“I think she knows how to,” said Artiom, for some reason feeling more disposed towards Afanasiev. He even answered only to keep Afanasiev from falling silent.
“She does,” Afanasiev nodded. “I think she knows how to do many things that I won’t even mention here… But out in the free world, Artiom? Why do you need her out there? What, do you want to live with a tribunal?”
“f**k,” thought Artiom. “I shouldn’t have kept him talking.”
He even got a little upset, but it was clear that Afanasiev was fooling around and saying all this to forget about his coffin, and also because he truly, it seemed, was jealous and couldn’t quite understand why he didn’t have Artiom’s luck.
“Every woman is a tribunal as it is,” Afanasiev continued. “God,” here the poet nodded at Vladychka, who had sat next to a
