by Maxim Gorky
“Just so.…”
“Very good.… Your suit is entirely legal, and, as a matter of course, you will win it—that is the first thing which I consider it necessary to state to you.”
“I thank you sincerely,”—said the non-commissioned officer, winking his eyes, in order to conceal the smile in them.
“But, tell me, why was it necessary for you to make acquaintance with us, your future neighbors, in so harsh a manner…straight from the courts?…”
Vavíloff shrugged his shoulders, and made no reply.
“It would have been simpler to come to us, and arrange everything peaceably…wouldn’t it? What do you think about it?”
“Of course, that would be more agreeable. But, you see…there’s one hitch about it.… I did not act of my own free will…but I was instigated to do it.… Afterward, when I understood what would have been the better way, it was already too late.”
“Just so.… I assume that some lawyer or other put you up to it?”
“Something of that sort.…”
“Aha! Well, sir, and so you wish to conclude the affair peaceably?”
“With the greatest pleasure!” exclaimed the soldier. Petúnnikoff paused, looked at him, and then inquired, coldly and dryly:
“And why do you wish that?”
Vavíloff had not expected such a question, and could not reply at once. In his opinion, it was an absurd question, and the soldier, with a consciousness of his superiority, laughed in Petúnnikoff’s face.
“It’s plain enough why…one must try to live at peace with people.”
“Come,”—Petúnnikoff interrupted him,—“that’s not precisely the fact. I perceive that you do not clearly understand why you wished to make peace with us.… I will tell you why.”
The soldier was somewhat astonished. This young fellow, all clad in checked material, and presenting a rather ridiculous figure in it, talked just as company commander Rakshín had been wont to talk, after he had, with angry hand, knocked out the soldiers’ teeth, three at a time.
“You want to make peace with us, because our vicinity is very profitable to you! And it is profitable because we shall have not less than one hundred and fifty workmen in our factory,—in course of time, more. If one hundred of them drink a glass apiece after each weekly pay-day, you will sell, in the course of a month, four hundred glasses more than you are selling now. I have put it at the lowest figure. Moreover, you have your eating-house. Apparently, you are anything but stupid, and you are a man of experience; consider for yourself the advantages of our proximity.”
“That’s true, sir.…” Vavíloff nodded assent,—“I knew that.”
“And what then?”—the merchant inquired loudly.
“Nothing, sir…Let’s make peace.”
“I am very glad that you make up your mind so promptly. Here, I have furnished myself with a notification to the courts of the withdrawal of your claims against my father. Read it over, and sign it.”
Vavíloff stared, with round eyes, at his interlocutor, and trembled, foreseeing something very bad indeed.
“Excuse me…I am to sign it? What does that mean?”
“Simply, you are to write your baptismal name and your surname, and nothing more,”—explained Petúnnikoff, obligingly pointing out with his finger the place where he was to sign.
“No—what’s the meaning of tha-at! I wasn’t talking about that.… I meant to say—what compensation are you going to give me for my land?”
“But the land is of no use to you!” said Petúnnikoff, soothingly.
“Nevertheless, it’s mine!” exclaimed the soldier.
“Of course.… How much do you want?”
“Why…what is stated in the complaint.…”
“What is written there,”—said Vavíloff timidly.
“Six hundred?”—Petúnnikoff laughed softly.—“Akh, you comical fellow!”
“I have the right…I might even demand two thousand…I can insist on your tearing down.… That’s what I will do.… For the value of the suit is so small. I demand—that you shall tear the building down!”
“Go ahead.… Perhaps we will tear it down …three years hence, after having involved you in great expense for the suit. And after we have paid, we’ll open our own little dram-shop and eating-house,—better ones than yours—and you’ll be ruined, like the Swede at Poltáva.52 You shall be ruined, my good man, we’ll take care of that. We might begin to take steps about the dram-shop now, only it’s a bother, and time is valuable to us. And we’re sorry for you—why take the bread away from a man, for no cause whatever?”
Egór Teréntievitch set his teeth firmly, stared at his visitor, and felt conscious that the visitor was the master of his fate. Vavíloff commiserated himself, in the presence of this coldly-composed, implacable figure in the ridiculous checked costume.
“Being in such close vicinity to us, and living in peace with us, my old soldier, you might do a fine business. We would take care of that, also. For example, I will even recommend you on the spot, to open a little shop…you know—cheap tobacco, matches, bread, cucumbers, and so on.… All that would have a ready sale.”
Vavíloff listened, and being anything but a stupid young fellow, he comprehended that the very best thing he could do would be to yield to his magnanimous enemy. He ought, properly, to have begun with that. And, not knowing how to get rid of his wrath and sense of injury, he swore aloud at Kuválda:
“You drunkard, an-athema, may the devil give it to you!”
“You’re swearing at the lawyer who drew up your petition?”—calmly inquired Petúnnikoff, and added, with a sigh:—“as a matter of fact, he might have played you a sorry trick…if we had not taken pity on you.”
“Ekh!” and the mortified soldier waved his hand in despair. “There are two of them.… One planned, the other wrote.… The damned correspondent!”
“And why do you call him a correspondent?”
“He writes in the newspapers.… They’re your lodgers.… Nice people, truly! Get rid of them, drive them away, for Christ’s sake! Robbers! They stir up everybody here in this street, they urge them on. There’s no living for them…they’re desperate men—the first you know, they’ll rob you or set fire to your house!”
“And that correspondent—who is he?” Petúnnikoff asked with interest.
“He? A drunkard! He used to be a teacher—they turned him out. He drank up all he owned…and now he writes for the papers, and composes petitions. He’s a very mean man!”
“Hm! And so he wrote your petition for you? Exactly so! Evidently, it was he, also, who wrote about the disorders in construction—he found that the scaffolding was not properly placed, or something of that sort.”
“It was he! I know it, it was he, the dog! He read it here, himself, and bragged—‘Here, I’ve caused Petúnnikoff a loss,’ says he.”
“We-ell.… Come, sir, so we intend to make peace?”
“I make peace?”
The soldier hung his head and meditated.
“Ekh, thou gloomy life of ours!”—he exclaimed, in an injured tone, as he scratched the nape of his neck.
“You must get some education,” Petúnnikoff advised him, as he lighted a cigarette.
“Get some education? That’s not the point, my good sir! There’s no liberty, that’s what’s the trouble! No, look here, what sort of a life do I lead? I live in trepidation,…continually looking around me…completely deprived of freedom in the movements I wish to make! And why? I’m afraid…that spectre of a teacher writes about me in the newspapers…he brings the sanitary inspectors down on me, I have to pay fines.… The first you know, those lodgers of yours will bum down, murder, rob.… What can I do against them? They’re not afraid of the police.… If the police locked them up, they’d even be glad of it—they’d get their bread for nothing.…�
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“We’ll get rid of them…if we unite with you,” promised Petúnnikoff.
“How are we to unite?” asked Vavíloff sadly and sullenly.
“Name your terms.”
“But why? Give…six hundred, as stated in the claim.…”
“Won’t you take one hundred?”—inquired the merchant calmly, carefully scrutinizing his interlocutor, and smiling gently, he added:—“I won’t give a ruble more.”
After that, he removed his glasses, and began slowly to wipe them, with a handkerchief which he took from his pocket. Vavíloff gazed at him with grief in his heart, and, at the same time, was impressed with respect for him. In the calm countenance of young Petúnnikoff, in his gray eyes, in his broad cheek-bones, in the whole of his well-built figure, there was a great deal of strength, self-reliant and well disciplined by his brain. The way Petúnnikoff had talked to him also pleased Vavíloff: simply with friendly tones in his voice, without any pretensions to superiority, as though with his own brother, although Vavíloff understood that he, a soldier, was not the peer of that man. As he scrutinized him, almost admired him, the soldier, at last, could not hold out, and feeling within him an impulse of curiosity, which, for the moment, smothered all his sentiments, he deferentially asked Petúnnikoff:
“Where were you pleased to be educated?”
“In the technological institute. Why?” and the latter turned smiling eyes upon him.
“Nothing, sir, I only…excuse me!”—The soldier dropped his head, and suddenly, with ecstasy, envy, and even inspiration, he exclaimed:—“We-ell! Here’s education for you! In one word—science—light! But people of my sort are like owls in the sunlight in this world.… Ekh-ma! Your Well-Born! Come on, let’s finish that business!”
With a resolute gesture, he offered his hand to Petúnnikoff, and said in a suppressed way:
“Well…five hundred?”
“Not more than one hundred, Egór Teréntievitch,”—as though regretting that he could not give more. Petúnnikoff shrugged his shoulders, as he slapped his large, white hand into the hairy hand of the soldier.
They soon concluded the business, for the soldier suddenly advanced to meet Petúnnikoff’s wishes in great leaps, and the latter was immovably firm. And when Vavíloff had received one hundred rubles, and had signed the document, he flung the pen on the table, in exasperation, and exclaimed:
“Well, now it remains for me to deal with that golden horde! They’ll ridicule me, and put me to shame, the devils!”
“Tell them that I have paid you the full sum mentioned in the suit,”—suggested Petúnnikoff, calmly emitting from his mouth slender streams of smoke and watching them.
“But will they believe that? They’re clever scoundrels, also, just as bad as …” Vavíloff halted in time, disconcerted by the comparison which he had almost uttered, and glanced in alarm at the merchant’s son. The latter smoked on, and was entirely absorbed in that occupation. He soon took his departure, after promising Vavíloff, as he said farewell, that he would destroy the nest of those restless people. Vavíloff looked after him, and sighed, feeling strongly inclined to shout something spiteful and insulting at the back of this man, who, with firm steps, was mounting the hill along the road filled with pits and obstructed with rubbish.
* * * *
In the evening, the captain presented himself in the tavern. His brows were severely contracted, and his right hand was energetically clenched into a fist. Vavíloff smiled apologetically as he greeted him.
“We-ell, you worthy descendant of Cain and Judas, tell me.…”
“We’ve come to a settlement.…” said Vavíloff, sighing and lowering his eyes.
“I don’t doubt it. How many rubles did you get?” “Four hundred.…”
“You’re certainly lying.… But that’s all the better for me.… Without further words, Egórka, pay me ten per cent for the discovery, four rubles to the teacher for writing your petition, a bucket of vódka to all of us, and a decent amount of luncheon. Hand over the money instantly, the vódka and the rest at eight o’clock.”
Vavíloff turned green, and stared at Kuválda with widely-opened eyes.
“That’s nonsense! That’s robbery! I won’t give it.… What are you thinking of, Aristíd Fómitch! No, you’d better restrain your appetite until the next feast-day! What a man you are! No, now I’m in a position not to fear you. Now I’m.…”
Kuválda looked at his watch.
“I’ll give you, Egórka, ten minutes for your dirty conversation. Put an end to the wanderings of your tongue in that time, and give what I demand. If you don’t give it—I’ll eat you alive! Did The End sell you something? Did you read in the newspaper about the robbery at Básoff’s? You understand? You won’t succeed in hiding anything—we’ll prevent that. And this very night.… Do you understand?”
“Aristíd Fómitch! What is this for?”—wailed the retired non-commissioned officer.
“No words! Do you understand or not?”
Tall, gray-haired Kuválda, with his brows impressively knit, spoke in an undertone, and his hoarse bass hummed ominously in the empty tavern. Vavíloff had always been a little afraid of him, both as a former military man and as a man who had nothing to lose. But now Kuválda presented himself in a new light to him: he did not talk much and hurriedly, as usual, and in what he did say in the tone of a commander, who is confident that he will be obeyed, there resounded a threat not uttered in jest. And Vavíloff felt that the captain would ruin him, if he chose, would ruin him with pleasure. He must yield to force. But, with a fierce trepidation in his heart, the soldier made one more effort to escape punishment. He heaved a deep sigh, and began submissively:
“Evidently, the saying is true: ‘The peasant woman beats herself if she doesn’t reap clean.…’ I told you a lie about myself, Aristíd Fómitch.… I wanted to appear cleverer than I am.… I received only one hundred rubles.…”
“Go on.…” Kuválda flung at him.
“And not four hundred, as I told you.… Which signifies.…”
“Which signifies nothing. I don’t know when you were lying—a while ago, or now. I get sixty-five rubles from you. That’s moderate.… Well?…”
“Ekh, oh Lord my God! Aristíd Fómitch! I have always shown regard for Your Well-Born, as far as was in my power.”
“Well? Drop your talk, Egórka, grandson of Judas!”
“Very well.… I’ll give it.…? Only, God will punish you for this.”
“Hold your tongue, you rotten pimple on the face of the earth!”—bawled the captain, rolling his eyes ferociously.—“I am chastised by God.… He has placed me under the necessity of seeing you, of talking with you.… I’ll mash you on the spot, like a fly!” He shook his fist under Vavíloff’s nose, and gnashed his teeth, displaying them in a snarl.
When he went away, Vavíloff began to grin awry, and wink his eyes at frequent intervals. Then, down his cheeks trickled two big tears. They were of a grayish hue, and when they disappeared in his mustache, two others made their appearance to replace them. Then Vavíloff went off to his own room, took up his stand there in front of the holy pictures, and there he stood for a long time, without moving or wiping away the tears from his wrinkled, cinnamon-brown cheeks.
Deacon Tarás, who was always drawn to the forests and fields, proposed to the men with pasts that they should go out on the plain, to a certain ravine, and there, in the lap of Nature, drink up Vavíloff’s vódka. But the captain and all the others unanimously cursed the deacon and Nature, and decided to drink it at home, in their own courtyard.
“One, two, three …” counted Aristíd Fómitch,—“our sum total is thirteen; the teacher isn’t here…well, and several jolly dogs will join us. We’ll reckon it at twenty persons. At two cucumbers and a half per brother, and a pound of bread and meat apiece—it won’t be so bad! We must have a bottle of vódka
apiece…there’s sour cabbage, and apples, and three watermelons. The question is, what the devil more do we need, my fellow-scoundrels? So we’ll make ready to devour Egórka Vavíloff, for all this is his flesh and blood!”
They spread out the remains of some garments or other on the ground, on them laid out the viands and liquor, and seated themselves around them,—seated themselves sedately and in silence, with difficulty restraining their greedy desire to drink which beamed in their eyes.
Evening drew near, its shadows descended upon the ground in the courtyard of the lodging-house, disfigured with scraps, and the last rays of the sun lighted up the roof of the half-ruined edifice. It was cool and still.
“Let’s start in, brothers!”—the captain gave the word of command.—“How many cups have we? Six…and there are thirteen of us.… Alexéi Maxímovitch! Pour! Ready? Co-ome on, first platoon…fire!”
They drank, grunted, and began to eat.
“And the teacher isn’t here…this is the third day that I haven’t seen him. Has anybody seen him?”—inquired Kuválda.
“Nobody.…”
“That’s not like him! Well, no matter. Let’s have another drink!… Let’s drink to the health of Aristíd Kuválda, my only friend, who, all my life long, has never left me alone for a minute. Although, devil take him, I should have been the gainer if he had deprived me of his society for a while!”
“That’s witty,”—said The Gnawed Bone, and coughed.
The captain, with a consciousness of his superiority, gazed at his comrade, but said nothing, for he was eating.
After taking two drinks, the company grew lively all of a sudden—the portions were inspiring. Tarás-and-a-Half expressed a desire to listen to a story, but the deacon had got into a dispute with The Peg-top about the advantages of thin women over fat ones, and paid no attention to the other man’s words, but demonstrated his views to The Peg-top with the obduracy and heat of a man who is profoundly convinced of the justice of his views. The ingenuous face of The Meteor, who was lying on his stomach beside him, expressed emotion, as he relished the heady little words of the deacon. Martyánoff, clasping his knees with his huge hands, overgrown with black hair, stared silently and gloomily at a bottle of vódka, and fished for his mustache with his tongue, in the endeavor to bite it with his teeth. The Gnawed Bone was teasing Tyápa.