"Oh, go to the devil!" shouted Lunev in anger. "Don't worry me with the
shop."
"Am I in the way," asked Pavel.
He sat in the chair leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and
looked at the floor. A vein, full of blood, swelled on his temple.
"You," cried Lunev, and looked at him. "You don't disturb me, nor
Masha; it's a very different thing! I've told you before, that there's
something gets in the way of us all, you and me, and Masha. It's our
folly or something. I don't know what; but it's not possible to live
like human beings!"
Lunev looked round his little room at Masha sitting on the bed,
motionless with downcast expression, into the shop where Gavrik was
having his tea, into the street, through the railed-in window, and
continued with despair in his soul, excitedly, angrily, and hoarsely:
"It's impossible to live. It's cramped and stupid, and absurd; you
find a quiet corner, and there's no peace there! Everything is impure,
heavy, painful; you can't understand; everything goes wrong, you hear
people singing and you think you're happy. But it hurts you to hear
their songs if your soul's in pain."
"What are you talking of?" asked Pavel, without looking at him.
"Of every one," cried Lunev. "I feel now that nothing's any use, damn
it! I don't understand, perhaps, well then I don't! But I do understand
what I want. I want to live like a man, cleanly, and honourably, and
happily! I don't want to see trouble and horrors and sin, and all sorts
of beastliness. I don't want it! But----"
He stopped and grew pale.
"Well?" said Pavel.
"No, that's not it. I only meant----" began Lunev, and his voice
dropped.
"You always speak of yourself," observed Pavel.
"And whom do you speak of? Of her? But who is it she troubles, me or
you? Every man cares for his own wounds, and groans with his own voice.
I don't speak of myself only, I speak of every one, for every one
troubles me."
"I'll go," said Gratschev, and got up heavily.
"Ah," cried Ilya. "Don't be hurt, try to understand. I'm hurt too, and
sufferers should understand one another, then it will be clear who it
is who torments us."
"Brother, it's as though you hit me on the head with a stone. I don't
understand. I'm sorry for Vyera--there, I am, really. What can I do? I
don't know."
"You can't do anything," said Ilya firmly. "I tell you she's done for!
They'll condemn her, she's caught in the act."
Gratschev sat down again.
"But if I declare she did it for me?"
"Are you a prince? Say it, and they'll put you in prison too. Anyhow,
we must pull things together. You had better have a wash, and you, too,
Masha. We're going into the shop, but you get up and tidy yourself,
have some tea, make yourself at home."
Masha shuddered, raised her head from the pillow and asked:
"What, am I to go home?"
"No. You're home is where, at any rate, you're not tortured. Come
Pasha!"
When they were in the shop, Pavel asked gloomily:
"Why is she here? She's like a corpse."
Lunev told him briefly how matters stood. To his astonishment,
Gratschev seemed cheered.
"My word, the old devil!" he said, and smiled.
Ilya stood by him, looking round his shop, and said:
"Theft and lying, and robbery, and drunkenness--all kinds of filth and
disorder--that is life. You don't want it, but it's all the same, you
go down the same stream as the rest and the same water soaks you; live
as you have to! You can't get out of it anyhow. Run away to the forest?
or a monastery? You told me a little while ago that I should find no
peace here."
He indicated the shop with a sweeping gesture, nodded and smiled
unpleasantly. "Right, there is no peace. What's the good to me to stand
on one spot and do business? Plenty of worry, but no freedom. I can't
go out. Before, I went where I liked, in the streets, if I found a nice
comfortable place I sat down and enjoyed myself, but now here I squat,
day in day out, and that's all."
"See, you might have taken Vyera as an assistant," said Pavel.
Ilya looked at him, but said nothing.
"Come in," cried Masha.
At tea, hardly a word was spoken.
The sun shone on the street, the bare feet of the children shuffled
along the pavement, the hawkers of vegetables went by the window.
"Fresh leeks, onions!" a woman cried.
"Fresh cucumbers!"
Everything spoke of spring, of fine warm, clear days, but in the little
room it smelt damp and close. From time to time a melancholy, sorrowful
word was uttered, the samovar hummed and glittered in the sunshine.
"We sit here as if we were at a funeral," said Ilya.
"Yes, Vyera's," added Gratschev. He sat there like a beaten hound. His
hands moved slackly, his face was despairing, and he spoke slowly in a
dull voice.
"Pull yourself together," said Ilya to him coldly. "It's no good giving
way."
"It's my conscience," said Gratschev, shaking his head. "I sit here and
think that I drove her to prison."
"That's quite possible," said Ilya remorselessly.
Gratschev raised his head and looked at his friend reproachfully.
"Why do you look at me?"
"You're a bad-hearted man."
"Well, why should I be good? What joy have I to make me cheerful?"
cried Ilya. "Who has ever done any good thing for me? Who has cared for
me? One soul perhaps in all the world, and she was a ne'er-do-well, a
vicious woman, ah! Every one may strike me, and I'm to keep quiet? No
thank you!"
His face flushed as anger welled up in him, his eyes grew bloodshot; he
sprang up in a paroxysm of rage, longing to scream, to insult them, to
strike the walls or the table with his fists. Masha, terrified, cried
aloud like a child:
"I want to go home, let me go," she said in a trembling tearful voice,
and moved her head as though trying to hide it.
Lunev was silent; he saw Pavel look at him with enmity.
"Well, what are you crying at?" he said ill-temperedly. "I didn't shout
at you, and you needn't go. I'll go, I must. Pavel will stay with you."
"Gavrilo! If Tatiana Vlassyevna----"
"Who's that?"
There was a knock at the door of the courtyard. Gavrik looked
inquiringly at his master.
"Open," said Ilya.
Gavrik's sister appeared on the threshold. She stood without moving for
a few seconds, as straight as a dart, her head drawn back, and looked
at them all with screwed-up eyes. Then on her cold, ugly face appeared
a grimace of disgust, and without noticing Ilya's bow, she said to her
brother:
"Gavrik, come here a moment."
Ilya flared out. The blood rushed to his face at the insult with such
force that his eyes burned.
"If you're saluted, madam, you might acknowledge it," he said
emphatically, restraining himself as well as he could. But she held
her head higher and her brows contracted. With lips close-pressed, she
measured Ilya with her eyes, and said nothing. Gavrik also looked with
anger at his master.
"You are not visiting drunkards or rascals," Ilya went on, quivering
with his emotion. "You receive a respectful greeting, and as a
well-mannered lady, you are bound to acknowledge it."
"Don't be stuck up, Sonyka," said Gavrik suddenly, in a peaceful tone,
and took her hand. A painful silence followed. Ilya and the girl faced
one another and waited. Masha shrunk silently into a corner. Pavel
blinked stupidly.
"Speak up! Sonyka," said Gavrik impatiently. "Do you suppose they'll
hurt you?" and he added with an unexpected smile, "You are funny, you
people."
His sister snatched away her hand and said to Lunev coldly and sharply:
"What do you want?"
"Nothing, only----"
But here a fine idea came into his head. He advanced and said as
politely as he could:
"Allow me; you see we are three uneducated people, quite obscure. You
are an educated lady."
He was eager to speak out his thought but could not. The stern, open
glance of the dark eyes confused him; it never wavered and seemed to
drive his senses from him. Her nostrils twitched, and her fingers
pressed her brother's hand nervously. Ilya lowered his eyes and
murmured confusedly and angrily:
"I don't know how to say it right off; if you've time, come in, sit
down," and he made way for her.
"Stay here, Gavrik!" said the girl, left her brother by the door and
went into the room. Ilya pushed a stool towards her. She sat down;
Pavel went into the shop, Masha shrank into the corner by the stove,
but Lunev stood motionless two paces from the girl and sought for words
to speak.
"Well," she said.
"See, this is the business," said Ilya, with a deep sigh. "You see,
this girl, that is, she's not a girl, she's married to an old man, who
bullies her; she is all bruised and tortured and she ran away, she
came to me. Perhaps you think that means something sinful. It doesn't
at all." He confused his words and spoke vaguely between his desire
to tell Masha's story and give the girl his own thoughts about it.
He wanted especially to make his hearer share his own thoughts. She
looked at him, and her face was more yielding, though her eyes flashed
strangely.
"I understand," she interrupted. "You don't know what to do. First of
all you must get a doctor; he must examine her. I know a good doctor,
if you like, shall I take her to him? Gavrik, what's the time? Close on
eleven. Good, that's his consultation hour. Gavrik, call a droshky, and
you introduce me to her."
But Ilya did not move. He had not imagined that this stern, serious
girl could speak in such a soft voice. Her face, too, amazed him; still
proud, but now wholly anxious, and in it something good, kind, capable,
that Ilya had never seen before. He looked at her and smiled in silent
amazement. She, however, had turned away already, and going over to
Masha, spoke to her gently.
"Don't cry, dear; don't be frightened, the doctor is a good man, he'll
examine you and make out a certificate, and that's all. I'll bring you
back here; now my dear, don't cry like that." She put her hands on
Masha's shoulders, and tried to draw her closer.
"A--ah! that hurts," groaned Masha softly.
"How? What is it?"
Lunev heard and smiled.
"How? Good heavens, how awful!" cried the girl, falling back; her face
was pale, and fear and anger glittered in her eyes.
"How she's bruised! Ah!"
"You see how we live!" cried Lunev, flaring up again. "Do you see? I
can show you another, there! Allow me, my comrade, Pavel Savelitch
Gratschev." Pavel came slowly out of the shop, and held out his hand
without looking at the girl.
"Medvedeva, Sofia Nikonovna," she said, as she looked at Pavel's
despairing face. "And you are Ilya Jakovlevitch?" and she turned again
to Lunev.
"Yes," said Ilya, pressed her hand, and went on, still holding it----
"You see, since you're so good--that's to say--as you've helped in one
business, you won't despise the other. There's a trouble here too."
She looked attentively and seriously in his handsome excited face and
tried quietly to withdraw her hand; but he told her of Vyera and Pavel,
speaking warmly, passionately, feeling that a load was falling from his
heart. He shook her hand hard and said:
"He makes verses and all sorts of things. But he's quite knocked
over by this. And she too, you think, that it's all right because
she's--that kind of woman? No, don't think that! No one is all good or
all bad!"
"How d'you mean?"
"I mean, even if any one is bad, still there's something good there,
and if he's good, there's sure to be something bad. All our souls are
two-coloured--all."
"That's well said," she agreed, and nodded seriously. "That's thought
like a man! but please let go my hand, you hurt me."
Ilya began to apologise, but she did not attend to him, saying to Pavel
in a tone of conviction;
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gratschev; you mustn't be like
that; you must do something. One must always try to do something,
either defend or attack. We must get her a lawyer, an advocate, d'you
see? I'll find you one, and nothing will happen to her because he'll
get her off. I promise you, he'll get her off."
Her face was flushed, the hair on her temples disordered, and her eyes
burned with a strange joy. Masha stood by her and looked at her with
the trustful curiosity of a child. But Lunev looked at Pavel and Masha
triumphantly, and felt mingled pride and joy at the presence of this
girl in his room.
"If you can really help," said Pavel, with a trembling voice, "help us.
I'll never forget it as long as I live; although I don't believe it can
come to a good end, yet I _will_ believe it!"
"Come to me at seven o'clock, will you? Gavrik will tell you where."
"I'll come. I don't know how to thank you."
"Why--thank me?"
"But I feel----"
"Don't say anything! we ought to help one another."
"Yes, men think that, don't they?" cried Ilya, ironically.
The girl turned round on him quickly. But Gavrik, who felt himself in
this confusion the only healthy, sensible person, caught her hand and
said:
"There, get on, you chatterbox!"
"Yes, Masha, get your things on!"
"I haven't anything to put on," said Masha shyly.
"Ah! well, anyhow, let's go. You'll come then, Gratschev, eh? Good-bye
Ilya Jakovlevitch."
The men pressed her hand respectfully and silently, then she went out
leading Masha. In the door, however, she turned round, threw her head
up, and said to Ilya:
"I forgot, but it's important! I didn't acknowledge your greeting when
I came in. That was abominable. I beg your pardon."
Her face flamed red, and her eyes were lowered; Ilya looked at her and
his heart rejoiced.
"I'm sorry, very sorry! I thought you had a drinking party; it was very
stupid, but----"
She broke off as though the words choked her.
"When you blamed me for not speaking, I thought he's speaking as the
employer, and I was wrong. I'm very glad it was a real human feeling
that spoke."
She broke into a bright happy smile and said sincerely, and as though
it gave her pleasure to say it:
"Oh! it is so good to recognise human feeling in any one. I'm very
glad, very; everything has come right, so splendidly--splendidly."
She disappeared like a little grey cloud, lighted with the rays of the
morning sun. The friends looked after her; both faces were solemn and
withal a little comic. Lunev looked round the room and said:
"Quite jolly here? eh?" Pavel laughed softly.
"Well, she's a good sort!" Lunev continued with a little sigh. "How
she----ah!"
"She just swept everything clean like the wind!"
"There, did you see?" cried Ilya in triumph, pulling at his curly
hair, "How she apologised, eh? You see what it's like to be really
cultivated; you can respect a person, but you're never the first to
make advances, see?"
"She's good," Gratschev confirmed him. "How long was she here? Close on
an hour; it seems like a minute or two."
"Like a star."
"Yes, and put everything straight in no time; told us how and where and
when."
Lunev laughed excitedly; he was delighted that this proud girl should
have shown herself so capable and cheerful, and he was pleased with
himself for knowing how to conduct himself worthily.
"Ah, yes," he cried regretfully. "I forgot; she took me by surprise
with her apology."
"What did you forget?"
"I ought to have kissed her hand; that's what they do, educated people;
it shows special respect."
Gavrik came in apparently loafing aimlessly.
"Ah, Gavrik!" said Ilya, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Your
sister's a brick."
"Yes, she's a good sort," the boy agreed condescendingly. "Are we going
to work to-day, or have a holiday? for I'd like to go into the country."
"No work to-day. Pavel, come, let's go for a walk."
"I shall go to the police station," said Pavel, and his face clouded
over again.
"Perhaps they'll let me see her."
"I shall go for a walk," said Ilya.
Fresh and happy he strolled through the streets thinking of Gavrik's
sister, and comparing this strange girl with all the people he had ever
known. It was clear to him that she was better than them all, and had
treated him better. The words of her apology rang in his ears, and he
saw before him her face, with its wide nostrils, and every feature
stamped with an expression of striving towards some unknown goal.
"And how she used to look down on me at first," he said to himself
smiling, and began to wonder why at first she had treated him so
proudly and distantly when she did not know him, and had hardly
exchanged a word with him.
Life surged round about him. Students went by laughing, droshkys and
carts of goods rolled past, a beggar limped along in front of him, his
wooden leg tapping loudly on the stone pavement.
Two prisoners, guarded by a soldier, were carrying a wooden tub on a
pole between them. A seller of pears passed along shouting, "Garden
pears! Cooking pears!" Behind him ran a little dog with lolling tongue,
rattle and crash, shouting and tramping, every sound blended in a
lively, exciting hubbub. A warm dust whirled aloft and tickled the
nostrils; the sun flamed out of a deep clean sky, and flooded the whole
world with radiant splendour. Lunev looked at everything with a joy to
which he had long been a stranger; everything in the streets seemed new
and interesting; there, almost dancing along, goes a pretty girl with a
merry red-cheeked face, and looks Ilya in the eyes, frank and friendly,
as though she would say: "How nice you are!" Lunev smiled back at
her. A droshky driver took off his hat, bowing sideways, with a grin,
and said to a fat lady standing on the pavement: "It's too little,
lady, five kopecks more." Ilya saw by his face that he was lying, the
rascal--he had his proper fare. A young man hurries out of a shop with
a copper can in his hand, pours out the cold water, sprinkling the
passers-by, and the lid of the can rings cheerfully. The street is hot,
stifling, noisy, and the thick green of the old lime-trees in the town
churchyard is enticing with its peace and cool shade. The churchyard
is surrounded with a white stone wall, and the thick foliage of the
old trees sweeps up in a mighty wave to heaven, crowned with a spray
of pointed green leaves. Against the blue every leaf stands out, and
slowly quivering seems to melt away, and high over the foam of leaves
shines the golden crosses of the church, a net-work of glancing,
trembling rays.
Lunev entered the churchyard and went slowly along the broad alley,
drawing deep breaths of perfume from the blossoming limes. Between
the trees, under the branches' shade, stood monuments of marble and
granite, stout and heavy, overgrown with moss and lichen. Here and
there in the mysterious twilight crosses or half-erased inscriptions
glimmered; golden honeysuckle, acacia, whitethorn and elder grew
in the hedges, and their branches hid the graves. Here and there
in the dense green a slender grey wooden cross appeared and was
lost immediately among the surrounding bushes. White stems of young
birch-trees glimmered like velvet through the thick network of leaves;
they seemed to choose the shade with calculated modesty in order to be
seen more easily. On green mounds, behind railings, shone gay flowers,
a bee buzzed by in the stillness, two white butterflies played in the
air; all kinds of flies swarmed noiselessly; and everywhere grasses
and plants made towards the light, hid the mournful graves, and all
the green of the churchyard was full of a tense striving to grow, to
develop, to drink in air and light and change the richness of the
earth to colour and scent and beauty for the joy of eyes and hearts.
Everywhere life prevails and will prevail.
Lunev rejoiced to wander at will in the quiet and breathe in the sweet
perfume of the flowers and the lime-trees. In his heart, too, there was
rest and peace, he thought of nothing, but tasted the joy of solitude
long unknown to him. He turned to the left out of the alley by a
narrow path, and went slowly reading the inscriptions on crosses and
gravestones. The graves hemmed him in with their railings, ornamental
and wrought, or plain cast-iron.
"Beneath this cross rest the ashes of Vonifanty, servant of God."
He read and smiled, the name seemed ridiculous. Over the ashes of
Vonifanty was set a huge granite stone. Near by in another enclosure
rested "Peter Babushkin, twenty-eight years old."
"A young fellow," thought Ilya.
On a pillar of white marble he read:
"Earth's little flower is plucked and dies,
A new star shines in heaven's skies."
Lunev read the couplet over and felt something touching in it. Suddenly
he felt as though he had been struck to the heart, he swayed and
shut his eyes; but through his closed lids he still saw clearly the
inscription that had terrified him. The shining, golden letters on the
big, brown stone seemed to have been cut on his brain:
"Here lies the body of the merchant Gilde Vassily Gavrilovitsch
Poluektov, the younger."
After a moment or two, terrified at his own fear, he opened his
eyes quickly, and looked suspiciously round about him. No one was
there, only far off a burial service was being conducted. Through the
stillness rang a thin tenor voice singing:
"Let us pray."
A deep, rather unpleasant voice answered, "Have mercy," and the
clinking of the censers was just audible.
Lunev stood with his back against a maple-tree, his head thrown back,
staring at the grave of the man he had murdered. He had pushed his
cap off his brow, and it was pressed against the tree by the back of
his head. His eyebrows were dark, his upper lip twitched, showing his
teeth; his hands were deep in his jacket pockets, and his feet braced
against the ground.
Poluektov's monument represented a coffin, and carved on it an open
book, and a skull and crossbones. Beside it in the same enclosure
was another smaller stone with an inscription that beneath it rested
Eupraxia Poluektov, twenty-two years old.
"The first wife," thought Lunev. The thought came from only a small
part of his brain, that remained free from the straining labour of his
memory. He was gripped by the recollections of Poluektov; the first
meeting, the murder, the feeling of the old man's saliva on his hands.
But while all this stirred to life in his memory, he felt no trouble,
no remorse, he looked at the gravestone with hate and bitterness and
deep ill-will; and under his breath, with hot anger in his heart, and a
real conviction of the truth of his words, he addressed the merchant:
"It's for you, damn you, that I ruined all my life, for you! You devil.
What life is it I lead, through you! I have smirched myself for ever
through you."
The words "for you" thumped in him like hammer strokes. He longed to
cry with all his might these words for every one to hear, and he could
hardly restrain the fierce desire. He pressed his teeth together till
they ached, and stared before him while the thought of his life took
hold of his soul like fire. Before him appeared the little, spiteful
face, and near it somehow the wicked, bald head of Strogany with the
red eyebrows, the self-satisfied face of Petrusha, the stupid Kirik,
the grey head of Ehrenov, snub-nosed and pig-eyed--a whole crowd of
familiar faces. There was a roaring in his ears, and it seemed as
though all these men surrounded him, pressed on him, crowded him
obstinately. He stepped away from the tree; his cap fell down behind
him; as he bent to pick it up, he could not help stealing a sidelong
glance at the money-changer's gravestone. He felt hot and sick, his
face was full of blood, his eyes were strained with the tenseness of
their gaze. With great difficulty he tore them away, walked straight up
to the enclosure, grasped the railings in his hands and trembling with
hate, spat on the grave; as he went away he stamped his feet on the
ground as though to free them from a pain.
He could not go home; his soul was heavy and a sense of sick, cold
weariness grew suffocatingly upon him. He walked with slow steps
without looking at any one, without caring for anything, without
thinking. In this way he walked along one street, turned mechanically
into a second at the corner, went on a little further, and then found
himself close to Petrusha Filimonov's tavern; the thought of Jakov
came into his mind. As he passed by the door he felt that he must go
in, though he had no wish to do so. As he went up the steps he heard
Perfishka's voice.
"Oh! good people, be tender with your hands and spare my sides."
Lunev stood still in the open door; he saw Jakov behind the counter
through the clouds of dust and tobacco smoke. His hair plastered down,
in a coat with short sleeves, he was hurrying about, putting tea in
teapots, counting lumps of sugar, pouring out brandy, and drawing the
drawer of the till noisily in and out. The waiters hurried up and
called, throwing the counters on the table: "Half a bottle, two beers,
roast meat, ten kopecks' worth."
"He's grown handier," thought Lunev with an almost malicious pleasure,
as he saw how quickly his friend's red hands moved.
"Ah! I'll remember that half-rouble against him," growled the loud
harsh voice of a customer.
"Ah!" cried Jakov in delight, as Ilya came up to the counter, then
looked nervously at the door behind him. His forehead was wet with
perspiration, his cheeks yellow, with red patches. He grasped Ilya's
hand and shook it, coughing at the same time, a harsh, dry cough.
"How are you?" asked Lunev, forcing a smile.
"Pretty well. I help in the business."
"Brought into the yoke at last?"
"What's a fellow to do?"
Jakov's shoulders were bowed, and he looked as if he had grown smaller.
"What ages it is since we met," he said, and looked in Ilya's face
with his loving mournful eyes. "I'd like a bit of a talk with you.
Father isn't there as it happens. See here, come in, and I'll ask the
step-mother to let me away for a little."
He opened the door of his father's room slightly, and called
respectfully:
"Mamma, can I speak to you a minute?"
Ilya entered the room that he had shared with his uncle, and looked
round with interest. It was hardly altered; the wall-paper was darker,
and instead of two beds there was only one, and above it a shelf of
books. On the spot where he used to sleep stood a high, stout chest.
"There, I've got off for an hour," said Jakov cheerfully as he came in,
and then shut and bolted the door. "But would you like some tea? All
right. Ivan, tea," he called loudly, then began to cough and coughed
for a long time; he supported himself with a hand against the wall,
bowed his head and bent his back as though he would force something
from his chest.
"That's a pretty noise to make," said Lunev,
"It's consumption, but I am glad to see you again, and my word, how you
look! so swell, quite splendid! Well and how are you getting on?"
"I? What?" answered Lunev hesitatingly.
"Oh! I get along, but you, tell me, that's much more interesting."
Lunev felt absolutely disinclined to give information about himself;
he hardly wanted to speak at all. He looked at Jakov and seeing him
suffering, pitied him, but it was a cold pity, almost an empty,
unmeaning feeling.
"I, brother? I endure my life as well as I can," answered Jakov, half
aloud.
"Your father sucks your blood."
"Oh, he's in a tight place himself."
"Serves him right!"
"Step-mother's the chief person in the house now; if she says a thing,
that's the law."
"Child, what use is money to you?
Give me a kiss, I'll give you two,"
sang Perfishka in a piping voice in the next room, and played on his
harmonica.
"What kind of a chest is that?" asked Ilya.
"That? That's a harmonium. Father bought it for me for four roubles.
'Learn to play it,' he said, 'then I'll buy you a good one at three
hundred roubles,' he said, 'and we'll put it in the restaurant, and
you can play to the guests and be some use, anyhow.' It was smart of
him; they have organs in all the taverns now except ours, and I like
playing."
"He's a mean wretch!" cried Lunev.
"Not at all! Why? Let him alone. It's quite true, I'm no use to him."
Ilya looked darkly at his friend, and said bitterly:
"Here's a good idea for him! Tell him when you die to make a show of
you in the bar, and charge to see it, five kopecks a head. Then you'll
be worth something to him."
Jakov laughed in an embarrassed way, and began to cough again, holding
his hand first against his chest, then against his throat.
And Perfishka went on cheerfully:
"He kept the fast days as 'tis fit,
He did not eat or drink a bit,
His empty stomach felt the pain,
But oh! his soul was clean again!"
"So, ho--holiness!" And his harmonica drowned
the words with a confused medley of sounds.
"How do you get on with your step-brother?" asked Ilya when Jakov
ceased coughing. His friend raised his face, quite blue with the
exertion of coughing, and said, struggling to get his breath:
"He doesn't live here. His superiors won't let him--because of--the
business. He--is bearable--a little uppish--plays the gentleman. Comes
often for money to his mother. He's always wanting money."
Jakov lowered his voice, and went on in a troubled way:
"Do you remember that book? You know? Yes--he took it away from me--it
was rare he said--that it was worth a lot--and so he took it away. I
begged him--leave it to me--but no!--he would have it." Ilya laughed
aloud. Then the two friends began their tea. Through the chinks in the
wooden partition all kinds of noises and different odours made their
way into the little room. One angry voice, towering above the rest,
shouted:
"Mitry Nikolayitch--don't you throw my words back at me!"
"I'm reading a story now, brother," Jakov went on again; "it's called
'Julia, or the Subterranean Vault of the Muzzini Castle'--most
interesting. And you? What are you doing that way?"
"Go to the devil with your subterranean vaults. I don't live so very
high above ground myself," was Lunev's sulky answer.
Jakov looked at him sympathetically, and asked:
"Is there anything gone wrong with you?"
Lunev did not reply. He was wondering whether to tell Jakov of Masha or
not; but Jakov began again gently:
"Ilya, you're so touchy and bitter--about nothing, as far as I can see.
Because you see--after all--it isn't anybody's fault. It's all settled.
They haven't any hand in it--it was all arranged and ordered long
before them."
Lunev drank his tea and said nothing.
"And you know--every man shall be rewarded according to his deeds--that
is certain. There's my father--to tell the truth. What is he? Why, a
tyrant! And then comes along Thekla Timofeyevna and--crock! She has
him under the harrow. He leads a life of it now--ah! ah! He's begun to
drink out of worry--and how long is it since they were married? And
so for every man there's a Thekla Timofeyevna somewhere for his evil
deeds."
Ilya was weary and uninterested; he pushed away his teacup and said
suddenly:
"And what are you looking for now?"
"How do you mean? From whom?" replied Jakov in a low voice with eyes
wide open.
"Why--in the future--what are you looking for?" Ilya repeated his
question sharply.
Jakov hung his head and became thoughtful.
"Well?" said Ilya half aloud, feeling a burning restlessness at his
heart and a wish to get away as soon as possible.
"What could I look for?" Jakov began at last softly and without looking
at his friend.
"To look for? There's no more of that for me. I shall die--that's
all--and soon--that's certain."
He held up his head and went on with a gentle happy smile on his wasted
face.
"I always see things blue in my dreams--d'you know? as if everything
were sky-blue--not only the sky, but the ground and the trees and the
flowers and the grass. Everything! And so quiet--quite, quite peaceful!
As if nothing at all existed--everything seems so still--and all bright
blue. I feel so light--as though I could go anywhere, without feeling
tired--go right on and never stop--and you can't tell whether it's
really you or not--so light, so light. Dreams like that--that's a sign
of death."
"Good-bye!" said Lunev, and got up.
"Where are you going so soon? Stay a little."
"No. Good-bye!"