The novella "A Private Case" is devoted to the work of the Chekists during the years of Soviet power.
The most pleasant thing about the new job was that, essentially, it was impossible to call it work at all. Cleaning the paths after a snowfall, heating stoves—firewood had already been cut, split, and stacked into enormous piles in advance, not just for one season. What kind of work is that? People get their dachas on purpose to come for the weekends and do the very same things, and for his “pleasure” he is even paid a salary. Not a great one, of course—after deducting the thirty he sends every month to the drakons, there’s barely enough left.
But what does he really need?