"Those blockheads," said Rublev, casting his eyes over the snow-blurred silhouette of the station, in front of which, beside their bundles, the vermin-ridden, bearded soldiers stood about in groups and clusters. "How can you get anything into their heads?
They scuttle away from the front like cockroaches.
Louts! A little terror is what is needed!"
His hand, chilled to the bone, grasped at the snowy air.
And his fist pummelled an invisible something.
A shudder passed over his frame, but his hand remained outstretched. "Rublev, old man, you know me." (Telegin turned down his collar and bent towards Rublev's pallid countenance.) "Explain all this to me, for God's sake. We're running our heads into a noose. The Germans could be in Petrograd in a week's time if they liked. You know I never took any interest in politics—"
"What d'you mean you never took any interest?"
Rublev seemed to bristle all over, as he turned awkwardly towards Ivan Ilyich.
"And what did you take an interest in?
D'you know who the people are who take no interest now?"
He looked furiously into Ivan Ilyich's eyes.
"Neutrals are enemies of the people...."
"That's just what I wanted to ask you about. Can't you talk like a human being?"
Ivan Ilyich, too, bristled up.
Rublev drew a deep breath through his nostrils.
"You're a queer chap, Comrade Telegin. Well, I've no time to talk to you—is that something you can understand?"
"Look here, Rublev, I'm in an awful state. Have you heard that Kornilov is raising the Don?"
"Yes, I have."
"Either I shall go to the Don, or stay with you...."
"How d'you mean—'either'"
"I must find out for myself which side is right. You're for the revolution, I'm for Russia. And perhaps I'm for the revolution, too.
I fought in the war, you know."
The fury in Rublev's dark eyes died down, and nothing was left in them but sleepless exhaustion.
"All right," he said. "Come to the Smolny tomorrow—ask for me. Russia!" He shook his head and laughed.
"She's enough to drive one mad, this Russia of yours. She makes me see red! But after all we shall all die for her.... Go to the Baltic station.
Three thousand deserters have been lying about the floor there for over a fortnight. Call meetings among them, make propaganda for the Soviets. Tell them: Petrograd needs bread, we need fighters...." (His eyes began to burn again.) "Tell them, if they just lie on the stove ledge, scratching their bellies, they're done for.
They'll get the revolution in their backsides. Hammer that into their skulls.
And tell them no one can save Russia and the revolution now but the Soviets.... Understand?
There's nothing in the world now so important as our revolution....
Telegin ascended the frozen staircase in the dark to the fifth floor.
He groped for the door.
He knocked three times, and then again.
Someone approached from inside.
After a moment's pause he heard his wife ask softly:
"Who's there?"
"It's me, Dasha."
A sigh came from the other side of the door.
A chain rattled.
There was evidently some trouble in turning the key in the lock.
Dasha's voice could be heard whispering
"Oh, my God!"
At last she got it open, and went straight back along the corridor, and sat down.
Telegin locked the door, conscientiously seeing to all latches and bolts.
He took off his galoshes.
He felt in his pockets—"no matches damn it!"
Still in his cap and coat, he stretched out his arms and followed the direction Dasha had taken.
"Again no light!" he said, "it's a disgrace!
Where are you, Dasha?"
After a slight pause she replied softly from the study:
"There was light, but it went out again."