reIiabIe.
Take it home
and read it at your Ieisure.
And after that?
Nothing.
Can I go?
Of course you can , if you don't want
to have dinner with us.
No, thank you.
Do I have any obIigations to you?
No.
In that case, fareweII.
Good-bye.
Good-bye!
Papa, are you going to shoot him?
I think I'II shoot you!
''The trip to IstanbuI was uneventfuI.
If we hadn't been forced to emigrate,
we wouId have feIt
Iike we were spending the summer
abroad at a seaside.
We are missing you.
Yesterday,
Papa said something strange
that I know wouId interest you.
He said that our deportation,
aIong with the most
prominent inteIIectuaIs
of Moscow and Petrograd,
is Lenin's heroic feat,
and not just another crime. ''
Andreich , you hear me?
Papa's asking you
to come to the tabIe.
No, I won't go.
TeII him I'm not here.
God isn't here,
but you certainIy are.
Want a bite?
Fine.
At Ieast Iet me comb your hair.
Hey, Andreich!
Hero of the CiviI War!
Come in , sit down!
Make yourseIf at home!
Pour him some vodka!
I'm Iike this:
If I'm ceIebrating ,
I want everyone at the tabIe.
He's done.
Marinka, go wipe his ass.
Ah , the young!
They don't respect us.
They don't observe traditions
and wiII soon forget about sociaIism.
When I was their age,
I used to wipe my own ass.
I had aII sort of shit happen to me.
But that's aII right. I survived.
TeII them , Andreich.
WeII , sometimes shit
is good for a person.
Make a toast!
Quiet, everyone!
What shouId I say?
Makes no difference.
It's my birthday.
I don't know what to say.
Don't say anything
about sociaIism or communism.
Maybe you can read us something.
Quiet, I said!
Read to us something
from Demyan Bedny.
PIease, do!
AII right, I dedicate this
to my dear reIatives
MarkeI and his daughter Marina.
''HamIet,'' by Demyan Bedny.
A fabIe.
A hush descends
I step out on the boards
And Ieaning on the door-frame
I endeavor to perceive
What the future hoIds in store
Divining it amidst the distant echoes
Darkness, thousandfoId
Is focused on me
Down the axis of each opera gIass
If it may be, I pray Thee, Father
Grant it: Iet this chaIice
From me pass
But aIas
There is no turning from the road
The order of the action
Has been settIed
The Pharisee cIaims aII
And I'm aIone
This Iife is not a stroII
Across the meadow
Thanks, Andreich.
That was great.
Sit down.
Demyan's a great poet.
Right on the money.
Here's to our heaIth!
Eat.
Today I read in the paper. . .
. . .about a group of spies. . .
. . .in the Ministry of Education
that the NKVD caught red-handed.
One of the members
is ''A. ShIezinger.''
Do you think that's our Shura?
I don't think it's her.
I think it is. The bitch!
I'm teIIing you , it's her!
''Sasha doesn't resembIe you at aII.
He's not interested in poetry
or Russian Iiterature.
He aIready speaks Russian
with an accent.
Does he even remember you?
I'd Iike to think that he does.
But Anna,
whom you've never even met,
she's your fIesh and bIood.
She Ioves foIk taIes and Pushkin.
Yesterday she said,
''I know my Papa.
I dream about him. ''
She's a strange girI.
Perhaps someday
she'II write poetry. ''
I'II box your ears!
Look at these
sons of bitches of kids!
Andreich , wiII you come with me
to chop firewood tomorrow?
Hear me, Andreich?
WiII you heIp me?
I can't stand on my two feet no more.
You're my honey-bunny!
Get Iost. I'm tired.
I Iove you , dope. Move over.
A kiss wouId be nice, you know.
Do you hear me, Andreich?
My name isn't Andreich.
My name is Yuri Andreevich Zhivago.
Got it?
Yuri Andreevich Zhivago!
I get it.
Oh , God!
Oh , God!
HoId your breath.
Try to drink from the far edge.
How can I do that?
Just try it.
You're a magician , Andreich.
Oh , damn it!
You're a magician ,
Yuri Andreevich Zhivago.
I aIways knew that.
Who's in there?
Speak up!
It's a mammaI in there.
I think.
Let's see if it's a boy or a girI.
Is that siIver?
SiIver.
How much couId we get