‘What decision, Gavrila Antonitch? The thing depends, so to say, on you; you don’t seem over anxious.’
‘Upon my word, Nikolai Eremyitch, what do you mean? Our business is trading, buying; it’s our business to buy. That’s what we live by, Nikolai Eremyitch, one may say.’
‘Eight roubles a measure,’ said the fat man emphatically.
A sigh was audible.
‘Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, you ask a heavy price.’ ‘Impossible, Gavrila Antonitch, to do otherwise; I speak as before God Almighty; impossible.’
Silence followed.
I got up softly and looked through a crack in the partition. The fat man was sitting with his back to me. Facing him sat a merchant, a man about forty, lean and pale, who looked as if he had been rubbed with oil. He was incessantly fingering his beard, and very rapidly blinking and twitching his lips.
‘Wonderful the young green crops this year, one may say,’ he began again; ‘I’ve been going about everywhere admiring them. All the way from Voronezh they’ve come up wonderfully, first - class, one may say.’
‘The crops are pretty fair, certainly,’ answered the head - clerk; ‘but you know the saying, Gavrila Antonitch, autumn bids fair, but spring may be foul.’
‘That’s so, indeed, Nikolai Eremyitch; all is in God’s hands; it’s the absolute truth what you’ve just remarked, sir…. But perhaps your visitor’s awake now.’
The fat man turned round … listened….
‘No, he’s asleep. He may, though….’
He went to the door.
‘No, he’s asleep,’ he repeated and went back to his place.
‘Well, so what are we to say, Nikolai Eremyitch?’ the merchant began again; ‘we must bring our little business to a conclusion…. Let it be so, Nikolai Eremyitch, let it be so,’ he went on, blinking incessantly; ‘two grey notes and a white for your favour, and there’ (he nodded in the direction of the house), ‘six and a half. Done, eh?’
‘Four grey notes,’ answered the clerk.
‘Come, three, then.’
‘Four greys, and no white.’
‘Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.’
‘Three and a half, and not a farthing less.’
‘Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.’
‘You’re not talking sense, Gavrila Antonitch.’
‘My, what a pig - headed fellow!’ muttered the merchant. ‘Then I’d better arrange it with the lady herself.’
‘That’s as you like,’ answered the fat man; ‘far better, I should say.
Why should you worry yourself, after all?… Much better, indeed!’
‘Well, well! Nikolai Eremyitch. I lost my temper for a minute! That was nothing but talk.’
‘No, really, why?…’
‘Nonsense, I tell you…. I tell you I was joking. Well, take your three and a half; there’s no doing anything with you.’
‘I ought to have got four, but I was in too great a hurry — like an ass!’ muttered the fat man.
‘Then up there at the house, six and a half, Nikolai Eremyitch; the corn will be sold for six and a half?’
‘Six and a half, as we said already.’
‘Well, your hand on that then, Nikolai Eremyitch’ (the merchant clapped his outstretched fingers into the clerk’s palm). ‘And good - bye, in God’s name!’ (The merchant got up.) ‘So then, Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, I’ll go now to your lady, and bid them send up my name, and so I’ll say to her, “Nikolai Eremyitch,” I’ll say, “has made a bargain with me for six and a half.”‘
‘That’s what you must say, Gavrila Antonitch.’
‘And now, allow me.’
The merchant handed the manager a small roll of notes, bowed, shook his head, picked up his hat with two fingers, shrugged his shoulders, and, with a sort of undulating motion, went out, his boots creaking after the approved fashion. Nikolai Eremyitch went to the wall, and, as far as I could make out, began sorting the notes handed him by the merchant. A red head, adorned with thick whiskers, was thrust in at the door.
‘Well?’ asked the head; ‘all as it should be?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
The fat man made an angry gesture with his hand, and pointed to my room.
‘Ah, all right!’ responded the head, and vanished.
The fat man went up to the table, sat down, opened a book, took out a reckoning frame, and began shifting the beads to and fro as he counted, using not the forefinger but the third finger of his right hand, which has a much more showy effect.
The clerk on duty came in.
‘What is it?’
‘Sidor is here from Goloplek.’
‘Oh! ask him in. Wait a bit, wait a bit…. First go and look whether the strange gentleman’s still asleep, or whether he has waked up.’
The clerk on duty came cautiously into my room. I laid my head on my game - bag, which served me as a pillow, and closed my eyes.
‘He’s asleep,’ whispered the clerk on duty, returning to the counting - house.
The fat man muttered something.
‘Well, send Sidor in,’ he said at last.
I got up again. A peasant of about thirty, of huge stature, came in — a red - cheeked, vigorous - looking fellow, with brown hair, and a short curly beard. He crossed himself, praying to the holy image, bowed to the head - clerk, held his hat before him in both hands, and stood erect.
‘Good day, Sidor,’ said the fat man, tapping with the reckoning beads.
‘Good - day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch.’
‘Well, what are the roads like?’
‘Pretty fair, Nikolai Eremyitch. A bit muddy.’ (The peasant spoke slowly and not loud.)
‘Wife quite well?’
‘She’s all right!’
The peasant gave a sigh and shifted one leg forward. Nikolai Eremyitch put his pen behind his ear, and blew his nose.
‘Well, what have you come about?’ he proceeded to inquire, putting his check handkerchief into his pocket.
‘Why, they do say, Nikolai Eremyitch, they’re asking for carpenters from us.’
‘Well, aren’t there any among you, hey?’
‘To be sure there are, Nikolai Eremyitch; our place is right in the woods; our earnings are all from the wood, to be sure. But it’s the busy time, Nikolai Eremyitch. Where’s the time to come from?’
‘The time to come from! Busy time! I dare say, you’re so eager to work for outsiders, and don’t care to work for your mistress…. It’s all the same!’
‘The work’s all the same, certainly, Nikolai Eremyitch … but….’
‘Well?’
‘The pay’s … very….’
‘What next! You’ve been spoiled; that’s what it is. Get along with you!’
‘And what’s more, Nikolai Eremyitch, there’ll be only a week’s work, but they’ll keep us hanging on a month. One time there’s not material enough, and another time they’ll send us into the garden to weed the path.’
‘What of it? Our lady herself is pleased to give the order, so it’s useless you and me talking about it.’
Sidor was silent; he began shifting from one leg to the other.
Nikolai Eremyitch put his head on one side, and began busily playing with the reckoning beads.
‘Our … peasants … Nikolai Eremyitch….’ Sidor began at last, hesitating over each word; ‘sent word to your honour … there is … see here….’ (He thrust his big hand into the bosom of his coat, and began to pull out a folded linen kerchief with a red border.)
‘What are you thinking of? Goodness, idiot, are you out of your senses?’ the fat man interposed hurriedly. ‘Go on; go to my cottage,’ he continued, almost shoving the bewildered peasant out; ‘ask for my wife there … she’ll give you some tea; I’ll be round directly; go on. For goodness’ sake, I tell you, go on.’
Sidor went away.
‘Ugh!… what a bear!’ the head clerk muttered after him, shaking his head, and set to work again on his reckoning frame.
Suddenly shouts of ‘Kuprya! Kuprya! there’s no knocking down Kuprya!’ were heard in the street and on the steps, and a little later there came into the counting - house a small man of sickly appearance, with an extraordinarily long nose and large staring eyes, who carried himself with a great air of superiority. He was dressed in a ragged little old surtout, with a plush collar and diminutive buttons. He carried a bundle of firewood on his shoulder. Five house - serfs were crowding round him, all shouting, ‘Kuprya! there’s no suppressing Kuprya! Kuprya’s been turned stoker; Kuprya’s turned a stoker!’ But the man in the coat with the plush collar did not pay the slightest attention to the uproar made by his companions, and was not in the least out of countenance. With measured steps he went up to the stove, flung down his load, straightened himself, took out of his tail - pocket a snuff - box, and with round eyes began helping himself to a pinch of dry trefoil mixed with ashes. At the entrance of this noisy party the fat man had at first knitted his brows and risen from his seat, but, seeing what it was, he smiled, and only told them not to shout. ‘There’s a sportsman,’ said he, ‘asleep in the next room.’ ‘What sort of sportsman?’ two of them asked with one voice.
‘A gentleman.’
‘Ah!’
‘Let them make a row,’ said the man with the plush collar, waving his arms; ‘what do I care, so long as they don’t touch me? They’ve turned me into a stoker….’
‘A stoker! a stoker!’ the others put in gleefully.
‘It’s the mistress’s orders,’ he went on, with a shrug of his shoulders; ‘but just you wait a bit … they’ll turn you into swineherds yet. But I’ve been a tailor, and a good tailor too, learnt my trade in the best house in Moscow, and worked for generals … and nobody can take that from me. And what have you to boast of?… What? you’re a pack of idlers, not worth your salt; that’s what you are! Turn me off! I shan’t die of hunger; I shall be all right; give me a passport. I’d send a good rent home, and satisfy the masters. But what would you do? You’d die off like flies, that’s what you’d do!’
‘That’s a nice lie!’ interposed a pock - marked lad with white eyelashes, a red cravat, and ragged elbows. ‘You went off with a passport sharp enough, but never a halfpenny of rent did the masters see from you, and you never earned a farthing for yourself, you just managed to crawl home again and you’ve never had a new rag on you since.’
‘Ah, well, what could one do! Konstantin Narkizitch,’ responded Kuprya; ‘a man falls in love — a man’s ruined and done for! You go through what I have, Konstantin Narkizitch, before you blame me!’
‘And you picked out a nice one to fall in love with! — a regular fright.’
‘No, you must not say that, Konstantin Narkizitch.’
‘Who’s going to believe that? I’ve seen her, you know; I saw her with my own eyes last year in Moscow.’
‘Last year she had gone off a little certainly,’ observed Kuprya.
‘No, gentlemen, I tell you what,’ a tall, thin man, with a face spotted with pimples, a valet probably, from his frizzed and pomatumed head, remarked in a careless and disdainful voice; ‘let Kuprya Afanasyitch sing us his song. Come on, now; begin, Kuprya Afanasyitch.
‘Yes! yes!’ put in the others. ‘Hoorah for Alexandra! That’s one for
Kuprya; ‘pon my soul … Sing away, Kuprya!… You’re a regular brick,
Alexandra!’ (Serfs often use feminine terminations in referring to a
man as an expression of endearment.) ‘Sing away!’
‘This is not the place to sing,’ Kuprya replied firmly; ‘this is the manor counting - house.’
‘And what’s that to do with you? you’ve got your eye on a place as clerk, eh?’ answered Konstantin with a coarse laugh. ‘That’s what it is!’
‘Everything rests with the mistress,’ observed the poor wretch.
‘There, that’s what he’s got his eye on! a fellow like him! oo! oo! a!’
And they all roared; some rolled about with merriment. Louder than all laughed a lad of fifteen, probably the son of an aristocrat among the house - serfs; he wore a waistcoat with bronze buttons, and a cravat of lilac colour, and had already had time to fill out his waistcoat.
‘Come tell us, confess now, Kuprya,’ Nikolai Eremyitch began complacently, obviously tickled and diverted himself; ‘is it bad being stoker? Is it an easy job, eh?’
‘Nikolai Eremyitch,’ began Kuprya, ‘you’re head - clerk among us now, certainly; there’s no disputing that, no; but you know you have been in disgrace yourself, and you too have lived in a peasant’s hut.’
‘You’d better look out and not forget yourself in my place,’ the fat man interrupted emphatically; ‘people joke with a fool like you; you ought, you fool, to have sense, and be grateful to them for taking notice of a fool like you.’
‘It was a slip of the tongue, Nikolai Eremyitch; I beg your pardon….’
‘Yes, indeed, a slip of the tongue.’
The door opened and a little page ran in.
‘Nikolai Eremyitch, mistress wants you.’
‘Who’s with the mistress?’ he asked the page.
‘Aksinya Nikitishna, and a merchant from Venev.’
‘I’ll be there this minute. And you, mates,’ he continued in a persuasive voice, ‘better move off out of here with the newly - appointed stoker; if the German pops in, he’ll make a complaint for certain.’
The fat man smoothed his hair, coughed into his hand, which was almost completely hidden in his coat - sleeve, buttoned himself, and set off with rapid strides to see the lady of the manor. In a little while the whole party trailed out after him, together with Kuprya. My old friend, the clerk - on duty, was left alone. He set to work mending the pens, and dropped asleep in his chair. A few flies promptly seized the opportunity and settled on his mouth. A mosquito alighted on his forehead, and, stretching its legs out with a regular motion, slowly buried its sting into his flabby flesh. The same red head with whiskers showed itself again at the door, looked in, looked again, and then came into the office, together with the rather ugly body belonging to it.
‘Fedyushka! eh, Fedyushka! always asleep,’ said the head.
The clerk on duty opened his eyes and got up from his seat.
‘Nikolai Eremyitch has gone to the mistress?’
‘Yes, Vassily Nikolaevitch.’
‘Ah! ah!’ thought I; ‘this is he, the head cashier.’
The head cashier began walking about the room. He really slunk rather than walked, and altogether resembled a cat. An old black frock - coat with very narrow skirts hung about his shoulders; he kept one hand in his bosom, while the other was for ever fumbling about his high, narrow horse - hair collar, and he turned his head with a certain effort. He wore noiseless kid boots, and trod very softly.
‘The landowner, Yagushkin, was asking for you to - day,’ added the clerk on duty.
‘Hm, asking for me? What did he say?’
‘Said he’d go to Tyutyurov this evening and would wait for you. “I want to discuss some business with Vassily Nikolaevitch,” said he, but what the business was he didn’t say; “Vassily Nikolaevitch will know,” says he.’
‘Hm!’ replied the head cashier, and he went up to the window.
‘Is Nikolai Eremyitch in the counting - house?’ a loud voice was heard asking in the outer room, and a tall man, apparently angry, with an irregular but bold and expressive face, and rather clean in his dress, stepped over the threshold.
‘Isn’t he here?’ he inquired, looking rapidly round.
‘Nikolai Eremyitch is with the mistress,’ responded the cashier. ‘Tell me what you want, Pavel Andreitch; you can tell me…. What is it you want?’
‘What do I want? You want to know what I want?’ (The cashier gave a sickly nod.) ‘I want to give him a lesson, the fat, greasy villain, the scoundrelly tell - tale!… I’ll give him a tale to tell!’
Pavel flung himself into a chair.
‘What are you saying, Pav
el Andreitch! Calm yourself…. Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t forget whom you’re talking about, Pavel Andreitch!’ lisped the cashier.
‘Forget whom I’m talking about? What do I care for his being made head - clerk? A fine person they’ve found to promote, there’s no denying that! They’ve let the goat loose in the kitchen garden, you may say!’
‘Hush, hush, Pavel Andreitch, hush! drop that … what rubbish are you talking?’
‘So Master Fox is beginning to fawn? I will wait for him,’ Pavel said with passion, and he struck a blow on the table. ‘Ah, here he’s coming!’ he added with a look at the window; ‘speak of the devil. With your kind permission!’ (He, got up.)
Nikolai Eremyitch came into the counting - house. His face was shining with satisfaction, but he was rather taken aback at seeing Pavel Andreitch.
‘Good day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch,’ said Pavel in a significant tone, advancing deliberately to meet him.
The head - clerk made no reply. The face of the merchant showed itself in the doorway.
‘What, won’t you deign to answer me?’ pursued Pavel. ‘But no … no,’ he added; ‘that’s not it; there’s no getting anything by shouting and abuse. No, you’d better tell me in a friendly way, Nikolai Eremyitch; what do you persecute me for? what do you want to ruin me for? Come, speak, speak.’
‘This is no fit place to come to an understanding with you,’ the head - clerk answered in some agitation, ‘and no fit time. But I must say I wonder at one thing: what makes you suppose I want to ruin you, or that I’m persecuting you? And if you come to that, how can I persecute you? You’re not in my counting - house.’
‘I should hope not,’ answered Pavel; ‘that would be the last straw! But why are you hum - bugging, Nikolai Eremyitch?… You understand me, you know.’
‘No, I don’t understand.’
‘No, you do understand.’
‘No, by God, I don’t understand!’
‘Swearing too! Well, tell us, since it’s come to that: have you no fear of God? Why can’t you let the poor girl live in peace? What do you want of her?’
A Sportsman's Sketches: Works of Ivan Turgenev 1 Page 210