These thoughts discouraged Andre Yefimech, and he stopped going to the hospital every day.
That's how his life was lived. Usually he gets up around eight o'clock in the morning, gets dressed, and drinks tea. Then he sat down in his study to read a book, or went to work in the hospital. In hospitals, outpatients sit in narrow, dimly lit aisles waiting to see a doctor. Handymen and nurses ran around them, boots rattling on the brick floor; emaciated hospitalists wearing them; dead bodies and filthy apparatus carried out of them; sick children crying and crying, and the wind pouring in. Andrey Yefimech knows that such an environment is a sin for feverish, tuberculosis-causing and already sensitive patients, but what can be done? In the examination room, the healer Sergei Sergei was greeting him. The man was short, fat, and his swollen face was shaved and washed clean. He was gentle and calm, wearing a fat new suit, and looked more like a suffragan than a healer. He also practiced medicine privately in the city, and there were many people who sought medical treatment, and he wore a white bow tie and thought that he was smarter than the doctor, because the doctor did not practice medicine in private. In the corner of the clinic there is a shrine with a large icon, a heavy lamp lit, and a high candle next to it, covered with white cloth. On the four walls hang several portraits of the archbishop, a landscape photograph of the Monastery of the Holy Mountain and some withered cornflower rings. Sergey Sergei believes in God and loves sacred rituals. The icon was set up with his private money. Every Sunday, he ordered a patient to sing a hymn loudly in the examination room, and after singing, Thigay Sergeichi took the incense burner and went through the various wards, shaking the incense.
There were many patients and very little time, so his job was limited to asking briefly about the condition and then prescribing some drugs like adjuvant or castor oil. Andrey Yefimech sat at the table, holding his fist to his cheek, pondering, and asking a few questions in a wooden manner. Sergei Sergei also sat, rubbing his hands, occasionally interjecting a sentence or two.
"We are sick and poor," he often said, "because we did not pray well to a merciful God." yes! ”
At the time of the outpatient visit, Andre Yefimech did not perform any surgery. He was no longer used to surgery, and he felt uncomfortable when he saw blood. Sometimes he had to open the baby's mouth and examine his throat, and the child would scream and wave his little hand, and then his ears would buzz, his hair would be dizzy, and tears would well in his eyes. He hurried to prescribe a prescription and waved his hand, telling the woman to take the child away quickly.
At the outpatient clinic, the patient cowered and spoke disorganized, and with Sergey Sergei sitting precariously, the paintings on the walls, the questions he had asked the same for twenty years—all this quickly bored him. He looked at five or six patients and left. The remaining patients are treated by a doctor alone.
Andrey Yefimech thought with pleasure that, thankfully, he had long ceased to practice medicine privately, and that no one would disturb him now. When he got home, he immediately sat down in his study and began to read. He read a lot of books and always read with great interest. Half of his salary was spent on books, and three of his six-room apartments were stacked with books and old magazines. He enjoyed reading historical and philosophical works. In medicine, he subscribed to only one copy of the journal Physician, and usually read it from the back. Each time he could read for hours without stopping without getting tired. He did not read as quickly and impulsively as Ivan Dmitry, he read slowly, deeply, and read to the point wherever he liked or could not read he often stopped. Next to the book, a small bottle of vodka, a pickled yellow claw or a stained apple is always placed, and placed directly on the tweed tablecloth, not on a plate. Every half hour, without leaving the book, he poured himself a glass of vodka, drank it, and then without looking, touched the cucumber with his hand and took a bite.
At three o'clock he walked carefully to the kitchen door, coughed a few times, and said:
"Dariuska, better get me something to eat..."
After a rather poor and unclean lunch, Andre Yefimech walked around the rooms, his hands crossed over his chest, thinking about something. The clock struck four o'clock, and at five o'clock later, he was still pacing and pondering. Sometimes the kitchen door creaked, and out of the door came Dariuska's sleepy red face.
"Andre Yefimech, it's time for you to have a beer, right?" She asked with concern.
"No, it's not time yet..." he replied, "wait a little longer... Wait a little longer..."
Postmaster Mikhail Avellánagex usually visits in the early evening. Among the inhabitants of the city, only his association with him had not bored Andre Yefimech. Mikhail Avellánezch was originally a wealthy landowner who served in the cavalry regiment, but was later bankrupt and forced to enter the post office in his old age. He was energetic, physically strong, with gray hair, a polite demeanor, a loud voice and a pleasant voice. He is kind, affectionate, but grumpy. At the post office, whenever a customer protested, disagreed with certain practices, or just talked about it, Mikhail Avellánich immediately blushed, screamed, and thunderously shouted, "Shut up!" "Therefore, this post office has long been famous, and it is a gate that everyone is afraid to enter." Mikhail Avelanech considered Andrei Yefimech to be cultured and ambitious, so he respected and loved him. He was arrogant towards the rest of the inhabitants, as he was to his subordinates.
"Here I come!" He said as he walked into Andrea Yefimech's study, "Hello, my dear friend! I'm afraid I've already annoyed you, right? ”
"On the contrary, I am very happy," replied the doctor, "and I am always glad to see you." ”
The two friends sat on the couch in the study, and they smoked a cigarette in silence first.
"Dariuska, better get us some beer!" Andrey Yefimech said.
The two men drank their first beer without a word: the doctor was meditating, and Mikhail looked happy and excited, as if he had something very interesting to tell. Conversations always begin with a doctor.
"It's a pity," he said slowly and peacefully, shaking his head and not looking at the other person (he never looked directly into the faces of others), it is a pity that the esteemed Mikhail Avelyanech, in our city, there is no one in our city to talk about some profound or interesting topic, they do not have the ability to do so, and do not like to do it. This is a huge loss for us. Even intellectuals are not exempt from vulgarity, and their level of development, I dare assert, is not at all higher than that of inferior people. ”
"Exactly. I agree. ”
"You yourself know," the doctor continued calmly and slowly, "that in this world everything is of no importance and no meaning except the noblest spiritual manifestation of human intelligence. Wisdom draws a clear line between man and beast, suggests the sanctity of man, and can even replace human immortality to some extent—even though immortality does not exist. Thus, wisdom is the only possible source of happiness. But we don't see wise people around us, we can't hear the talk of wisdom - we don't see happiness. Yes, we have books, but it's completely different from active conversation and active interaction. If you allow me to make an incompletely appropriate analogy, then I would say: Books are musical scores, and conversations are songs. ”
"Exactly."
Then there was silence. Dariuska came out of the kitchen with a dull face tinged with sorrow, one hand on his face, and stood outside the door, trying to hear what they had to say.
"Alas!" Mikhail Avelanech sighed, "I wish people could be smarter now!" ”
So he spoke of how healthy, cheerful, and interesting life had been in the past, how clever the Russian intellectuals were then, how much they valued fame and friendship. They lend money to people without IOUs, thinking that it is shameful for friends who have difficulties and do not reach out to help. And how interesting those trips, adventures, and arguments are! What kind of friends, what kind of women! Speaking of the Caucasus, what a charming place! There was a battalion commander's wife, a strange woman, who put on her officer's uniform at night and rode into the mountains alone, without a guide. It is said that she had some affair with a young duke in a mountain village. ”
"My Virgin Mother..." Dariuska sighed.
"Besides, how much fun it was to drink at that time!" Eat so much! Those who have free thoughts are really not afraid! ”
Andre Yefimech listened, but turned a deaf ear: he was thinking about something, taking a sip of beer from time to time.
"I used to dream of intelligent people and talk to them," he suddenly interrupted Mikhail Averianich, "but my father gave me a good education, but under the influence of the ideas of the sixties, he had to make me a doctor." I think that if I hadn't listened to him then, I would be at the center of the thought movement now. I'm afraid I've become a professor in a certain department. Of course, wisdom is not eternal, but fleeting, but you already know why I love it so much. Life is a distressing trap. When a thoughtful person enters adulthood and his consciousness matures, he cannot help but feel as if he has fallen into a trap with no way out. In fact, his transition from nothingness to life was not made by his will, but by some contingent circumstance. ...... Why? He wanted to find out the meaning and purpose of his life, but others wouldn't tell him or say something ridiculous. He knocked on the door -- no one opened the door for him. Finally Death came to him - again not out of his will. For example, just as people in prison are associated with common misfortunes and feel at ease when they get together, you don't feel like you're living in a pie when people who are keen on analysis and generalization get together and spend time in the exchange of proud free thoughts. In this sense, wisdom is an irreplaceable joy. ”
Andrey Yefimech did not look at each other, talked and stopped, and kept talking calmly about wise people and conversations with them. Mikhail Averianich listened attentively and agreed: "Exactly right. ”
"So don't you believe that the soul doesn't die?" The postmaster asked suddenly.
"No, My Excellency Mikhail Avelyanach, I do not believe it, and I have no reason to believe it."
"Honestly, I'm skeptical too. But then again, I had a feeling as if I would never die. Hey, I thought to myself, old man, you're damned! But a voice in my heart whispered: Don't believe it, you can't die! ......”
At nine o'clock, Mikhail Avrianage resigned and went home. He put on his fur coat in the front room, sighed and said:
"But really, God has thrown us into such a desolate and remote place!" The worst part is that we have to die here. alas! ......”
Sending off his friends, Andrea Yefimech sat down behind the table and began to read again. Not a single sound broke the silence of the night. It was as if time had stopped, and I held my breath with the doctor who was buried in the book. It seemed as if everything had ceased to exist, except for the book and the lamp with the green shroud. The doctor's vulgar face gradually glowed, and a smile of emotion and joy appeared in the face of the progress of human intelligence. Ah, why can't man live forever? He thought, why should there be brain centers and brain circuits, why vision, language, self-feeling and genius, since all this is destined to be buried in the soil, and finally cooled with the crust, and then millions of years meaningless, aimless as the earth revolves around the sun? Since it is to be cooled, since it is to rotate with the earth, there is no need to conceive man and his high-altitude near-god wisdom from nothingness, and then turn man into dust as if in a joke.
That's metabolism! But how cowardly it is to comfort yourself with an eternal life like this! All the unconscious processes of transformation that take place in nature are even inferior to man's stupidity, for there is, after all, perception and will in stupidity, and there is nothing in those processes. Only the coward who feels fear in the face of death, rather than dignity, can console himself that his body will gradually turn into grass, stones, clam molds... It is a strange theory to think that metabolism is eternal life, just as absurd as some people predict that the violin box will have a bright future after a precious violin is smashed and rendered useless.
Whenever the clock struck, Andre Yefimech leaned back in his lap chair, closed his eyes, and thought for a while. Under the influence of the beautiful ideas he read from the books, he inadvertently turned his gaze to his past and present. The past is abhorrent, and it's better not to think about it. And now it's the same as it was in the past. He knew that as his mind swirled around the sun with the cooling earth, people were suffering from disease and abscesses in the main hospital building next to his apartment. There may be people who can't sleep and are battling bed bugs, some who have erysipelas or who are moaning because their bandages are wrapped too tightly, and some patients who may be playing cards and drinking with nurses. Twelve thousand people have been deceived in a fiscal year; the whole work of the hospital, as it did twenty years ago, is based on theft, quarrels, slander, favoritism, and on clumsy deception; the hospital remains an immoral institution, extremely harmful to the health of the patient. He knew that Nikita often beat the sick in the bars of the sixth ward, and that Mosheika was begging in the city every day.
On the other hand, he was well aware that medicine had undergone miraculous changes in the last twenty-five years. When he was studying in college, he felt that medicine would soon reach the level of alchemy and metaphysics, but now, whenever he read at night, medicine often touched him and aroused the surprise in his heart. Indeed, its brilliant achievements are simply unexpected, what a profound revolution has taken place! Thanks to antibacterial agents, many of the surgeries that the great Pirogov (1) thought could not be done even in the future (2) can now be done. Even the doctors of the ordinary local self-government bureau dared to do knee arthrotomy. As for laparotomy, only one of the hundred cases was done. Stone disease is just a trivial matter, and no one has even written about it. Syphilis is already curable. There are also genetic theories, hypnotherapy, the discoveries of Pasteur (3) and Koch (4), health based on statistical power, and our Russian home rule medical system. Psychiatry, and its modern classification of mental illness, diagnosis, and medical law, is like a majestic Elbrus (5) in comparison with the past. Now the madman is no longer treated with cold water on their heads, no longer requires them to wear tight medical gowns, is more humane to them, and is reportedly even held for them to perform and dance. André Yefimech knew that, from the current point of view and fashion, such an ugly phenomenon as the sixth ward could probably only appear in a small town two hundred miles from the railway, because the mayor and the whole councillor here were semi-illiterate citizens who regarded the doctor as a priest, and even if he poured boiled tin water into the mouth of the patient, he could only believe it and could not criticize it. Somewhere else, the public and the press had already smashed this little bastille.
"But so what?" Andre Yefimech opened his eyes and asked himself, "What do you get out of this?" Antimicrobials, Koch, or Buster, do not change the substance of things in the slightest. Prevalence and mortality remain the same. People hold dance parties and act for the lunatics, but they still can't let them move freely. It can be seen that everything is vain and futile, in fact, there is no difference between the best Vienna hospital and my hospital. ”
But a sad and almost jealous mood made him no longer at peace. I am afraid that this is too sleepy, and with his heavy head hanging down to the book, he had to put his hands on his face and think to himself:
"I do harmful things, I take people's money and cheat them. I'm not honest. But I am insignificant in myself, I am only a small part of the indispensable social evil: all county officials are harmful, but they are white-collared with salaries... It can be seen that dishonesty is not my fault, but the fault of the times... If I had been born two hundred years later, I would have been a different person. ”
The clock struck three times, and he turned off the lights and went into the bedroom. But he was not sleepy.
Two years ago, local self-government was summed up and it was decided to allocate three hundred rubles a year before the opening of the local self-government bureau hospital as a subsidy for the increase of medical personnel in the municipal hospital. Therefore, in order to assist Andrei Yefimech in his work, the county doctor Yevgeny Fedorich Hobotov was hired to come to the city. The man was still very young, less than thirty years old, with high cheekbones, small eyes, and a tall, dark-haired man, whose ancestors seemed to be foreign. He came to the city penniless, carrying a small box and an ugly young woman, whom he said was his cook. The woman also has a nursing doll. Evgeny Fedorec often wears a duck-tongue hat, high boots on his feet, and a short leather jacket in winter. He befriended the healer Sergei Sergei and the accountant, but somehow called the rest of the officials nobles and hid from them. There was only one book in his residence: The Latest Prescriptions of the Vienna Hospital in 1881. He always came to the hospital with him the book. Every night he played billiards at the club and he didn't like to play cards. In conversation, he likes to use such words: "procrastination", "nonsense", "you don't mix the water", and so on.
He came to the hospital twice a week to check the wards and see the outpatient clinics. The lack of antimicrobials in the hospital and the use of cupping to bleed made him angry, but he did not adopt new methods, lest he offend Andre Yefimech. He regarded his colleague Andre Yefimech as an old slipper, suspected him of being rich, and was jealous of him. To be able to occupy his position he
At the end of March, on a spring evening when there was no more snow on the ground, the starlings in the hospital garden began to sing, and Andre Yefimech delivered his friend the postmaster to the gate. It was at this time that Mosheika, a Jew, returned with his booty and had just entered the courtyard. He didn't wear a hat, he was barefoot in a pair of shallow-top slip-top shoes, and he was holding a small bag of what he had begged for.
"Give me a little money!" He froze and said to the doctor with a smile.
Andrey Yefimech, who had never turned away, gave him a ten-kopeck coin.
"How bad this is," he thought, looking at Mosheika's bare feet and thin, red ankles, "all soaking wet." ”
Stirring up a feeling of both sympathy and disgust in his heart, he followed the Jew toward the side house, sometimes looking at his baldness and sometimes at his ankle bone. As soon as the doctor entered the room, Nikita immediately jumped up from a pile of rags and stood up straight.
"Hello, Nikita," said Andre Yefimech gently, "it would be better to give this Jew a pair of boots, or he will catch a cold." ”
"Yes, sir. I will certainly report to the Controller. ”
"Labored. You can ask him in my name and say I want you to do it. ”
The door from the outhouse to the sixth ward was open. Ivan Dmitry lay on the bed, propped up on his elbows, listening with trepidation to the stranger's voice, and suddenly recognized the doctor. He was so angry that he trembled, jumped out of bed, blushed, stared roundly, and ran to the center of the ward with a fierce face.
"The doctor is here!" He shouted loudly, laughing loudly, "Finally! Gentlemen, I congratulate you that the doctor has come to visit us! Damn the bastards! He suddenly screamed and stomped his feet like crazy, a look that no one in the ward had ever seen before, "Kill this bastard!" No, it's not angry to kill! He should be thrown into a pit and drowned! ”
When Andrea Yefimech heard this, he looked out of the outhouse into the infirmary and asked gently:
"Why is that?"
"Why?" Ivan Dmitry cried, a look of menace approaching him, while trembling and wrapping his patient gown tightly, "Why? You are a thief! He said in disgust, and puffed up his mouth, as if trying to slam him, "Liar! executioner! ”
"Please be quiet," said Andre Yefimech with an apologetic smile, "I assure you that I have never stolen anything, and as for the rest, you are afraid that you have gone too far." I can see that you are mad at me. Please be quiet, I shield you, if you can, calmly tell me: Why are you angry? ”
"Why are you locking me up here?"
"Because you're sick."
"Yes, I'm sick. But you know, hundreds of crazy people are free to move, because you stupid people can't tell who is crazy and who is healthy. Why should I and these unfortunate people, who have suffered like scapegoats, be locked up here? You, the healer, the general administrator, and all the bad guys in your hospital, are morally far more despicable than any of us here, so why are we locked up instead of you? What logic? ”
"It has nothing to do with morality or logic. Everything depends on chance. Whoever is locked up has to stay here; whoever is not locked up is free to move. That's it. As for me as a doctor, you are a psychopath, which has nothing to do with morality and no logic to speak of, which is purely an unwarranted accident. ”
"I don't understand this nonsense..." said Ivan Dmitry in a muffled voice, sitting down on his bed.
Because Nikita was embarrassed to search him in front of the doctor, Mosheika spread a lot of bread, banknotes and fruit cores on the bed. He was still shivering with cold, and spoke In Jewish words quickly in a pleasant voice. Presumably he thought he was opening a shop again.
"Let me out," Ivan Dmitry said, his voice trembling.
"I can't."
"Why not? Why? ”
"Because it doesn't depend on me. Think about it, even if I let you go, what good would you do? You go out, but the city people or the police will catch you and send you back. ”
"Yes, yes, that's true..." said Ivan Dmitry, wiping his forehead, "it's terrible!" So what should I do? What to do? ”
Ivan Dmitry's voice, his young and intelligent face and his sad face, were all to Andre Yefimech's liking. He wanted to be affectionate with the young man and comfort him. He sat down next to him on the bed, thought about it and said:
"You just asked what to do, in a situation like yours, it's better to escape from here. Unfortunately, however, this was in vain. You'll get caught. Once society takes strict precautions against criminals, the mentally ill and the generally ill and isolates them, the society is invincible. There is only one way for you to do this: settle down and decide that it is necessary for you to be here. ”
"It's not necessary for anyone."
"Since there are prisons and lunatic asylums, someone has to live in them. Either you or me, or I'm someone else. Wait, in the distant future, prisons and lunatic asylums will no longer exist, and then there will be no more bars and madmen's clothes. There is no doubt that such an era will come sooner or later. ”
Ivan Dmitry smiled coldly.
"You're joking," he said, narrowing his eyes, "that old masters like you and your assistant Nikita have nothing to do with the future, but you can be sure that, sir, good times will come!" Make fun of me, though I say blandly, but the dawn of a new life will shine on the earth, the truth will triumph, and there will be a great celebration on our streets! I can't wait for that day, I'm dead, but our descendants will. I sincerely congratulate them, I am happy, happy for them! advance! May God bless you, friends! ”
Ivan Dmitry's eyes lit up, stood up, held out his hands in the direction of the window, and continued in an excited voice:
"I bless you for these bars! Long live the truth! I'm happy! ”
"I don't think there's any particular reason to be happy," said Andrey Yefimech, who felt ivan Dmitry's movements act like an act, which he also liked, "prisons and lunatic asylums, even if there is no more, the truth is as victorious as you just said, but the essence of things will not change, the laws of nature will remain the same." People will still get sick, age, die, just like now. No matter how brilliant the dawn in the future illuminates your life, in the end people will have to be nailed into coffins and thrown into tombs. ”
"What about eternal life?"
"Oh, where' the word!"
"You don't believe it, hey, but I do. I don't know whether it is Dostoevsky or Voltaire's book that if there is no God, then people will also make him. (1) I am convinced that if there is no eternal life, then sooner or later the great human intellect will also create it. ”
"Well said," said Andre Yefimech with a pleasant smile, "you have faith, and that's fine. People with faith will live happily even if they are built inside the wall. Where are you educated? ”
"Yes, I went to college, but I didn't finish it."
"You're a thoughtful, thinking person. You can find inner peace in any environment. The kind of free and profound contemplation aimed at discovering the meaning of life, the utter contempt for earthly glitz—these are the two highest kinds of happiness of mankind to date. Even if you live in three iron bars, you can have this happiness. Diogenes (2) lived in a barrel, yet he was happier than all the kings of the world. ”
"Your Diogenes are nerds," said Ivan Dmitry gloomily, "why are you talking to me about Diogenes, about what is the meaning of life?" He was suddenly very angry and jumped up, "I love life, I love life!" I have persecution paranoia and I am often terrified, but sometimes my heart is full of longing for life, and then I am afraid to go crazy. I long for life, I long for life! ”
Excitedly, he walked around the ward, lowered his voice and said:
"When I fantasize, I have all kinds of hallucinations. Someone came up to me, I heard talk and music, and I seemed to think that I was walking in the woods, wandering by the sea, how eager I was for a busy, laborious life... Please tell me what's out there? Ivan Dmitry asked, "What's going on outside?" ”
"Do you want to know the news in town, or the news in general?"
"Then tell me about the news in the city first, and then talk about the general news."
"All right. The town is boringly dull... No one can talk to and hear an interesting word. There are no new arrivals. Not long ago, however, a young doctor, Hobotov, arrived. ”
"He finally came while I was alive. How's that, a mean little man? ”
"Yes, an uncultured man. Did you know, it's weird... In all respects, many of our provincial cities are active and their minds are not stagnant – that is to say, there should be real people in the provincial cities. But for some reason, every time the people sent to us over there made people look down. What an unfortunate city! ”
"Yes, what an unfortunate city!" Ivan Dmitry sighed and laughed again, "What about the general news?" What are the articles in newspapers and magazines? ”
It was already dark in the ward. The doctor stood up and began to talk about some important articles at home and abroad, and about the current trend of thought. Ivan Dmitry listened carefully, asking questions from time to time, but suddenly he seemed to remember something terrible, and quickly clutched his head, and lay down on the bed, with his back to the doctor.
"What's wrong with you?" Andrea Yefimech asked.
"Don't you want to hear me say another word," said Ivan Dmitry rudely, "leave me alone!" ”
"Why is that?"
"I say to you: Leave me alone! Hell yes! ”
Andre Yefimech shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and walked out. Passing by the outhouse he said:
"It's better to pack up here, Nikita... The smell is so bad! ”
"Yes, sir."
"What a lovely young man!" When Andrea Yefimech walked back to his apartment, he thought, "I have lived here for so long, and he is probably the first person who can talk." He was good at thinking and caring about what should be cared for. ”
He sat down again to read a book, and later went to bed, thinking about Ivan Dmitry all the time. When he woke up the next morning, he remembered that he had met a clever and interesting man yesterday and decided to see him again when he had time.
Ivan Dmitry was still lying on the bed with his head held and his legs curled, as he had done yesterday.
"Hello, my friend," said Andre Yefimech, "you're not asleep, are you?" ”
"First of all, I am not your friend," said Ivan Dmitry to the pillow, "and secondly, you are trying in vain: you are not trying to take a word out of my mouth. ”
"Strange..." muttered Andre Yefimech in embarrassment, "we had a good conversation yesterday, but somehow you suddenly got angry and immediately stopped talking... I'm afraid I'm not saying it properly, or some of the ideas don't match your beliefs..."