Page 5 - Excerpts from the diary

He said nothing. At night we had to finish digging a trench, because in daylight it was impossible: our position was in open ground and
under enemy observation.

By the time we had eaten and prepared everything, it was already after one in the morning. To avoid dragging the mortar, mines, and
other equipment back and forth unnecessarily, I offered him a choice: either I would go and finish the trench—it only needed a little
straightening and camouflage—while he stayed to guard our tent, or the other way round.

“I’ll go,” he said, but immediately began backing out. “Though... you go. No, we have to go together. I won’t go alone!”

“Then I’ll go, and you stay here.” He would not agree to that either.

“So,” he said, “neither of us will do anything. One will sleep while the other waves a shovel around. We both have to go.”

“Fine then. Take the trays with the mines; I’ll take the mortar, and let’s go at last!”

“I won’t carry them. We must leave them here and take only the kit bag, rifle, and gas mask.”

I had to ask and persuade him for a long time before he finally agreed. He went off to dig; I stayed behind to guard the tent.

Half an hour later he returned and reported that everything was ready. He was about to lie down to sleep, but Kuznetsov, a soldier from
the neighboring section, came to call him to breakfast. Khaustov tried to shift this onto me as well: he said he had worked and was tired,
and so on. I reminded him that while I had gone for supper he had slept; he had slept all day too, while I had not closed my eyes for a
minute.

“Who’s to blame if you didn’t sleep? You should have slept while I was digging. And I’m not to blame about the daytime either—you
should have slept.”

“So I should have woken you and gone to bed myself?”

“Why wake me? You should simply have gone to sleep too.”

It is difficult to reach any agreement with him. This time, however, he did go to eat. By then it was already light. I began settling down
and told him to wake me in two hours and then lie down himself.

“No, it won’t be your way! You get up, and I’ll sleep!”

Very well, I thought, let us see how much conscience he has. Nearly three hours passed, and he was still asleep. He got up to smoke
around twelve.

“Well, Khaustov, have you slept enough?”

“No, I’ll sleep some more.”

“And I don’t need sleep? You’re an egoist, Khaustov, and a shameless man!”

He said nothing and began pacing around our tent.

“Go to bed then, for heaven’s sake, or I will...” He went off, lay down somewhere nearby, smoked for a while, then went into the tent and
fell into a deep sleep.
That is only one example; there are thousands like it.

How am I supposed to command him? The mortar and mines, he says, ought to be thrown away. The mortar key, he says, is unnecessary,
and, mocking me, he says he will throw it away too. To hell with it—I do not want to write about him, yet it is hard not to. In his presence
the lieutenant tells me that I am too strict with him, that I ought to speak to him more gently and obey him because he is older.

Yesterday I wrote to Mother in Yessentuki, to Olya, to Aunt Anya, and to the editorial office of the newspaper Stalin’s Soldier, where I
sent my poem “Greetings to Places Dear to the Heart.”

The exchange of fire was heavier yesterday. Poor Khaustov nearly died of fright when fragments from mines exploding nearby fell close
to him in the evening while I had gone to fetch supper. I am going to wake him now. He has slept enough!

And the nature here—you could do nothing but write poetry about it. It is a pity my head is in a fog: I want to sleep so badly I could die.
Now and then a shell whistles somewhere, and then it is quiet again. Only the cuckoo calls carelessly through the whole forest—cuckoo,
cuckoo—the mosquitoes drone irritatingly, and various funny little birds chirp, trying in vain to outsing the nightingale. Cheerful, lovely
little bird! It does not fall silent for a minute.

A plane is flying low over my head. Apparently a reconnaissance aircraft. Whose? It is hard to tell; neither side is firing at it. Everything