spilled like water on the ground.
the trap passed the fireman who stood sentinel at the entrance, [the headquarters of the fire brigade and the police stations are generally together in moscow] drove into the yard of the police station, and stopped at one of the doors. in the yard several firemen with their sleeves tucked up were washing some kind of cart and talking loudly. when the trap stopped, several policemen surrounded it, and taking the lifeless body of the convict under the arms, took him out of the trap, which creaked under him. the policeman who had brought the body got down, shook his numbed arm, took off his cap, and crossed himself. the body was carried through the door and up the stairs. nekhludoff followed. in the small, dirty room where the body was taken there stood four beds. on two of them sat a couple of sick men in dressing-gowns, one with a crooked mouth, whose neck was bandaged, the other one in consumption. two of the beds were empty; the convict was laid on one of them. a little man, wish glistening eyes and continually moving brows, with only his underclothes and stockings on, came up with quick, soft steps, looked at the convict and then at nekhludoff, and burst into loud laughter. this was a madman who was being kept in the police hospital.
"they wish to frighten me, but no, they won't succeed," he said.
the policemen who carried the corpse were followed by a police officer and a medical assistant. the medical assistant came up to the body and touched the freckled hand, already growing cold, which, though still soft, was deadly pale. he held it for a moment, and then let it go. it fell lifelessly on the stomach of the dead man.
"he's ready," said the medical assistant, but, evidently to be quite in order, he undid the wet, brown shirt, and tossing back the curls from his ear, put it to the yellowish, broad, immovable chest of the convict. all were silent. the medical assistant raised himself again, shook his head, and touched with his fingers first one and then the other lid over the open, fixed blue eyes.
"i'm not frightened, i'm not frightened." the madman kept repeating these words, and spitting in the direction of the medical assistant.
"well?" asked the police officer.
"well! he must he put into the mortuary."
"are you sure? mind," said the police officer.
"it's time i should know," said the medical assistant, drawing the shirt over the body's chest. "however, i will send for mathew ivanovitch. let him have a look. petrov, call him," and the medical assistant stepped away from the body.
"take him to the mortuary," said the police officer. "and then you must come into the office and sign," he added to the convoy soldier, 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," he said. nekhludoff got out his cigarette case and gave him one.
the madman, quickly moving his brows all the time, began relating how they tormented him by thought suggestion.
"why, they are all against me, and torment and torture me through their mediums."
"i beg your pardon," said nekhludoff, and without listening any further he left the room and went out into the yard, wishing to know where the body would be put.
the policemen with their burden had already crossed the yard, and were coming to the door of a cellar. nekhludoff wished to go up to 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 was dozing. he awoke him, and they drove back towards the railway station.
they had not made a hundred steps when they met a cart accompanied by a convoy soldier with a gun. on the cart lay another convict, who was already dead. the convict lay on his back in the cart, his shaved head, from which the pancake-shaped cap had slid over the black-bearded face down to the nose, shaking and thumping at every jolt. the driver, in his heavy boots, walked by the side of the cart, holding the reins; a policeman followed on foot. nekhludoff touched his isvostchik's shoulder.
"just look what they are doing," said the isvostchik, stopping his horse.
nekhludoff got down and, following the cart, again passed the sentinel and entered the gate of the police station. by this time the firemen had finished washing the cart, and a tall, bony man, the chief of the fire brigade, with a coloured band round his cap, stood in their place, and, with his hands in his pockets, was severely looking at a fat-necked, well-fed, bay stallion that was being led up and down before him by a fireman. the stallion was lame on one of his fore feet, and the chief of the firemen was angrily saying something to a veterinary who stood by.
the police officer was also present. when he saw the cart he went up to the convoy soldier.
"where did you bring him from?" he asked, shaking his head disapprovingly.
"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 of course 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, you hound, i'll teach you how to cripple horses which are worth more than you are, you scoundrel."
the dead man was taken from the cart by the policemen just in the same way as the first had been, and carried upstairs into the hospital. nekhludoff followed them as if he were hypnotised.
"what do you want?" asked one of the policemen. but nekhludoff did not answer, and followed where the body was being carried. the madman, sitting on a bed, was smoking greedily the cigarette nekhludoff had given him.
"ah, you've come back," he said, and laughed. when he saw the body he made a face, and said, "again! i am sick of it. i am not a boy, am i, eh?" and he turned to nekhludoff with a questioning smile.
nekhludoff was looking at the dead man, whose face, which had been hidden by his cap, was now visible. this convict was as handsome in face and body as the other was hideous. he was a man in the full bloom of life. notwithstanding that he was disfigured by the half of his head being shaved, the straight, rather low forehead, raised a bit over the black, lifeless eyes, was very fine, and so was the nose above the thin, black moustaches. there was a smile on the lips that were already growing blue, a small beard outlined the lower part of the face, and on the shaved side of the head a firm, well-shaped car was visible.
one could see what possibilities of a higher life had been destroyed in this man. the fine bones of his hands and shackled feet, the strong muscles of all his well-proportioned limbs, showed what a beautiful, strong, agile human animal this had been. as an animal merely he had been a far more perfect one of his kind than the bay stallion, about the laming of which the fireman was so angry.
yet he had been done to death, and no one was sorry for him as a man, nor was any one sorry that so fine a working animal had perished. the only feeling evinced was that of annoyance because of the bother caused by the necessity of getting this body, threatening putrefaction, out of the way. the doctor and his assistant entered the hospital, accompanied by the inspector of the police station. the doctor was a thick-set man, dressed in pongee silk coat and trousers of the same material, closely fitting his muscular thighs. the inspector was a little fat fellow, with a red face, round as a ball, which he made still broader by a habit he had of filling his cheeks with air, and slowly letting it out again. the doctor sat down on the bed by the side of the dead man, and touched the hands in the same way as his assistant had done, put his ear to the heart, rose, and pulled his trousers straight. "could not be more dead," he said.
the inspector filled his mouth with air and slowly blew it out again.
"which prison is he from?" he asked the convoy soldier.
the soldier told him, and reminded him of the chains on the dead man's feet.
"i'll have them taken off; we have got a smith about, the lord be thanked," said the inspector, and blew up his cheeks again; he went 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? this is why: they sit all through the winter without exercise and without light, and suddenly they are taken out into the sunshine, and on a day like this, and they march in a crowd so that they get 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 ask who 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 beds of the sick.
"well, how are you getting on?" he asked the pale man with the crooked mouth and bandaged neck.
meanwhile the madman sat on a bed, and having finished his cigarette, kept spitting in the direction of the doctor.
nekhludoff went down into the yard and out of the gate past the firemen's horses and the hens and the sentinel in his brass helmet, and got into the trap, the driver of which had again fallen asleep.
马车载着犯人，经过站岗的消防队员身旁，驶进警察分局院子，在一个门口停下。
院子里有几个消防队员，卷起袖子，大声说笑，正在冲洗几辆大车。
马车一停下来，就有几个警察把它围住。他们从胳肢窝下抱住犯人没有生气的身体，抬起他的脚，把他从车上抬下来。马车被他们踩得吱嘎发响。
送犯人来的警察跳下马车，甩动发麻的胳膊，脱下帽子，画了个十字。死人被抬进门，送到楼上。聂赫留朵夫跟着他们上去。他们把死人抬到一个不大的肮脏房间里，里面放着四张床。两张床上坐着两个穿睡衣的病人：一个歪着嘴，脖子上扎着绷带；另一个害着痨病。另外两张床空着。他们就把那犯人放在其中一张床上。这时有一个矮小的人，身上只穿衬衣裤和袜子，双目闪亮，不停地动着眉毛，蹑手蹑脚地走到犯人跟前，对他瞧瞧，然后又瞧瞧聂赫留朵夫，纵声大笑。这是一个留在候诊室里的疯子。
“他们想吓唬我，”他说。“那不行，办不到！”
警官和一个医士跟着抬死人的警察走进来。
医士走到死人跟前，摸了摸犯人雀斑累累的蜡黄的手，那只手虽然还软，但已现出死灰色。他把那只手拿起来，然后又放开，那只手就软绵绵地落在死人肚子上。
“完了，”医士摇摇头说，但显然是为了照章办事，解开死人身上湿漉漉的粗布衬衫，把自己的鬈发撩到耳朵后面，弯下腰，把耳朵贴在犯人蜡黄的一动不动的高胸脯上。大家都不作声。医士直起腰来，又摇了摇头，用一根手指拨开一只眼皮，又拨开另一只眼皮，那两只淡蓝色眼睛已经木然不动了。
“你们吓不倒我，吓不倒我，”那疯子说，不住地往医士那边吐唾沫。
“怎么样？”警官问。
“怎么样？”医士照样说了一遍。“送太平间。”
“您得留点儿神。是不是真的完了？”警官问。
“到这地步，错不了，”医士说，不知为什么拉拉死人的衬衫把他的胸脯盖住。“我打发人去找马特维·伊凡内奇，让他来瞧瞧。彼得罗夫，你去一下！”医士说着，从死人旁边走开。
“把它抬到太平间去，”警官说。“你回头到办公室来一下，签个字，”他对那个一直跟住犯人的押解兵说。
“是，”押解兵回答。
那几个警察抬起死人，又把他抬下楼。聂赫留朵夫想跟他们去，可是疯子把他拦住了。
“您该没有参加他们的阴谋吧，那么给我一支烟抽！”他说。
聂赫留朵夫掏出一盒烟，递给他。疯子扬起眉毛，急急地讲起来，他们怎样用种种提示法折磨他。
“他们全都跟我作对，用妖术折磨我，把我搞得好苦……”
“对不起，我还有事，”聂赫留朵夫说，没有听完他的话就走到院子里，想看看他们把死人抬到哪里去。
那几个警察抬着死人穿过院子，刚走进地下室的门。聂赫留朵夫想走到他们那边去，可是被警官拦住了。
“您要干什么？”
“不干什么，”聂赫留朵夫回答。
“不干什么，那就走开。”
聂赫留朵夫服从了，向他雇的那辆马车走去。车夫在打瞌睡。聂赫留朵夫把他叫醒，又坐上马车到火车站去。
马车走了不到一百步，聂赫留朵夫看见迎面又来了一辆大车，由持枪的押解兵押送着。车上也躺着一个犯人，显然已经断气了。那犯人仰天躺在大车上，留着黑色大胡子，剃得光光的脑袋上覆着一顶薄饼般帽子，那顶帽子已经滑到鼻子上。大车每颠动一下，他的脑袋就摇晃一下，撞在车板上。大车的车夫穿着大皮靴，在大车旁边走着赶车。后面跟着一个警察。聂赫留朵夫拍拍他的车夫的肩膀。
“瞧他们搞的！”车夫勒住马说。
聂赫留朵夫跳下马车，跟着那辆大车走去，又经过站岗的消防队员，走进警察分局的院子。这时候，院子里的消防队员已洗好车子，走开了。只剩下又高又瘦的消防队长。他戴着镶蓝帽圈的帽子，双手插在口袋里，严厉地瞧着一匹由消防队员牵来的颈部膘很厚的浅黄色公马。公马的一条前腿有点瘸，消防队长生气地对站在旁边的兽医说着话。
警官也站在这里。他看见又拉来一个死人，就走到大车旁边。
“从哪儿拉来的？”他不以为然地摇摇头，问。
“从老戈尔巴朵夫街运来的，”警察回答。
“是犯人吗？”消防队长问。
“是，长官。”
“今天第二个了，”警官说。
“哼，真不象话！天气也实在太热了，”消防队长说，接着转身对那个牵着浅黄马的消防队员嚷道：“把它牵到拐角那个单马房里去！我要教训教训你这狗崽子，你把这些好马都弄残废了，它们可是比你这混蛋值钱多了。”
这个死人也象刚才那个一样，由几个警察从大车上搬下来，抬到候诊室。聂赫留朵夫象中了催眠术似的跟着他们走去。
“您有什么事？”一个警察问他。
他没有回答，仍旧往他们送死人的地方走去。
疯子坐在床铺上，拚命吸着聂赫留朵夫送给他的纸烟。
“啊，您回来了！”他说着哈哈大笑。他一看见死人，就皱起眉头。“又来了，”他说。“我都看腻了。我又不是小孩子，是吗？”他带着疑问的微笑，对聂赫留朵夫说。
聂赫留朵夫瞧着现在没有被人遮住的死尸。死尸的脸原先盖着帽子，此刻也暴露无遗。刚才那个犯人长得很丑，可是这个犯人面貌和体型都长得非常好。这个人体格强壮，正当盛年。尽管他被剃了怪模怪样的阴阳头，他那饱满的天庭和那双如今毫无生气的黑眼睛却显得很美，还有那个不大的高鼻子和短短的黑色小胡子，也都生得很好看。他的嘴唇发青，唇边挂着笑意。他的大胡子只盖住下半截脸，在那剃光头发的半边脑袋上露出一只结实好看的不大的耳朵。脸上的神情平静、严肃而善良。且不说从这张脸上可以看出，这个人在精神上原可以得到长足的发展，如今被断送了，——单从他双手和套着脚镣的双脚的细小骨骼和匀称四肢的强壮肌肉就可以看出，他是一个优秀、强壮和灵巧的人类动物。作为一种动物来说，他在同类中也远比那匹由于受伤而惹得消防队长生气的浅黄马完美得多。然而他却被活活折磨死了，非但没有人把他当作人来哀悼，而且也没有人把他当作被活活折磨死的会做工的动物来怜悯。他的死在所有的人心里引起的唯一情绪，就是厌烦，因为他的尸体眼看就要腐烂，必须赶快收拾掉，这样就给大家添了麻烦。
医师带着医士在警察分局长陪同下来到候诊室。医师是个矮壮结实的人，穿一件茧绸上装和一条裹紧粗壮大腿的茧绸裤子。警察分局长是个矮胖子，红润的脸庞圆滚滚的，象个球。他有个习惯，喜欢鼓起双颊，然后再把气慢慢吐出来。这样鼓着双颊，他的脸就显得更圆了。医师挨着死人坐到床上，也象刚才医士那样摸摸死人的双手，听听心脏，然后站起来拉拉自己的裤子。
“完全死了，”他说。
警察分局长的双颊鼓得满满的，又慢慢地把气吐出来。
“他是哪个监狱的？”他问押解兵。
押解兵回答了他，又提到要收回死人的脚镣。
“我会叫他们取下来的。感谢上帝，我们这里还有铁匠，”警察分局长说，接着又鼓起脸颊向门口走去，再慢慢地吐出气来。
“怎么会这样？”聂赫留朵夫问医师说。
医师透过眼镜对他瞧瞧。
“怎么会这样吗？您是说，他们怎么会中暑死掉吗？您看，整整一个冬天蹲在牢里，没有活动，不见天日，突然给带到今天这样的大太阳底下，那么多人挤在一块儿走路，空气又不流通，怎么能不中暑呢！”
“那么，为什么要把他们流放出来？”
“那您去问他们好了。不过，请问您是谁？”
“我是局外人。”
“噢！……对不起，我可没闲工夫，”医师说，又恼火地把裤腿往下拉拉，向病人床铺走去。
“喂，你怎么样？”他问那个脸色苍白、脖子上扎着绷带的歪嘴病人说。
这当儿疯子坐在自己的床铺上，不再吸烟，只是朝医师那边吐唾沫。
聂赫留朵夫下楼走到院子里，从消防队的马匹、几只母鸡和戴铜盔的哨兵旁边走过，出了大门，坐上他的马车（车夫又在打瞌睡），向火车站跑去。
