Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak [89]
They ended up by two rows of discarded cars on two pairs of rusty rails overgrown with grass. The degradation of the wood, stripped of paint by the rain and rotted by worms and dampness, had restored to these broken-down cars their original kinship with the damp forest that began on the other side of the tracks, with the tinder fungus that ailed the birches, with the clouds piling up over it.
At the edge of the forest, the Cossacks mounted up on command and rode to the clearing.
The mutineers of the 212th were surrounded. Horsemen always look taller and more imposing among trees than in the open. They impressed the soldiers, though they had rifles in their dugouts. The Cossacks drew their sabers.
Inside the ring of horses, Gintz jumped onto a pile of stacked and leveled firewood and addressed a speech to the surrounded soldiers.
Again, as was usual with him, he spoke of military duty, the importance of the motherland, and many other lofty subjects. His notions met with no sympathy here. The mob was too numerous. It consisted of men who had suffered much during the war, had become coarse and weary. The words Gintz uttered had long since stuck in their ears. Four months of ingratiation from the right and the left had corrupted this crowd. The simple folk who made it up gave a cool reception to the orator’s non-Russian name and Baltic accent.
Gintz felt that he was speaking too long, and was vexed with himself, but thought he was doing it for the sake of greater accessibility to his listeners, who, instead of gratitude, paid him back with expressions of indifference and hostile boredom. Becoming more and more annoyed, he decided to address his audience in stiffer terms and make use of the threats he was keeping in reserve. Not hearing the rising murmur, he reminded the soldiers that revolutionary courts-martial had been introduced and were functioning, and demanded on pain of death that they lay down their weapons and hand over the instigators. If they did not do so, Gintz said, it would prove that they were lowdown traitors, irresponsible riffraff, conceited boors. These people were no longer accustomed to such a tone.
A roar of hundreds of voices arose. “You’ve had your say. Enough. All right,” some cried in bass voices and almost without malice. But there were hysterical outcries from the trebles overstrained with hatred. They were listened to. They shouted:
“Do you hear how he lays it on, comrades? Just like the old days! They haven’t shed their officer’s habits! So we’re the traitors! And where do you come from, Your Honor? Why dance around him? You can see, can’t you, he’s a German, an infiltrator. Hey, blue blood, show us your papers! And what are you pacifiers gaping at? Here we are, put the ropes on us, eat us up!”
But the Cossacks also had less and less liking for Gintz’s unfortunate speech. “It’s all boors and swine. The little squire!” they exchanged in whispers. First singly, then in greater numbers, they began to sheath their sabers. One after another they got off their horses. When enough of them had dismounted, they moved in disorder towards the center of the clearing to meet the 212th. Everything became confused. Fraternization began.
“You’d better quietly disappear somehow,” the worried Cossack officers said to Gintz. “Your car is near the junction. We’ll send word that it should be brought closer. Get away quickly.”
Gintz did so, but since he found it undignified to sneak off, he headed for the station without the necessary caution, almost openly. He walked in terrible agitation, forcing himself out of pride to go calmly and unhurriedly.
It was not far to the station; the forest was just next to it. At the edge, already within sight of the tracks, he looked back for the first time. Behind him walked soldiers with guns. “What do they want?” thought Gintz and quickened his pace.
His pursuers did the same. The distance between him and the chase did not change. The double wall of broken-down cars appeared ahead. Once behind them, Gintz broke into a run. The train that had delivered