Half an hour later we set off to catch fish. Narkiz had put on an
extraordinary sort of cap with ears, and was more dignified than ever.
He walked in front with a steady, even step; two rods swayed regularly
up and down on his shoulders; a bare-legged boy followed him carrying a
can and a pot of worms.
‘Here, near the dike, there’s a seat, put up on the floating platform on
purpose,’ Narkiz was beginning to explain to me, but he glanced ahead,
and suddenly exclaimed: ‘Aha! but our poor folk are here already ...
they keep it up, it seems.’
I craned my head to look from behind him, and saw on the floating
platform, on the very seat of which he had been speaking, two persons
sitting with their backs to us; they were placidly fishing.
‘Who are they?’ I asked.
‘Neighbours,’ Narkiz responded, with displeasure. ‘They’ve nothing to
eat at home, and so here they come to us.’
‘Are they allowed to?’
‘The old master allowed them.... Nikolai Petrovitch maybe won’t give
them permission.... The long one is a superannuated deacon--quite a
silly creature; and as for the other, that’s a little stouter--he’s a
brigadier.’
‘A brigadier?’ I repeated, wondering. This ‘brigadier’s’ attire was
almost worse than the deacon’s.
‘I assure you he’s a brigadier. And he did have a fine property once.
But now he has only a corner given him out of charity, and he lives ...
on what God sends him. But, by the way, what are we to do? They’ve taken
the best place.... We shall have to disturb our precious visitors.’
‘No, Narkiz, please don’t disturb them. We’ll sit here a little aside;
they won’t interfere with us. I should like to make acquaintance with
the brigadier.’
‘As you like. Only, as far as acquaintance goes ... you needn’t expect
much satisfaction from it, sir; he’s grown very weak in his head, and in
conversation he’s silly as a little child. As well he may be; he’s past
his eightieth year.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Vassily Fomitch. Guskov’s his surname.’
‘And the deacon?’
‘The deacon? ... his nickname’s Cucumber. Every one about here calls him
so; but what his real name is--God knows! A foolish creature! A regular
ne’er-do-well.’
‘Do they live together?’
‘No; but there--the devil has tied them together, it seems.’
V
We approached the platform. The brigadier cast one glance upon us ...
and promptly fixed his eyes on the float; Cucumber jumped up, pulled
back his rod, took off his worn-out clerical hat, passed a trembling
hand over his rough yellow hair, made a sweeping bow, and gave vent to a
feeble little laugh. His bloated face betrayed him an inveterate
drunkard; his staring little eyes blinked humbly. He gave his neighbour
a poke in the ribs, as though to let him know that they must clear
out.... The brigadier began to move on the seat.
‘Sit still, I beg; don’t disturb yourselves,’ I hastened to say. ‘You
won’t interfere with us in the least. We’ll take up our position here;
sit still.’
Cucumber wrapped his ragged smock round him, twitched his shoulders, his
lips, his beard.... Obviously he felt our presence oppressive and he
would have been glad to slink away, ... but the brigadier was again lost
in the contemplation of his float.... The ‘ne’er-do-weel’ coughed twice,
sat down on the very edge of the seat, put his hat on his knees, and,
tucking his bare legs up under him, he discreetly dropped in his line.
‘Any bites?’ Narkiz inquired haughtily, as in leisurely fashion he
unwound his reel.
‘We’ve caught a matter of five loaches,’ answered Cucumber in a cracked
and husky voice: ‘and he took a good-sized perch.’
‘Yes, a perch,’ repeated the brigadier in a shrill pipe.