Translation number 7 (week seven):

     The man in the tunic knelt down beside Zhenya, ran his fingers quickly over his chest, legs, and arms and lifted his head slightly, then ripped open his jersey with a penknife and passed his hand over his body.   Zhenya felt what he was doing and looked at him with open eyes, but could say nothing.

     “No bones broken, no blood anywhere,” the man said calmly.   “His hands have been crushed.”   He examined Zhenya’s fingers.  

     “Suppose we try to get up?”   And he firmly but carefully began to lift Zhenya to his feet.   Zhenya did not want to get up from the earth.   It was the earth.   It was life.   It smelled faintly of rainy dampness and rotting grass.   But consciousness was returning and he allowed himself to be lifted.