Адаптированный перевод

There was a small annex in the hospital courtyard, surrounded by bushes of burdock, nettle, and hemp. The roof was rusty, the porch steps were rotten and overgrown with grass, and the plaster had fallen off. The main facade of the annex faced the hospital, the back faced a fence with nails, and beyond the fence was a field. Only hospital and prison buildings looked dismal and depressed.

If you aren't afraid of getting burned by nettles, then let's walk along the narrow path to the annex and look inside. Opening the first door, we enter the inner porch. Mountains of hospital junk: mattresses, old torn dressing gowns, pantaloons, blue-striped shirts, worn shoes - all this junk is piled up, crumpled, mixed, rotting and emitting a suffocating smell.

An elderly retired soldier named Nikita, with a pipe clenched in his mouth, would always lie on the pile of junk. He had a stern drunk face with red nose, bushy eyebrows like a shepherd dog. He was short, skinny and wiry, his posture was straight and his fists were huge. He was simple, executive, stupid man who preferred order and was sure that for this he needed to beat others. That's why he hit them in the face, chest, and back, and he thinks there won't be any order without it.

Except for the entrance hall, the entire space in the annex was occupied by a single large room. The walls were poorly painted with dirty light blue paint, the windows were barred, the floor was dirty and full of splinters, and the ceiling was covered with soot from the stove smoke. Apparently, the stoves often smoked in the winter, making it difficult to breathe in the room. The smell of sauerkraut, burnt wicks, bedbugs, and ammonia made you feel like you were in a menagerie. In the room, men in blue hospital gowns and caps were sitting on beds that were bolted to the floor. They were insane. ...