The old man became sulky and taciturn. He peered around strangely,
suddenly burst into a passion, shouted, and howled dismally, like a sick
dog. He constantly complained of a pain in his head and nausea. At meals
he smelt of the food suspiciously, crumbled the bread into small pieces
with his shaking fingers, and held the tea and brandy up to the light.
His nightly scoldings of Rayisa, in which he threatened to bring ruin
upon her, became more and more frequent. But she answered all his
outcries with soft composure.
Yevsey's love for the woman waxed stronger, and his sad, embittered
heart was filled with hatred of his master.
"Don't I understand what you're up to, you low-down woman?" raged the
old man. "What does my sickness come from? What are you poisoning me
with?"
"What are you saying? What are you saying?" exclaimed the woman, her
calm voice quivering. "You are sick from old age."
"You lie! You lie!"
"And from fright besides."
"You miserable creature, keep quiet!"
"You suffer from the weight of years."
"You lie!"
"And it's time you thought of death."
"Aha! That's what you want! You lie! You hope in vain! I'm not the only
one to know all about you. I told Dorimedont Lukin about you." He burst
again into a loud tearful whine. "I know he's your paramour. It's he who
talked you over into poisoning me. You think you'll have it easier with
him, don't you? You won't, you won't!"
Once at night, during a similar scene, Rayisa left the old man's room
with a candle in her hand, half dressed, white and voluptuous. She
walked as in a dream, swaying from side to side and treading uncertainly
with her bare feet. Her eyes were half closed, the fingers of her
out-stretched right hand clawed the air convulsively. The little smoky
red tongue of the candle inclined toward her breast, almost touching her
shirt. It illuminated her lips parted in exhaustion and sickness, and
set her teeth agleam.
After she had passed Yevsey without noticing him, he instinctively
followed her to the door of the kitchen, where the sight that met his
gaze numbed him with horror. The woman was holding a large kitchen knife
in her hand, testing its sharp edge with her finger. She bent her head,
and put her hand to her full neck near the ear, where she sought
something with her long fingers. Then she drew a breath, and quietly
returned the knife to the table. Her hands fell at her sides.
Yevsey clutched the doorpost. At the sound the woman started and turned.
"What do you want?" she demanded in an angry whisper.
Yevsey answered breathlessly.
"He'll die soon. Why are you doing that to yourself? Please don't do it.
You mustn't."
"Hush!"
She put her hands on Yevsey as if for support, and walked back into the
old man's room.
Soon the master became unable to leave his bed. His voice grew feeble,
and frequently a rattle sounded in his throat. His face darkened, his
weak neck failed to sustain his head, and the grey tuft on his chin
stuck up oddly. The physician came every day. Each time Rayisa gave the
sick man medicine, he groaned hoarsely:
"With poison, eh? Oh, oh, you wicked thing!"
"If you don't take it, I'll throw it away."
"No, no! Leave it! and to-morrow I'll call the police. I'll ask them
what you are poisoning me with."
Yevsey stood at the door, sticking first his eye, then his ear to the
chink. He was ready to cry out in amazement at Rayisa's patience. His
pity for her rose in his breast more and more irrepressibly, and an ever
keener desire for the death of the old man. It was difficult for him to
breathe, as on a dry icy-cold day.
The bed creaked. Yevsey heard the thin sounds of a spoon knocking
against glass.
"Mix it, mix it! You carrion!" mumbled the master.
Once he ordered Rayisa to carry him to the sofa. She picked him up in
her arms as if he were a baby. His yellow head lay upon her rosy
shoulder, and his dark, shrivelled feet dangled limply in the folds of
her white skirt.
"God!" wailed the old man, lolling back on the broad sofa. "God, why
hast Thou given over Thy servant into the hands of the wicked? Are my
sins more grievous than their sins, O Lord? And can it be that the hour
of my death is come?" He lost breath and his throat rattled. "Get away!"
he went on in a wheezing voice. "You have poisoned one man--I saved you
from hard labor, and now you are poisoning me--ugh, ugh, you lie!"
Rayisa slowly moved aside. Yevsey now could see his master's little dry
body. His stomach rose and fell, his feet twitched, and his lips twisted
spasmodically, as he opened and closed them, greedily gasping for air,
and licked them with his thin tongue, at the same time displaying the
black hollow of his mouth. His forehead and cheeks glistened with sweat,
his little eyes, now looking large and deep, constantly followed Rayisa.
"And I have nobody, no one near me on earth, no true friend. Why, O
Lord?" The voice of the old man wheezed and broke. "You wanton, swear
before the ikon that you are not poisoning me."
Rayisa turned to the corner, and crossed herself.
"I don't believe you, I don't believe you," he muttered, clutching at
the underwear on his breast and at the back of the sofa, and digging his
nails into them.
"Drink your medicine. It will be better for you," Rayisa suddenly almost
shrieked.
"It will be better," the old man repeated. "My dear, my only one, I will
give you everything, my own Ray--"
He stretched his bony arm toward her and beckoned to her to draw near
him, shaking his black fingers.
"Ah, I am sick of you, you detestable creature," Rayisa cried in a
stifled voice; and snatching the pillow from under his head she flung it
over the old man's face, threw herself upon it, and held his thin arms,
which flashed in the air.
"You have made me sick of you," she cried again. "I can't stand you any
more. Go to the devil! Go, go!"
Yevsey dropped to the floor. He heard the stifled rattle, the low
squeak, the hollow blows; he understood that Rayisa was choking and
squeezing the old man, and that his master kept beating his feet upon
the sofa. He felt neither pity nor fear. He merely desired everything to
be accomplished more quickly. So he covered his eyes and ears with his
hands.
The pain of a blow caused by the opening of the door compelled him to
jump to his feet. Before him stood Rayisa arranging her hair, which hung
over her shoulders.
"Well, did you see it?" she asked gruffly. Her face was red, but now
more calm. Her hands did not tremble.
"I did," replied Yevsey, nodding his head. He moved closer to Rayisa.
"Well, if you want to, you can inform the police."
She turned and walked into the room leaving the door open. Yevsey
remained at the door, trying not to look at the sofa.
"Is he dead, quite dead?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes," answered the woman distinctly.
Then Yevsey turned his head, and regarded the little body of his master
with indifferent eyes. Flat and dry it lay upon the sofa as if glued
there. He looked at the corpse, then at Rayisa, and breathed a sigh of
relief.
In the corner near the bed the clock on the wall softly and irresolutely
struck one and two. The woman started at each stroke. The last time she
went up to the clock, and stopped the halting pendulum with an uncertain
hand. Then she seated herself on the bed, putting her elbows on her
knees and pressing her head in her hands. Her hair falling down, covered
her face and hands as with a dense dark veil.
Scarcely touching the floor with his toes, so as not to break the stern
silence, Yevsey went over to Rayisa, and stationed himself at her side,
dully looking at her white round shoulder. The woman's posture roused
the desire to say something soothing to her.
"That's what he deserved," he uttered in a low grave voice.
The stillness round about was startled, but instantly settled down
again, listening, expecting.
"Open the window," said Rayisa sternly. But when Yevsey walked away from
her, she stopped him with a low question, "Are you afraid?"
"No."
"Why not? You are a timid boy."
"When you are around, I'm not afraid."
"Are you sorry for him?"
"No."
"Open the window."
The cold night air streamed into the room, and blew out the lamplight.
The shadows quickly flickered on the wall and disappeared. The woman
tossed her hair back and straightened herself to look at Yevsey with her
large eyes.
"Why am I going to ruin?" she asked in perplexity. "It has been this way
all my life. From one pit to another, each deeper than the one before."
Yevsey again stationed himself beside her; they were silent for a long
time. Finally she put her soft, but cool hand around his waist, and
pressing him to her asked softly:
"Listen, will you tell?"
"No," he answered, closing his eyes.
"You won't tell? To nobody? Never?" the woman asked in a mournful tone.
"Never!" he repeated quietly but firmly.
"Don't tell. I'll be helpful to you," she urged him, kindly stroking his
cheek.
She rose, looked around, and spoke to him in a businesslike way:
"Dress yourself. It's cold. And the room must be put in order a little.
Go, get dressed."
When Yevsey returned he saw the master's body completely covered with a
blanket. Rayisa remained as she had been, half dressed with bare
shoulders. This touched him. They set the room to rights, working
without haste and looking at each other now and then silently and
gravely.
The boy felt that this silent nocturnal activity in the close room bound
him more firmly to the woman, who was just as solitary as himself, and
like him, knew terror. He tried to remain as near her as possible, and
avoided looking at the master's body.
It began to dawn. Rayisa listened to the sound of the waking house and
city. She sighed, and beckoned to Yevsey.
"Now, go lie down and sleep. I will wake you soon, and send you with a
note to Dorimedont Lukin. Go!" She led him to the chest upon which he
slept and felt the bedding with her hand. "Oh, what a hard bed you
have!"
When he had lain down, she seated herself beside him, and stroked his
head and shoulders with her soft smooth hand, while she spoke in a
gentle chant.
"Give him the note. And if he asks you how it happened, tell him you
don't know. Tell him you were asleep and didn't see anything."
She was silent, and knit her brows. Overcome by exhaustion Yevsey,
warmed by the woman's body and lulled by her even speech, began to
drowse.
"No," she continued, "that's not right."
She gave her directions calmly and intelligently, and her caresses, warm
and sweet, awakened memories of his mother. He felt good. He smiled.
"Dorimedont Lukin is a spy, too," he heard her lulling, even voice. "Be
on your guard. Be careful. If he gets it out of you, I'll say you knew
everything and helped me. Then you'll be put in prison, too." Now she,
too, smiled, and repeated, "In prison, and then hard labor. Do you
understand?"
"Yes," Yevsey answered happily, looking into her face with half-closed
eyes.
"You are falling asleep. Well, sleep." Happy and grateful he heard the
words in his slumber. "Will you forget everything I told you? What a
weak, thin little fellow you are! Sleep!"
Yevsey fell asleep, but soon a stern voice awoke him.
"Boy, get up! Quick! Boy!"
He rose with a start of his whole body, and stretched out his hand. At
his bed stood Dorimedont Lukin holding a cane.
"Why are you sleeping? Your master died, yet you sleep."
"He's tired. We didn't sleep the whole night," said Rayisa, who was
looking in from the kitchen with her hat on and her umbrella in her
hand.
"Tired? On the day of your benefactor's death you must weep, not sleep.
Dress yourself."
The flat pimply face of the spy was stern. His words compelled Yevsey
imperiously, like reins steering a docile horse.
"Run to the police station. Here's a note. Don't lose it."
In a half fainting condition Yevsey dressed himself wearily, and went
out in the street. He forced his eyes open as he ran over the pavement
bumping into everyone he met.
"I wish he would be buried soon," he thought disconnectedly. "Dorimedont
will frighten her, and she'll tell him everything. Then I'll go to
prison, too. But if I am there with her, I won't be afraid. She went
after him herself, she didn't send me, she was sorry to wake me up--or
maybe she was afraid--how am I going to live now?"
When he returned he found a black-bearded policeman and a grey old man
in a long frock coat sitting in the room. Dorimedont was speaking to the
policeman in a commanding voice.
"Do you hear, Ivan Ivanovich, what the doctor says? So it was a cancer.
Aha, there's the boy. Hey, boy, go fetch half a dozen bottles of beer.
Quick!"
Rayisa was preparing coffee and an omelet in the kitchen. Her sleeves
were drawn up over her elbow, and her white hands darted about
dexterously.
"When you come back, I'll give you coffee," she promised Yevsey,
smiling.
Yevsey was kept running all day. He had no chance to observe what was
happening in the house, but felt that everything was going well with
Rayisa. She was more beautiful than ever. Everybody looked at her with
satisfaction.
At night when almost sick with exhaustion Yevsey lay down in bed with an
unpleasant sticky taste in his mouth, he heard Dorimedont say to Rayisa
in an emphatic, authoritative tone:
"We mustn't let that boy out of our sight, you understand? He's stupid."
Then he and Rayisa entered Yevsey's room. The spy put out his hand with
an important air, and said snuffling:
"Get up! Tell us how you're going to live now."
"I don't know."
"If you don't know, who is to know?" The spy's eyes bulged, his face and
nose grew purple. He breathed hotly and noisily, resembling an
overheated oven. "I know," he answered himself, raising the finger on
which was the ring.
"You will live with us, with me," said Rayisa kindly.
"Yes, you will live with us, and I will find a good place for you."
Yevsey was silent.
"Well, what's the matter with you?"
"Nothing," said Yevsey after a pause.
"You ought to thank me, you little fool," Dorimedont explained
condescendingly.
Yevsey felt that the little grey eyes held him fast to something as if
with nails.
"We'll be better to you than relatives," continued Dorimedont, walking
away, and leaving behind the heavy odor of beer, sweat, and grease.
Yevsey opened the window, and listened to the grumbling and stirring of
the dark, exhausted city sinking into sleep. A sharp aching pain stole
up from somewhere. Faintness seized the boy's body. A thin cord, as it
were, cut at his heart, and made breathing difficult. He lay down and
groaned and peered into the darkness with frightened eyes. Wardrobes and
trunks moved about in the obscurity, black dancing spots rocking to and
fro. Walls scarcely visible turned and twisted. All this oppressed
Yevsey with unconquerable fear, and pushed him into a stifling corner,
from which it was impossible to escape.
In Rayisa's room the spy guffawed.
"M-m-m-my! Ha, ha, ha! It's nothing--it will pass away--ha, ha! You'll
get used--"
Yevsey thrust his head under the pillow in order not to hear these
irritating exclamations. A minute later, unable to catch his breath, he
jumped from bed. The dry dark feet of his master flashed before him, his
little red sickly eyes lighted up. Yevsey uttered a short shriek, and
ran to Rayisa's door with outstretched hands. He pushed against it and
cried:
"I'm afraid."
Two large bodies in the room bounded to their feet. Someone bawled in a
startled angry voice: "Get out of there!"
Yevsey fell to his knees, and sank down on the floor at their feet like
a frightened lizard.
"I'm afraid! I'm afraid!" he squeaked.
The following days were taken up with preparations for the funeral and
with the removal of Rayisa to Dorimedont's quarters. Yevsey flung
himself about like a little bird in a cloud of dark fear. Only
occasionally did the timid thought flicker in his mind like a will o'
the wisp, "What will become of me?" It saddened his heart, and awoke the
desire to run away and hide himself. But everywhere he met the eagle
eyes of Dorimedont, and heard his dull voice:
"Boy, quick!"
The command resounded within Yevsey, and pushed him from side to side.
He ran about for whole days at a time. In the evening he fell asleep
empty and exhausted, and his sleep was heavy and black and full of
terrible dreams.