Free The Matiushin Case by Andrew Bromfield, Oleg Pavlov Page A

naked body. He came to his senses and called to them, imploring:
    â€˜Guys, don’t hit me on the ears … Guys …’
    â€˜Stop that! Konovalov!’ The order rang out suddenly and the blows subsided.
    The soldiers who had been beating him moved away and Konovalov, who was afraid of nothing, but obeyed the officer who had spoken, helped Matiushin to get up and led him to the steam room, intoning under his breath:
    â€˜Have a good soak, buddy. Feel the thrill, you bastard …’
    Scalded by his beating from the soldiers, Matiushin skidded into the steam room as if he was slithering down an icy slide.
    Men who had already settled into the warm womb of the bathhouse were walking about with small tubs, moving from one tap to the next and splashing water on themselves. When the water toppled out in a solid block from the tub raised over Matiushin’s head, he huddled up tight – and breathed out so deeply, it was almost a groan, and then thrilled to the pleasure and stroked himself with his hands. All around there were untaken tubs, gaping open. Colourless, hot and cold streams flowing. The roaring of these countless torrents set his soul trembling at the gills, like the soul of a fish. Matiushin dissolved in that roaring, nuzzling his mouth at the icy cold water disintegrating into spray, spurting out of the tap so hard that his lips went numb. He drank his fill, gulping down water straight out of a tub that was full to the brim, snuggling up to the calm, smooth little lake, barely able to hold the weight of it in his hands. Feeling as if he hadn’t just quenched his thirst but found peace and freedom, Matiushin held his tub in his hands and wandered round the hut, which was rippling, mirage-like, with little pools and streams. He found a small piece of coarse rag and a small abandoned piece of soap. He washed. He sluiced himself off from the tub, tempering himself with the cold until he was blue. He got tired.
    After the steam room, the air in the lobby was so light and easy, it took his breath away. The lobby was filled with vigorous, swarming merriment. The men laughed at each other, stroking their own unfamiliar naked craniums. They clambered joyfully into the loose official-issue trousers and tunics that were now theirs, feeling a new freedom in them. Everything was issued too large, for the wrong size, apart from the boots; they only stuck to the right size for the boots. The soldiers from the quartermaster’s section laughed when they saw what the parade looked like. In the crush, Matiushin was given everything in the very biggest size, and on top of that they issued him with a knapsack. He squeezed through the scrum, found a place on a bench and got dressed, following standard procedure. Only he hadn’t been taught how to wind on the foot wrappings – and he sat there crumpling up the two rags in his hands, with no idea of what to do with them, with all his buttons already done up, but barefoot. But others who were as ignorant as he was spoke up. The officers shouted for the sergeants, who had been loitering in the yard for too long, and it turned out they were keen to teach the men. Some sat down on the bench with lads they liked the look of, others stood over a small bunch of barefoot men and gave them orders on what to do from above. Matiushin was spotted too: a sergeant squatted down a bit and emerged from the bathhouse bustle in a tunic that was scorched white, with a faded little red flag tucked into his belt. He smiled, looking at Matiushin, and told him which angle to lay the foot wrapping out at and where to tuck in the ends. When Matiushin put his boots on, this goodhearted man disappeared as unobtrusively as he had arrived, leaving nothing behind except for this essential knowledge that cost nothing.
    Out in the yard, relaxing after the steam, the new recruits smoked a bit and the officers and sergeants mingled with them as if they were soldiers already, telling