Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak [91]
“The lawn was suddenly empty! We could see the ground again. What a joy! For four months we hadn’t seen it under this Gypsy camp—forgot what it looked like. Here’s where he lay. Amazing thing, I’ve seen all sorts of horrors during the war, it’s time I got used to them. But here I was seized by such pity! Above all—the senselessness. For what? What harm had he done them? Can they be human beings? They say he was the family favorite. And now to the right, here, here, this way, please, to my office. Don’t even think of getting on this train, you’ll be crushed to death. I’ll put you on another one, a local one. We’re making it up ourselves, it’s going to be formed right now. Only not a word till you get on, not to anyone! If you let it slip, they’ll tear it apart even before it’s coupled. You’ll have to change in Sukhinichi during the night.”
13
When the secret train was formed and started backing into the station from behind the depot, all the people crowded on the lawn rushed to intercept the slowly moving cars. People came rolling off the hillocks like peas and ran up the embankment. Pushing each other aside, they leaped onto the buffers and footboards in motion, while others climbed through the windows and onto the roofs of the cars. The still-moving train was filled up in no time, and when it reached the platform it was jam packed and hung from top to bottom with passengers.
By a miracle, the doctor squeezed himself onto a rear platform and then, in a still more incomprehensible way, penetrated into the corridor of the car.
And in the corridor he remained throughout the entire trip, and got to Sukhinichi sitting on his things on the floor.
The storm clouds had long since dispersed. Over the fields flooded by the burning rays of the sun, the ceaseless chirring of grasshoppers rolled from end to end, drowning out the noise of the train’s movement.
The passengers standing at the windows blocked the light for all the others. They cast long shadows, folded double and triple on the floor, the benches, the partitions. The shadows did not fit into the car. They were pushed out the windows opposite and ran skipping along the other side of the embankment, together with the shadow of the whole rolling train.
All around people jabbered, bawled songs, cursed, and played cards. At the stops, the bedlam inside was joined by the noise of the crowd besieging the train from outside. The din of voices reached the deafening level of a sea storm. And, as at sea, in the middle of a stop there would suddenly fall an inexplicable silence. One could hear hurried steps on the platform along the whole length of the train, scurrying about and arguing by the baggage car, separate words spoken by people seeing someone off in the distance, the quiet clucking of hens, and the rustling of trees in the station’s front garden.
Then, like a telegram received on the way, or like greetings from Meliuzeevo, a fragrance floated through the window, familiar, as if addressed to Yuri Andreevich. It manifested itself with quiet superiority somewhere to one side and came from a height unusual for wild or garden flowers.
The doctor could not get to the window owing to the crush. But even without looking, he could see those trees in his imagination. They probably grew quite nearby, calmly reaching towards the roofs of the cars with their spreading branches, the foliage dusty from railroad commotion and thick as night, finely sprinkled with the waxy little stars of glimmering flower clusters.
This was repeated for the whole way. Everywhere there were noisy crowds. Everywhere there were blossoming lindens.
The ubiquitous wafting of this smell seemed to precede the northbound train, like a rumor spread to all junctions, watch houses, and little stations, which the travelers found everywhere, already established and confirmed.
14
At night in Sukhinichi an obliging porter of the old stamp took the doctor to some unlit