Read The People's Act of Love for Free Online Page A

any sense.’
    ‘Everything makes sense,’ said Samarin. ‘Except you.’
    Balashov laughed. ‘We should go,’ he said.
    They walked on in silence until Samarin said: ‘No, I mean it. Really, you are the one who makes no sense.’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said Balashov, his voice wavering as his throat dried up.
    ‘You’re not a barber. Unless you’re a very bad barber. Barbers don’t use scalpels and spirit and make their customers bleed like hogs.’
    ‘Sometimes my hand slips when I’m shaving.’
    ‘Shaving what? Shaving a throat with a scalpel?’
    ‘Please, Kyrill Ivanovich, you must understand how far we are from the nearest hospital. Sometimes I carry out small surgical procedures.’
    ‘I can believe you belong to one of these crackpot Siberian sects. I can believe everyone in your, what was it, Yazyk, does.But you’re too well born to be a barber, or a storekeeper, and you’re too stupid to be a political exile.’
    ‘Mr Samarin, I’m begging you. You’ve already said how content you are to avoid deep inquiry into other people’s lives, when they do not want their lives inquired into.’
    Samarin stopped, turned, and put out his hand to stroke Balashov’s chin. Balashov turned sharply away. ‘I know what you are,’ said Samarin. He sank to his knees, held back his head and laughed at the sky, a full, long, savoured laugh. He levelled his head and looked at Balashov, shaking his head. ‘I know what you are. I know what you’ve done, and I know what you’ve lost. Extraordinary. Do the Czechs know about this? No, obviously not. They probably think you’re just regular crackpots. Well, this is very funny, although I’ll bet the man – man? Boy? – in Verkhny Luk isn’t laughing.’
    ‘Not lost,’ whispered Balashov.
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘You said: “What we lost.” We lost nothing except a burden, and gained a new life.’
    Samarin yawned and nodded. ‘I’m cold,’ he said. ‘As soon as I start thinking about being inside a warm building, I get cold.’ He began to move and Balashov followed, keeping a good ten paces behind, now.
    ‘What are you going to do?’ said Balashov after a while.
    ‘I’m headed for Petersburg.’
    ‘But there are no trains. And there’s fighting in that direction down the line.’
    ‘I’ll just have to persuade your Czechs to put me on one of their trains. Who’s their commander?’
    ‘His name is Matula,’ said Balashov. ‘But he is not altogether normal. His soul is sick.’
    ‘It’s curious that you say other people are not normal.’
    ‘Kyrill Ivanovich, please, whatever you do, don’t speak of our nature aloud in Yazyk. The Czechs, as you say, don’t know. We told them the children of the town were sent away to Turkestan to keep them safe.’
    ‘Turkestan! You old entertainer. And what about your friend Anna Petrovna? And her son Misha?’
    ‘Alyosha, not Misha.’
    ‘So he’s called Alyosha.’
    ‘Please don’t hurt Anna Petrovna.’
    ‘Why should I?’ asked Samarin. Up until this point he had been speaking without looking back at Balashov but now he turned. He sounded curious. ‘Is she worth hurting?’
    Points of light appeared between the trees ahead.
    ‘There’s Yazyk,’ said Balashov.
    Samarin stopped and looked at the lights.
    ‘Poor little town,’ he said. ‘Listen. There’s something you’ve got to tell me. Has a Tungus shaman been bothering the people lately? Some native charlatan who wandered out of the woods not long ago on a mangy reindeer, talking prophecies and trying to cadge drinks?’
    ‘There’s one who sleeps in the yard outside Captain Matula’s shtab.’
    ‘The devil there is. How many eyes does he have?’
    ‘One.’
    Samarin stepped up to Balashov. ‘One good eye, you mean,’ he said.
    ‘One good eye, and two bandages, one over his bad eye and one over his forehead. He claims to have a third eye there, but no-one has ever seen it.’
    ‘Mm,’ said Samarin. ‘Poor fellow. I fear