All language subtitles for Ward.No..6.2009.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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MOSFILM

Courier Studio

presents

a Karen Shakhnazarov film

Kozlov Vladimir,
born in '79, August 15th.

How long have you been here?

It's my fifth year here.

And before that?

Moscow's boarding home 30.

And before that it was the school
for handicapped children.

I got there after...

After my parents
abandoned me at five,

I mean they didn't exactly
abandon me,

they were deprived
of the parents' rights

and I was given public custody.

I had good teachers,

they taught me a lot:

cooking and sports.

- So you can cook?
- Yes.

What can you cook?

Salads... Olivier, Captain's,

rissoles and omelette...

Have you got a dream?

- I have.
- What is it?

I want to leave here,

have family, children, work...

Cos I'm fed up...

Twenty-five years of life
at public expense

because of my parents,

those alkies

deprived of their parents' rights...

They were gone
before their time.

They had left me
to the mercy of fate.

I was three when they sent me
to orphanage.

My own parents!

I remember it well.

So I grew...

a hooligan...

If they had taken care of me

when I was a little boy

I might have become
a normal man.

Not the man I'm now.

But they gave me up,
didn't bring me up

so there I am.

Only death can change me.

I have a mother.

Gorelova Nataly.

She lives in Ossipenko Street.

I have never in my life

seen her.

She disowned me
right after I was born.

She gave to another...

I was only two years old.

Have you a dream?

Sure. I want a wife...

I want to find me a girl.

Dream?

Well, you see,

you shouldn't believe dreams.
They never come true.

So I don't have a dream.

There's just one dream,

I want to leave

this monastery.

Yes, I was baptized.

But there's no faith to speak of

COS even science

can't prove they are up there.

I have faith in myself

and my potential.

Good is stronger than evil
it is said.

Evil can never

overcome good

but good can.

I mean it'll triumph.

- How good you have faith.
-I do and I will.

WARD No.6

Based on Anton Chekhov's Story
'Ward No.6'

Starring

Dr. Ragin - Vladimir llyin

Ivan Gromov - Alexei Vertkov

Khobotov - Evgeny Stychkin

Mikhail Averianovich -
Alexander Pankratov- Cherny

Nikita - Victor Solovyov

Written by Alexander Borodyansky
Karen Shakhnazarov

Directed by Karen Shakhnazarov

with participation
of Alexander Gornovsky

Director of Photography
Alexander Kuznetsov

Artistic Director
Ludmila Kusakova

Music by Evgeny Kadimsky

Sound by Gulsara Mukataeva

Edited by Irina Kozhemyakina

General Producer
Karen Shakhnazarov

Executive Producer
Galina Shadur

In 1606, at the curve
of the Vop river

monk Varlaam and aged nuns

Evdokia and Ulania

built a wooden chapel
for St. Nicholas.

After Varlaam's death

homeless folk settled here

with their leader Biriuk, a fugitive
peasant and former highwayman.

Legend has it that seeking
forgiveness for his sins,

he lived in a cave
near the chapel.

And the settlement
on the Vop river

was named after him:
Biriukian hermitage.

In 1630,

a brick church was built
on the site of the chapel

and a monastery founded.

In 1728,

during construction work

a shrine was found

with a young girl

in expensive garments
embroidered in silk and gold.

The inscription on the silver plate
attached to the shrine

read: 'Auliana,
princess of Olshansk.

The maiden died
when she was fifteen.'

After 1917
the monastery accommodated

a home for disabled persons

who lived there
along with the monks.

After 1934

it housed a TB hospital.

In 1962

it was made into
a lunatic asylum.

Schizophrenia is

the most widespread
psychiatric disease.

The name was suggested
by German doctor Bleiler

back in the 17th century.

The Greek 'schizo' means "to split'

and 'phren', is mind.

Incidentally, the borderline
between psychotic

and normal people is

pretty illusory.

It would be correct to say

that all of us have
mental disorders,

in low-intensive form.

How do you diagnose it?

There are methods galore.

One is smell. Yes, a schizophrenic
has the smell

of rancid oil and almond.

Dostoyevsky was an epileptic.

Maupassant was looked upon
as eccentric

until he - sorry! - urinated
by the front door.

Gogol died of exhaustion.

He refused to take food -
a typical symptom.

We here have our genius too.

This way please.

He painted pictures...

One gentleman who came
from Moscow

said, "Your patient is

a great avant-gardist.'

Let's see him.

Hello, Nikita.

Igor Yakovlevich.

- Are you an artist?
-Yes, I am.

- An avant-gardist?
- No, I'm a realist.

- They say you're an avant-gardist.
- I'm a realist.

What do you know
about avant-gardists?

They are in the forefront.

Where did you learn painting?

My grandpa was an artist.

He drew Stalin,
the 19th party congress.

- How did you get here?
- He broke a drugstore window.

Why did you do that?

There was a human skeleton there.

I'm asking him.

- How are you feeling?
- I've recovered, thank you.

- How's he now?
- He hears voices.

- Do you hear voices?
- Sure.

You're talking to the doctor.
I can hear you well.

- You must be tired. Have a rest.
- Too many injections.

Well... Who else?

Here's Alex.

- How old are you?
-I'm 43.

You look young for your age.

- How are you?
- I'm fine and healthy.

Why are you here then?

My neighbors irradiate me.

How?

They have a special device.

But why?

I dunno. Perhaps they don't
want me alive.

So they are bad, eh?

I guess so.

Do you like it here?
Any complaints?

No, this is a top-level hospital.

My doctor taught me
to sit right.

Like this.

Okay, get well, Alex.
And who is this?

His namesake Pankratov.

Got here in 1997.

Said he had killed John Lennon
on orders from Yuri Andropov.

- What's with him?
- He hears voices.

- You hear voices?
-I do.

- You look happy.
- The voices are good.

- Male or female voices?
- Both male and female.

- All of them good.
-I see.

Acute schizophrenia.

Here's Ivan.

- How are you?
- I'm fine.

This is Ivan Gromov.

Persecution mania...

My predecessor, Dr. Ragin,
believed him to be a prophet...

How is Ragin now?

No change.

- Is he in your unit?
- Yes.

- He's the former chief doctor?
- Yes, he is.

Such things do occur.

- Can I talk to him?
- No. He doesn't talk.

Can I see him?

Yes, of course, if you like.

- Will you show him the way?
- Yes, certainly.

If you have questions
I'll be in my office.

Nikita, come with me.

Right.

Here is our Andrei Efimovich.

How are you feeling today?

- Does he ever speak?
- Nope. He had a stroke.

- Did you work with him?
- No, I came here later.

- What happened to him?
- 1 don't know the particulars.

You better ask Khobotov.

He worked with him.

Come onin.
Everybody take his seat.

Did you take your seats, guys?

- Good appetite.
- Thanks.

Good appetite, Andrei Efimovich.

You were the chief doctor
before Dr. Ragin?

Right. I was the chief doctor
before Dr. Ragin.

When Dr. Ragin arrived
here to replace me

the hospital was
in a parlous plight.

In corridors and wards you hardly
drew breath for the stink.

The patients complained

that roaches, bed-bugs and mice
made their lives a misery.

I sold surgical spirit on the sly.

Set up a regular harem

among my nurses
and women patients.

I hear Ragin, after leaving school,
proposed

to enter theological college.

But his father,
an MD and surgeon,

announced categorically

he'd disown the boy
if he became a cleric.

How true that is I have
no idea,

but Ragin himself often confessed

he never had any vocation
for medicine.

Ragin had a small growth
on his neck.

He didn't dress
like a medical man.

He wore the same suit
for ten years on end,

while his new clothes

looked just as worn and disheveled
on him as the old.

He saw his patients, ate
his meals and went visiting

all in the same old frock-coat.

And this not out of meanness

but because he just didn't care
about his appearance.

Dr. Ragin easily diagnosed
women's ailments

and even attended confinements

at first.

We were very close.

But not for long.

One day he said to me:

'Why prevent people from dying

if death is

a normal and natural
end of everyone?'

I came to this town
two years ago.

The hospital was a sorry sight

but Ragin took those irregularities
with indifference.

I didn't approve of it

but I didn't introduce
improvements

lest I offended Ragin.

I considered him an old rogue

and secretly envied him.
I would've liked his job.

One day I called on Dr. Ragin
on business.

He was out and I went out
to look for him.

I was told

the chief doctor
was in Ward No.6

with the mental patients.

I was the only person
in town

whose company didn't
depress Dr. Ragin.

I'd say entering his quarters:
'Well, here I am.

Hello there, my good fellow.

You must be tired of me
by now, what?'

'Far from it,'
the doctor would answer.

And we'd sit down
and start the ball rolling.

I sometimes filmed it.

I like to film. I wanted to be
a camera operator once.

I've got a good video camera.

But there's no sound

and they can't fix it
in this town.

Anyway, it films well...

The doctor always opened
our discussion.

He'd complain that our town
totally lacked people

who could or would conduct

an intelligent conversation.

'Even our intelligentsia
doesn't rise above vulgarity.'

I'd answer: 'You get no sense
out of people these days.'

How healthy, happy and
interesting life was

in the old days!

What a brilliant intelligentsia
Russia once had:

what women, what adventures!

How we drank and ate!

What frantic liberals
we were!

One day the doctor told me

that he met one more person
who was fond of discoursing.

I am Gromoyv Ivan Dmitrievich.

I attended St.Petersburg University,

received money from my father

and didn't know
what hardship was.

My father was prosecuted
for forgery and embezzlement

and died in the prison hospital.

I had to change my way
of life abruptly.

Did coaching for a pittance
and still went hungry

since I had to send all my earnings
to keep my mother.

I couldn't stand the life

and gave up the university
to come home.

I became a court usher.

One day I came across two convicts
escorted by two guards.

It suddenly dawned on me
that I myself

might be clapped in irons
and hauled off to prison.

On my way home I met the police
inspector I knew

who gave me good day and walked
a few steps down the street with me.

This struck me as suspicious.

I had done nothing wrong.

But was it difficult
to commit a crime accidentally?

Could false accusations and judicial
miscarriages really be ruled out?

A fat hope, then, of finding
justice and protection

in this filthy little town

a hundred and twenty miles
from the railway!

In spring two corpses
were found in a gulley

near the cemetery:
an old woman and a boy

bearing signs of death
by violence.

These corpses and the murderer
became the talk of the town.

To show that I wasn't the killer

I'd walk the streets smiling.

I dashed down the street.

I thought all the violence
on earth

was behind my back
and was pursuing me.

I was caught and taken home.
A doctor was sent for.

Dr. Ragin prescribed
laurel-water drops

and told the neighbor
he wouldn't come again

because he couldn't stop a man
taking leave of his senses.

I asked him to release me.

'What would you gain
if I did release you?' he answered.

'Go, go..."

You might as well give Moses
felt boots or something,

or else he'll catch cold.

Very good.
I'll notify the laundry keeper.

Please, ask her in my name,
will you?

Tell her I said so.

The doctor's here!

Congratulations, gentlemen!
The doc honors us with his presence!

You bloody rat!
Kill the vermin!

Drown him in the latrine!

- What for?
- What for?

Thief! Charlatan! Butcher!

Calm yourself, please.
What are you so angry about?

Why do you hold me here?

Because you are ill.

But there are dozens, hundreds
of madmen at large.

So why should I - and these
wretches - be cooped up here?

The hospital riff-raff
are immeasurably lower

on the moral scale
than any of us.

So why are we shut up? Why not you?
Where's the logic of it?

Morality and logic are
neither here nor there.

It's all due to chance.

Whoever has been put in
here stays put,

and whoever hasn't,
runs about outside.

There's no morality or logic
about my being a doctor

and your being a mental patient,
it's sheer blind chance.

That gibberish means
nothing to me.

- Let me out of here.
-I can't.

- Why not?
- It's not in my power.

What would you gain
if I did release you? Go.

If you went off...

they'll pick you up
and bring you back.

Yes, yes...

Quite true.

It's awful.

But what am I to do?

You ask me what to do?

The best thing in your position
would be to run away.

But that's no use...
as you'd only be picked up.

Society's all powerful

when it protects itself

from criminals, mental patients

and other awkward customers.

There's only one thing
you can do:

accept the idea

that you're a fixture here.

But what use is it to anyone?

Since there are prisons
and lunatic asylums

someone must be shut up
in them, mustn't they?

If not you, then I,
if not I, then someone else.

Just wait until prisons
and asylums

cease to exist
in the distant future,

then there won't be bars
on the windows or hospital smocks.

Sooner or later
that time will come.

You're joking.

You and your minion Nikita
have no concern with the future,

you haven't.

But better times
are on the way!

I may sound banal, you may laugh
at me, but a new life will dawn!

Justice shall triumph!
I shan't see it, I'll be dead,

but someone's great-grandchildren
will live to see it.

I greet'em with all my heart.
March forward and God be with you!

From behind these bars
I bless you. I rejoice!

I see no special cause
for rejoicing.

There will be no prisons
or asylums

and justice shall indeed prevail
as you say.

But the real essence of things
won't change.

The laws of nature will stay
as they are.

People are going to fall ill, grow
old and die, just as they do now.

And gloriously as your dawn
may irradiate your life,

you'll still end up

nailed in your coffin
and thrown in a pit.

But what about immortality?

Oh, really!

You may not believe in it...

but I do.

Someone in Dostoyevsky
or Voltaire says

that if God didn't exist
man would have invented Him.

I believe that
if there's no such thing

as immortality human genius
will sooner or later invent it.

Well said.

I'm glad you're a believer.

With such faith one could live
even immured inside a wall.

You're a thinking,
thoughtful man.

You can find consolation
inside yourself in any surroundings.

Diogenes lived in a barrel,

but was happier than all
the emperors of this world.

Your Diogenes was an ass.

Why all this stuff about Diogenes?

I love life passionately!
I have persecution mania,

I suffer constant,
agonizing fear but...

there are moments when such a lust
for life comes over me

that I fear my brain will burst.

I've a tremendous appetite for life,
tremendous!

In my day-dreams I see visions,
people sort of haunt me,

I hear voices and music,

I seem to be walking
through a forest

or along a beach.

And I do so long for the hum
and bustle of life.

Tell me now, what's the news?

In town or in general?

Oh, tell me about
the town first.

All right.

The town is an abysmal bore,

what with no one to talk to.

No new faces.

Actually though a young doctor
turned up recently,

Khobotov.

What's he like then,
pretty crude?

Well, he's not exactly cultured.

It's odd, you know.

There's no mental stagnation
in the capital,

so they must have some pretty
impressive people around.

But why do they always
send us people

of whom the less said the better.

- Unfortunate town!
- Yes, unfortunate indeed.

What's the matter?

Not one more word will you
hear from me.

Leave me alone...

Leave me alone, to blazes...

One day I asked the doctor

if he believed in immortality.

'No, my dear Mikhail,
I do not, nor have I any grounds

for so believing,'
he answered.

I admit I have my doubts too.

Actually, though,
I do sort of feel

I'll never die.

Dear me, thinks I to myself,
it's time you were dead,

but a little voice inside me
says no, you aren't going to die.

I had known Dr. Ragin
for 20 years,

I lived next door.

He lived alone

and I helped him about
the house.

He would rise at about 8 a.m.

have tea and go to the hospital.

He'd come back at 2 p.m.

sit down in his study
and start reading.

He read a lot.

His preference was for historical
and philosophical works.

He spent half his salary
on books.

He bought a lot...

He kept a carafe of vodka
near his book,

while a salted gherkin lay
on the table.

Every half hour he poured himself

a glass of vodka,

drank it, then groped
for the gherkin.

At four o'clock he cautiously
approached the kitchen and said,

'How about a spot to eat?'

After lunch he paced his quarters,

his arms folded on his chest.
He was thinking.

At five I'd say,

'Isn't it time for your beer,
Doctor?'

'No, not yet.

I'll just, er, wait a little.'

Towards evening the postmaster
would arrive.

Quite often I didn't
find him in.

This had never happened before.

His maid was embarrassed

to see the doctor being late
for lunch.

Actually,
he'd come later and later.

A rumor swept the town:

the doctor

began to pay visits to
Ward No.6.

It wasn't clear
why he'd stay there

for hours on end and
what they talked about...

My name is Nikita,

I've worked here as orderly
for 20 years.

Once while in the lobby,
I heard Dr. Ragin's voice

in Ward No.6.

I peeped into it.

The doctor and Gromov
sat on the bed.

The madman was grimacing,

the doctor sat still.

His face was sad.

On the next day

I came there with Dr. Khobotov.

We were eavesdropping.

Khobotov said, grinning,

'Our old man must have
lost his wits.

I've been long expecting it.'
That's what he said.

What month is it now, October?

Yes, it's the end of October.

- Is it muddy outside?
- No, not very.

I'd like to go somewhere
out of town,

then come home to a warm,
comfortable study

where some proper doctor
would cure my headache.

It's ages since I lived
like a human being.

There's no difference between a warm,
comfortable study and this ward.

- Meaning what?
- Man finds peace...

and contentment within him,
not in the world outside.

Go and preach
that philosophy in Greece,

it doesn't fit our climate.

Who was I discussing Diogenes with -
not you, was it?

Yes.

Diogenes needed no study
or warm building,

It was warm there. He could
just lie in his barrel

munching oranges.

If he had to live in Russia,
he'd be begging to be allowed

indoors in May.

He'd be doubled up with cold.

No. One can ignore cold,

just like any other pain.

A thinking individual...
It's this contempt for suffering

which distinguishes him.
He's always content

and nothing ever surprises him.

I must be an idiot then,

since I suffer, I'm discontented

and surprised at human depravity.

Don't say that.
If you meditate more

you'll appreciate the insignificance

of all those externals
that so excite us.

One must seek the meaning of life,
therein lies true happiness.

Meaning of life...

What grounds have you for preaching?

Have you ever suffered?

Were you beaten as a child?

No, my parents abhorred
corporal punishment.

Well, my father
beat me cruelly...

But let's go on about you.

No one ever laid a finger on you
in your life,

nor frightened or hit you.
You grew up

under you dad's wing,
you studied at his expense,

you picked up
a soft job straight away.

Being lazy
and spineless by nature,

you tried to arrange things so

that nothing bothered you.

You delegated your job
to your assistant

while you sat in the warmth
and quiet,

reading books,

indulging yourself
in speculations

in the sphere of higher nonsense
and by hitting the bottle.

You've never seen life,

you know nothing about it.

You're conversant with reality
only in theory.

It's the philosophy best suited

to a typical lackadaisical
Russian.

Say you see a peasant
beating his wife.

Why meddle?
Let him beat away,

they're gonna die anyway
sooner or later.

Besides, that peasant is degrading
himself with his blows.

Getting drunk is stupid,
it's not respectable,

but you die if you drink

and you die if you don't.

A peasant woman comes along
with toothache.

Pain is just the impression
of feeling pain,

besides, no one can get
through life without sickness.

So let that woman clear out and
leave me my meditations and vodka.

It's a convenient philosophy.
You don't have to do anything,

your conscience is clear
and you think yourself a sage.

You may despise suffering
but you catch your finger

in the door and I bet you'll
scream your head off.

- Or perhaps not.
- You damn well would!

And suppose you became paralysed.

Or some crass upstart
insulted you in public.

That would teach you
to refer people

to the meaning of existence
and true bliss.

That is highly original.

Your bent for generalizations
impresses me

most agreeably,

while your character-sketch
of me...

quite brilliant, sir!

I enjoy talking to you hugely
I do confess.

I advised my friend to give up
vodka and beer.

But as a man of tact 1 didn't come
straight out, I hinted at it.

I spoke of some battalion CO
('grand chap')

who had taken to drink
and fallen ill,

but completely recovered
after going on the wagon.

Dr. Khobotov also advised him

to give up spirits

and recommended him
to take... er...

potassium bromide.

In November Dr. Ragin was summoned
by his superiors.

You've quite forgotten us,
Doctor.

But then you're a bit of
a monk - don't play cards,

don't like women.
You're bored with the likes of us.

Living in this town...
Oh, what a bore!

No theatre, no music.

It's a pity our townsfolk

squander their vital energies,
their hearts and minds

on cards and gossip...

They won't find time for interesting
conversation and reading.

What is today's date,
Dr. Ragin?

November 29th.

And year?

2007.

How many days are there
in the year?

365.

Is it true
that Ward No.6 houses

a remarkable prophet?

Yes, it's a patient

but an interesting young
fellow.

It's time we old fellows were
put out to grass, Doctor...

You need rest.

Why don't you take a month's leave
and go some place.

Say to Antalia.

Last year I was so pooped.

I spent a month in Antalia

and became myself again.

I would like

to tender my resignation.

I called on him that evening.

The doctors kept the truth
from him

but I gave it to him straight
from the shoulder, soldier like.

I told him he was not well,

everyone had noticed it
some time ago.

I asked him to come with me
as he needed a change of scene.

Ragin said

he felt completely well
and couldn't go with me

but then asked where
I was thinking of going.

I said Moscow.

I had spent the five happiest
years of my life in Moscow.

In Moscow I first

took my friend to see
the Iverian church.

I prayed fervently

bowing to the ground
and weeping.

I said to Andrei later:

'Even if you aren't a believer,

you feel easier after a spot
of prayer.'

Embarrassed,
Ragin kissed the icon.

Then we went to the Kremlin.

We saw the Tsar Cannon
and the Tsar Bell,

even touching them.

We visited St.Saviour's Cathedral.

Ragin didn't like Moscow

as it was teeming with crooks.

And those traffic jams!

I said that Moscow
was a staggering city.

I had spent the five happiest years
of my life there.

Ragin said: "You go by yourself

and let me go home!'

He stayed in his hotel room
and lay on the sofa,

furious.

In Moscow I lost
all my money gambling.

I borrowed 20,000 rubles
from Ragin

and still haven's paid it back.

He doesn't need it,

what?

We returned home in December.

Dr. Ragin was quite ill.

I felt obliged to visit
and entertain him.

He said once

that sooner or later we were all
bound to die

and vanish without a trace.

If one imagined a ghost

flashing past the earth

in a million years' time,

it would see nothing

but clay and naked crags.

Culture, moral laws...
It will all disappear,

it won't even have
burdocks growing on it.

He also said he pictured
the globe

in a million years' time:

jack-booted Khobotov

popping up behind
a naked crag.

The doctor twice went to talk

to Gromov in Ward No.6

but Gromov asked to be left
in peace

and required of these
damn blackguards

one recompense:
solitary confinement.

As the doctor was taking
farewell,

Gromov snarled and told him
to go to hell.

Dr. Khobotov and Mikhail

came after lunch.

Dr. Ragin lay on the sofa.

Dr. Khobotov said,

'It's high time you were
on the mend.'

Mikhail guffawed

and said, 'The doctor

is on the mend all right
and will live

another hundred years.

And we'll be off to the Caucasus
next summer

and ride all over it
on horseback.

Back home it'll be wedding
bells for the doctor.

We'll marry you off.'

Dr. Ragin rose to his feet

and said: 'That's pretty cheap!

He clenched his fists

lifting them above his head

and shouted:

'Clear out of here!
Both of you,

clear out!

Mikhail and Khobotov
stood up and stared at him.

Ragin kept shouting:

'l don't need your friendship,

you oaf, or your medicines!

And hurled the fial
after them.

The two backed
toward the door

and the doctor bellowed:

'Go to hell!
To blazes with you!'

He lay on the sofa trembling
as if with a fever

and kept repeating:

'Imbeciles! Half-wits!"

Mikhail,

I apologize for yesterday.

We'll forget the whole thing.

Yesterday's attack alarmed
the doctor and myself.

Why won't you take

your health seriously,
old man?

You can't go on like this.

Excuse an old friend's bluntness...

But you live under most
unsuitable conditions:

dirty, with no one
to nurse you

and no money for treatment.

The doctor and I do beg you

earnestly

to heed our advice
and go into hospital.

You'll be properly fed and nursed
and receive treatment there.

Khobotov may be a bit uncouth
between ourselves.

Still he does know his stuff
and he's completely reliable.

He has promised
to attend to you.

Don't believe a word of it!
It's all a trick.

There's only one thing wrong
with me: it has taken me 20 years

to find one intelligent man
in town and he is insane.

I'm not ill at all.

I'm just trapped in a vicious circle
from which there is no way out.

Go to the hospital,
my dear fellow.

It can be a hole
for all I care.

Promise me you'll do everything
Dr. Khobotov says.

I promise. But I repeat
I'm caught up in a vicious circle.

Everything, even my friends'
sincere sympathy,

tends the same way now:
to my ruin.

You'll get better.

Why talk like that?

Most people go through it
at the end of their lives.

When you are told you have
something like bad kidneys

you take treatment...

or when you're called a lunatic
or a criminal,

then you can be sure you're trapped
in a vicious circle

from which you'll never escape.

The more you try to get away the
more you're enmeshed in the toils.

You may as well give in

because no human effort
will save you now.

Late that afternoon

I unexpectedly presented
myself to Dr. Ragin

and said in a tone
which seemed

to dismiss the previous
day's happenings.

'l have some business
with you, dear colleague.

Now how about coming along

to a little consultation?'

Dr. Ragin put his hat and coat on
and we went into the street.

'And where is your patient?'
he asked.

I said he's in the hospital

and I'd been wanting to show
him that for a long time:

a most fascinating case.

Entering the hospital yard,

we skirted the main block

on the way to the hut

where the lunatics
were housed...

All this in silence.
As we entered the hut

Nikita jumped up as usual

and stood to attention.

'One of them has
a lung complication,'

I said in an undertone

entering Ward No.6 with Dr. Ragin.

Now, you wait here,
I'll be back in a moment.

I'll just fetch my stethoscope.

And I left...

One of them has

a lung complication.

Now, wait here,
I'll be back in a moment.

I'll just fetch my stethoscope.

Kindly put this on,

Sir.

Now, here's your bed,
come this way.

It's all right...

You'll get better, God willing.

This is some misunderstanding.

It must be cleared up!

Oho!

So they've shoved you in here
too, old man!

Welcome indeed!

So far you've been the vampire,
now it's your turn.

- An excellent idea!
- It's some misunderstanding.

Some misunderstanding.

Oh, blast this life!

The really galling, wounding
thing is that it won't end

with any recompense for suffering
or operatic apotheosis.

It will end in death.

Some guys will come

and drag one's corpse into
a cellar by its hands and feet.

Oh, well, we'll have fun
in the next world.

I'll come back here and haunt
these rats. I'll scare them!

I'll turn their hair white!

I'm feeling a little low...

I'm feeling a little low...

- How 'bout a spot of philosophy?
- Oh, God...

You once remarked

there's no Russian philosophy,

but all Russians, nonentities
included, are philosophers.

But the philosophic theorizings of
nonentities don't do any harm.

So why laugh at my misfortunes,
dear friend?

And why shouldn't nonentities
philosophize

if they are dissatisfied?

An intelligent, proud,
freedom-loving man...

his only outlet is to work
in a dirty little town,

surrounded by cupping-glasses,
leaches and mustard plasters...

How bogus, how parochial,
how cheap his life!

Stuff and nonsense!

If you hated doctoring
you should have been a minister.

There's nothing one can be.
We're so feeble!

I used to be detached

and argue confidently
and sensibly,

but it only took a bit
of rough handling

to make me lose heart
and cave in.

We're a rotten, feeble lot!

You are the same. You're
intelligent, you have integrity.

But barely were you
launched on life

before you tired and sickened.

You're feeble, I tell you.

I'm just going out.

I'll tell them to bring us a light.

I can't manage like that.

Can't cope.

Nikita!

And where are you off to?

None of that, now. It's bed-time.

I only want a turn in the yard
for a minute.

None of that, now. It ain't allowed,
you know that.

But what does it matter
if I go out for a bit?

I don't understand. I must go out!
I've got to.

Don't ya gimme no trouble.
We can't have that.

What the hell is going on?
What right has he to stop you?

How dare they keep us here?

No one may be deprived
of liberty without a court order!

- It's an outrage! Sheer tyranny!
- Of course itis.

I must go out... I've got to...

Let me out of here,
I tell you!

Do you hear me, you stupid
bastard? Open up!

- Bloody savage!
- Nikita!

On the next day Ragin
neither ate nor drank

but lay still and silent.

Khobotov visited
and asked questions.

Dr. Ragin didn't answer.

Mikhail brought him
tea and jam.

His maid came too and stood
by his bed for a whole hour.

Late that afternoon Dr. Ragin
had a stroke.

He opened his eyes and said:

'Most people believe in immortality.
Now, is there really such a thing?'

He twitched and plunged
into eternal oblivion.

The orderlies came, seized his hands
and feet and hauled him off.

That's it.

Dr. Ragin had a stroke
or cerebral effusion,

it's an acute impairment
of cerebral circulation

when the brain tissue is affected
and its functions are disturbed.

I presume Dr. Ragin's
first sensation was

of devastating feverish chill
and nausea.

A green light flashed in his eyes.

I guess that being a doctor

he knew his end was near.

I mean, he didn't die but...

Some time ago I brought a dictaphone
to Dr. Ragin's home

and turned it on

just for fun.

Fate landed us in a dump.

The most maddening thing is
we'll die here.

That's me.

Life is a deplorable trap.

...against his will, by certain
chance factors man...

And this is Dr. Ragin.

He wants to learn the meaning
of existence - he's fobbed off

with absurdities.
He knocks but no one opens.

Death approaches
and he hasn't asked for it.

The past is odious
and better forgotten,

and the same is true
of the present.

I'm serving a bad cause,
I'm dishonest.

But I'm nothing in myself.

I'm only part of an inevitable
social evil.

Officials are up to no good,
they get paid for doing nothing.

So it's not my fault I'm dishonest,
it's the fault of the age.

If I had been born 200 years later
I'd have been different.

Well, the rest isn't him...

Now, I wish you a happy New Year

and the best of everything.

And health.
And now the presents.

Come and get it.

- Here...
- Thank you.

- For you and him...
- Thank you.

- Did everyone get it?
-Yes...

- Go on, girls.
- Happy New Year, Merry Christmas.

The same to you. Thanks.

- Speedy recovery.
- The same to you.

You'll celebrate with Unit Two.

Move, move...

- I'off. Will you hang around?
- Of course.

Now dance everybody.

I am Dr. Ragin's neighbor,

Belova.

I've got two children.

No husband...

My lover sometimes stayed

the night...

Always drunk, he'd install
himself in the kitchen

terrifying everybody...

clamoring for vodka.

My kids were terrified

and cried...

The doctor would take them
into his room

and lay them to rest,

which gave him

great pleasure.

- Remember uncle Andrei?
- Yes.

What kind of person was he?

He was nice.
We loved him dearly.

That's it...

Translated by Raisa Svirina