The Road Read Online Free PDF Page A

sharp maternal ache—a deep pity for both father and son. For the first time, she wept for the man who had died in combat near Korosten: never would this man see his own son.
    And this little one, this helpless one, had been born without a father. Afraid he might die of cold, she covered him with the blanket.
    Or maybe she was weeping for some other reason. Rosalia Samoilovna, at least, seemed to think so. After lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke out through the little ventilation pane, she said, “Let her cry, let her cry. It calms the nerves better than any bromide. All my mothers cry after giving birth.”
    Two days after the birth, Vavilova got up from her bed. Her strength was returning to her; she walked about a lot and helped Beila with the housework. When there was no one around, she quietly sang songs to the little person. This little person was now called Alyosha, Alyoshenka, Alyosha...
    “You wouldn’t believe it,” Beila said to her husband. “That Russian woman’s gone off her head. She’s already rushed to the doctor with him three times. I can’t so much as open a door in the house: he might catch a cold, or he’s got a fever, or we might wake him up. In a word, she’s turned into a good Jewish mother.”
    “What do you expect?” replied Magazanik. “Is a woman going to turn into a man just because she wears a pair of leather breeches?” And he shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.
    A week later, Kozyrev and his chief of staff came to visit Vavilova. They smelled of leather, tobacco, and horse sweat. Alyosha was sleeping in his cradle, protected from the flies by a length of gauze. Creaking deafeningly, like a pair of brand-new leather boots, the two men approached the cradle and looked at the sleeper’s thin little face. It was twitching. The movements it made—although no more than little movements of skin—imparted to it a whole range of different expressions: sorrow, anger, and then a smile.
    The soldiers exchanged glances.
    “Yes,” said Kozyrev.
    “No doubt about it,” said the chief of staff.
    And they sat down on two chairs and began to talk. The Poles had gone on the offensive. Our forces were retreating. Temporarily, of course. The Fourteenth Army was regrouping at Zhmerinka. Divisions were coming up from the Urals. The Ukraine would soon be ours. In a month or so there would be a breakthrough, but right now the Poles were causing trouble.
    Kozyrev swore.
    “Sh!” said Vavilova. “Don’t shout or you’ll wake him.”
    “Yes, we’ve been given a bloody nose,” said the chief of staff.
    “You do talk in a silly way,” said Vavilova. In a pained voice she added, “I wish you’d stop smoking. You’re puffing away like a steam engine.”
    The soldiers suddenly began to feel bored. Kozyrev yawned. The chief of staff looked at his watch and said, “It’s time we were on our way toBald Hill. We don’t want to be late.”
    “I wonder where that gold watch came from,” Vavilova thought crossly.
    “Well, Klavdiya, we must say goodbye to you!” said Kozyrev. He got to his feet and went on: “I’ve given orders for you to be delivered a sack of flour, some sugar, and some fatback. A cart will come around later today.”
    The two men went out into the street. The little Magazaniks were all standing around the horses. Kozyrev grunted heavily as he clambered up. The chief of staff clicked his tongue and leaped into the saddle.
    When they got to the corner, the two men abruptly, as though by prior agreement, pulled on the reins and stopped.
    “Yes,” said Kozyrev.
    “No doubt about it,” said the chief of staff. They burst into laughter. Whipping their horses, they galloped off to Bald Hill.
    The two-wheeled cart arrived in the evening. After dragging the provisions inside, Magazanik went into Vavilova’s room and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “What do you make of this, comrade Vavilova? We’ve got news—the brother-in-law of Tsesarsky the cobbler