38

BY the time Nekhlyudov reached the station the convicts were already seated in the railway-carriages behind barred windows. Some people come to see them off were standing on the platform: they were not allowed to approach the train. The convoy officers were particularly worried. On the way from the prison to the station, besides the two Nekhlyudov had seen, three other men had fallen and died of sunstroke. One had been removed, like the first two, to the nearest police-Station, and the two others died at the railway-station. ¹ The officers of the convoy were not concerned that five men who might have been alive died while in their charge. That did not interest them: their only worry was to carry out all that the law required of them on such occasions, which meant delivering the dead to the right place, together with their documents and possessions, and removing their names from the list of those to be conveyed to Nizhni – which was troublesome enough, especially in such heat.

It was this that was worrying the escort, and so until everything had been settled neither Nekhlyudov nor anyone else could get permission to go near the train. Nekhlyudov, however, tipped the convoy sergeant and was allowed to pass on condition that he made his leave-taking brief and would be off before the officer noticed. There were eighteen carriages all told, and, except for one for the officers, all were packed to suffocation with prisoners. As Nekhlyudov walked past the carriage windows he could hear what was going on inside – the clanking of chains, bustle and talk interspersed with foul and senseless language, but not a word was said about their comrades who had died on the way, which was what Nekhlyudov had expected to hear. The talk was chiefly about their baggage, water to drink and the choice of seats. Looking into one carriage window, Nekhlyudov saw two convoy soldiers in the passage down the middle taking the manacles off the prisoners. The prisoners held out their hands and one of the soldiers unlocked the manacles with a key and took them off. The other collected them. Passing all the men’s carriages, Nekhlyudov came up to the women’s. From the second of these he heard a woman’s regular groaning cry: ‘Oh, oh, oh! Help! Oh, oh, oh! Help!’

Nekhlyudov walked on and, directed by a convoy soldier, stopped beside the window of the third carriage. As he put his face near the window he was assailed by waves of air that were hot and heavy with the smell of human sweat, and he heard the shrill squeal of women’s voices. Every bench was packed with red-faced perspiring women dressed in prison clothes and jackets, all chattering away. Nekhlyudov’s face at the window attracted their attention. Those nearest stopped talking and moved towards him. Maslova in a jacket but no cloak, and without a kerchief, was sitting by the window on the opposite side, and next to her was the white-skinned smiling Fedosya. Recognizing Nekhlyudov, she nudged Maslova and pointed to the window. Maslova rose hurriedly, threw her kerchief over her black hair, and with a smile on her flushed, animated, sweating face came up to the window and took hold of the iron bars.

‘Isn’t it hot?’ she said with a glad smile.

‘Did you get the things?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Is there anything else you need?’ asked Nekhlyudov, feeling the heat coming out from the carriage like heat from the hot slabs in a steam bath.

‘Nothing, thank you.’

‘A drink of water would be nice,’ said Fedosya.

‘Yes, a drink would be nice,’ echoed Maslova.

“Why, isn’t there any water?’

‘They did put some, but it’s all gone.’

‘One moment,’ said Nekhlyudov. ‘I will ask the convoy men. We shall not see each other again now till we get to Nizhni.’

‘Are you really coming, then?’ said Maslova, as if not knowing it, and looked joyfully at Nekhlyudov.

‘I am travelling by the next train.’

Maslova said nothing, and a few seconds later only heaved a deep sigh.

‘Is it a fact, sir, ‘bout twelve convicts bein’ done to death?’ said a stern-looking elderly woman in a gruff mannish voice.

This was Korablyova.

‘I did not hear that there were twelve. I saw two,’ said Nekhlyudov.

‘I ‘eard there was twelve. Won’t nothin’ be done to them for it? The devils that they are!’

‘Are all the women all right?’ asked Nekhlyudov.

“Women are tougher,’ a short little female prisoner remarked, laughing. ‘Only there’s one woman took it into her head to be delivered. Listen to her,’ she said, pointing to the next car from which the groans were still proceeding.

‘You ask if we want anything,’ said Maslova, trying to keep her lips from curving into a happy smile. ‘Couldn’t that woman be left behind? She is in such pain. Now if you could speak to the officer…’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘And couldn’t she see Tarass, her husband?’ she added, indicating the smiling Fedosya with her eyes. ‘He’s coming with you, isn’t he?’

‘No conversation allowed, sir,’ said the voice of a sergeant. It was not the one who had let Nekhlyudov pass.

Nekhlyudov turned and went in search of the chief officer to ask about the woman in labour and about Tarass, but he could not find him for a long time, nor get an answer out of the convoy soldiers. They were in a great state of bustle: some of them taking a convict from one place to another, others running about buying food for themselves and arranging their belongings in the carriages, still others attending to a lady who was travelling with the officer of the convoy, and they answered Nekhlyudov’s inquiries reluctantly.

It was not until the second departure bell had rung that Nekhlyudov at last found the convoy officer. The officer, wiping with his short arm the moustaches that covered his mouth, and raising his shoulder, was reprimanding a corporal for something or other.

‘You – what is it you want?’ he asked Nekhlyudov.

‘You’ve got a woman on the train who has begun her labour pains. I thought it would be…’

‘Let her get on with it. We’ll see to it later on,’ said the officer, briskly swinging his short arms and going to his own carriage.

At that moment the guard went by with a whistle in his hand. The last departure bell was rung, the whistle blown, and from the people on the platform and the women in their carriages rose a wail of weeping and lamentation. Nekhlyudov stood beside Tarass on the platform and watched the carriages with their barred windows, and the shaven heads of the men behind them, move slowly off one after the other. Then the first of the women’s carriages came abreast of them, and women’s heads could be seen at the windows, some without kerchiefs, some with; the second carriage followed, and they could hear the woman moaning still; and now the third, with Maslova in it. She was standing at the window with the others and looked out at Nekhlyudov with a pitiful smile on her face.