On Sunday morning at five o'clock, when a whistle sounded in the
corridor of the women's ward of the prison, Korableva, who was
already awake, called Maslova.
"Oh, dear! life again," thought Maslova, with horror,
involuntarily breathing in the air that had become terribly
noisome towards the morning. She wished to fall asleep again, to
enter into the region of oblivion, but the habit of fear overcame
sleepiness, and she sat up and looked round, drawing her feet
under her. The women had all got up; only the elder children were
still asleep. The spirit-trader was carefully drawing a cloak
from under the children, so as not to wake them. The watchman's
wife was hanging up the rags to dry that served the baby as
swaddling clothes, while the baby was screaming desperately in
Theodosia's arms, who was trying to quiet it. The consumptive
woman was coughing with her hands pressed to her chest, while the
blood rushed to her face, and she sighed loudly, almost
screaming, in the intervals of coughing. The fat, red-haired
woman was lying on her back, with knees drawn up, and loudly
relating a dream. The old woman accused of incendiarism was
standing in front of the image, crossing herself and bowing, and
repeating the same words over and over again. The deacon's
daughter sat on the bedstead, looking before her, with a dull,
sleepy face. Khoroshavka was twisting her black, oily, coarse
hair round her fingers. The sound of slipshod feet was heard in
the passage, and the door opened to let in two convicts, dressed
in jackets and grey trousers that did not reach to their ankles.
With serious, cross faces they lifted the stinking tub and
carried it out of the cell. The women went out to the taps in the
corridor to wash. There the red-haired woman again began a
quarrel with a woman from another cell.
"Is it the solitary cell you want?" shouted an old jailer,
slapping the red-haired woman on her bare, fat back, so that it
sounded through the corridor. "You be quiet."
"Lawks! the old one's playful," said the woman, taking his action
for a caress.
"Now, then, be quick; get ready for the mass." Maslova had hardly
time to do her hair and dress when the inspector came with his
assistants.
"Come out for inspection," cried a jailer.
Some more prisoners came out of other cells and stood in two rows
along the corridor; each woman had to place her hand on the
shoulder of the woman in front of her. They were all counted.
After the inspection the woman warder led the prisoners to
church. Maslova and Theodosia were in the middle of a column of
over a hundred women, who had come out of different cells. All
were dressed in white skirts, white jackets, and wore white
kerchiefs on their heads, except a few who had their own coloured
clothes on. These were wives who, with their children, were
following their convict husbands to Siberia. The whole flight of
stairs was filled by the procession. The patter of softly-shod
feet mingled with the voices and now and then a laugh. When
turning, on the landing, Maslova saw her enemy, Botchkova, in
front, and pointed out her angry face to Theodosia. At the bottom
of the stairs the women stopped talking. Bowing and crossing
themselves, they entered the empty church, which glistened with
gilding. Crowding and pushing one another, they took their places
on the right.