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STATESMAN AND NarloN
HE
July I1, 1936

* It’s me. I’ve called to sce if you'll let us have the book.?
" Oh, be quiet!? he cried.“ It is for my own soul's good
* No! I will not let you have the book.
that I want to read, and not for the sake of having something
Day was breaking as I moved away from the window. In
to argue about. Proper reading requires silence. But you
the carly brightness, far away on the horizon could be scen the
fellows keep on asking Why this?' Why not that?? I'm
black figure of a man on horseback, and a flock of sheep
sick of such kind of reading. Leave me alone. I want to do
creeping like a grey cloud. A scene like that was for us, of
my own reading. Clear out! Go to the devil!
course, quite commonplace. What we needed was a book;
He locked the book in the drawer of his desk. Not another
for a book only could stir within us a fresh sense of life.
word did he speak all the time he was on duty. He kept
Koltunov was disagrecable and miserable, and was conscious
looking round every now and again as if he feared that some¬
of it. We began to dislike him and even to dislike his little
thing might happen. When he finished his dutics and was
daughter. On one occasion when she came running up to
* Would you mind, before
going home Yudin said to him,
Yudin I pushed her rudely away from him. Her little, ruby
you go to bed, to put down the book somewhere where I can
petal of a mouth crinkled into an expression of distress.
find it. I’lI come round for it by and by.?
Koltunov saw it and asked provocatively:
He gave a little laugh, but said nothing.
* Wouldn't you like something to read? No doubt von
About midnight Yudin said to me,“ Do go round and see
would. But I shan't let you have the book.?
if you can get the book. By now he must, surely, be fast
Yudin was exasperated. Turning pale, he exclaimed,
asleep.?
fiercely: “ Even if he gives us the book, we shall not take
During the day there had been a steady downpour of heavy
it. No, I say. We shall not take it.?
rain. Then, out of a washed sky the sun shone forth fiercely
All right!?' I said in consent.
on the carth that was sodden and baked it. Now the atmo¬
* Do you agrec to it??
sphere was vapoury. The heat was stifling. Stars glimmered
* Ves! I do.“
dimly in the depths of space. In front of me, as if wanting to
The whole incident finished quite simply. One morning
show me the way, a frog was leaping. In the distance whistled
when Koltunov came on duty he flung the book to Yudin and
a train. From the pump-room came the soft singing of the
called out:
Jewish squint-eyed stoker, on whose lips was a fixed, sad
* Here’s the book. Read as much as you like!?
smile.
Yudin’s nose was immediately inside the covers of the
Vellow light streamed from Koltunov’s window. It lit up
book. In the evening we read it together. The book told
a pile of sleepers, the trunk of the poplar and the ground
the story of a good woman who got married to a ne’er-do-well
below it. Through the muslin curtains that stretched across
sort of a man—a husband with whom she could not live, from
the window I beheld Koltunov. He was sitting, attired for
whom she separated and went to spend herself in the service
the night, close to the table, with his elbows resting upon it
of mankind.
and his fingers buried in his red hair. His sharp chin moved
Was this, then, the reason why Koltunov shed tears, I
convulsively. Tears were dropping from his eyes upon the
wondered.
volume between his elbows. One after another they kept
Suddenly Koltunov came staggering into ihe room.
falling. It seemed to me as if I heard the soft moist tapping
Catching hold of the door-posts he yelled:
of the tears on the pages of the book.
* D-don't ... d-dare .. to r-read !?
Oh, it is a bitter experience to sec a man shed tears!
He was shockingly drunk. His bleary eyes glared wildly.
On#h#labie stood a lamp; a bottle of vodka, not touched;
His legs were giving way under him. He shouted,“ D-d-on't
and a plate containing a piece of melon. In the wicker arm¬
r-read Isay!.. they d-do-n't ... know. Nol
chair lay little Vera sleeping, her mouth open as if in wonder.
Nob’dy . .. un-der .. stands. Nob’dy. Not
Further in, all was as dark as outside.
wr rit. ers. Nobody ! He sank tothe
Koltunov stood up and turned to the window. His small
floor. With arms stretched out towards us, he bawled:
insignificant face, wet with tears, looked smaller and more
* S-sil-ence ! .. D-d-on't ... rea-d!?
insignificant still. He held up the book over the lamp, trying
And there in the doorway, behind Koltunov stood the little
to dry his tears on it. He touched the pages to sec if they
girl, Vera Petrovna. Barefoot, in an unbuttoned frock, which
were dry and then waved the book once more over the lamp.
had slid down onc of her shoulders, her golden curls rising
Yet tears did not cease to fall from his eyes. They rolled
upward like a flame—she stood and in a dull voice asked:
down his face and buried themselves in his moustache.
Why have you treated him so badly 5?
I went away from the window, for I had to attend to an
Maxin Gonkt
incoming train. When the train had gone I said to Yudin,
(Translated by Edward Bernstein)
“ He is still up. He’s been at that book all the time.?
* The beast!? growled Yudin, tapping out the train's
despatch message.“ Comrade he calls himself! We’re
comrades only till some tempting morsel appears, and then we
PLAYS AND PICTURES
cease to be comrades.?
Storm Song,' at the Embassy
Before dawn I stood a sccond time in front of his window,
and looked through the curtain into tlie room. The lamp was
A distinguished author once said that if the artists only cared
out. A candle was burning in a brass candlestick. The
to turn their attention to business they could push the business
untouched bottle of vodka showed the double reflection of the
men off the board. Mr. Denis Johnston may have thought that
candle’s flame. Koltunov was sleeping, his head low on his
he would show us that an imaginative playwright could also write
a popular comiedy. Whether he has succeeded with Storm Song
breast, his hands limp on his knees. The wicker armchair
(a play about the making of such a film as Men o ran) is hard to
was empty. The room was a little darker than previously.
tell because of the extremely bad production at The Embassy
The book was closed and lay at the corner of the table close
Theatre. Certainly Mr. Johnston has chosen one of the most
to the window-sill. As quietly as possible I tore the curtain
difficult receipts for a theatrical success. His play is a mixture
and pushed my hand through rhe rent. Instantancously
of rcalism, serious comedy, farce and irony—and English audiences
Koltunov was on his fect. Seizing the candlestick and swinging
enjoy irony about as much as they do sweets with their meats.
it round he shouted, savagely:
None the less, there is so much vigour in Mr. Johnston’s character¬
Begone! or I’U kill you!
isation; some of the farcical incidents are so genuinely funny and
The candle went out, but in that instant of ceasing light
che whole subject of film making is of such interest to modern
I caught the vision of a distorted face which vanished in the
audiences (one could see them simply lapping up the“ shop
talk''of“ wipes,?“ fades?' and“ dissolves*') that if Storm Song
darkness.
were given the careful timing and admirable acting that we have
In a moment or two he inquired, roughly but quietly:
in, say, Bov Afects Girl, it might well be a popular success. Atthe
* Who's there 5?