BORIS PILNYAK
"I've come to see some aspects of the counter-revolution, my
dear," replied the outcast Ivan.
"What kind of counter-revolution is there here, my dear?"
"As
far as you are concerned, my dear, it is only your way
of life which is counter-revolutionary. But you have wept for me,
which means that you have within yourself the rudiments
of
communism. Brother Yakov has never wept and I am very sorry
that I did not put him up against the wall, when I had the
chance, and shoot him."
Maria Klimovna sighed and shook her head.
"And how's your dear son?" she asked.
"My dear son," Ivan the outcast answered with pride,
"is
finishing
his
studies in the university and he has not forgotten
me. When he comes on vacation he visits me
in
my domain and
warms himself by the furnace while I compose revolutionary
verse for him."
"And
his
wife?"
"I don't meet her. She manages a Party bureau for women's
affairs. Do you know how many managers we have for every two
workers engaged
in
production?"
"No."
"Seven. With seven nurses, the child runs wild, as the
proverb says. Your guests, by the way, represent the counter–
revolution in its historical aspect."
Glassy-eyed, the visitors drank their tea. Yakov Karpovich,
swelling with purple rage, began to look like a beetroot. He went
towards his brother, and giving a polite giggle, vigorously rubbed
his
hands together as though they were very cold.
"Listen, brother dear," said Yakov Karpovich politely in a
hoarse voice, "get out of here and go to the devil. I implore you
from the bottom of my heart!" ...
"I beg your pardon, brother Yakov," replied Ivan, "but I
didn't come to see you. I came to look at the counter-revolution
in its historical aspect and to engage
it
in conversation."
"And I'm asking you to clear off and go to the devil."
