It was after one of his “sorties,” which had been followed by a heavy feast, that Artyom and his female companion made their way home, with unsteady steps, to the latter’s dwelling, which was situated in a narrow alley in a lonely suburb. But there an ambush awaited him. Several men threw themselves upon him and immediately knocked him down. Weakened by drink, he was unable to defend himself; and then, for nearly an hour, these men revenged themselves upon him for the innumerable outrages to which he had subjected them.

Artyom’s companion had fled; the night was dark, and the place a deserted one. His assailants had all the leisure they could desire for squaring their accounts with Artyom, and they worked without sparing their strength. When at last, tired out, they ceased, two motionless bodies were lying on the ground; one was Artyom, the other a man familiarly known as Red Buck.

After consulting together as to what was the best way of disposing of the bodies, the men decided that they would hide Artyom in an old barge which had been damaged by the ice, and was lying keel upwards beside the river; as to Red Buck, who was still groaning, they determined to take him along with them.

The pain caused by being dragged towards the shore brought Artyom to life again, but thinking that the best thing for him was to pretend to be dead, he stifled the cry which had nearly escaped him. They jostled him, they hurled invectives at him, and each boasted to the others of the blows they had inflicted on the athlete. Artyom heard Mishka Vavilov relating to his comrades how he had kept trying to kick Artyom under the left shoulderblade, in order to burst his heart. Sukhopluyev said that he had leveled his blows at the victim’s belly, for if the intestines are once injured, food, however great a quantity a man may take, ceases to nourish him, and he loses his strength. Lomakin also had, as he declared, leapt twice onto Artyom’s belly. Not one of them, in short, but what could boast of having distinguished himself in an equally brilliant manner; their exploits continued to be the subject of their conversation until they reached the barge, under which they then pushed Artyom’s body. He had missed nothing of their talk, and he heard his assailants assuring themselves, as they walked away, that undoubtedly Artyom would never get up again.

And now he was alone in the dark, on a wet heap of refuse cast up under the barge when the river was in flood. It was a cool night in May, and at intervals Artyom recovered consciousness, revived by the freshness of the air. But when he tried to crawl down to the river overcome by the terrible pain that shot through every fiber of his body, he swooned afresh. He came to himself again, torn by pain, and with an agony of thirst upon him. Close at hand he could hear the river lapping against the shore as if in mockery of his powerlessness to move. He lay thus the whole night through, fearing to groan or make the least movement.

At last, coming to himself once more, he was conscious that something had been done to him that had brought him relief. He could with great difficulty open one eye, and just move his torn and swollen lips. It must be day-time, he thought, for the rays of the sun were shining through the cracks of the barge, and making a twilight round him where he lay. He managed to raise his hand to his face, and felt that it was covered with wet rags. There were wet cloths, too, on his chest and his abdomen. His clothes had all been taken off, and the cool air assuaged his sufferings.

“Drink,” he said, with a vague sense that there must be someone near him. A trembling hand was passed over his head, and the neck of a bottle put to his lips. The hand that held it shook so that the bottle knocked against Artyom’s teeth. Having drunk, Artyom was curious to know who was there, but he turned so sick with the effort of moving his head that he was obliged to lie still. Then, in a hoarse voice, he began to stammer out a few words.

“Brandy—let me have a glass of it to drink—and rub my body with it—perhaps then I shall be able to get up.”

“To get up? You can’t get up. Your whole body is as blue and swollen as that of a drowned man. As to brandy, that is possible—there is some brandy—I have a whole bottle.”