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144 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2021

”He is bareheaded, his short fur coat unbuttoned, his beard disheveled, a mad look in his eyes. He crossed himself, fell to his knees, and struck his forehead against the floor. Before me! 'I am undone,' I said to myself sadly.”
Thus begin the tribulations of a young doctor, newly graduated with honors from enlightened Moscow and stationed in 1917 somewhere deep in the desolate Russian wilderness. On his side are his youthful energy, a skeptical feldsher, and two midwives who are true angels of mercy. Along with them, a medical atlas (which rarely helps in time during the complex cases of the local peasants), a pack of cigarettes, and a Browning pistol with two full magazines.
Alas, the enemies are many. The self-doubt of a fresh doctor without a single day of practical experience. The one hundred patients a day with every imaginable ailment, ranging on the spectrum from severed limbs to breech births, all the way to syphilis. Last but not least is the profound misery of the patients, who live in squalid conditions and are often entirely ignorant and superstitious, combined with the complete lack of modern equipment at the hospital (even syringes are in short supply).
And yet, Bulgakov’s protagonist never gives up on saving lives. The inner hysteria in his head, swirling with all kinds of apocalyptic forecasts and diagnoses, is countered by a surprisingly swift, precise hand and a sharp tongue, as well as a readiness to hurl himself into the middle of a blizzard to reach a neighboring village and rescue someone. Not always successfully, of course. But he always fights to the bitter end – against himself, the world, and the superstitious nonsense in his patients' heads.
The purest humanity flows from these wonderful, deeply realistic, and self-ironic (in a medical way) short stories. And – something rarely encountered in Russian literature – a dash of slightly hysterical optimism and unbreakable, resilient hope. The path, even when mired in mud, must lead forward.
(I skipped past the final story, “Morphine”, as it felt too heavy, but all the stories leading up to it are simply... painfully and mockingly true.)