The People's Act of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

inside the bag. His hands fluttered against the inner sides like a trapped bird, getting madder. ‘Did you see a cardboard wallet? It had a photograph inside.’
    ‘A wallet?’ said Samarin. ‘No, I don’t believe so. Who was the picture of?’
    ‘Anna Petrov- but you wouldn’t know her, of course.’
    ‘Anna Petrovna! Your wife?’
    ‘No, I have no wife.’ Balashov was on his hands and knees, searching the track bedding. It was almost completely dark by now. ‘An acquaintance, that’s all. She asked me to take it to Verkhny Luk in relation to some documents but…nobody is giving out documents now.’
    ‘What a pity you’ve lost it! And what a pity I can’t see it. Anna Petrovna. That’s the kind of name that allows you toimagine any kind of woman, doesn’t it, Gleb Alexeyevich? Blonde pigtails, short red hair, a young student, an old babushka, maybe with a limp, maybe without. On a name like that you can draw your own picture. It’s not like, I don’t know, Yevdokiya Filemonovna, who could only be a brunette, with warts and a big bosom. Anna Petrovna. A highly moral person, probably. Or is she a bit of a slut, I wonder?’
    ‘No!’ said Balashov. ‘She’s the widow of a cavalry officer, she has a young son, and she is of the highest possible moral character.’
    ‘Excellent. And how admirable that you make it your business to be her errand boy.’
    ‘I’m a storekeeper in Yazyk. And a barber, sometimes. I was going to Verkhny Luk on business. It’s two days’ walk back that way. I have a stall. I cut all their hair, I shave those who want it’ – Balashov was speaking faster and faster, opening and closing the bag.
    ‘Gleb Alexeyevich!’ said Samarin, putting his hand on Balashov’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. You don’t have anything to explain. You’re a peaceful, law-abiding citizen, going about your business. Look at me, now. Am I not the wild one? Should I not be the one explaining myself?’
    Balashov laughed nervously. ‘It’s dark,’ he said.
    ‘Not as dark as it’ll be in the tunnel,’ said Samarin.
    ‘Oh,’ said Balashov. ‘Are you going to Yazyk too?’
    ‘It’s the nearest town?’
    ‘By far.’
    ‘Then I have to warn them about the man who’s following me.’
    The two men walked along between the tracks, just visible in the starless night. As they passed the dead horse at the tunnel mouth, Balashov crossed himself and murmured a prayer.
    ‘Usually when there are two of us walking through the tunnel at night, we hold hands,’ said Balashov.
    ‘Well, we are in Asia,’ said Samarin. Balashov took Samarin’s hand and led him forward into the tunnel. Their feet began to sound mighty in the gravel and the blackness fizzed infinite around them. Samarin coughed and the cough took off, alive, along the invisible brickwork. After a few hundred metres Samarin stopped. Balashov tried to walk on but Samarin tightened his grip on his hand and, rather than struggling, Balashov waited.
    ‘Are you afraid?’ asked Samarin’s voice.
    ‘No.’ Balashov’s voice wavered.
    ‘Why not? I am.’
    ‘God is here.’
    ‘No,’ said Samarin. ‘There isn’t one of them. This darkness is what there is to be afraid of. To go to sleep here, to wake up in darkness and silence.’ He let go of Balashov’s hand. ‘Alone. And with no way of determining who you are. You can listen to the sound of your voice. But is it really you?’ He seemed to be speaking from far away, as if the being behind the words was attending to many things at once.
    ‘I am not alone!’ shouted Balashov. His voice rolled back and forward down the tunnel, sizing it to the heightened perception of their ears. It was no longer infinite. Samarin grabbed Balashov and embraced him. Hesitantly, Balashov put his arms around Samarin and gave a weak hug in return.
    ‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ said Samarin. ‘Of course you’re not alone. I’m here. Here’s my hand. I’ve been away for too long.’
    They walked