“We drank two buckets full of hot water, Vladychka,” said Artiom, waiting for the pain to recede in his leg, and his head, and his back — he needed to jump more carefully. He had even forgotten what it was he wanted to ask. “A bucket of gruel… Some bread to suck on.”
“Oh, they feed you here?” Vladychka threw up his arms. “Here I was thinking that they were taking me here to starve, and they put me on the hill so that my exhausted spirit wouldn’t have as far to fly!” Vladychka laughed. “That means that, trusting in our Lord, there is reason to hope that we may endure even the tribulation of Sekirka. Every time,” he continued, enjoying to hear himself speak, “when you walk past a black cap-band or a leather jacket, when you bend your back next to a foreman or a brigade commander, you think
