It was a cold, bleak day. Peredonov had just left Volodin. He felt
depressed. Vershina lured him into the garden. He yielded again to her
witching call. The two of them walked towards the summer-house, over
the moist footpaths which were covered by the dark, rotting fallen
leaves. The summer-house felt unpleasantly damp. The house with its
windows closed was visible through the bare trees.
"I want you to know the truth," mumbled Vershina, as she looked quickly
at Peredonov, and then turned away her black eyes.
She was wrapped in a black jacket, her head was tied round with a black
kerchief, and her lips, grown blue with the cold, were clenched on a
black cigarette holder, and sent out thick clouds of black smoke.
"I want to spit on your truth," replied Peredonov. "Nothing would
please me better."
Vershina smiled wryly and said:
"Don't say that! I am terribly sorry for you--you have been fooled."
There was a malicious joy in her voice. Malevolent words flowed from
her tongue. She said:
"You were hoping to get patronage, but you were too trustful. You have
been fooled, and you believed so easily. Anyone can write a letter. You
should have known with whom you were dealing. Your wife is not a very
particular person."
Peredonov understood Vershina's mumbling speech with some difficulty;
her meaning peered out through all her circumlocutions. Vershina was
afraid to speak loudly and clearly. Someone might hear if she spoke
loudly, and tell Varvara, who would not hesitate to make a scene. And
Peredonov himself might get into a rage if she spoke clearly, and even
beat her. It was better to hint, so that he might guess the truth. But
Peredonov did not rise to the occasion. It had happened before that he
had been told to his face of the deception practised on him; yet he
never grasped the fact that the letters had been forged, and kept on
thinking that it was the Princess who was fooling him, leading him by
the nose.
At last Vershina said bluntly:
"You think the Princess wrote those letters? Why, all the town
knows that they were fabricated by Grushina at your wife's request;
the Princess knows nothing about it. Ask anyone you like; everyone
knows--they gave the thing away themselves. And then Varvara Dmitrievna
stole the letters from you and burnt them so as to leave no traces."
Dark, oppressive thoughts stirred in Peredonov's brain. He understood
only one thing--that he had been fooled. But that the Princess knew
nothing of it could not enter his head--yes, she knew. No wonder she
had come out of the fire alive.
"It's a lie about the Princess," he said. "I tried to burn the
Princess, but did not succeed in burning her up; she spat out an
exorcism."
Suddenly a furious rage seized Peredonov. Fooled! He struck the table
savagely with his fist, tore himself from his place, and without saying
good-bye to Vershina walked home quickly. Vershina looked after him
with malignant joy, and the black clouds of smoke flew quickly from her
dark mouth, and swirled away in the wind.
Rage consumed Peredonov. But when he saw Varvara, he was seized with a
painful dread, which prevented him from uttering a word.
On the next morning Peredonov got ready a small garden knife, which he
carefully kept in a leather sheath in his pocket. He spent the whole
morning until luncheon at Volodin's. He looked at Volodin working, and
made absurd remarks. Volodin was glad, as usual, that Peredonov fussed
about him, and he accepted Peredonov's silly talk as wit.
That whole day the nedotikomka wheeled around Peredonov. It would not
let him go to sleep after lunch. It completely tired him out. When,
towards evening, he had almost fallen asleep, he was awakened by a
mischievous woman who appeared from some place unknown to him. She was
pug-nosed, amorphous, and as she walked up to his bed she muttered:
"The _Kvass_ must be crushed out, the tarts must be taken out of the
oven, the meat must be roasted."
Her cheeks were dark, but her teeth gleamed.
"Go to the devil!" shouted Peredonov.
The pug-nosed woman disappeared as if she had not been there at all.
* * * * *
The evening came. A melancholy wind blew in the chimney. A slow rain
tapped on the window quietly and persistently. It was quite black
outside. Volodin was at the Peredonovs'--Peredonov had invited him
early that morning to the supper.
"Don't let anyone in. Do you hear, Klavdiushka?" shouted Peredonov.
Varvara smiled. Peredonov muttered:
"All sorts of women are prowling around here. A watch should be kept.
One got into my bedroom; she asked to be taken on as cook. But why
should I have a pug-nosed cook?"
Volodin laughed bleatingly and said:
"There are women walking about in the street, but they have nothing to
do with us, and we shan't let them join us at our table."
The three of them sat down at the table. They began to drink vodka, and
to eat tarts. They drank more than they ate. Peredonov was gloomy.
Everything had already become a senseless and incoherent delirium
for him. He had a painful headache. One picture repeated itself
persistently--that of Volodin as an enemy. One idea importuned and
assailed him ceaselessly: it was that he must kill Pavloushka before it
was too late. And then all the inimical cunning would become revealed.
As for Volodin, he was rapidly becoming drunk, and he kept up an
incoherent jabber, much to Varvara's amusement.
Peredonov seemed restless. He mumbled:
"Someone is coming. Don't let anyone in. Tell them that I have gone
away to pray at the _Tarakani_[1] monastery."
He was afraid that visitors might hinder him. Volodin and Varvara were
amused--they thought that he was only drunk. They exchanged winks, and
walked out separately and knocked on the door, and said in different
voices:
"Is General Peredonov at home?"
"I've brought General Peredonov a diamond star."
But the star did not tempt Peredonov that evening. He shouted:
"Don't let them in! Chuck them out! Let them bring it in the morning.
Now is not the time."
"No," he thought, "I need all my strength to-night. Everything will be
revealed to-night--but until then my enemies are ready to send anything
and everything against me to destroy me."
"Well, we've chased them away. They'll bring it to-morrow morning,"
said Volodin, as he seated himself once more at the table.
Peredonov fixed his troubled eyes upon him, and asked:
"Are you a friend to me or an enemy?"
"A friend, a friend, Ardasha!" replied Volodin.
"A friend with true love is like a beetle behind the stove," said
Varvara.
"Not a beetle but a ram," corrected Peredonov. "Well, you and I will
drink together, Pavloushka, only we two. And you, Varvara, drink
also--we'll drink together, we two."
Volodin said with a snigger:
"If Varvara Dmitrievna drinks with us, it won't be two but three."
"Two, I say," repeated Peredonov morosely.
"Husband and wife are one Satan," said Varvara, and began to laugh.
Volodin did not suspect to the last minute that Peredonov wanted to
kill him. He kept on bleating, making a fool of himself, and uttering
nonsense, which made Varvara laugh. But Peredonov did not forget his
knife the whole evening. When Volodin or Varvara walked up to that
side where the knife was hidden, Peredonov savagely warned them off.
Sometimes he pointed at his pocket and said:
"I have a trick here, Pavloushka, that will make you quack."
Varvara and Volodin laughed.
"I can always quack, Ardasha," said Volodin. "Kra, Kra. It's quite
easy."
Red, and drunken with vodka, Volodin protruded his lips and quacked. He
became more and more arrogant towards Peredonov.
"You've been taken in, Ardasha," he said with contemptuous pity.
"I'll take you in," bellowed Peredonov in fury.
Volodin appeared terrible to him and menacing. He must defend himself.
Peredonov quickly pulled out his knife, threw himself on Volodin, and
slashed him across his throat. The blood gushed out in a stream.
Peredonov was frightened. The knife fell out of his hands. Volodin kept
up his bleat, and tried to catch hold of his throat with his hands.
It was evident that he was deadly frightened, that he was growing
weaker, and that his hands would never reach his throat. Suddenly he
grew deathly pale, and fell on Peredonov. There was a broken squeal--as
if he choked--then he was silent. Peredonov cried out in horror, and
Varvara after him.
Peredonov pushed Volodin away. Volodin fell heavily to the floor. He
groaned, moved his feet, and was soon dead. His open eyes grew glassy,
and their fixed stare was directed upwards. The cat walked out of the
next room, smelt the blood, and mewed malignantly. Varvara stood as if
in a trance. Klavdia upon hearing the noise, came running in.
"Oh, Lord, they've cut his throat," she wailed.
Varvara roused herself, and with a scream rushed from the dining-room
together with Klavdia.
The news of the event spread quickly. The neighbours collected in the
street, and in the garden. The bolder ones went into the house. They
did not venture to enter the dining-room for some time. They peeped
in and whispered. Peredonov was looking at the corpse with his vacant
eyes, and listened to the whispers behind the door.... A dull sadness
tormented him. He had no thoughts.
At last they grew bolder, and entered. Peredonov was sitting with
downcast eyes, and mumbling incoherent, meaningless words.
[1] Tarakan is Russian for blackbeetle.