"What?!" I said, "dost thou see _him_?"
"Yes."
"And dost thou see him now?"
"Yes."
"Where?" And I did not dare to turn round, and we both spoke in a
whisper.
"Why, yonder ..." and he indicated the spot with his eyes ... "yonder,
in the corner."
I summoned up my courage and looked at the corner; there was nothing
there.
"Why, good gracious, there is nothing there, Yákoff!"
"_Thou_ dost not see him, but I do."
Again I glanced round ... again nothing. Suddenly there recurred to my
mind the little old man in the forest who had given him the chestnut.
"What does he look like?" I said.... "Is he green?"
"No, he is not green, but black."
"Has he horns?"
"No, he is like a man,--only all black."
As Yákoff speaks he displays his teeth in a grin and turns as pale as a
corpse, and huddles up to me in terror; and his eyes seem on the point
of popping out of his head, and he keeps staring at the corner.
"Why, it is a shadow glimmering faintly," I say. "That is the blackness
from a shadow, but thou mistakest it for a man."
"Nothing of the sort!--And I see his eyes: now he is rolling up the
whites, now he is raising his hand, he is calling me."
"Yákoff, Yákoff, thou shouldst try to pray; this obsession would
disperse. Let God arise and His enemies shall be scattered!"
"I have tried," says he, "but it has no effect."
"Wait, wait, Yákoff, do not lose thy courage. I will fumigate with
incense; I will recite a prayer; I will sprinkle holy water around
thee."
Yákoff merely waved his hand. "I believe neither in thy incense nor in
holy water; they don't help worth a farthing. I cannot get rid of him
now. Ever since he came to me last summer, on one accursed day, he has
been my constant visitor, and he cannot be driven away, Understand this,
father, and do not wonder any longer at my behaviour--and do not torment
me."
"On what day did he come to thee?" I ask him, and all the while I am
making the sign of the cross over him. "Was it not when thou didst write
about thy doubts?"
Yákoff put away my hand.
"Let me alone, dear father," says he, "don't excite me to wrath lest
worse should come of it. I'm not far from laying hands on myself, as it
is."
You can imagine, my dear sir, how I felt when I heard that.... I
remember that I wept all night. "How have I deserved such wrath from the
Lord?" I thought to myself.
At this point Father Alexyéi drew from his pocket a checked handkerchief
and began to blow his nose, and stealthily wiped his eyes, by the way.
A bad time began for us then [he went on]. I could think of but one
thing: how to prevent him from running away, or--which the Lord
forbid!--of actually doing himself some harm! I watched his every step,
and was afraid to enter into conversation.--And there dwelt near us at
that time a neighbour, the widow of a colonel, Márfa Sávishna was her
name; I cherished a great respect for her, because she was a quiet,
sensible woman, in spite of the fact that she was young and comely. I
was in the habit of going to her house frequently, and she did not
despise my vocation.[24] Not knowing, in my grief and anguish, what to
do, I just told her all about it.--At first she was greatly alarmed, and
even thoroughly frightened; but later on she became thoughtful. For a
long time she deigned to sit thus, in silence; and then she expressed a
wish to see my son and converse with him. And I felt that I ought
without fail to comply with her wish; for it was not feminine curiosity
which prompted it in this case, but something else.
On returning home I began to persuade Yákoff. "Come with me to see the
colonel's widow," I said to him.
He began to flourish his legs and arms!
"I won't go to her," says he, "not on any account! What shall I talk to
her about?" He even began to shout at me. But at last I conquered him,
and hitching up my little sledge, I drove him to Márfa Sávishna's, and,
according to our compact, I left him alone with her. I was surprised at
his having consented so speedily. Well, never mind,--we shall see. Three
or four hours later my Yákoff returns.
"Well," I ask, "how did our little neighbour please thee?"
He made me no answer. I asked him again.
"She is a virtuous woman," I said.--"I suppose she was amiable with
thee?"
"Yes," he says, "she is not like the others."
I saw that he seemed to have softened a little. And I made up my mind to
question him then and there....
"And how about the obsession?" I said.
Yákoff looked at me as though I had lashed him with a whip, and again
made no reply. I did not worry him further, and left the room; and an
hour later I went to the door and peeped through the keyhole.... And
what do you think?--My Yásha was asleep! He was lying on the couch and
sleeping. I crossed myself several times in succession. "May the Lord
send Márfa Sávishna every blessing!" I said. "Evidently, she has managed
to touch his embittered heart, the dear little dove!"
The next day I see Yákoff take his cap.... I think to myself: "Shall I
ask him whither he is going?--But no, better not ask ... it certainly
must be to her!"... And, in point of fact, Yákoff did set off for Márfa
Sávishna's house--and sat with her still longer than before; and on the
day following he did it again! Then again, the next day but one! My
spirits began to revive, for I saw that a change was coming over my son,
and his face had grown quite different, and it was becoming possible to
look into his eyes: he did not turn away. He was just as depressed as
ever, but his former despair and terror had disappeared. But before I
had recovered my cheerfulness to any great extent everything again broke
off short! Yákoff again became wild, and again it was impossible to
approach him. He sat locked up in his little room, and went no more to
the widow's.
"Can it be possible," I thought, "that he has hurt her feelings in some
way, and she has forbidden him the house?--But no," I thought ...
"although he is unhappy he would not dare to do such a thing; and
besides, she is not that sort of woman."
At last I could endure it no longer, and I interrogated him: "Well,
Yákoff, how about our neighbour?... Apparently thou hast forgotten her
altogether."
But he fairly roared at me:--"Our neighbour? Dost thou want _him_ to
jeer at me?"
"What?" I say.--Then he even clenched his fists and ... got perfectly
furious.
"Yes!" he says; and formerly he had only towered up after a fashion, but
now he began to laugh and show his teeth.--"Away! Begone!"
To whom these words were addressed I know not! My legs would hardly bear
me forth, to such a degree was I frightened. Just imagine: his face was
the colour of red copper, he was foaming at the mouth, his voice was
hoarse, exactly as though some one were choking him!... And that very
same day I went--I, the orphan of orphans--to Márfa Sávishna ... and
found her in great affliction. Even her outward appearance had undergone
a change: she had grown thin in the face. But she would not talk with me
about my son. Only one thing she did say: that no human aid could effect
anything in that case. "Pray, father," she said,--and then she presented
me with one hundred rubles,--"for the poor and sick of your parish," she
said. And again she repeated: "Pray!"--O Lord! As if I had not prayed
without that--prayed day and night!
Here Father Alexyéi again pulled out his handkerchief, and again wiped
away his tears, but not by stealth this time, and after resting for a
little while, he resumed his cheerless narrative.
Yákoff and I then began to descend as a snowball rolls down hill, and
both of us could see that an abyss lay at the foot of the hill; but how
were we to hold back, and what measures could we take? And it was
utterly impossible to conceal this; my entire parish was greatly
disturbed, and said: "The priest's son has gone mad; he is possessed of
devils,--and the authorities ought to be informed of all this."--And
people infallibly would have informed the authorities had not my
parishioners taken pity on me ... for which I thank them. In the
meantime winter was drawing to an end, and spring was approaching.--And
such a spring as God sent!--fair and bright, such as even the old people
could not remember: the sun shone all day long, there was no wind, and
the weather was warm! And then a happy thought occurred to me: to
persuade Yákoff to go off with me to do reverence to Mitrofány, in
Vorónezh. "If that last remedy is of no avail," I thought, "well, then,
there is but one hope left--the grave!"
So I was sitting one day on the porch just before evening, and the
sunset glow was flaming in the sky, and the larks were warbling, and the
apple-trees were in bloom, and the grass was growing green.... I was
sitting and meditating how I could communicate my intention to Yákoff.
Suddenly, lo and behold! he came out on the porch; he stood, gazed
around, sighed, and sat down on the step by my side. I was even
frightened out of joy, but I did nothing except hold my tongue. But he
sits and looks at the sunset glow, and not a word does he utter either.
But it seemed to me as though he had become softened, the furrows on his
brow had been smoothed away, his eyes had even grown bright.... A little
more, it seemed, and a tear would have burst forth! On beholding such a
change in him I--excuse me!--grew bold.
"Yákoff," I said to him, "do thou hearken to me without anger...." And
then I informed him of my intention; how we were both to go to Saint
Mitrofány on foot; and it is about one hundred and fifty versts to
Vorónezh from our parts; and how pleasant it would be for us two, in the
spring chill, having risen before dawn, to walk and walk over the green
grass, along the highway; and how, if we made proper obeisance and
prayed before the shrine of the holy man, perhaps--who knows?--the Lord
God would show mercy upon us, and he would receive healing, of which
there had already been many instances. And just imagine my happiness, my
dear sir!
"Very well," says Yákoff, only he does not turn round, but keeps on
gazing at the sky.--"I consent. Let us go."