脚布裹一着的白铁茶壶和一个带把的杯子。

那茶完全凉了，而且白铁味道比茶味更浓，但玛丝洛娃还是倒了一杯，就着吃面包。

“费纳什卡，给你，”她叫道，掰下一块面包，递给眼睛直盯住她嘴巴的小男孩。

这当儿，柯拉勃列娃把酒瓶和杯子一交一给玛丝洛娃。玛丝洛娃请柯拉勃列娃和俏一娘一们一起喝。这三个女犯是牢房里的贵族，因为她们有钱，有了东西就一起享用。

过了几分钟，玛丝洛娃兴奋了，兴致勃勃地讲起法庭上的情景和法庭上特别使她惊讶的一件事，还滑稽地摹仿检察官的动作。她说，法庭上的男人个个都兴致勃勃地望着她，为此还特意闯到犯人室里来。

“就连那个押解我的兵都说：‘他们这都是来看你的。’一会儿来了一个人，说是来拿文件或者什么东西，可是我看出，他要的不是文件，而是要用眼睛把我吞下去，”她笑嘻嘻地说，摇摇头，仿佛她也弄不懂是怎么一回事。“全会演戏。”

“这话说得一点也不假，”道口工附和着，立刻用她那好听的声音滔一滔一不一绝地说起来。“好比苍蝇见了糖。他们别的都不在意，可是见了女人就没命了。他们这帮男人光吃饭还不行……”

“这儿也一样，”玛丝洛娃打断她的话说。“到了这儿，我也遇到了那类事。他们刚把我带回来，正好有一批家伙从火车站上押到。他们死乞白赖地纠缠人，我简直不知道怎样才能脱身。多亏副典狱长把他们赶走了。有一个死缠住不放，好容易才被我挣脱了。”

“那家伙什么模样？”俏一娘一们问。

“皮肤黑黑的，留着小一胡一子。”

“多半是他。”

“他是谁？”

“就是谢格洛夫。你看，他刚走过去。”

“这谢格洛夫是个什么人？”

“连谢格洛夫都不知道！谢格洛夫两次从服苦役的地方逃走。这回又把他抓住了，可他还是会逃走的。连看守都怕他呢，”俏一娘一们说，她同男犯人们传递纸条，监狱里发生的事她都知道。“他准会逃走的。”

“哼，他会逃走，可不会把咱们带走！”柯拉勃列娃说。

“你最好还是讲讲，”她对玛丝洛娃说，“关于上诉的事那理事（律师）都对你说了些什么。如今总得去上诉吧？”

玛丝洛娃说她什么也不知道。

这时候，红头发女人把雀斑累累的双手伸到蓬乱的浓密头发里，用指甲搔着头皮，走到那三个正在喝酒的“贵族”跟前。

“卡秋莎，我把该办的事都告诉你，”她开口道。“劈头第一件事，你得写个呈子，说你对那个判决不满意，然后再向检察官提出。”

“关你什么事？”柯拉勃列娃怒气冲冲地用低沉的声音说。

“你闻到酒味了。这事不用你多嘴。你不说，人家也知道该怎么办，用不着你多嘴。”

“人家又不是跟你说话，要你罗唆什么！”

“想喝点酒吧？也赶过来了。”

“好哇，就给她喝一点吧，”玛丝洛娃说。她一向很慷慨，有了东西就分给大家。

“让我来给她尝尝……”

“哼，来吧！”红头发女人一逼一近柯拉勃列娃说。“我才不怕你呢。”

“臭犯人！”

“你自己才是臭犯人！”

“一騷一货！”

“我是一騷一货？你是苦役犯，凶手！”红头发女人嚷道。

“对你说，走开！”柯拉勃列娃板起脸说。

但红头发女人反而一逼一拢来。柯拉勃列娃猛然往她敞开的胖胸部推了一下。红头发女人仿佛就在等她来这一手，出其不意用一只手揪住柯拉勃列娃的头发，举起另一只手想打她耳光，但被柯拉勃列娃抓住。玛丝洛娃和俏一娘一们拉住红头发女人的双手，竭力想把她拉开，但红头发女人揪住对方的辫子，不肯松手。她刹那间把对方的头发松了一松，但目的是把它缠在自己的拳头上。柯拉勃列娃歪着脑袋，一只手揍着她的身一体，同时用牙齿咬她的手臂。女人们都围着这两个打架的人，劝阻着，叫嚷着。就连那个害痨病的女犯也走过来，一面咳嗽，一面瞧着这两个扭成一一团一的女人。孩子们拥挤着，啼哭着。女看守听见闹声，带了一名男看守进来。他们把打架的女人拉开。柯拉勃列娃拆散她那灰白的辫子，拉掉那几绺被拔下的头发。红头发女人拉拢撕一破的衬衫，盖住枯黄的胸部。两人都边哭边诉，大声叫嚷。

“哼，我知道这一切都是灌酒灌出来的。明天我告诉典狱长，让他来收拾你们。我闻得出来，这儿有酒味，”女看守说。

“你们当心点儿，快把那些东西拿掉，要不你们会倒楣的。我们可没功夫来给你们评理。现在各就各位，保持安静。”

但过了好久还没有安静下来。两个女人又对骂了一阵，争辩着吵架是谁开的头，是谁的不是。最后，男看守和女看守都走了，女人们才安静下来，准备睡觉。那个老太婆随即跪在圣像前面做起祷告来。

“两个苦役犯凑在一起了，”红头发女人突然从板铺另一头哑着哑子说，每说一句就插一进几个刁钻古怪的骂人字眼。

“当心别再自讨苦吃，”柯拉勃列娃也夹杂着类似的骂人话回敬她。于是两人都不作声了。

“要不是他们拦着我，我早就把你的眼珠子挖出来了……”红头发女人又开口了，柯拉勃列娃又立刻回敬。

然后又是沉默，沉默的时间更长了，但接着又是对骂。间隔的时间越来越长，最后完全安静了。

大家都睡了，有几个已发出鼾声，只有那个一向要祷告得很久的老太婆还跪在圣像前叩头。诵经士的女儿等看守一走，就从一床一上起来，又在牢房里来回踱步。

玛丝洛娃没有睡着，头脑里念念不忘她是个苦役犯。人家已经两次这样称呼她：一次是包奇科娃，另一次是红头发女人。她对这事怎么也不能甘心。柯拉勃列娃原来背对她躺着，这时转过身来。

“唉，真是做梦也没有想到，没有想到，”玛丝洛娃低声说。“人家做尽坏事，也没什么。我平白无故，倒要受这份罪。”

“别难过，姑一娘一。西伯利亚照样有人活着。你到那里也不会完蛋的，”柯拉勃列娃安慰她说。

“我知道不会完蛋，但到底太气人了。我不该有这个命，我过惯好日子了。”

“人拗不过上帝呀！”柯拉勃列娃叹了一口气说，“人是拗不过上帝的。”

“这我知道，大婶，但到底太难受了。”

她们沉默了一阵。

“你听见吗？又是那个一騷一娘一们，”柯拉勃列娃说，要玛丝洛娃注意那从板铺另一头传来的古怪声音。

这是红头发女人勉强忍住的痛哭声。红头发女人所以痛哭，是因为刚才挨了骂，遭了打，她真想喝酒，却又不给她喝。她所以痛哭，还因为她这辈子除了挨骂、嘲弄、侮辱和被打以外没有尝过别的滋味。她想找点开心的事来安慰安慰自己，就回忆她同工人费吉卡的初恋，但一回忆，也就想到这次初恋是怎样结束的。那个费吉卡有一次喝醉了酒，开玩笑，拿明矾抹在她身上最敏一感的地方，接着看到她痛得身一子缩成一一团一，就跟同伴们哈哈大笑。她的初恋就这样结束了。她想起这件事，觉得伤心极了，以为没有人会听见，就出声哭起来。她哭得象个孩子，嘴里哼哼着，吸着鼻子，咽着咸滋滋的眼泪。

“她真可怜，”玛丝洛娃说。

“可怜是可怜，可她不该来捣乱嘛！”