Lu Xun Complete Works/en/shizhong
Public Display
示众 von/by/par Lu Xun (鲁迅)
[Six: The Miners]
Because of the smoke the room turned blue-grey and stifling. There weren't enough benches. Farmers and partisans mingled, filling the passage, pressing at the door, breathing right on Levinson's neck.
'Let's begin, Joseph Abramovich,' said Lyubov discontent. He was dissatisfied with himself and the commander -- everything seemed pointless and troublesome now.
Moroshchka squeezed to the door, his grim face beside Tupov.
Levinson solemnly explained that he would not have pulled the farmers from work if there were not so many locals in the detachment.
'As everyone decides, so it shall be done,' he concluded slowly, adopting the farmers' cadence. He sat down, turned, and suddenly became a small, inconspicuous person -- leaving the assembly to manage itself.
At first many spoke at once, in chaos. Then the discussion heated up: 'In the old days, under Nicholas, boys who did such things were beaten through the village on display. The stolen goods were hung around their necks and they were paraded with pot-banging,' said white-haired old Ostafei.
'Stop with your Nicholas! Those times are past!' cried the one-eyed man.
'Stealing is bad, Nicholas or not,' the old man persisted.
After long debate: 'Let him speak for himself!' -- Moroshchka stepped forward, drenched in sweat. 'For my comrades I would give my last drop of blood... and then should I shame you?... If I can't keep my word -- shoot me.'
'That matter is settled,' said Levinson. 'Next question: in free time, don't chase dogs but help the farmers.'
'That's what I'm saying,' Gankarenko continued suspiciously (he thought the abuse was aimed at him). 'Simply letting this matter go won't do. But expelling him immediately won't work either -- we'd destroy ourselves. My view: ask him himself!'
'Right! Let him speak! If he's repentant, he'll say so!'
Moroshchka glanced sideways at Levinson. 'Yes, I... did that...' he began in a low voice but couldn't find the words.
'Speak! Speak!' they cried encouragingly.
'Yes, I... did that... those melons... if I'd known it was wrong... For my comrades I'd give my last blood... and should I...' Suddenly something burst in his chest; he clutched it; his eyes shone with warm, moist light... 'Shoot me if I break my word.'
'Fine, your life!' said Tupov sternly, but his eyes held no anger now, only affectionate mockery.
'Done! Done!' they shouted.
Levinson raised his hand: 'One more point. Resolution: in free time, help the farmers.' He smiled gently.
'We don't want that!' said some farmers. Others: 'Let them do it -- their hands won't wear out!'
'Adjourn! Adjourn!' The partisans filed out noisily.
A tousle-haired boy pulled Moroshchka toward the door: 'My little treasure!' Outside, dogs barked, girls sang. Levinson and Bakranov passed quickly. 'Tupov is strong,' said the adjutant excitedly. Levinson was thinking of something else.
[Seven: Levinson]
Levinson's detachment had done nothing for five weeks, billeted in place -- horses, wagons, supplies increased. People slept too much, even on guard. Alarming reports couldn't move this sluggish body. But when it became clear that the Japanese had left Krilovka and no enemy could be found for hundreds of versts, he laughed at his own caution.
But except for Stetsinsky, nobody knew of Levinson's wavering. He shared his thoughts with no one, answering only with 'Yes' or 'No.' So he appeared to all as a particularly correct person -- especially to young Bakranov, who imitated him in everything.
Since Levinson was elected commander, nobody could imagine him in any other role. Had he told how as a child he helped his father sell old wares, how his father wanted to get rich until death but feared mice and played violin badly -- everyone would have thought it a joke. But Levinson never told such things.
... On a damp midnight in August, a courier galloped in: old Shokhovi-Kovdun reported the defeat at Anuchino, a hundred dead, nine bullets in his own body. Levinson spent four days collecting scattered reports. At midnight he sent riders in three directions.
Outwardly he remained calm, but his brain worked at high tension. 'That's not for bird-brains,' he told the bold Kish when asked.
'Medjeritza? Ah -- yes, quite a fellow!' Levinson agreed. 'But careful -- no vanity...'
Through a clever debate where each believed himself superior, Levinson substituted his own simpler, more cautious plan for Medjeritza's. He did it so skillfully that his proposal was voted as Medjeritza's.
In his reply to the town and Stetsinsky, Levinson announced the move to Shipishi. He finished his work late at night; the lamp was out of oil. Humidity and the smell of dead leaves drifted through the open window. He remembered his wife's letter: nothing new or cheerful. She couldn't find work, survived on 'Workers' Red Cross' funds, the children had scurvy. Every line overflowed with concern for him. He wrote two pages of words nobody would have believed Levinson capable of.
Then he went to the stable. Horses stamped. The guard slept under the canvas. 'What if the other sentries also sleep?' he thought. He took the guard's cap, hid it in the hay, and went to inspect.
At the fence: 'Who goes there?' -- 'Comrade.' -- 'Levinson? Why move at night?' He crossed the ford. The moon lit the bushes. Riders approached -- a patrol.
'Where from?' -- 'Assogin's scouts... The Japanese are at Marienowka.' -- 'Marienowka?' Levinson was alarmed. The meeting with Assogin confirmed his decision: disappear, leave here at once. At dawn he returned, exhausted, eyes bloodshot.