Entry 23

23


I was stopped four or five times on my way to Deviche Pole. I took
this route just to show those that might have watched me that I really
was going to the hospital. Then I thought I could take a street car
to a station and go somewhere south, to Tula, for instance, then wait
there for a while and afterwards reach Moscow again (they cannot keep
on shooting and shooting always, I reasoned) and thence to Tumen. So
I continued along Miasnitskaya. Near the Post Office some people
approached me. "Where to?" they asked, and a woman caught me by the
arm. I made a suffering face. "For Christ's sake," I exclaimed, "don't
touch me. I am wounded!" They let me go and stopped a long, young
fellow in student's uniform. I saw them drag the chap away regardless
of his protests. "Comrades! It is a mistake! I am a member of a local
committee...." he attempted to protest,--but the woman said he looked
like a suspicious plotter and they all disappeared in a side street.
Near Milutinsky a man in the cap of a chauffer stopped me again and
asked me to follow him. "Where?" I asked, but he did not reply and
invited me to follow with a slight and nothing-good-promising-smile.
"Follow!" he said.

Near a small church, there was a hardware store which we entered.
About ten people were sitting on the counter. Among them were three
street girls, if I might judge by their appearance and manners.
Without saying a word, they all came near me, two men got me by the
shoulders, two others by the legs, and in one second, my pockets were
emptied, my diamonds went to the girls and a formidable blow on the
spine with the butt of a rifle threw me out onto the street. "If you
report," I heard a voice,--"You won't be able to count your bones."

That was really too much! All they forgot to take was a handkerchief,
in which I had put some money. With that I had to reach Tumen and live
there!

Then I turned left and went by small streets toward the depot from
which I thought trains were running to Tumen. Where this Tumen was
I really did not realize. It should be somewhere east of the Ural
mountains, and all I recollected was that Cheliabinsk was the place to
buy a ticket. Near a large school, I think it was an Armenian school
or something, I stopped to rest and see how much money I had in the
handkerchief,--but as soon as I took the handkerchief out, a man of no
profession came to me and asked me to help him. While, like an idiot,
I tried to figure how much I could give him,--he helped himself,
grabbed my all and ran. All I could do was to send him a few greetings
in my best Russian, recollecting the sins of his Mother. That relieved
me, of course, but only as a palliative. I sat down near a door to
think over my situation. Again a motor passed and again someone asked
me who I was. I showed this time such a realistic indifference and
such a display of pure disgust with life, that the man at the wheel
inquired what was the matter. "Nothing, you beasts," I replied, "but
that some of your own scoundrels robbed me right now." "Get after
him," I continued, "perhaps you can rob him in your turn." I
thought they would shoot me; nothing of the kind--they became almost
sympathetic, and only asked how the man looked and which way he had
gone. "Hardware store," I said, "around the corner."