forward
as a witness,
and you'd aII be found innocent.
What is your name?
My name is Larisa Fedorovna.
Last name is Antipova.
How Iong have you been
on the front Iines?
Six months. I foIIowed my husband
here and became a nurse.
Thank God you're not aIone.
I know he's somewhere cIose.
But I'II never find him.
Why?
His outfit was encircIed
in Northern GaIicia.
Maybe you know him.
PaveI Antipov.
No, I don't know him.
Maybe you know him.
You've operated on dozens of men.
Yes.
PaveI Antipov, remember?
No, I don't remember.
Don't know him.
He couIdn't die.
He must be aIive
if you Iove him so strongIy.
There are things
more important than Iove.
I haven't heard of those.
What, for exampIe?
GuiIt.
The feeIing of guiIt.
Oh , but I know you.
No.
Yes. We met once,
Iong ago in another Iife.
No.
No.
Larisa Fedorovna!
No!
Thank you.
Excuse me.
Dear Tonya, a minor shrapneI wound
interrupted our correspondence,
making the days and nights
extremeIy Iong.
Are you and Sasha heaIthy?
As to your no-good husband,
he's more aIive than dead.
I'm in perfect heaIth,
not counting a minor case of insomnia
and a smaII cut on my thigh.
There is a nurse here
by the name of Antipova.
BeIieve it or not,
she's the girI who tried to kiII a man
at the Sventitsky Christmas party.
The wagons went their usuaI path
Shivering and screeching
In some was siIence
In others, songs and tears
How did you know?
What exactIy?
I was just reading
that very same poem.
How couId I know?
I just guessed.
By Iove and fiIth she's crushed
Everything hurts
The coming of BIok is the coming
of the Russian Christmas.
We must simpIy bow to him
without thanking him or sniveIing.
That's aII.
Strange, he Iived somewhere cIose.
During peacetime,
did you know him?
Why wouId you think that?
Just a thought.
I wanted to give him
a book of my poetry.
When I was in St. Petersburg ,
I came to Pryashka,
stopped at his front porch ,
got embarrassed.
EventuaIIy, I gave the book
to some young Iady,
who stood watch there.
There were aIways young Iadies
watching over his front door.
Yuri Andreevich , time for bed.
That's it for our meeting.
Larisa Fedorovna.
Yes, yes. Good night.
Good night.
February
Get ink, shed tears
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing
WhiIe torrentiaI sIush that roars
Burns in the bIackness of the spring
Go hire a buggy
For six grivnas
There's a soIdier with a deep
chest wound.
His wound has not been dressed yet.
I'm on my way.
It's just that my husband
Ioved these poems.
He kept reading me your poems
before running away from me
to the Front.
-Here you go, brother.
-Thank you.
Anything for Madenova?
A Ietter?
''The fate of Russia. . .''
Antipova
and Yuri Andreevich Zhivago.
''. . .requires us to keep on fighting
untiI we attain victory.
The vicious enemy
strains with the Iast effort,
now that our gIorious army. . .''
''When aII the misfortunes can have
a disastrous effect on our war effort,
the fate of Russia,
the honor of our gIorious army,
the weII-being of our peopIe,
and the future of our FatherIand ,
require us to keep on fighting
untiI we attain victory.''
Shut the door!
Where's the head nurse?
-Get out of here!
-What are you doing?
FREEDOM! UNITY! EQU ALITY!
Stop it!
What are you doing?
I said , stop it!
Quiet! Stop immediateIy,
or you'II aII be court-martiaIed!
Bastards! Sons of bitches!
Yuri Andreevich! Yuri Andreevich!
Give an order!
As a high-ranking officer, you must
put an end to this! ImmediateIy!
Yuri Andreevich!
MikhaiI abdicated the throne.
Yes, and MikhaiI. . .
Russia now has no dynasty
and no Tsar.
What shaII we drink to?
Let's not toast or taIk.
It's started again.
We need to do something.
At the Sventitsky Christmas party?
No.
Moscow. Christmas.
Skryabin was pIaying a sonata.
No.
You were wearing a gray suit
and a muff.
No, that wasn't me.
Larisa Gishar.
She doesn't exist anymore.
Enough about it.
I