Who has the translation of "Dawn of Snow and Rain" by Pustov of the former Soviet Union?

Said by: Chu Yi (it is strange to judge ugliness ...) Silence is always embarrassing, except in rare cases. I don't know what to say. Let him talk. ...

Rainy dawn

In the evening, the ship arrived in Navoroki. Major Kuzmin stepped onto the deck. It's raining hard. There's no one on the dock-only a street lamp is on.

"Where is the city?" Kuzmin thought. "It's dark and rainy-damn it!"

He shivered and buttoned his coat. There was a cold wind blowing on the river, so Kuzmin asked the first mate whether the ship would stay in Navoroki for a long time.

"Two or three hours," the first mate replied. "It depends on how the goods are packed. what are you going to do？ You haven't reached your destination yet. "

"There is a letter to pass on. My roommate in the hospital asked me to give it to his wife. She lives in Navoroki. "

"Yes, the task!" The first mate took a deep breath. "Leave some god! Listen to the flute, or you will stay. "

Kuzmin went to the sky, climbed up the steep river bank along the slippery steps, and the rain rustled in the bushes. Kuzmin stopped to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Then he saw a depressed horse and a crooked bus. The hood was propped up. Snoring came from under the old hood.

"Hey, friend," Kuzmin said loudly. "What a sound sleep!"

The coachman turned, climbed out of the car, blew his nose and wiped his nose with his skirt. Then he asked:

"Are you going by car?"

"By car," Kuzmin agreed.

"Where to?"

Kuzmin, name the street.

"It's far away," the driver was a little uneasy. "In the mountains? It takes at least a quarter of an hour to walk. "

He pulled the reins and shouted twice. The carriage moved reluctantly.

"What, are you the only driver in Navoroki?" Kuzmin asked.

"There are two of us, both old people. Everyone else has gone to war. Who are you looking for? "

"Looking for Ba Cilova."

"I see," the driver turned a sharp turn. "Looking for Olga andreyev, the daughter of Dr. Andrei petrovich, who came from Moscow last winter and lived in her father's house. Andre petrovich himself died two years ago, and his house ... "

The carriage slammed and crunched out of the puddle.

"Watch the road," Kuzmin advised him. "Stop looking around."

"This road is really a bit ..." The driver muttered that if he walked during the day, of course he would be worried. It doesn't matter at night There are no potholes at night. "

The driver stopped talking. Kuzmin lit a cigarette and leaned against the car seat. The rain beat loudly on the supporting hood, and there were dogs barking in the distance. It smells of fennel, wet fence and river water. "It's at least one o'clock in the middle of the night," Kuzmin thought. Just then, the bell tower in a place really rang.

"Why don't you stay here for your holiday?" Kuzmin thought. "As long as the air is good, all the unpleasantness after the injury will pass. Rent a room in a small room leading to the garden. On such a night, open the window, lie down and cover the quilt and listen to the rain beating on the burdock grass. "

"Are you her man?" Asked the coachman.

Kuzmin didn't answer. The driver thought the soldier didn't hear what he asked, but he couldn't decide whether to ask again. "Obviously, this is her man," thought the coachman. "But everyone is whispering that she abandoned the man before the war. This time I understand that it is nonsense. "

"Hey, Satan!" He shouted, whipping the thin old horse with the reins. "I didn't hire you to make dough!"

"Unfortunately, the ship was late and didn't arrive until midnight," Kuzmin thought. "Why did Bashilov, who was in the same ward with him, insist that Kuzmin hand-deliver the letter to his wife as soon as he knew that he was going through Navoroki? Now I have to wake others up, and God knows what they will think! "

Bashilov is a tall and interesting officer. He likes talking and talks a lot. Whenever he wants to say something sharp, he laughs silently for a long time. Before joining the army, Ba Shlov served as an assistant film director. Every night, he tells the people in the same ward about famous movies in detail. The wounded loved Bashilov's story, waited to hear it, and were surprised by his memory. Bashilov's comments on people, events and books are sharp and stubborn, and he scoffs at everyone who intends to refute him. But ridicule is very cunning-through hints and jokes, it usually takes an hour or two for the ridiculed person to remember. Knowing that Bashilov had satirized him, he thought hard about the vicious answer. But nature is too late to answer.

On the day before Kuzmin left, Ba Shlov gave him a letter and asked him to give it to his wife. At this moment, Kuzmin first saw Bashilov's dim smile. Late at night, Kuzmin heard Shlov tossing and turning in his hospital bed, blowing his nose. "Maybe. He is not so heartless, "thought Kuzmin. "Probably crying at the moment. In other words, suffering from love. I love it. "

The next day all day, Shlov didn't leave Kuzmin's side, looked at him from time to time, and gave him an officer's kettle. Before leaving, the two of them also drank a bottle of wine collected by Ba Shlov.

"What are you looking at me for?" Kuzmin asked.

"You are a good man," Bashilov replied. You may become an artist, dear major. "

"I'm a surveyor," Kuzmin answered. "The surveyor is actually an artist."

"Why?"

"Wanderer," Kuzmin answered irrelevantly.

"Exiled prisoners, vagrants and poets," Bashilov shouted with a slight sneer. "Some people want to be pawns, but who can really do it?" "

"Whose poem is this?"

"Voloshin. But that doesn't matter. I look at you because I am jealous of you. This is the way it is. "

"envy what?"

Shlov turned his cup, leaned back and smiled. They sat at the end of the courtyard corridor, leaning against a small rattan table. Outside the window, the wind bent the small trees, making them jingle and raising dust. A cloud of rain drifted from the river to the city.

"envy what?" Shlov asked, put his red palm in Kuzmin's hand. "I envy everything, even your hands."

"I don't understand at all," Kuzmin said, carefully pulling out his hand. The contact with Bashilov's cold palm gave him an unpleasant feeling. But in order not to let Shlov notice, Kuzmin picked up the bottle and poured it.

"Well, if you don't understand, you don't understand!" Bashilov replied angrily. He was silent.

After a while, he lowered his eyes and said, "if only our status were changed!" But this is all nonsense! In two days, you will be in Navoroki. You will meet Olga andreyev. She will hold your hand. This is what I envy. Do you understand now? "

"What's the matter with you!" Kuzmin didn't know what to do, so he said. "You will meet your wife, too."

"To me, she is not a wife!" Bashilov retorted. "It's a good thing you didn't say the word' partner'."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kuzmin muttered.

"She is not my wife!" Bashilov also harsh voice repeated 1. "She-is everything! This is my whole life. Well, enough about these things. "

He stood up and held out his hand to Kuzmin:

"Don't. Don't be angry with me. I am no worse than the people next to me. "

The carriage stepped onto the dam. The darkness is getting darker and darker. Raindrops make a vague sound in the ancient white willow and flow down from the leaves. Horseshoes beat on the boards of the bridge.

"So far!" Kuzmin took a deep breath and said to the driver:

"You wait for me outside. Even pulled me back to the dock ... "

"Well," the coachman agreed at once, thinking, "no, it doesn't look like a person. Men have to stay for a day or two. It seems to be an outsider. "

On the gravel road. The carriage jolted and the iron pedals rattled. The driver pulled over. The wheels rolled gently on the wet beach. Kuzmin wanted to think again. Bashilov said he envied him. Of course, there is nothing to envy. Bashilov just didn't use the right words. On the contrary, after talking with Bashilov at the hospital window, Kuzmin envied Bashilov. "Is it useless to use the right word again?" Kuzmin said to himself. He is not jealous. He is just pitiful: he will be forty years old now, but he has never had love like Bashilov. He has always been single. "At night, the rain in the open garden, the strange town and the light fog floating on the grass-that's how life passes," Kuzmin thought. He wants to stay here again. He likes small towns in Russia. In this place, standing on the doorstep, you can see the grass on the other side of the river, the wide mountain road, and the cart carrying grain and grass for the transition. This kind of love is even strange to him. He grew up in the south and his home is by the sea. His father's addiction to adventure, maps and vagrancy was also left to him. Therefore, he became a surveyor. Kuzmin always thought that this profession was met by chance, and that if he had been born in another era, he would have become a hunter and a person who discovered the new continent. He likes to imagine himself like this, but he is wrong. There is nothing in his character that makes him that kind of person. Kuzmin is a shy person, always gentle and obedient to the people around him. Slight white hair reveals his age. However, anyone who sees this thin and short officer will not think that he is in his thirties.

Finally, the carriage entered a dark town, and there was only a small blue light on the glass door of a house (it must be a drugstore). This street leads to the top of the mountain. The coachman climbed down from his seat to ease the horse. Kuzmin also got off. He is a little behind, following the car; Suddenly, he felt that his life was really strange. "Where am I?" He thought. "What a Navoroki, a secluded town, the iron palm of the horse sparked. Somewhere nearby, there is a woman I don't know. But you must give her an important and mostly unpleasant letter in the middle of the night. Two months ago, on the front line, the wide and quiet Vistula River. How strange! But how good it is. "

This mountain is finished. The driver turned into the next street. Several piles of dark clouds dispersed, and a star flickered in the darkness overhead. The starlight flashed in the puddle and disappeared again.

The carriage stopped a dozen times in front of a house with a small attic.

"Here we are!" Said the coachman. "The bell is by the door, on the right."

Kuzmin fumbled for the wooden handle of the bell and pulled it, but heard nothing-only the creaking of rusty wire.

"Pull hard!" The driver advised him.

Kuzmin pulled the wooden handle again. The bell rang intermittently in the depths of the house for a while. But the room was still quiet-obviously, no one woke up.

"Ah-ah," the driver yawned. "Rainy night-sleep soundly."

Kuzmin waited a while and rang the bell harder. Footsteps rang out in the wooden corridor. A man walked to the door, stopped to listen, and then asked crossly:

"Who rang the doorbell? What are you doing? "

Kuzmin was about to answer, but the coachman beat him to it.

"Open the door, Marfa," he said. "Someone looking for Olga andreyev. Seen from the front. ''

"Who is on the front line?" An equally unpopular voice asked behind the door, "We wait for no one."

"There is no waiting, only waiting!"

The door was slightly open and the chain had not been removed. Kuzmin explained who he was and why he appeared in the dark.

"My Lord!" The woman in the door said nervously. "It's really annoying! I'll unlock it. Olga andreyev is sleeping. Please come in and I'll wake her up. "

The door opened and Kuzmin walked into the dark corridor.

"There are steps here," the woman reminded him in another gentle tone. "The night is so dark, you still come! Wait, don't touch it. I'll light it-we don't have electric lights here at night. "

She walked away and Kuzmin stayed in the corridor. Tea smells in the room. There is also a faint fragrant smell. A cat entered the corridor, wiped Kuzmin's feet, whispered a few times, and ran back to the sleeping room, as if inviting Kuzmin to go with it.

Behind the half-open door, the faint light quivered. "Please," said the woman.

Kuzmin went in. The woman bowed to him. This is a tall old woman with a dark face. Kuzmin tried not to make any noise. He took off his coat and military cap and hung it on a hanger by the door. "You don't have to worry, you have to wake Olga andreyev anyway," the old woman said with a smile. "Can you hear the flute on the dock?" Kuzmin asked quietly. "Hear, you, hear very clearly, how, just get off the boat and get on the boat! Please sit here and sit on the sofa. "

The old woman walked away. Kuzmin sat down on the sofa with a wooden backrest, hesitated slightly, and then took out a cigarette and began to smoke. He was very excited, and this inexplicable excitement made him very angry. There is a feeling that dominates him; This kind of feeling, whoever walks into a strange house at night and comes into contact with each other's secrets and unpredictable lives, will always have it. This kind of life is like a book on the table, just open a page-even the sixty-fifth page. Anyone who sees this page will try to guess: what is written in the book and what is in it?

There is really an open book on the desk. Kuzmin stood up, bent over the book, listening to the hurried whispering spectrum and the rustle of clothes at the door, silently reading the forgotten sentence:

The possibility of the impossible,

The road slowly extends into the distance,

On the road far away,

A flash of eyes flashed under the headscarf. ...

Kuzmin looked up and looked around. The low and warm room aroused his desire to stay in this town.

This kind of room gives people a particularly simple and comfortable feeling, such as a lamp hanging on the dining table, a dark white lampshade, a picture of a sick girl, and a dog with several antlers hanging on it in front of the bed. Everything is so antique that it has long been out of fashion, but it makes people want to laugh when they come in.

Everything around, even the ashtray made of pale crimson shells, shows the peace and longevity of life, so Kuzmin remembered: How nice it would be to stay here and live like the residents of this old house-take your time, work when you should work, rest when you should rest, and it will be sunny after the rainy day.

But there are other things among the ancient objects in this room. There is a bunch of wild flowers on the table-chamomile, moss and hawthorn. These bouquets are obviously fresh. There is a pair of scissors and useless stems cut by it on the tablecloth.

Next to it is an open book-Brock's The Road Drift Gently into the Distance. There is a small black bonnet on the piano, and the cover is a blue plush photo album. The hat is not corny at all. They are very fashionable. There is also a small watch with a nickel strap, which is casually thrown on the table. Xiao Biao walked silently, pointing to half past one. There is always a little depressing, especially depressing perfume smell in such a late night.

A window is open. Outside the window, separated by several pots of begonia, there are clusters of lilacs, with rain, shining in the dim light cast by the window. The faint sound of rain whispered in the dark. Under the iron eaves, two heavy drops of water were pounding in haste.

Kuzmin listened to the sound of raindrops; It is at this time, at night, in a stranger's home, where he will leave in a few minutes and will never come back, that the idea of time passing and never coming back-the idea that has been bothering people since ancient times-welled up in his mind.

"I think so. I'm afraid I'm getting old?" Kuzmin thought, turn your face around. At the door of the room stood a young woman in a black dress. She was obviously too busy to come out to see him and didn't even comb her hair. She has a braid on her shoulder. The woman looked at Kuzmin and smiled stiffly. She picked up the braid and fixed it at the back of her hair with a hairpin. Kuzmin bowed.

"Excuse me," said the woman, extending her hand to Kuzmin. "Thank you for waiting."

"Are you Olga andreyev Na Ba Cilova?"

"yes."

Kuzmin looked at the woman. To his surprise, she is so young, and her deep and hazy eyes are shining so brightly.

Kuzmin apologized for disturbing her in the middle of the night, so he took Bashilov's letter out of his uniform pocket and handed it to the woman. She took the letter, thanked it, and put it on the piano without looking.

"What are we standing for!" She said. "Please sit down! Come and sit at the table. It's brighter here. "

Kuzmin sat down at the table and asked her to allow him to smoke.

"Sure, please smoke," said the woman. "I smoke myself sometimes."

Kuzmin handed her a cigarette and struck a match. When she lit a cigarette, the light of the match reflected her face, and Kuzmin thought he had seen this face and bright forehead.

Olga andreyev sat down opposite Kuzmin. He waited for her inquiry, but she was silent and looked out of the window; Outside the window, the rain is still ringing monotonously.

"Marfa." Olga andreyev turned to the door and said, "Honey, bring a teapot!" "

"No, don't bother!" Kuzmin panicked. "I'm busy walking. The coachman is waiting in the street. I just came to give you this letter and tell you ... your husband. "

"What's there to say!" Olga andreyev replied, pulling a chamomile from the bouquet and pulling its petals without pity. "I'm glad he's still alive."

Kuzmin was silent.

"You don't have to be busy," Olga andreyev said frankly as an old friend. "We can hear the whistle. Of course, the ship will never leave before dawn. "

"Why?"

"In the lower reaches of our Navoroki, where are you?" Mafa said in the next room. "There is a large shoal on the river. It is dangerous to cross the shallows at night. So the captains have to wait for dawn. "

"It's true," Olga andreyev confirmed. "It's only a quarter of an hour to go to the dock. If you cross the park, I'll go with you. Driver, let him go. Who dragged you here? Huaxi Li? "

"I don't know," Kuzmin said with a smile.

"Timothy pulled him, too," Malfoy said at the door. I can hear her making the teapot barrel loud. "Have some tea. Otherwise, it sounds like something-coming and going in the rain. ''

Kuzmin agreed, walked to the gate and paid the driver. The coachman didn't go away for a while, but turned around the horse and nursed the Queen (Qiu Ge).

When Kuzmin got home, the table had been set. There are some old blue teacups with golden piping, a pot of boiled milk, honey and an open bottle of wine. Mafa walked to the teapot.

Olga Andreyev apologized for her hospitality and said that she was going back to Moscow. At present, she is doing some work in Loki Library in Navo. Kuzmin has been waiting, thinking that she would always ask about Ba Shlov, but she didn't ask. Kuzmin felt more and more embarrassed. Even in the hospital, he guessed that Shlov and his wife were at odds. But now, without looking, he saw her put the letter on the piano. He totally believed that it was so, so he felt that he had not done his duty to Ba Shlov, so he felt that he had made a big mistake. "She may read the letter later," he thought. One thing is clear: Bashilov once read this letter so carefully, and for it, Kuzmin appeared in this room at an inappropriate moment; And here. But I don't need it and I'm not interested in it. Instead of helping Bashilov, Kuzmin put himself in an awkward position. Olga andreyev na seems to have guessed his mood, and said:

"You don't be angry. There is a post office and a telegraph office-I don't understand why he should bother you. "

"What's the trouble!" Kuzmin answered quickly, paused for a moment, and added, "On the contrary, it's quite good."

"Why?"

Kuzmin blushed.

"Good what?" Olga andreyev raised her voice slightly and asked again. At the same time, she raised her eyes and stared at Kuzmin. She looked at him as if wondering what he was thinking-she moved forward slightly and waited for an answer seriously. But Kuzmin was silent.

"What is good?" She asked again.

"How can I tell you?" Kuzmin answered thoughtfully. "This conversation is very special. Everything we love is often difficult to satisfy in person. I don't know other people's, I only speak for myself. All good things are always fleeting. Do you understand? "

"Not exactly," Olga andreyev replied with a frown.

"How can I explain it to you?" Kuzmin said that he was secretly angry with himself. "You sometimes encounter this situation. Through the train window, you will suddenly see a clearing in the birch forest. The gauze in autumn glows white against the sunshine, so you want to jump off the train halfway and stay in this clearing. But the train kept going. You lean out of the window and look back. Look at those dense forests, meadows, horses and forests retreating one by one. You heard a vague noise.-I don't understand. Maybe the forest, maybe the air. Or the hum of wires. Or the train passed by and hit the tracks. It passed in a flash, but you will remember this scene for the rest of your life. "

Kuzmin stopped talking. Olga andreyev pushed the glass of wine to him.

"In my life," Kuzmin said, blushing; He always blushes like this when he talks about himself. "I will always wait for something unexpected and simple like this." I feel happy whenever I find it. The feeling of happiness doesn't last long, but it often happens. "

"Is it the same now?" Olga andreyev asked.

"Yes!"

Olga andreyev na lowered her eyes.

"Why?" She asked.

"Say not clear. I just have a feeling that I was injured in the Vistula River and was lying in the hospital. Everyone received the letter, but I didn't. Because nobody wrote to me. I lay, of course, thinking about my future life after the war like everyone else. It will be happy and unusual. Later, when my injury healed, I went to rest for a while. Designated the location. "

"Where?" Olga andreyev asked.

Kuzmin, name the city. Olga andreyev na didn't answer anything.

"I got on the boat," Kuzmin continued. "Villages and docks on both sides of the strait. And a faint sense of loneliness. Don't think I'm complaining Loneliness also has many benefits. Then I went to Navoroki. I've been worried that I'll oversleep and miss the pier. Late at night, I walked onto the deck, and I thought, how strange it is that thousands of people of all kinds are sleeping quietly in this boundless darkness that hangs over Russia and under the rainy sky. Then I got in the carriage and came here, thinking about who I would meet. "

"Why on earth do you still feel happy?" Olga andreyev asked.

"That ..." Kuzmin suddenly thought of. "It's good anyway."

He stopped talking.

"What's the matter with you? Say it! "

"What to say? I nagged for a while and said some nonsense. "

"Everything," Olga andreyev answered, as if she didn't hear him behind. "You can say whatever you want," she added. "Although all this is a bit strange."

She stood up, went to the window and opened the curtain. The rain didn't stop.

"What's so strange?" Kuzmin asked.

"It always rains!" Olga andreyev said, and turned around. "Just like this meeting. What we talked about at night-isn't it strange? "

Kuzmin was embarrassed and kept silent.

Outside the window, it was wet and dark. At the foot of the mountain, there was a place where the whistle of the ship sounded.

"Ah, it's time," Olga andreyev said, as if she felt relaxed. "It's time to play the flute!"

Kuzmin stood up. Olga andreyev na did not move.

"Wait a minute," she said quietly. "Let's sit down for a while before we go. As before. "

Kuzmin sat down again. Olga andreyev also sat in a chair and meditated, even turning his back on Kuzmin. Kuzmin looked at her high shoulders, thick braids tied in knots at the back of her head, and white neck, and thought: If it weren't for Ba Shlov, he would never leave this town and go anywhere. He will stay until the end of the holiday and live an exciting life, because this lovely woman looks sad at the moment.

Olga andreyev stood up. In the small room outside, Kuzmin helped her put on her coat. She wears a scarf on her head.

They came out and walked silently along the dark street.

"It's almost dawn," Olga andreyev said.

On the other side of the river, the water-like sky is blue. Kuzmin found Olga andreyev shivering.

"Are you cold?" He became uneasy. "You don't have to come out to see me off. I can find my own way. "

"No, I need it," Olga andreyev answered briefly.

The rain has passed, but beads of rain are still dripping from the roof and banging on the sidewalk made of boards.

At the end of the street is a park. The toilet door is open. As soon as you enter the door, it is a dense and deserted avenue. There is a smell of cold and wet sand in the park at night. This is an ancient park, full of tall bodhi trees. Bodhi blossoms, emitting a faint fragrance. As long as a gust of wind blows through the park, the whole garden will be noisy, as if a rainstorm poured into the garden and stopped immediately.

At the end of the park is a cliff overlooking the river. Beyond the cliff, the rain before dawn, dim buoy lights, fog and all the gloom of summer rainy days appear at your feet.

"How do we get down?" Kuzmin asked.

"Come here!"

Olga andreyev turned to the path facing the cliff and walked to the wooden ladder; The wooden ladder goes down, down-it's dark.

"Pass me your hand!" Olga andreyev said. "Many steps here have rotted."

Kuzmin gave her a hand, and they walked down carefully. Grass grows between the rungs and is wet by the rain.

They stopped on the last platform of the wooden ladder The red and green lights on the dock can already be seen. The ship gave off a stream of steam. He was going to say goodbye to this woman who had never met before, but was so close, and he didn't say a word to her-not a word! His heart contracted at the thought. He hasn't even thanked her-for entertaining him on the trip; Give him her sturdy little hand with wet gloves and carefully lead him through the old wooden ladder. Whenever the wet branches hanging on the railing may hang his face, she gently said, "bow your head!" " Kuzmin bowed his head obediently.

"Let's break up here," Olga andreyev said. "I'm not going forward."

Kuzmin looked at her. Looking at his eyes from under the headscarf is uneasy and severe. Can it be said that at this moment, in this minute, everything will become a thing of the past and will only become a heavy memory in her or his life?

Olga andreyev contacted Kuzmin. Kuzmin kissed it and felt the faint perfume, which was the first time he smelled it in a dark room in the rain.

When he looked up, Olga andreyev said something, but the voice was so light that Kuzmin didn't catch it. He felt that she only said two words: "In vain …" Maybe she said something else, but the boat roared past the river angrily, as if complaining about the cold and wet dawn and its wandering life in the rain and fog.

Kuzmin ran to the shore and never looked back, crossed the dock full of straw mats and tar smell, boarded the boat and immediately climbed onto the abandoned deck. The ship has left the coast, turning its wheels slowly. Kuzmin went to the stern and looked over the cliff and escalator-Olga andreyev was still there. It's not easy to see her before dawn. Kuzmin raised his hand, but Olga andreyev didn't answer.

As the ship went further and further, it drove the long waves to the gravel shore, shaking the buoy, and the clumps of sea willows on the shore also shook in haste, answering the collision of the ship.