“Not bad, not bad,” said Afanasiev, still smiling.
A pleasant vanity forced Artiom to show his equanimity, and the best way to do this was to remain silent.
“Why don’t you read some poems?” he offered Afanasiev after a few minutes.
Afanasiev grew thoughtful, as though deciding whether or not to answer seriously, then answered completely earnestly:
“I haven’t written any here yet, but the ones from before don’t count. And I don’t want to read someone else’s. I’m going to live here without poetry, as without a woman. Later, it will be all the sweeter to taste.”
And immediately, he changed the subject:
“Tioma, why you keep grabbing the heaviest logs, I can’t understand. You’re f*****g strong, I get it. So save your strength. Pick out the switches — the thin, skinny logs. When picking gi
