The Honest Thief
(From an Unknown Person’s Notes)
One morning, just as I was about to leave for work, Agrafena, my cook, laundress, and housekeeper, came in and, to my surprise, started a conversation with me.
Until then, she had been such a quiet, simple woman that, apart from the daily two words about what to prepare for dinner, she hadn’t said a word in almost six years. At least, I hadn’t heard anything else from her.
“Here I am, sir, to you,” she suddenly began, “you should rent out the small room.”
“Which small room?”
“The one next to the kitchen. You know which one.”
“Why?”
“Why! Because people let out rooms to lodgers. You know why.”
“But who would rent it?”
“Who would rent it! A lodger would rent it. You know who.”
“But, my dear, you can’t even fit a bed in there; it’ll be cramped. Who would live there?”
“Why live there! Just a place to sleep; he’ll live on the window.”
“Which window?”
“You know which one, don’t pretend you don’t! The one in the entryway. He’ll sit there, sew or do something. He might even sit on a chair. He has a chair; and a table; he has everything.”
“Who is he?”
“A good, experienced man. I’ll cook for him. And for the room and board, I’ll only charge three rubles a month in silver…”
Finally, after much effort, I learned that some elderly man had persuaded or somehow convinced Agrafena to let him into the kitchen as a lodger and boarder. Whatever Agrafena set her mind to had to be done; otherwise, I knew she wouldn’t give me any peace. In cases where something wasn’t to her liking, she would immediately fall into thought, plunge into deep melancholy, and this state would last for two or three weeks. During this time, the food would spoil, laundry would go missing, the floors wouldn’t be washed – in short, many unpleasant things would happen. I had long noticed that this taciturn woman was incapable of making a decision or forming a thought of her own. But if, by some chance, something resembling an idea or undertaking formed in her weak mind, denying her its execution would mean morally killing her for a while. And so, loving my own peace above all else, I immediately agreed.
“Does he at least have some kind of identification, a passport or something?”
“Of course! You know he does. A good, experienced man; he promised to pay three rubles.”
The very next day, a new lodger appeared in my modest, bachelor apartment; but I wasn’t annoyed, I was even secretly pleased. I generally live a secluded life, quite a recluse. I have almost no acquaintances; I rarely go out. Having lived like a hermit for ten years, I had, of course, grown accustomed to solitude. But ten, fifteen years, or perhaps even more of the same solitude, with the same Agrafena, in the same bachelor apartment – certainly a rather colorless prospect! And so, an extra quiet person in such a state of affairs was a godsend!
Agrafena had not lied: my lodger was an experienced man. According to his passport, he was a retired soldier, which I knew even without looking at the passport, at first glance, from his face. It’s easy to tell. Astafiy Ivanovich, my lodger, was one of the good ones among his kind. We lived well together. But the best thing of all was that Astafiy Ivanovich sometimes knew how to tell stories, incidents from his own life. In the constant boredom of my existence, such a storyteller was simply a treasure. Once he told me one of these stories. It made a certain impression on me. But here’s how that story came about.
One day I was alone in the apartment: both Astafiy and Agrafena were out on errands. Suddenly, I heard from the next room that someone had entered, and it seemed to me, a stranger; I went out: indeed, a stranger was standing in the entryway, a short fellow, in just a coat, despite the cold, autumn weather.
“What do you want?”
“Officer Alexandrov; does he live here?”
“There’s no one like that, brother; goodbye.”
“But the doorman said he was here,” the visitor muttered, carefully retreating towards the door.
“Get out, get out, brother; begone.”
The next day after dinner, as Astafiy Ivanovich was trying on a coat he had been altering for me, someone else entered the entryway. I half-opened the door.
The gentleman from yesterday, before my very eyes, calmly took my sheepskin coat from the hanger, tucked it under his arm, and darted out of the apartment. Agrafena watched him the whole time, her mouth agape in surprise, and did nothing else to protect the coat. Astafiy Ivanovich chased after the scoundrel and returned ten minutes later, all out of breath, with empty hands. The man had vanished and was gone!
“Well, that’s bad luck, Astafiy Ivanovich. It’s a good thing we still have our overcoat! Otherwise, that scoundrel would have completely marooned us!”
But all of this so deeply affected Astafiy Ivanovich that I even forgot about the theft, just looking at him. He couldn’t come to his senses. He kept stopping the work he was doing, repeatedly starting over to recount how it all happened, how he stood there, how, right before his eyes, two steps away, the sheepskin coat was taken, and how it all came about that he couldn’t even catch him. Then he would sit down to work again; then he would abandon everything again, and I saw how, finally, he went to the doorman to tell him and reproach him for allowing such things to happen in his yard. Then he returned and began to scold Agrafena. Then he sat down to work again and for a long time muttered to himself about how this whole thing happened, how he stood there, and I was there, and how, right before his eyes, two steps away, the sheepskin coat was taken, and so on. In short, Astafiy Ivanovich, though capable of getting things done, was a great grumbler and worrier.
“We’ve been fooled, Astafiy Ivanych!” I said to him that evening, handing him a glass of tea and wishing, out of boredom, to provoke another story about the lost sheepskin coat, which, from frequent repetition and the storyteller’s deep sincerity, was beginning to become very comical.
“Fooled, sir! It’s simply annoying to outsiders, it infuriates you, even if it wasn’t my clothing that was lost. And, in my opinion, there’s no creature worse than a thief in the world. Some may take for free, but this one steals your labor, your sweat shed for it, your time… Disgusting, ugh! I don’t even want to talk about it, I get angry. How can you, sir, not feel sorry for your own belongings?”
“Yes, that’s true, Astafiy Ivanych; it’s better for a thing to burn than to yield to a thief, it’s annoying, you don’t want to.”
“What would one want here! Of course, not all thieves are alike… But, sir, I once had a case where I encountered an honest thief.”
“An honest one! But how can a thief be honest, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Well, sir, it’s true! What kind of thief is honest, there’s no such thing. I just meant that he seemed like an honest man, but he stole. It was simply a pity to see him.”
“And how did that happen, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Well, sir, that was about two years ago. I happened to be out of a job for almost a year then, and while I was still employed, I became acquainted with a completely lost man. We met in a tavern, that is. A drunkard, a wanderer, a good-for-nothing, he used to work somewhere, but he’d been dismissed from his service a long time ago for his drunken life. Such an unworthy fellow! He wore God knows what! Sometimes you’d wonder if he even had a shirt under his overcoat; he’d drink away everything he got. But he wasn’t quarrelsome; his character was meek, so gentle, kind, and he wouldn’t ask for anything, always feeling ashamed: well, you’d see for yourself that the poor fellow wanted a drink, and you’d offer him one. Well, that’s how I got acquainted with him, that is, he became attached to me… it was all the same to me. And what a man he was! He’d cling to you like a little dog, you’d go there – and he’d follow you; and we’d only met once, such a feeble fellow! First, you let him stay the night – well, I did; I saw his passport was in order, the man was fine! Then, the next day, I also let him stay the night, and then on the third day, he came and sat on the window all day; he also stayed the night. Well, I thought, he’s imposed himself on me: I have to feed him and let him stay the night – here’s a poor man, and a freeloader is sitting on his neck. And before, he also used to visit a certain clerk, just like he did me, and became attached to him, they always drank together; but that one drank himself to death from some sorrow. And this one was called Emelya, Emelyan Ilyich. I thought and thought: what should I do with him? To drive him away – it’s shameful, a pity: such a pathetic, lost man, good heavens! And so silent, he doesn’t ask, he just sits there, looking at you like a little dog. That’s how drunkenness can ruin a man! I think to myself: how will I tell him: ‘Go away, Emelyanushka; you have nothing to do with me; you’ve come to the wrong place; I’ll soon have nothing to eat myself, how can I keep you on my provisions?’ I think, sitting, what will he do if I say that to him? Well, and I see to myself how long he would look at me if he heard my words, how long he would sit and not understand a word, how then, when it dawned on him, he would get up from the window, take his bundle, as I see it now, checkered, red, ragged, in which he wrapped God knows what and carried everywhere with him, how he would straighten his overcoat, so that it would be decent and warm, and the holes would not be visible – he was a delicate man! how he would then open the door and go out onto the stairs with a tear in his eye. Well, the man mustn’t perish completely… I felt sorry for him! And then, I think, how will I feel myself! Hold on, I realize, Emelyanushka, you won’t be feasting with me for long; I’ll be moving soon, then you won’t find me. Well, sir, we moved; then Alexander Filimonovich, the master (now deceased, may he rest in peace), said: ‘I am very pleased with you, Astafiy, we will all return from the village, we will not forget you, we will take you back.’ And I was their butler – he was a good master, but he died that same year. Well, as we saw them off, I took my belongings, I had some money, I thought, I’ll rest a bit, and I moved in with an old woman, I rented a corner from her. And she only had one corner free. She had also been a nanny somewhere, so now she lived alone, receiving a pension. Well, I thought, goodbye now, Emelyanushka, my dear man, you won’t find me! What do you think, sir? I returned in the evening (I had gone to visit an acquaintance) and the first person I saw was Emelya, sitting on my trunk, with his checkered bundle beside him, sitting in his overcoat, waiting for me… and out of boredom he had even taken a church book from the old woman, holding it upside down. He found me after all! And my hands dropped. Well, I thought, there’s nothing to be done, why didn’t I drive him away from the beginning? And I asked directly: “Did you bring your passport, Emelya?”
Here, sir, I sat down and began to ponder: what kind of trouble would he, a wandering man, cause me? And it turned out, after reflection, that the trouble would be minimal. He needs to eat, I think. Well, a piece of bread in the morning, and to make the seasoning tastier, buy some onions. And at noon, give him bread and onions too; and for supper, also onions with kvass and bread, if he wants bread. And if some shchi appear, then we’ll both be full to the brim. I don’t eat much, and a drinking man, as you know, eats nothing: he just needs tinctures and green wine. He’ll ruin me with his drinking, I thought, but then, sir, another thought came to mind, and it really got to me. So much so that if Emelya had left, I wouldn’t have been happy with life… I decided then to be his benefactor. I’ll restrain him, I think, from evil ruin, I’ll teach him not to know the glass! Wait, I think: well, all right, Emelya, stay, but just stick with me now, listen to commands!
So I thought to myself: I’ll start teaching him some work now, but not all at once; let him wander a bit first, and meanwhile I’ll watch, I’ll look for what kind of ability, Emelya, I can find in you. Because for any business, sir, human ability is needed above all. And I began to quietly observe him. I see: you’re a desperate man, Emelyanushka! I started, sir, first with a kind word: this and that, I say, Emelyan Ilyich, you should look at yourself and somehow get yourself together. Enough wandering! Look, you’re all in rags, your overcoat, if you’ll excuse the expression, is fit for a sieve; it’s not good! It’s time, it seems, to know some decency.
My Emelyanushka sits, listening to me with his head bowed. What, sir! He’s gone so far that he’s drunk away his tongue, he can’t say a sensible word. You start talking to him about cucumbers, and he replies about beans! He listens to me, listens for a long time, and then sighs.
“What are you sighing for, I ask, Emelyan Ilyich?”
“Oh, nothing, Astafiy Ivanych, don’t worry. But today two women, Astafiy Ivanych, had a fight in the street, one accidentally spilled the other’s basket of cranberries.”
“Well, so what?”
“And the other, for that, deliberately spilled her own basket of cranberries, and even started trampling on them with her foot.”
“Well, so what, Emelyan Ilyich?”
“Oh, nothing, Astafiy Ivanych, I’m just saying. ‘Nothing, just saying. Oh, Emelya, Emelyushka! You’ve drunk away your mind!'”
“And then the gentleman dropped a banknote on the pavement in Gorokhovaya, or rather, in Sadovaya. And a peasant saw it, says: my luck; and then another saw it, says: no, my luck! I saw it before you…”
“Well, Emelyan Ilyich.”
“And the peasants fought, Astafiy Ivanych. And the policeman came up, picked up the banknote, and gave it to the gentleman, and threatened to put both peasants in the booth.”
“Well, so what? What is so instructive about that, Emelyanushka?”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. The people laughed, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“Oh, Emelyanushka! What people! You sold your soul for a copper farthing. But do you know what, Emelyan Ilyich, I’ll tell you?”
“What, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Take up some work, really, take it. I’ve told you a hundred times, take it, have pity on yourself!”
“What kind of work should I take, Astafiy Ivanych? I don’t even know what I would take; and no one would take me, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“That’s why you were expelled from service, Emelya, you’re a drinking man!”
“And then Vlas the buffet attendant was called to the office today, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“Why, I say, was he called, Emelyanushka?”
“Oh, I don’t know why, Astafiy Ivanych. It must have been necessary there, so they requested it…”
“Oh, I think, we’re both lost, Emelyanushka! For our sins, the Lord is punishing us!” Well, what do you command me to do with such a man, sir!
He was a cunning fellow, though! He listened and listened to me, but then, he must have gotten bored, as soon as he saw me getting angry, he’d grab his overcoat and slip away – gone without a trace! He’d wander all day, come back late at night, a little drunk. Who supplied him with drink, where he got the money, only God knows, it’s not my fault!
“No, I say, Emelyan Ilyich, you won’t get away with this! Stop drinking, do you hear me, stop! Another time, if you come back drunk, you’ll sleep on the stairs. I won’t let you in!”
Having heard the command, my Emelya sits for a day, then another; on the third, he slipped away again. I wait and wait, he doesn’t come! To tell the truth, I got scared, and I also felt sorry for him. What have I done to him? I think. I scared him. Well, where has he gone now, the poor wretch? He might perish, my God! Night came, he didn’t. In the morning, I went out into the hallway, and I see him taking his rest there. He’d laid his head on a step and was lying there; completely stiff from the cold.
“What’s wrong, Emelya? God be with you! Where have you ended up?”
“Well, you were, that is, Astafiy Ivanych, angry the other day, displeased, and promised to make me sleep in the hallway, so I, that is, didn’t dare to come in, Astafiy Ivanych, and just lay down here…”
Both anger and pity seized me!
“But Emelyan, you could at least take some other job,” I said. “Why guard the stairs?”
“But what other job, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Even if you, you lost soul, I say (such anger seized me!), even if you learned the tailor’s art. Look at your overcoat! Not only is it full of holes, but you’re sweeping the stairs with it! At least take a needle and patch up your holes, as decency dictates. Oh, you drunken man!”
Well, sir! And he took the needle; I had said it to mock him, but he got scared and took it. He took off his overcoat and began to thread the needle. I look at him; well, it’s clear, his eyes were bloodshot and watery; his hands trembled, no matter what! He pushed and pushed – the thread wouldn’t go in; he kept winking: he would moisten it, and twist it in his hands – no! He threw it down, looks at me…
“Well, Emelya, you’ve done me a favor! If it were in front of people, I’d have cut off your head! But I told you, such a simple man, in jest, as a reproach… Go on, God be with you, for goodness sake! Just sit there, and don’t do anything shameful, don’t sleep on the stairs, don’t disgrace me!..”
“But what am I to do, Astafiy Ivanych; I know myself that I’m always a bit tipsy and good for nothing! Only I bring you, my benef… benefactor, needlessly into my heart…”
And then his blue lips suddenly trembled, and a tear rolled down his pale cheek, and that tear trembled on his unshaven beard, and then my Emelyan suddenly burst forth with a whole handful of tears… Good heavens! It was as if a knife had cut through my heart.
“Oh, you sensitive man, I didn’t think at all! Who would have known, who would have guessed that? No, I think, Emelya, I’ll completely abandon you; perish like a rag!..”
Well, sir, what’s the point of telling a long story here! And the whole thing is so trivial, so miserable, not worth words, that is, you, sir, for example, wouldn’t give two broken pennies for it, but I would have given a lot, if I had a lot, just so that none of that would have happened! I had, sir, trousers, damn them, good, glorious trousers, blue with checks, and they were ordered for me by a landowner who came here, but then he backed out, saying: too narrow; so they remained with me. I think: a valuable thing! In the marketplace, they might give five rubles for them, or if not, I’ll make two pairs of trousers for Petersburg gentlemen, and I’ll still have a bit left for a waistcoat. For a poor man, our kind, you know, everything is good! And for Emelyanushka at that time, a harsh, sad time befell. I look: a day he doesn’t drink, another he doesn’t drink, a third – he doesn’t touch strong drink, completely dull, pitiful even, sitting disheartened. Well, I think: either you have no money to buy, fellow, or you yourself have entered the path of God and said “enough,” listened to reason. That’s how it all was, sir; and at that time, a big holiday happened. I went to the all-night vigil; I come back – my Emelya is sitting on the window, a little drunk, swaying. Aha! I think, so that’s how it is, fellow! And then I went to the trunk for some reason. Look! And the trousers are gone! I looked everywhere: they vanished! Well, after I’d turned everything upside down and saw they weren’t there – it was as if something scraped my heart! I rushed to the old woman, first slandered her, sinned, and as for Emelya, even though there was evidence that he was sitting drunk, I didn’t even suspect him! “No,” my old woman says, “God be with you, gentleman, what do I need trousers for, to wear them? I myself had a skirt disappear from a good man of your kind the other day… Well, that is, I don’t know, I don’t know,” she says. “Who was here,” I say, “who came?” “No one,” she says, “gentleman, no one came; I was here the whole time. Emelyan Ilyich went out, and then he came back; he’s sitting there! Ask him.” “Did you take, Emelya, I say, for some reason, my new trousers, remember, they were made for the landowner?” “No,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych, I, that is, didn’t take them.”
What a strange thing! I started searching again, searched and searched – no! And Emelya sits and sways. I sat there, sir, in front of him, squatting over the trunk, and suddenly I cast a glance at him… Oh! I think: and my heart burned in my chest; I even blushed. Suddenly, Emelya looked at me too.
“No,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych, I didn’t take your trousers, that is… you might think so, but I didn’t take them, sir.”
“But where could they have gone, Emelyan Ilyich?”
“No,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych, I haven’t seen them at all.”
“So, Emelyan Ilyich, I suppose they just disappeared on their own, somehow?”
“Maybe they just disappeared on their own, Astafiy Ivanych.” When I heard him, I got up as I was, went to the window, lit the lamp, and sat down to work. I was altering a waistcoat for the official who lived below us. And my own chest was burning, aching so much. It would have been easier if I had used my entire wardrobe to heat the stove. Emelya must have felt that anger had seized my heart. You see, sir, when a person is involved in evil, they sense trouble from afar, like a bird before a storm.
“And here, Astafiy Ivanovich,” Emelyanushka began (and his little voice trembled), “today Antipas Prokhorich, the paramedic, married the coachman’s wife, who died the other day…”
I, that is, looked at him, but probably with malice, I know… Emelya understood. I see him: he gets up, approaches the bed, and starts fumbling around it. I wait – he fusses for a long time, and keeps muttering: “No, they’re not here, where could those rascals have vanished to!” I wait to see what will happen; I see Emelya crawling on all fours under the bed. I couldn’t bear it.
“What are you doing, I say, Emelyan Ilyich, crawling on your hands and knees?”
“Oh, just seeing if the trousers are there, Astafiy Ivanych. To see if they’ve fallen somewhere.”
“What do you mean, sir,” I say (I started addressing him formally out of vexation), “what do you mean, sir, defending a poor, simple man like me; rubbing your knees for nothing!”
“But what, Astafiy Ivanych, I’m doing nothing… Perhaps they’ll be found somehow, if we look.”
“Hmm,” I say; “listen, Emelyan Ilyich!”
“What, he says, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Didn’t you, I say, simply steal them from me, like a thief and a scoundrel, for my hospitality?” – That is how, sir, I was overcome by the fact that he began to crawl on his knees on the floor before me.
“No, sir… Astafiy Ivanovich…” And he remained as he was, prone under the bed. He lay there for a long time; then he crawled out. I look: he’s completely pale, like a sheet. He stood up, sat down next to me on the window, sat there for about ten minutes.
“No,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych,”—and then suddenly stood up and approached me, looking, as I see him now, terrifying as sin.
“No,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych, I did not take your trousers, that is…”
He’s trembling all over, poking his shaking finger into his chest, and his little voice trembles so much that I, sir, was scared myself and felt as if I was rooted to the window.
“Well, I say, Emelyan Ilyich, as you wish, forgive me if I, a foolish man, reproached you unjustly. And as for the trousers, let them disappear; we won’t perish without trousers. We have hands, thank God, we won’t go stealing… and we won’t beg from another poor person; we’ll earn our bread…”
Emelya listened to me, stood before me for a while, I look – he sat down. He sat there all evening, not moving; I even went to bed, Emelya was still sitting in the same place. Only in the morning, I look, he’s lying on the bare floor, curled up in his overcoat; he was terribly humbled, he didn’t even come to lie on the bed. Well, sir, from that moment on, I disliked him, that is, in the first few days I hated him. It was as if, for example, my own son had robbed me and inflicted a blood insult upon me. Oh, I think: Emelya, Emelya! And Emelya, sir, drank continuously for about two weeks. That is, he became completely furious, drank himself to oblivion. He would leave in the morning, come back late at night, and in two weeks I didn’t hear a single word from him. That is, surely, sorrow gnawed at him then, or he wanted to somehow destroy himself. Finally, he stopped, he must have drunk everything away, and sat down on the window again. I remember, he sat silently for three days; suddenly, I look: the man is crying. That is, he sits, sir, and cries, and how! that is, simply a well, as if he doesn’t hear himself dropping tears. And it’s hard, sir, to see when an adult man, and an old man at that, like Emelya, starts crying from grief and sorrow.
“What’s wrong, Emelya?” I say.
And he trembled all over. He started. That is, it was the first time since then that I had spoken to him.
“Nothing… Astafiy Ivanych.”
“God be with you, Emelya, let everything go. Why are you sitting there like an owl?” – I felt sorry for him.
“Well, Astafiy Ivanych, I’m not that. I want to find some work, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“What kind of work would that be, Emelyan Ilyich?”
“Just some kind, sir. Maybe I’ll find a position, like before; I already went to ask Fedosey Ivanych… It’s not right for me to offend you, Astafiy Ivanych. I, Astafiy Ivanych, if I find a position, I’ll give you everything and compensate you for all your food.”
“Enough, Emelya, enough; well, there was such a sin, well – and it’s passed! To hell with it! Let’s live as before.”
“No, sir, Astafiy Ivanych, you may be, well… but I didn’t take your trousers…”
“Well, as you wish; God be with you, Emelyanushka!”
“No, sir, Astafiy Ivanych. I’m obviously no longer a lodger here. Please forgive me, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“But God be with you, I say: who is offending you, Emelyan Ilyich, driving you from the house, is it me?”
“No, sir, it’s not proper for me to live with you like this, Astafiy Ivanych… I’d better go, sir…”
That is, he took offense, the man got fixed on one thing. I look at him, and indeed he stood up, dragging his overcoat onto his shoulders.
“But where are you going, Emelyan Ilyich? Listen to reason: what are you doing? Where will you go?”
“No, farewell, Astafiy Ivanych, don’t hold me back (he’s sniveling again); I’ll go for goodness sake, Astafiy Ivanovich. You’re not the same now.”
“But what do you mean not the same? I am! But you’re like a small, foolish child, you’ll perish alone, Emelyan Ilyich.”
“No, Astafiy Ivanych, you now, when you leave, lock the trunk, and I, Astafiy Ivanych, see it and cry… No, you’d better let me go, Astafiy Ivanych, and forgive me for everything I’ve offended you with in our cohabitation.”
Well, sir? And the man left. I waited a day, thinking, he’ll come back in the evening – no! The second day, no, the third – no. I was scared, longing twisted inside me; I didn’t drink, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep. The man completely disarmed me! On the fourth day, I went out to look for him, peered into all the taverns, asked – no, Emelyanushka had disappeared! “Have you brought your miserable head to its end?” I think. “Maybe you died somewhere by a fence, drunk, and now you lie like a rotten log.” I returned home half-dead. The next day I also decided to go look for him. And I cursed myself for allowing that foolish man to leave me of his own free will. But then I see: at dawn, on the fifth day (it was a holiday), the door creaks. I see Emelya entering: he’s so blue and his hair is all muddy, as if he slept on the street, completely emaciated, like a splinter; he took off his overcoat, sat down on my trunk, looking at me. I was glad, but the anguish clung to my soul more than before. It turns out like this, sir: if such a human sin happened to me, I would truly say: I would rather die like a dog than come back. But Emelya came! Well, naturally, it’s hard to see a person in such a state. I began to cherish him, to caress him, to comfort him. “Well, I say, Emelyanushka, I’m glad you came back. If you had come a little later, I would have gone to the taverns today to look for you. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“Are you sure you ate? Here, brother, there’s a little leftover shchi from yesterday; they were with beef, not plain; and here’s some onion with bread. Eat, I say: it’s not too much for your health.”
I gave it to him; well, then I saw that he probably hadn’t eaten for three whole days – he had such an appetite. This meant that hunger had driven him to me. I softened, looking at him, the poor dear. I think, I’ll run to the liquor store. I’ll bring him something to lift his spirits, and that’ll be it, enough! I have no more anger towards you, Emelyanushka! I brought some wine. Here, I say, Emelyan Ilyich, let’s drink for the holiday. Do you want to drink? It’s healthy.
He reached out his hand, eagerly, almost took it, but then stopped; waited a little; I watch: he took it, brings it to his mouth, some wine splashes on his sleeve. No, he brought it to his mouth, but immediately set it down on the table.
“What’s wrong, Emelyanushka?”
“No; I, that is… Astafiy Ivanych.”
“Won’t you drink?”
“No, Astafiy Ivanych, I just… won’t drink anymore, Astafiy Ivanych.”
“So, Emelyushka, are you going to stop completely, or just not today?”
He remained silent. I look: after a minute, he rested his head on his hand.
“What’s wrong with you, Emelya, are you sick?”
“Just feeling unwell, Astafiy Ivanych.”
I took him and laid him on the bed. I look, and indeed, he was unwell: his head was burning, and he was shaking with fever. I sat over him for a day; by night, it was worse. I mixed kvass with butter and onions for him, sprinkled some bread. “Well,” I say, “eat some tyurya, maybe it will be better!” He shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I won’t have dinner today, Astafiy Ivanych.” I prepared tea for him, completely exhausted the old woman – nothing helped. “Well,” I think, “this is bad!” On the third morning, I went to the doctor. I had an acquaintance there, a medic named Kostopravov. We had met before, when I was with the Bosomyagins; he treated me. The medic came, examined him. “No,” he says, “it’s bad. There was no need, he says, to send for me. But perhaps give him some powders.” Well, I didn’t give him powders; I thought, the medic is just messing around; and meanwhile, the fifth day arrived.
He lay before me, sir, dying. I sat at the window, holding my work in my hands. The old woman was stoking the stove. We were all silent. My heart, sir, was breaking for him, the drunkard: it was as if I was burying my own son. I knew that Emelya was looking at me now; I had seen since morning that the man was trying to hold on, wanted to say something, but, apparently, didn’t dare. Finally, I looked at him; I see: such anguish in the poor man’s eyes, he doesn’t take his eyes off me; and when he saw that I was looking at him, he immediately looked down.
“Astafiy Ivanych!”
“What, Emelyushka?”
“And if, for example, my old coat were taken to the marketplace, how much would they give for it, Astafiy Ivanych?”
“Well,” I say, “who knows how much they’d give. Maybe they’d even give three rubles, Emelyan Ilyich.”
But if you were to actually take it, they wouldn’t give anything at all, except laugh in your face for selling such a miserable thing. I only said that to him, the man of God, knowing his simple disposition, to comfort him.
“And I thought, Astafiy Ivanych, that they would give three rubles in silver for it; it’s a woolen item, Astafiy Ivanych. How can it be three rubles if it’s a woolen item?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “Emelyan Ilyich; if you want to take it, then of course you’ll have to ask for three rubles right away.”
Emelya was silent for a bit; then he called out again:
“Astafiy Ivanych!”
“What, I ask, Emelyanushka?”
“You sell the overcoat when I die, and don’t bury me in it. I’ll lie as I am; and it’s a valuable thing; it might be useful to you.”
At that, sir, my heart ached so much it’s impossible to describe. I saw that the anguish of death was approaching the man. We fell silent again. About an hour passed. I looked at him again: he was still looking at me, and when our gazes met, he looked down again.
“Wouldn’t you like some water, Emelyan Ilyich?” I said.
“Give it, God be with you, Astafiy Ivanych.” I handed him some to drink. He drank.
“Thank you,” he says, “Astafiy Ivanych.”
“Is there anything else you need, Emelyanushka?”
“No, Astafiy Ivanych; I need nothing; but I, that is…”
“What?”
“That is…”
“What is it, Emelyushka?”
“The trousers… that is… I took them from you then… Astafiy Ivanych…”
“Well, I say, may God forgive you, Emelyanushka, you wretched wretch, such and such, and such! Go in peace…” And I myself, sir, was breathless and tears streamed from my eyes; I turned away for a moment.
“Astafiy Ivanych…”
I look: Emelya wants to tell me something; he raises himself, struggles, moves his lips… He suddenly turns completely red, looks at me… Suddenly I see: he pales again, pales, completely collapsed in an instant; he threw his head back, exhaled once, and then gave up his soul to God.
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