182
PARTISAN REVIEW
"Hello," Tsurikov said a little louder.
"Do you know, Felix Edmundovich, what I have here m my
hand?"
"A suitcase, Vladimir Ilych ."
"And just what it's for-can you guess?"
"As you were!" the P.I. shouted. "It says here, 'Lenin, with a
tinge of irony.' Where's the tinge of irony? I don't see it. "
"It's coming," Gurin assured him. He stretched out the arm
with the case and winked insolently at Dzerzhinsky.
"Excellent," Khuriev said. "Continue. 'And just what it's for-
can you guess?'"
"And just what it's for- can you guess?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Tsurikov said.
"Not so churlish," the P .I. said, breaking in again. "Milder. Be–
fore you is Lenin himself. The leader of the world proletariat."
"I haven't the slightest idea," Tsurikov said as sullenly as
before.
"That's better. Continue."
Gurin winked again with even more familiarity. "The suitcase
is for you, Felix Edmundovich. So that you, dear fellow, can go off
and take a rest at once."
Without special effort, Tsurikov scratched his shoulder blade.
"I can't, Vladimir Ilych - there is counterrevolution all around us.
Mensheviks, Social Revolutionaries, bourgeois spouts -"
"Scouts," Khuriev said. "Go on."
"Your health, Felix Edmundovich, belongs to the Revolution.
The comrades and I discussed it and decided: you must take a rest. I
say this to you as a member of the ruling body."
Suddenly we heard a female yowl. Lebedyeva was sobbing, her
head against the tablecloth.
"What's the matter?" the P .I. asked nervously.
"I'm sorry for Felix," Tamara explained . "He's skinny as a tape–
worm ."
"Dystrophics happen to be hardier," Gesha said with hostility.
"Break," Khuriev announced. Then he turned to me. "Well,
what do you think? I would say they've grasped the main thing."
"Och," Lebedyeva exclaimed, "it's so close to life! Like in a
fairytale. "
Tsurikov was giving his belly a good scratch. While he did this,
his eyes clouded over .
Gesha was studying the escape map. This was considered sus–
picious, even though the map was displayed openly.
