388
ISAAC BABEL
trousers embroidered
in
gold braid. An arrow, raggedly drawn
in
ink,
pointed the way to the commandant's office. I climbed the
stairway and walked through empty low-ceilinged rooms.
Women, painted
in
dark and gloomy colors, danced in endless
rings over the walls and ceilings. Metal gratings covered the
windows, forced bolts hung from the window frames. At the end
of
this
suite of rooms, behind a table, sat Kalugin with his cap of
straw-colored peasant hair, lit up as on a stage .On the table lay
a pile of children's toys, bits of colored cloth, torn picture books.
"So here you are," said Kalugin, raising his head. "Hello.
. . . We need you...."
I brushed aside the toys littering the table, lay down on the
gleaming top and woke-seconds or hours later-on a low sofa.
The bright rays of a chandelier played over me in a cascade of
glass. My rags had been cut from me and lay in a puddle on the
floor.
"And now for a bath," said Kalugin who stood over the
sofa. He lifted me and carried me to a bathtub. The tub was the
old-fashioned kind, with low sides. There was no water in the
l
faucets; Kalugin poured water over me from a pail. Clothing was
laid out for me on the pale yellow satin cushions of the backless
wicker chairs: a dressing gown with clasps, a shirt and socks of ,
heavy silk. I sank into the underpants up to my neck. The dress–
ing gown was made for a giant; I stepped on the flapping ends
of the sleeves.
"Don't joke with Alexander Alexandrovich," said Kalugin,
rolling up my sleeves. "The fellow must have weighed 300
pounds."
We managed to tuck up the dressing gown of Alexander
the Third and returned to the first room. It was the library of
Maria Fyodorovna-a perfumed box in which gilded bookcases
with raspberry stripes were pushed against the walls.
I told. Kalugin who had been killed in our Shuisky Regi–
ment, who had been elected commissar, who had gone to join
the Whites' in the Kuban. We drank tea, and stars swam and
