“Look what the Devil dragged in!” she said indignantly, stealing the odd look at him – but there was a smile in her eyes which betrayed her delight.
“I suppose those St Petersburg girls turned your head as well as the young master’s? Look at those whiskers you’ve grown!”
He took a small cardboard box out of his pocket and gave it to her. It contained bronze earrings. Then he pulled out of his bag a package in which a big headscarf was wrapped. She took both gifts and, without giving them a look, stuffed them into a cupboard.
“Show us what you got, Agrafena Ivanovna!” some of the other servants asked her.
She rounded on them. “What is there to look at? Nothing you haven’t seen before! Get out, all of you, what are you doing standing around here?”
“This is for you too!” said Yevsei, handing her another package.
“Show us what’s in it!” she was urged.
Agrafena tore off the wrapping, and several packs of used, but still almost new, playing cards spilt out.
“That’s all you could find to bring?” said Agrafena. “You think I have nothing else to do, except play cards? What gave you the idea that I wanted to play cards with you?”
She put the cards away as well. An hour later, Yevsei was already installed in his old place, between the stove and the table.
“Lord! How quiet it is here!” he said, stretching out and pulling in his legs by turns. “This is the life! Not like St Petersburg – it’s like being sentenced to hard labour up there! What about a bite to eat, Agrafena Ivanovna? I’ve had nothing to eat since the last staging post.”
“Still up to your old tricks? Here then! The way you wolf it down, anyone would think that they starved you there.”
Alexander visited all the rooms, and then went into the garden, where he stopped for a moment at every bench and every bush. His mother was by his side.
Whenever she looked at his pale face, she gave a sigh, but was afraid to cry in front of Anton Ivanych. She plied Alexander with questions about his life in St Petersburg, but was unable to find out why he was so pale and thin, and why he had lost so much hair. She offered him food and drink, but he refused and said he was so tired from the journey that all he wanted to do was sleep.
Anna Pavlovna inspected the bed to see if it was properly made, and scolded the maid for making it too hard; she ordered her to make it again while she watched her, and wouldn’t leave the room until Alexander was safely tucked in. She crept from the room on tiptoe, and sternly admonished the servants not to speak or even to breathe aloud, and not to wear their boots while moving about the house. Then she gave orders for Yevsei to be sent to her. Agrafena came in with him. Yevsei knelt and kissed Anna Pavlovna’s hand.
“What happened to Alexander?” she asked with menace in her voice. “Just look at him!”
Yevsei said nothing.
“Why don’t you say something?” said Agrafena. “It’s your mistress who’s talking to you!”
“Why has he got so thin?” said Anna Pavlovna. “And what happened to his hair?”
“It’s not for me to know, madam: it’s the master’s business!”
“Not for you to know! But you must have noticed something?”
Yevsei didn’t know what to say and kept silent.
“A fine one you found to trust!” said Agrafena, looking fondly at Yevsei at the same time. “It would have been a different matter if you had found a respectable person! What were you doing there? Answer your mistress! You’ll be in for it later if you don’t!”
“It’s not as if I wasn’t doing my job, madam!” said Yevsei timorously, looking back and forth between his mistress and Agrafena. “I served my master faithfully and loyally; if you would care to ask Arkhipych…”
“Who is Arkhipych?”
“He was the porter where we were.”
“You see what nonsense he’s talking!” said Agrafena. “Why bother listening to him, madam? You should lock him in the cowshed – that would loosen his tongue!”
“May the Lord strike me dead on the spot if I didn’t do everything I was told to do!” said Yevsei. “I’ll take the icon down from the wall!…”
“Oh yes, you’re clever with words!” said Anna Pavlovna. “But when it comes to doing something, you’re nowhere to be seen! I can see just how well you looked after my darling – you even let him ruin his health! That’s what you call ‘looking after’! Just you wait!… I’ll show you!”
“How can you say I didn’t look after him, madam? After eight years, only one of the master’s shirts is missing, and I’ve even kept all his old ones.”
“And what became of that shirt?” Anna Pavlovna said angrily.
“It never came back from the laundress. I reported it to Alexander Fyodorych, so that he wouldn’t have to pay her, but he didn’t say anything.”
“What a creature!” said Anna Pavlovna. “Simply couldn’t keep her hands off some good linen!”
“Me, not look after him!” Yevsei continued. “Everyone should be lucky enough to have someone like me to work so hard for him. Sometimes the young master would want to lie in, and I had to run to the baker’s…”
“What kind of rolls did he eat?”
“White – the good kind.”
“Yes, I know they were white, but was it shortbread?”
“What a dolt!” said Agrafena. “Doesn’t even know how to talk properly – and he thinks he’s a Petersburger!”
“No, it wasn’t: it was Lenten bread,” Yevsei replied.
“Lenten! You scoundrel, you murderer, you villain!” said Anna Pavlovna, purple with rage. “Didn’t even enter your head to buy him shortbread rolls – and you were supposed to be looking after him!”
“But, madam, he didn’t ask for them.”
“Didn’t ask for them! My darling doesn’t care: he just eats whatever he’s given. And you didn’t even give it a thought? Didn’t you remember that he always ate shortbread rolls when he was here? Buying Lenten rolls indeed! I suppose you spent the money on something else? You haven’t heard the last of this! Now what else, tell me!”
“Well, after his morning tea,” Yevsei went on, now intimidated, “he would go to the office, and I would clean his boots; I’d spend the whole morning on them, and clean them all over again – sometimes even three times. In the evening, he would take them off, and I’d clean them again. How can you say, madam, that I didn’t look after him? I’ve never seen any other gentleman wearing boots shined like that. Pyotr Ivanych’s boots weren’t shined as well, and he had three servants!”
“But why does he look like this?” said Anna Pavlovna, somewhat mollified.
“Probably because of the writing, madam.”
“Did he do much writing?”
“Oh yes, every day.”
“What was he writing? Some kind of documents? What were they?”
“Documents, I should think.”
“And you didn’t try to stop him working so hard?”
“Yes, I did, madam. ‘Don’t sit there so long, Alexander Fyodorych,’ I would say, ‘perhaps you should take a walk; the weather is so good, and a lot of people are out and about. What’s all this writing? You’ll strain your heart, and your mother will be cross…’”
“And what did he say?”
“Get out of here, you fool!”
“And he was quite right!” Agrafena interjected.
At this, Yevsei turned to look at her, and then turned back to look at his mistress.
“And what about his uncle: didn’t he do anything to try to restrain him?” asked Anna Pavlovna.
“Restrain him, Madam? Why, he would come in, and if he found him doing nothing, he would really go for him. ‘How can you just sit there doing nothing?’ he would say. ‘You’re not back home in the country now; here you have to work, and not
just lie around! All you do,’ he says, ‘is dream!’ Then he really lets him have it…”
“How do you mean, ‘lets him have it’?”
“He goes on about ‘the provinces’… then they get into a real argument – and you wouldn’t believe the language!”
“Curse him!” Anna Pavlovna said, and spat. “Let him have his own kids and insult them! When he should have tried restraining him, he… God in heaven! Merciful Lord!” she exclaimed. “How can you rely on anyone, if even your own flesh and blood are more dangerous than wild beasts?! Even a dog protects its puppies, and here is an uncle who mistreats his own nephew! And you, you dummy, couldn’t ask his uncle not to lambast your master like that, and kindly leave him alone! Let him berate that creature he’s married to! No, he’s found his target! ‘Work, work!’ Let him work himself to death! He’s no better than a dog – God forgive me! Like he’s found a slave to work for him!”
This was followed by a moment of silence, broken only when Anna Pavlovna went on to say:
“When did Sashenka start looking so thin?”
“It was three years ago,” replied Yevsei. “Alexander Fyodorych started moping around, didn’t eat much, started getting thinner and thinner – just like a candle that’s melting.”
“Why was he ‘moping’?”
“God knows, madam. Pyotr Ivanych talked to him about it; I could hear what he was saying, but it was beyond me – couldn’t make head or tail of it all.”
“But what was it that he was saying?”
Yevsei thought for a minute, apparently racking his brains trying to remember, and moving his lips.
“There was some word that they were using – but I’ve forgotten it.”
Anna Pavlovna and Agrafena watched him, and waited impatiently for him to continue.
“Well?” said Anna Pavlovna.
Yevsei still remained silent.
“Well, say something, you scatterbrain!” Agrafena urged him. “The mistress is waiting.”
“I think there was something about ‘dis’ er… ‘ill… usioned’,” Yevsei finally managed to get the word out.
Anna Pavlovna looked at Agrafena in bewilderment, and Agrafena looked at Yevsei. Yevsei looked back at them both, but had nothing to add.
“So what was it you were trying to say?” Anna Pavlovna asked.
“‘Disi… disillusioned’, yes that was it exactly – I remember!” Yevsei replied with great confidence.
“Something terrible must have happened – what could it have been? Lord above! Was he ill or something?” Anna Pavlovna asked in alarm.
“Oh dear, madam! Could it mean that he was under a spell of some kind?” Agrafena was quick to say.
Anna Pavlovna went pale, and spat.
“Bite your tongue!” she said. “Did he go to church?”
Yevsei was at a loss for words.
“I wouldn’t say, madam, that he was very keen on going,” he said hesitantly. “Well, you could almost say he didn’t go at all… You see, the ladies and gentlemen there don’t really go to church much.”
“So that’s why!” Anna Pavlovna said with a sigh, and crossed herself. “Obviously my prayers were not enough. That dream didn’t lie: my darling did come from the whirlpool at the bottom of the lake!”
Anton Ivanych entered the room.
“Dinner’s getting cold, Anna Pavlovna,” he said. “Isn’t it time to wake up Alexander Fyodorych?”
“Good God! Absolutely not!” she responded. “He didn’t want to be woken up. ‘Go and eat by yourself,’ he said. ‘I have no appetite. I’d better go to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll feel better after I’ve slept; maybe I’ll feel like eating this evening.’ Don’t be cross with me, Anton Ivanych, I’m an old woman! I’m going to light the lamp near the icon and pray. I don’t feel like eating while Sashenka is sleeping, so why don’t you go and eat by yourself?”
“Very well, dear lady, I’ll do as you say; you can count on me.”
“Now, would you mind doing me a favour?” she continued. “You are our friend, and so devoted to our family. Please have a word with Yevsei, and try to wring out of him why Sashenka has become so glum and thin, and what happened to his hair. You’re a man, so it’s easier for you… Did someone upset him there? I mean there are so many bad people around… Find out everything you can!”
“Very good, dear lady, I’ll question him thoroughly, and I’ll get to the bottom of whatever it is. So please send Yevsei to me; I’ll be having my dinner. Oh hello, Yevsei!” he said, sitting down at the table, and tucking in his napkin behind his tie. “How are you?”
“‘How are you,’ sir? You mean what was it like in St Petersburg? Not so good. I see you’ve filled out a bit in the meantime.”
Anton Ivanych spat.
“Don’t put the mockers on me, my fellow – you never know what trouble is round the corner!” he said, and began on his cabbage soup. “So, how was it there then?” he asked.
“All right, but not that good.”
“How was the food? Pretty good, I suppose? What did they give you?”
“What indeed? Just some galantine from the shop, and some cold pie – and that’s your dinner!”
“You mean, in the shop, or in your own kitchen?”
“No one cooked there. There, unmarried gentlemen don’t keep a table.”
“Come off it!” said Anton Ivanych, putting down his spoon.
“No, really! Even my master had food brought in from the tavern.”
“Only gypsies live like that! And you expect people not to get thin! Here, have something to drink!”
“Thanks very much, sir! Here’s to your health!”
No one spoke, and Anton Ivanych continued eating.
“How much are cucumbers there?” he asked, putting a cucumber on his plate.
“Forty copecks for ten.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“It’s true, I swear. Why should I be ashamed to tell you – and sometimes salted cucumbers are brought from Moscow.”
“Well, what do you know! Good Lord! Who wouldn’t lose weight!”
“Where would you find a cucumber like that in that place?” Yevsei continued, pointing to a cucumber. “Not even in your dreams! Absolute rubbish! No one would even give them a look here; but there the gentry eat them. It’s a rare home where they bake their own bread. As for storing cabbage, corning meat and soaking mushrooms – it’s not something they do there.”
Anton Ivanych shook his head, but said nothing because his mouth was full to bursting.
When he had finished chewing, he asked, “So what do they do?”
“You can get everything at the shop, and what they don’t have, you can get at the butcher’s nearby. If they don’t have what you want, there’s always the confectioner’s, and if even they don’t have it, then go to the Inglitz shop – but the French have everything!”
Silence.
“Well, and how much is suckling pig?” asked Anton Ivanych, loading his plate with almost half of one.
“I wouldn’t know; we didn’t buy any – it’s kind of expensive, about two roubles, I think.”
“Wow! No wonder people get thin! What a price!”
“The better class of gentlemen don’t eat much of that: it’s mostly the office clerks.”
More silence.
“So, how was it for you there; pretty bad, was it?”
“You wouldn’t believe how bad! You know what the kvass is like here – well, the beer there is even more watery. And after drinking the kvass, you feel your stomach is upset all day long! The only good thing they have there is the boot polish – that’s some boot polish! You can’t take your eyes off it! And what a great smell! You could almost eat it!”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I swear to you!”
&n
bsp; Silence.
“So that’s what it’s like then?”
“That’s right.”
“And the food was lousy?”
“Lousy. Alexander Fyodorych ate practically nothing – almost gave up eating – not even a pound of bread for dinner.”
“Well, of course he’s got so thin! It’s all because everything’s so expensive, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that and because they don’t have the habit of eating until they’re full every day. Those gentlemen don’t eat, so much as snatch a bite here and there once a day – and that, only if they have time, between five and six – sometimes even after six, and even then it’s just a quick snack – and that’s it! For them, eating is something you do only when you’ve done everything else you have to do.”
“What a way to live!” said Anton Ivanych. “Never mind getting thin, it’s a wonder you didn’t die! And it’s the same all the time?”
“Well, no: on holidays these gents sometimes get together, and you wouldn’t believe how they eat. They go to some German tavern and order up – would you believe? – a hundred roubles’ worth. As for drink – God help us! – it’s even worse than with people like us! And Pyotr Ivanych occasionally invited guests. They would sit down at the table sometime before seven and wouldn’t leave it until after four in the morning.”
At this, Anton Ivanych simply goggled.
“You really mean they were eating all that time?”
“Yes, the whole time!”
“That would have been quite a sight! Not like us at all! So what do they eat?”
“Well, there’s really nothing to see, sir. You don’t even recognize what you’re eating; God knows what those Germans put in their food – you’re afraid of putting it in your mouth. Even their pepper is different. They pour into their sauce something from those imported bottles. Once Pyotr Ivanych’s cook invited me to eat some of the food he had cooked for him. I was nauseous for three days afterwards. I saw there was an olive in the food, and thought it would be like the olives we have here. I took a bite – and there it was – a tiny fish right inside it! It tasted awful, and I had to spit it out. I tried another one – same thing. They were all the same – the hell with the lot of you!”
The Same Old Story Page 37