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.Petrov, call him," andthe medical assistant stepped away from the body."Take him to the mortuary," said the police officer."And thenyou must come into the office and sign," he added to the convoysoldier, who had not left the convict for a moment."Yes, sir," said the soldier.The policemen lifted the body and carried it down again.Nekhludoff wished to follow, but the madman kept him back."You are not in the plot! Well, then, give me a cigarette," hesaid.Nekhludoff got out his cigarette case and gave him one.The madman, quickly moving his brows all the time, began relatinghow they tormented him by thought suggestion."Why, they are all against me, and torment and torture me throughtheir mediums.""I beg your pardon," said Nekhludoff, and without listening anyfurther he left the room and went out into the yard, wishing toknow where the body would be put.Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com The Resurrection 282The policemen with their burden had already crossed the yard, andwere coming to the door of a cellar.Nekhludoff wished to go upto them, but the police officer stopped him."What do you want?""Nothing.""Nothing? Then go away.""Nekhludoff obeyed, and went back to his isvostchik, who wasdozing.He awoke him, and they drove back towards the railwaystation.They had not made a hundred steps when they met a cartaccompanied by a convoy soldier with a gun.On the cart layanother convict, who was already dead.The convict lay on hisback in the cart, his shaved head, from which the pancake-shapedcap had slid over the black-bearded face down to the nose,shaking and thumping at every jolt.The driver, in his heavyboots, walked by the side of the cart, holding the reins; apoliceman followed on foot.Nekhludoff touched his isvostchik'sshoulder."Just look what they are doing," said the isvostchik, stoppinghis horse.Nekhludoff got down and, following the cart, again passed thesentinel and entered the gate of the police station.By this timethe firemen had finished washing the cart, and a tall, bony man,the chief of the fire brigade, with a coloured band round hiscap, stood in their place, and, with his hands in his pockets,was severely looking at a fat-necked, well-fed, bay stallion thatwas being led up and down before him by a fireman.The stallionwas lame on one of his fore feet, and the chief of the firemenwas angrily saying something to a veterinary who stood by.The police officer was also present.When he saw the cart he wentup to the convoy soldier."Where did you bring him from?" he asked, shaking his headdisapprovingly."From the Gorbatovskaya," answered the policeman."A prisoner?" asked the chief of the fire brigade."Yes.It's the second to-day.""Well, I must say they've got some queer arrangements.Though ofcourse it's a broiling day," said the chief of the fire brigade;then, turning to the fireman who was leading the lame stallion,he shouted: "Put him into the corner stall.And as to you, youhound, I'll teach you how to cripple horses which are worth morethan you are, you scoundrel."The dead man was taken from the cart by the policemen just in theGet any book for free on: www.Abika.com The Resurrection 283same way as the first had been, and carried upstairs into thehospital.Nekhludoff followed them as if he were hypnotised."What do you want?" asked one of the policemen.But Nekhludoffdid not answer, and followed where the body was being carried.The madman, sitting on a bed, was smoking greedily the cigaretteNekhludoff had given him."Ah, you've come back," he said, and laughed.When he saw thebody he made a face, and said, "Again! I am sick of it.I am nota boy, am I, eh?" and he turned to Nekhludoff with a questioningsmile.Nekhludoff was looking at the dead man, whose face, which hadbeen hidden by his cap, was now visible.This convict was ashandsome in face and body as the other was hideous.He was a manin the full bloom of life.Notwithstanding that he was disfiguredby the half of his head being shaved, the straight, rather lowforehead, raised a bit over the black, lifeless eyes, was veryfine, and so was the nose above the thin, black moustaches.Therewas a smile on the lips that were already growing blue, a smallbeard outlined the lower part of the face, and on the shaved sideof the head a firm, well-shaped car was visible.One could see what possibilities of a higher life had beendestroyed in this man.The fine bones of his hands and shackledfeet, the strong muscles of all his well-proportioned limbs,showed what a beautiful, strong, agile human animal this hadbeen.As an animal merely he had been a far more perfect one ofhis kind than the bay stallion, about the laming of which thefireman was so angry.Yet he had been done to death, and no one was sorry for him as aman, nor was any one sorry that so fine a working animal hadperished.The only feeling evinced was that of annoyance becauseof the bother caused by the necessity of getting this body,threatening putrefaction, out of the way.The doctor and hisassistant entered the hospital, accompanied by the inspector ofthe police station.The doctor was a thick-set man, dressed inpongee silk coat and trousers of the same material, closelyfitting his muscular thighs.The inspector was a little fatfellow, with a red face, round as a ball, which he made stillbroader by a habit he had of filling his cheeks with air, andslowly letting it out again.The doctor sat down on the bed bythe side of the dead man, and touched the hands in the same wayas his assistant had done, put his ear to the heart, rose, andpulled his trousers straight."Could not be more dead," he said.The inspector filled his mouth with air and slowly blew it outagain."Which prison is he from?" he asked the convoy soldier.The soldier told him, and reminded him of the chains on the deadman's feet."I'll have them taken off; we have got a smith about, the Lord beGet any book for free on: www.Abika.com The Resurrection 284thanked," said the inspector, and blew up his cheeks again; hewent towards the door, slowly letting out the air."Why has this happened?" Nekhludoff asked the doctor.The doctor looked at him through his spectacles."Why has what happened? Why they die of sunstroke, you mean? Thisis why: They sit all through the winter without exercise andwithout light, and suddenly they are taken out into the sunshine,and on a day like this, and they march in a crowd so that theyget no air, and sunstroke is the result.""Then why are they sent out?""Oh, as to that, go and ask those who send them.But may I askwho are you?"I am a stranger.""Ah, well, good-afternoon; I have no time." The doctor was vexed;he gave his trousers a downward pull, and went towards the bedsof the sick."Well, how are you getting on?" he asked the pale man with thecrooked mouth and bandaged neck.Meanwhile the madman sat on a bed, and having finished hiscigarette, kept spitting in the direction of the doctor.Nekhludoff went down into the yard and out of the gate past thefiremen's horses and the hens and the sentinel in his brasshelmet, and got into the trap, the driver of which had againfallen asleep.CHAPTER XXXVIII.THE CONVICT TRAIN.When Nekhludoff came to the station, the prisoners were allseated in railway carriages with grated windows.Several persons,come to see them off, stood on the platform, but were not allowedto come up to the carriages.The convoy was much troubled that day.On the way from the prisonto the station, besides the two Nekhludoff had seen, three otherprisoners had fallen and died of sunstroke.One was taken to thenearest police station like the first two, and the other two diedat the railway station
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