"I shall not go any further."
"They are coming here!" shouted the Captain.
"The police!" someone whispered in great alarm.
"In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly.
Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance.
"Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice.
"Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda ..." said the Captain, roughly.
"Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?"
"Aha! Have you brought him?"
"Yes ..."
"Drunk?"
"Ill."
"That means he is very drunk. Ay, teacher! Now, then, get up!"
"Wait, I will help you ... He is very ill ... he has been with me for
the last two days ... Take him under the arms ... The doctor has seen
him. He is very bad."
Tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but Abyedok laughed, and took
another drink.
"Strike a light, there!" shouted the Captain.
Meteor went into the house and lighted the lamp. Then a thin line of
light streamed out over the courtyard, and the Captain and another man
managed to get the teacher into the dosshouse. His head was hanging on
his breast, his feet trailed on the ground, and his arms hung limply as
if broken. With Tyapa's help they placed him on a wide board. He was
shivering all over. "We worked on the same paper ... he is very
unlucky.... I said, 'Stay in my house, you are not in my way,' ... but
he begged me to send him 'home.' He was so excited about it that I
brought him here, thinking it might do him good... Home! This is it,
isn't it?"
"Do you suppose he has a home anywhere else?" asked Kuvalda, roughly,
looking at his friend. "Tyapa, fetch me some cold water."
"I fancy I am of no more use," remarked the man in some confusion. The
Captain looked at him critically. His clothes were rather shiny, and
tightly buttoned up to his chin. His trousers were frayed, his hat
almost yellow with age and crumpled like his lean and hungry face.
"No, you are not necessary! We have plenty like you here," said the
Captain, turning away.
"Then, good-bye!" The man went to the door, and said quietly from
there, "If anything happens ... let me know in the publishing office...
My name is Rijoff. I might write a short obituary... You see he was
an active member of the Press."
"H'm, an obituary, you say? Twenty lines forty kopecks? I will do
more than that. When he dies I will cut off one of his legs and send
it to you. That will be much more profitable than an obituary. It
will last you for three days... His legs are fat. You devoured him
when he was alive. You may as well continue to do so after he is dead
..."
The man sniffed strangely and disappeared. The Captain sat down on the
wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead and breast with his
hands and called "Philip!"
The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse and died away.
"This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging the
teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain listened to his
breathing, which was rapid and uneven, and looked at his sunken grey
face. He sighed and looked upon him, knitting his eyebrows. The lamp
was a bad one... The light was fitful, and dark shadows flickered on
the dosshouse walls. The Captain watched them, scratching his beard.
Tyapa returned bringing a vedro of water, and placing it by the
teacher's head, he took his arm as if to raise him up.
"The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head.
"But we must try to revive him," said the old ragcollector.
"Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly.
They sat silently looking at the teacher.
"Let us go and drink, old devil!"
"But he?"
"Can you do him any good?"
Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into the
courtyard to their companions.
"What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old man.
The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling sound of pouring
vodki was heard... The Deacon was murmuring something. The clouds
swam low, so low that it seemed as if they would touch the roof of the
house and knock it over on the group of men.
"Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," faltered the
Captain, with his head down. No one answered him.
"He was the best among you ... the cleverest, the most respectable...
I mourn for him."
"Re-s-t with the Saints... Sing, you crooked hunchback!" roared the
Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs.
"Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet.
"I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, raising his
head from the ground.
"You are not asleep?" Aristid Fomich asked him very softly. "Have you
heard about our teacher?"
Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line of light
coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently sat down
beside the Captain.
"Nothing particular... The man is dying ..." remarked the Captain,
shortly.
"Have they been beating him?" asked Abyedok, with great interest.
The Captain gave no answer. He was drinking vodki at the moment.
"They must have known we had something in which to commemorate him
after his death!" continued Abyedok, lighting a cigarette. Someone
laughed, someone sighed. Generally speaking, the conversation of
Abyedok and the Captain did not interest them, and they hated having to
think at all. They had always felt the teacher to be an uncommon man,
but now many of them were drunk and the others sad and silent. Only
the Deacon suddenly drew himself up straight and howled wildly:
"And may the righteous r--e--s--t!"
"You idiot!" hissed Abyedok. "What are you howling for?"
"Fool!" said Tyapa's hoarse voice "When a man is dying one must be
quiet ... so that he may have peace."
Silence reigned once more. The cloudy sky threatened thunder, and the
earth was covered with the thick darkness of an autumn night.
"Let us go on drinking!" proposed Kuvalda, filling up the glasses.
"I will go and see if he wants anything," said Tyapa.
"He wants a coffin!" jeered the Captain.
"Don't speak about that," begged Abyedok in a low voice.
Meteor rose and followed Tyapa. The Deacon tried to get up, but fell
and swore loudly.
When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder and said
in low tones:
"Well, Martyanoff ... You must feel it more than the others. You were
... But let that go to the Devil ... Don't you pity Philip?"
"No," said the ex-jailer, quietly, "I do not feel things of this sort,
brother ... I have learned better ... this life is disgusting after
all. I speak seriously when I say that I should like to kill someone."
"Do you?" said the Captain, indistinctly. "Well ... let's have another
drink ... It's not a long job ours, a little drink and then ..."
The others began to wake up, and Simtsoff shouted in a blissful voice:
"Brothers! One of you pour out a glass for the old man!"
They poured out a glass and gave it to him. Having drunk it he tumbled
down again, knocking against another man as he fell. Two or three
minutes' silence ensued, dark as the autumn night.
"What do you say?"
"I say that he was a good man ... a quiet and good man," whispered a
low voice.
"Yes, and he had money, too ... and he never refused it to a friend
..." Again silence ensued.
"He is dying!" said Tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the Captain's head.
Aristid Fomich got up, and went with firm steps into the dosshouse.
"Don't go!" Tyapa stopped him. "Don't go! You are drunk! It is not
right." The Captain stopped and thought.
"And what is right on this earth? Go to the Devil!" And he pushed
Tyapa aside.
On the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, seeming to
chase each other. The teacher lay on the board at full length and
snored. His eyes were wide open, his naked breast rose and fell
heavily, the corners of his mouth foamed, and on his face was an
expression as if he wished to say something very important, but found
it difficult to do so. The Captain stood with his hands behind him,
and looked at him in silence. He then began in a silly way:
"Philip! Say something to me ... a word of comfort to a friend ...
come.... I love you, brother! ... All men are beasts.... You were
the only man for me ... though you were a drunkard. Ah! how you did
drink vodki, Philip! That was the ruin of you! You ought to have
listened to me, and controlled yourself.... Did I not once say to you
...?"
The mysterious, all-destroying reaper, called Death, made up his mind
to finish the terrible work quickly, as if insulted by the presence of
this drunken man at the dark and solemn struggle. The teacher sighed
deeply, and quivered all over, stretched himself out, and died. The
Captain stood shaking to and fro, and continued to talk to him.
"Do you want me to bring you vodki? But it is better that you should
not drink, Philip ... control yourself or else drink! Why should you
really control yourself? For what reason, Philip? For what reason?"
He took him by the foot and drew him closer to himself.
"Are you dozing, Philip? Well, then, sleep.... Good-night....
To-morrow I shall explain all this to you, and you will understand that
it is not really necessary to deny yourself anything.... But go on
sleeping now ... if you are not dead."
He went out to his friends, followed by the deep silence, and informed
them:
"Whether he is sleeping or dead, I do not know.... I am a little
drunk."
Tyapa bent further forward than usual and crossed himself respectfully.
Martyanoff dropped to the ground and lay there. Abyedok moved quietly,
and said in a low and wicked tone:
"May you all go to the Devil! Dead? What of that? Why should I care?
Why should I speak about it? It will be time enough when I come to die
myself.... I am not worse than other people."
"That is true," said the Captain, loudly, and fell to the ground.
"The time will come when we shall all die like others.... Ha! ha! How
shall we live? ... That is nothing.... But we shall die like every
one else, and this is the whole end of life, take my word for it. A
man lives only to die, and he dies ... and if this be so what does it
matter how or where he died or how he lived? Am I right, Martyanoff?
Let us therefore drink ... whilst we still have life!"
The rain began to fall. Thick, close darkness covered the figures that
lay scattered over the ground, half drunk, half asleep. The light in
the windows of the dosshouse flickered, paled, and suddenly
disappeared. Probably the wind blew it out or else the oil was
exhausted. The drops of rain sounded strangely on the iron roof of the
dosshouse. Above the mountain where the town lay the ringing of bells
was heard, rung by the watchers in the churches. The brazen sound
coming from the belfry rang out into the dark and died away, and before
its last indistinct note was drowned another stroke was heard and the
monotonous silence was again broken by the melancholy clang of bells.
* * * * *
The next morning Tyapa was the first to wake up. Lying on his back he
looked up into the sky. Only in such a position did his deformed neck
permit him to see the clouds above his head.
This morning the sky was of a uniform grey. Up there hung the damp,
cold mist of dawn, almost extinguishing the sun, hiding the unknown
vastness behind and pouring despondency over the earth. Tyapa crossed
himself, and leaning on his elbow, looked round to see whether there
was any vodki left. The bottle was there, but it was empty. Crossing
over his companions he looked into the glasses from which they had
drunk, found one of them almost full, emptied it, wiped his lips with
his sleeve, and began to shake the Captain.
The Captain raised his head and looked at him with sad eyes.
"We must inform the police... Get up!"
"Of what?" asked the Captain, sleepily and angrily.
"What, is he not dead? ..."
"Who?"
"The learned one...."
"Philip? Ye-es!"
"Did you forget? ... Alas!" said Tyapa, hoarsely. The Captain rose to
his feet, yawned and stretched himself till all his bones cracked.
"Well, then! Go and give information..."
"I will not go ... I do not like them," said the Captain, morosely.
"Well, then, wake up the Deacon... I shall go, at any rate."
"All right! ... Deacon, get up!"
The Captain entered the dosshouse, and stood at the teacher's feet.
The dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his breast, the right
hand held as if ready to strike some one.
The Captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be as tall
as Paltara Taras. Then he sat by the side of the dead man and sighed,
as he remembered that they had lived together for the last three years.
Tyapa entered holding his head like a goat which is ready to butt.
He sat down quietly and seriously on the opposite side of the teacher's
body, looked into the dark, silent face, and began to sob.
"So ... he is dead ... I too shall die soon..."
"It is quite time for that!" said the Captain, gloomily.
"It is," Tyapa agreed. "You ought to die too... Anything is better
than this..."
"But perhaps death might be worse? How do you know?"
"It could not be worse. When you die you have only God to deal with
... but here you have to deal with men ... and men--what are they?"
"Enough! ... Be quiet!" interrupted Kuvalda, angrily.
And in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness reigned
over all. Long and silently they sat at the feet of their dead
companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in thought. Then
Tyapa asked:
"Will you bury him?"
"I? No, let the police bury him!"
"You took money from Vaviloff for this petition ... and I will give you
some if you have not enough." ...
"Though I have his money ... still I shall not bury him."
"That is not right. You are robbing the dead. I will tell them all
that you want to keep his money...." Tyapa threatened him.
"You are a fool, you old devil!" said Kuvalda, contemptuously.
"I am not a fool ... but it is not right nor friendly."
"Enough! Be off!"
"How much money is there?"
"Twenty-five roubles, ..." said Kuvalda, absently.
"So! ... You might gain a five-rouble note...."
"You old scoundrel! ..." And looking into Tyapa's face the Captain
swore.
"Well, what? Give ..."
"Go to the Devil! ... I am going to spend this money in erecting a
monument to him."
"What does he want that for?"
"I will buy a stone and an anchor. I shall place the stone on the
grass, and attach the anchor to it with a very heavy chain."
"Why? You are playing tricks ..."
"Well ... It is no business of yours."
"Look out! I shall tell ..." again threatened Tyapa.
Aristid Fomich looked at him sullenly and said nothing. Again they sat
there in that silence which, in the presence of the dead, is so full of
mystery.
"Listen ... They are coming!" Tyapa got up and went out of the
dosshouse.
Then there appeared at the door the Doctor, the Police Inspector of the
district, and the examining Magistrate or Coroner. All three came in
turn, looked at the dead teacher, and then went out, throwing
suspicious glances at Kuvalda. He sat there, without taking any notice
of them, until the Police Inspector asked him:
"Of what did he die?"
"Ask him... I think his evil life hastened his end."
"What?" asked the Coroner.
"I say that he died of a disease to which he had not been accustomed
..."
"H'm, yes. Had he been ill long?"
"Bring him over here, I cannot see him properly," said the Doctor in a
melancholy tone. "Probably there are signs of ..."
"Now, then, ask someone here to carry him out!" the Police Inspector
ordered Kuvalda.
"Go and ask them yourself! He is not in my way here ..." the Captain
replied, indifferently.
"Well! ..." shouted the Inspector, making a ferocious face.
"Phew!" answered Kuvalda, without moving from his place and gnashing
his teeth restlessly.
"The Devil take it!" shouted the Inspector, so madly that the blood
rushed to his face. "I'll make you pay for this! I'll--"
"Good morning, gentlemen!" said the merchant Petunikoff, with a sweet
smile, making his appearance in the doorway.
He looked round, trembled, took off his cap and crossed himself. Then a
pompous, wicked smile crossed his face, and, looking at the Captain, he
inquired respectfully:
"What has happened? Has there been a murder here?"
"Yes, something of that sort," replied the Coroner.
Petunikoff sighed deeply, crossed himself again, and spoke in an angry
tone.
"By God! It is just as I feared. It always ends in your having to
come here... Ay, ay, ay! God save everyone. Times without number
have I refused to lease this house to this man, and he has always won
me over, and I was afraid. You know... They are such awful people ...
better give it them, I thought, or else ..."
He covered his face with his hands, tugged at his beard, and sighed
again.
"They are very dangerous men, and this man here is their leader ... the
attaman of the robbers."
"But we will make him smart!" promised the Inspector, looking at the
Captain with revengeful eyes.
"Yes, brother, we are old friends of yours ..." said Kuvalda in a
familiar tone. "How many times have I paid you to be quiet?"
"Gentlemen!" shouted the Inspector, "did you hear him? I want you to
bear witness to this. Aha, I shall make short work of you, my friend,
remember!"
"Don't count your chickens before they are hatched ... my friend," said
Aristid Fomich.
The Doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, the
Coroner with an attention that boded him no good, Petunikoff with
triumph, while the Inspector could hardly restrain himself from
throwing himself upon him.
The dark figure of Martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse.
He entered quietly, and stood behind Petunikoff, so that his chin was
on a level with the merchant's head. Behind him stood the Deacon,
opening his small, swollen, red eyes.
"Let us be doing something, gentlemen," suggested the Doctor.
Martyanoff made an awful grimace, and suddenly sneezed on Petunikoff's
head. The latter gave a yell, sat down hurriedly, and then jumped
aside, almost knocking down the Inspector, into whose open arms he fell.
"Do you see," said the frightened merchant, pointing to Martyanoff, "do
you see what kind of men they are?"
Kuvalda burst out laughing. The Doctor and the Coroner smiled too, and
at the door of the dosshouse the group of figures was increasing ...
sleepy figures, with swollen faces, red, inflamed eyes, and dishevelled
hair, staring rudely at the Doctor, the Coroner, and the Inspector.
"Where are you going?" said the policeman on guard at the door,
catching hold of their tatters and pushing them aside. But he was one
against many, and, without taking any notice, they all entered and
stood there, reeking of vodki, silent and evil-looking.
Kuvalda glanced at them, then at the authorities, who were angry at the
intrusion of these ragamuffins, and said, smilingly, "Gentlemen,
perhaps you would like to make the acquaintance of my lodgers and
friends? Would you? But, whether you wish it or not, you will have to
make their acquaintance sooner or later in the course of your duties."
The Doctor smiled in an embarrassed way. The Coroner pressed his lips
together, and the Inspector saw that it was time to go. Therefore, he
shouted:
"Sideroff! Whistle! Tell them to bring a cart here."
"I will go," said Petunikoff, coming forward from a corner. "You had
better take it away to-day, sir, I want to pull down this hole. Go
away! or else I shall apply to the police!"
The policeman's whistle echoed through the courtyard. At the door of
the dosshouse its inhabitants stood in a group, yawning, and scratching
themselves.
"And so you do not wish to be introduced? That is rude of you!"
laughed Aristid Fomich.
Petunikoff took his purse from his pocket, took out two five-kopeck
pieces, put them at the feet of the dead man, and crossed himself.
"God have mercy ... on the burial of the sinful ..."
"What!" yelled the Captain, "you give for the burial? Take them away,
I say, you scoundrel! How dare you give your stolen kopecks for the
burial of an honest man? I will tear you limb from limb!"
"Your Honour!" cried the terrified merchant to the Inspector, seizing
him by the elbow. The Doctor and the Coroner jumped aside. The
Inspector shouted:
"Sideroff, come here!"
"The creatures that once were men" stood along the wall, looking and
listening with an interest, which put new life into their broken-down
bodies.
Kuvalda, shaking his fist at Petunikoff's head, roared and rolled his
eyes like a wild beast.
"Scoundrel and thief! Take back your money! Dirty worm! Take it
back, I say ... or else I shall cram it down your throat.... Take your
five-kopeck pieces!"
Petunikoff put out his trembling hand towards his mite, and protecting
his head from Kuvalda's fist with the other hand, said:
"You are my witnesses, Sir Inspector, and you good people!"
"We are not good people, merchant!" said the voice of Abyedok,
trembling with anger.
The Inspector whistled impatiently, with his other hand protecting
Petunikoff, who was stooping in front of him as if trying to enter his
belly.
"You dirty toad! I shall compel you to kiss the feet of the dead man.
How would you like that?" And catching Petunikoff by the neck, Kuvalda
hurled him against the door, as if he had been a cat.
The "creatures that once were men" sprang aside quickly to let the
merchant fall. And down he fell at their feet, crying wildly:
"Murder! Help! Murder!"
Martyanoff slowly raised his foot, and brought it down heavily on the
merchant's head. Abyedok spat in his face with a grin. The merchant,
creeping on all-fours, threw himself into the courtyard, at which
everyone laughed. But by this time the two policemen had arrived, and
pointing to Kuvalda, the Inspector said, pompously:
"Arrest him, and bind him hand and foot!"
"You dare not! ... I shall not run away... I will go wherever you
wish, .." said Kuvalda, freeing himself from the policemen at his side.
The "creatures that once were men" disappeared one after the other. A
cart entered the yard. Some ragged wretches brought out the dead man's
body.
"I'll teach you! You just wait!" thundered the Inspector at Kuvalda.
"How now, attaman?" asked Petunikoff, maliciously, excited and pleased
at the sight of his enemy in bonds. "What, you fell into the trap?
Eh? You just wait ..."
But Kuvalda was quiet now. He stood strangely straight and silent
between the two policemen, watching the teacher's body being placed in
the cart. The man who was holding the head of the corpse was very
short, and could not manage to place it on the cart at the same time as
the legs. For a moment the body hung as if it would fall to the
ground, and hide itself beneath the earth, away from these foolish and
wicked disturbers of its peace.
"Take him away!" ordered the Inspector, pointing to the Captain.
Kuvalda silently moved forward without protestation, passing the cart
on which was the teacher's body. He bowed his head before it without
looking. Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. The
courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly.
"Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the
whip. The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. The
teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected from
beneath them. It seemed as if he were laughing quietly at the prospect
of leaving the dosshouse, never, never to return. Petunikoff, who was
following him with his eyes, crossed himself, and then began to shake
the dust and rubbish off his clothes, and the more he shook himself the
more pleased and self satisfied did he feel. He saw the tall figure of
Aristid Fomich Kuvalda, in a grey cap with a red band, with his arms
bound behind his back, being led away.
Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went back into the
dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. At the door facing
him stood an old man with a stick in his hand and a large bag on his
back, a horrible old man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony
figure. He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head
on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff.
"A man ..." he answered in a hoarse voice. This hoarseness pleased and
tranquillised Petunikoff, he even smiled.
"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside he let the
old man pass. He went, saying slowly:
"Men are of various kinds ... as God wills... There are worse than me
... still worse ... Yes ..."
The cloudy sky hung silently over the dirty yard and over the
cleanly-dressed man with the pointed beard, who was walking about
there, measuring distances with his steps and with his sharp eyes. On
the roof of the old house a crow perched and croaked, thrusting its
head now backwards, now forwards. In the lowering grey clouds, which
hid the sky, there was something hard and merciless, as if they had
gathered together to wash all the dirt off the face of this
unfortunate, suffering, and sorrowful earth.
[Transcriber's Note: I have made the following changes to the text:
PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO
66 27 'But" But
75 17 listen listen.
75 25 then? then?"
76 1 Fool!' Fool!"]