Chapter 1
After the festive liturgy, the parishioners dispersed to their homes. Some lingered in the churchyard, behind white stone walls, under old linden and maple trees, and chatted. Everyone was dressed up for the holiday, looked at each other amiably, and it seemed that in this town, people lived peacefully and amicably. And even cheerfully. But all this was only an illusion.
The gymnasium teacher Peredonov, standing in a circle of his friends, glumly looking at them with his small, swollen eyes from behind gold-rimmed glasses, told them:
“Princess Volchanskaya herself promised Varya, that’s for sure. As soon as, she says, she marries him, I’ll immediately get him the position of inspector.”
“But how can you marry Varvara Dmitrievna?” asked the red-faced Falastov, “She’s your sister! Has a new law come out that allows marrying sisters?”
Everyone burst out laughing. Peredonov’s usually rosy, indifferent-sleepy face turned ferocious.
“Third cousin…” he grumbled, looking angrily past his interlocutors.
“Did the princess promise you herself?” asked the dapper, pale, and tall Rutilov.
“Not me, but Varya,” Peredonov replied.
“Well, and you believe it,” Rutilov said animatedly. “Anyone can say anything. Why didn’t you go to the princess yourself?”
“Understand, Varya and I went, but we didn’t find the princess, we were only five minutes late,” Peredonov recounted, “She went to the village, will be back in three weeks, and I absolutely couldn’t wait, I had to come here for the exams.”
“Something’s doubtful,” Rutilov said and laughed, showing his decaying teeth.
Peredonov fell into thought. His companions dispersed. Only Rutilov remained with him.
“Of course,” Peredonov said, “I can marry anyone I want. Varvara isn’t the only one.”
“Naturally, any girl would go for you, Ardalyon Borysyich,” Rutilov confirmed.
They left the churchyard and walked slowly across the unpaved, dusty square. Peredonov said:
“But what about the princess? She’ll get angry if I ditch Varvara.”
“Well, what about the princess!” said Rutilov. “You’re not raising kittens with her. Let her give you the position first – you’ll have time to settle down. Otherwise, it’s just for nothing, seeing nothing!”
“That’s true…” Peredonov agreed thoughtfully.
“You tell Varvara that,” Rutilov persuaded. “First the position, otherwise, I don’t really believe it. Get the position, and then marry whoever you want. You’d better take one of my sisters – three of them, choose any. The young ladies are educated, smart, no flattery, not a match for Varvara. She’s not fit to tie their shoelaces.”
“Well-l…” Peredonov mumbled.
“True. What’s your Varvara? Here, smell this.”
Rutilov bent down, tore off a woolly stem of henbane, crumpled it with its leaves and dirty-white flowers, and, rubbing it all with his fingers, brought it to Peredonov’s nose. Peredonov winced at the unpleasant, heavy smell. Rutilov said:
“Rub it and throw it away – that’s your Varvara. She and my sisters – that, brother, is a big difference. Lively young ladies, energetic – take any, she won’t let you sleep. And young, too – the oldest is three times younger than your Varvara.”
Rutilov said all this, as was his custom, quickly and cheerfully, smiling, but he, tall and narrow-chested, seemed frail and fragile, and from under his new and fashionable hat, his sparse, short-cropped light hair stuck out rather sadly.
“Well, three times as young,” Peredonov weakly retorted, taking off and wiping his gold glasses.
“Yes, it’s true!” Rutilov exclaimed. “Look, don’t miss out while I’m alive, otherwise, they have their pride too – later you’ll want to, but it’ll be too late. But each of them would go for you with great pleasure.”
“Yes, everyone here falls in love with me,” Peredonov said with gloomy self-praise.
“Well, you see, so seize the moment,” Rutilov urged.
“The main thing for me would be that she’s not scrawny,” Peredonov said with longing in his voice. “I’d like a plump one.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Rutilov said ardently. “They are plump young ladies even now, and if they haven’t quite filled out, that’s only for a while. They’ll get married and they’ll get plump, like the eldest. Larisa, as you know, has become quite a pie.”
“I would marry,” Peredonov said, “but I’m afraid Varya will make a big scandal.”
“If you’re afraid of a scandal, then do this,” Rutilov said with a cunning smile: “Marry today, or tomorrow: you’ll come home with a young wife, and that’s that. Truly, if you want, I’ll arrange it, tomorrow evening? With whichever one you want?”
Peredonov suddenly burst out laughing, in short, loud bursts.
“Well, agreed? Is it a deal?” Rutilov asked.
Peredonov as suddenly stopped laughing and glumly said, softly, almost in a whisper:
“She’ll report me, the scoundrel.”
“She won’t report anything, there’s nothing to report,” Rutilov reassured him.
“Or she’ll poison me,” Peredonov whispered fearfully.
“Just rely on me for everything,” Rutilov ardently persuaded him, “I’ll arrange everything so subtly for you…”
“I won’t marry without a dowry,” Peredonov shouted angrily.
Rutilov was not at all surprised by this new jump in his gloomy interlocutor’s thoughts. He retorted with the same animation:
“Fool, are they dowerless? Well, is it a deal? Well, I’ll run, I’ll arrange everything. But mum’s the word, understand, not a peep to anyone!”
He shook Peredonov’s hand and ran off. Peredonov silently watched him. The Rutilov young ladies came to his mind, cheerful, mocking. An immodest thought forced a foul semblance of a smile onto his lips – it appeared for a moment and disappeared. A vague unease arose within him.
“What about the princess?” he thought. “Those girls have no money, and no patronage, but with Varvara, you’ll become an inspector, and then they’ll make you a director.”
He looked after the fussily scurrying Rutilov and thought maliciously: “Let him run around.”
And this thought gave him a sluggish and dull pleasure. But he grew bored because he was alone; he pulled his hat down over his forehead, furrowed his light eyebrows, and hastily set off home along the unpaved, empty streets, overgrown with creeping moss with white flowers, and watercress, a weed trampled in the mud.
Someone called him in a quiet and quick voice:
“Ardalyon Borysyich, come visit us.”
Peredonov raised his gloomy eyes and looked angrily over the fence. In the garden, behind the gate, stood Natalya Afanasyevna Vershina, a small, thin, dark-skinned woman, all in black, with black eyebrows and black eyes. She was smoking a cigarette in a dark cherry wood mouthpiece and smiling slightly, as if she knew something that isn’t spoken, but is smiled at. Not so much with words, but with light, quick movements, she invited Peredonov into her garden: she opened the gate, stepped aside, smiled entreatingly and at the same time confidently, and motioned with her hands – come in, why are you standing there.
And Peredonov entered, obeying her as if enchanting, silent movements. But he immediately stopped on the sandy path, where fragments of dry branches caught his eye, and looked at his watch.
“Time for breakfast,” he grumbled.
Although he had owned the watch for a long time, he still, as always when people were present, looked with pleasure at its large gold covers. It was twenty minutes to twelve. Peredonov decided he could stay a little while. He walked glumly behind Vershina along the paths, past the empty bushes of black and red currants, raspberries, and gooseberries.
The garden was yellow and mottled with fruits and late flowers. There were many fruit trees and ordinary trees and bushes: low spreading apple trees, round-leaved pears, linden trees, cherry trees with smooth shiny leaves, plum, honeysuckle. Red berries ripened on elderberry bushes. Siberian geranium bloomed thickly near the fence – small, pale pink flowers with purple veins.
Thistles poked their prickly purple heads from under the bushes. To one side stood a wooden house, small, greyish, with a single dwelling, and a wide porch leading to the garden. It seemed charming and cozy. And behind it, a part of the vegetable garden was visible. There, dry poppy pods swayed, and large, white-yellow daisy caps, yellow sunflower heads drooped before wilting, and among the useful herbs, umbrellas rose: white ones of wild parsnip and pale purple ones of spotted hemlock, light yellow buttercups and low spurges bloomed.
“Were you at the liturgy?” Vershina asked.
“I was,” Peredonov replied glumly.
“And Martha just came back,” Vershina recounted. “She often goes to our church. I even laugh: for whom, I say, Martha, do you go to our church? She blushes, stays silent. Let’s go, let’s sit in the arbor,” she said quickly and without any transition from what she had been saying before.
In the middle of the garden, in the shade of sprawling maples, stood an old, greyish arbor – three steps up, a moss-covered platform, low walls, six turned, bulging columns, and a six-slope roof.
Martha sat in the arbor, still dressed up from the liturgy. She wore a light dress with bows, but it didn’t suit her. The short sleeves exposed sharp, red elbows and strong, large hands. Martha, however, was not bad-looking. Her freckles didn’t spoil her. She was even considered pretty, especially among her own people, the Poles – there were quite a few of them living here.
Martha was rolling cigarettes for Vershina. She impatiently wanted Peredonov to look at her and be delighted. This desire revealed itself on her simple face with an expression of restless friendliness. However, it didn’t stem from Martha being in love with Peredonov: Vershina wanted to find her a match, the family was large – and Martha wanted to please Vershina, with whom she had been living for several months, since the funeral of Vershina’s old husband – to please her for herself and for her gymnasium student brother, who was also visiting here.
Vershina and Peredonov entered the arbor. Peredonov glumly greeted Martha and sat down – he chose a spot where a column would protect his back from the wind and where drafts wouldn’t blow into his ears. He looked at Martha’s yellow shoes with pink pom-poms and thought that they were trying to catch him as a groom. He always thought this when he saw young ladies who were amiable with him. He noticed only flaws in Martha – many freckles, large hands, and rough skin. He knew that her father, a nobleman, leased a small village about six versts from the town. The income was small, there were many children: Martha had finished pro-gymnasium, her son was studying in gymnasium, other children were even younger.
“May I pour you some beer?” Vershina asked quickly.
On the table were glasses, two bottles of beer, fine sugar in a tin box, a nickel silver spoon, soaked in beer.
“I’ll drink it,” Peredonov said curtly.
Vershina looked at Martha. Martha poured a glass, pushed it to Peredonov, and at the same time, a strange smile, half-frightened, half-joyful, played on her face. Vershina said quickly, as if spilling words:
“Put sugar in your beer.”
Martha pushed the tin with sugar to Peredonov. But Peredonov said irritably:
“No, that’s disgusting, with sugar.”
“What are you saying, it’s delicious,” Vershina dropped monotonously and quickly.
“Very delicious,” Martha said.
“Disgusting,” Peredonov repeated and looked angrily at the sugar.
“As you wish,” Vershina said and in the same voice, without stopping or transitioning, began to talk about something else: “Cherpnin is bothering me,” she said and laughed.
Martha also laughed. Peredonov looked on indifferently: he took no part in other people’s affairs – he didn’t like people, didn’t think about them except in connection with his own advantages and pleasures. Vershina smiled complacently and said:
“He thinks I’ll marry him.”
“Awfully cheeky,” Martha said, not because she thought so, but because she wanted to please and flatter Vershina.
“He was peeking through the window yesterday,” Vershina recounted. “He climbed into the garden when we were having supper. A tub stood under the window, we had put it out for the rain – it was full. It was covered with a board, the water wasn’t visible, he climbed onto the tub and looked into the window. And our lamp was on – he saw us, but we didn’t see him. Suddenly we heard a noise. We were scared at first, ran out. And it was him, he had fallen into the water. But he got out before us, ran away all wet – a wet trail on the path. And we recognized him by his back.”
Martha laughed with a thin, joyful laugh, like well-behaved children laugh. Vershina recounted everything quickly and monotonously, as if pouring it out – as she always said – and immediately fell silent, sitting and smiling with the corner of her mouth, and because of this, her whole dark and dry face wrinkled, and her teeth, blackened from smoking, slightly parted. Peredonov thought and suddenly burst out laughing. He always reacted slowly to what he found funny – his perceptions were slow and dull.
Vershina smoked cigarette after cigarette. She couldn’t live without tobacco smoke in front of her nose.
“We’ll be neighbors soon,” Peredonov announced.
Vershina cast a quick glance at Martha. She blushed slightly, looked at Peredonov with fearful anticipation, and then immediately looked away into the garden again.
“Are you moving?” Vershina asked. “Why?”
“Far from the gymnasium,” Peredonov explained. Vershina smiled distrustfully. More likely, she thought, he wants to be closer to Martha.
“But you’ve been living there for a long time, for several years,” she said.
“And the landlady’s a bitch,” Peredonov said angrily.
“Really?” Vershina asked distrustfully, and smiled crookedly.
Peredonov livened up a bit.
“She put up new wallpaper, but badly,” he recounted. “The pieces don’t match. Suddenly in the dining room, above the door, there’s a completely different pattern, the whole room has swirls and little flowers, but above the door it’s stripes and little nails. And the color is completely wrong. We almost didn’t notice, but Falastov came, he laughed. And everyone laughed.”
“Of course, such an outrage,” Vershina agreed.
“Only we’re not telling her that we’re moving out,” Peredonov said, lowering his voice. “We’ll find an apartment and leave, and we won’t tell her.”
“Naturally,” Vershina said.
“Otherwise, she’ll probably make a scandal,” Peredonov said, and fearful anxiety was reflected in his eyes. “And then I’ll have to pay her for a month, for such nastiness.”
Peredonov burst out laughing with joy that he would move out and not pay for the apartment.
“She’ll demand it,” Vershina remarked.
“Let her demand, I won’t give it,” Peredonov said angrily. “We went to Petersburg, so we didn’t use the apartment during that time.”
“But the apartment remained yours,” Vershina said.
“So what! She has to do repairs, so are we obliged to pay for the time we don’t live there? And most importantly – she’s awfully cheeky.”
“Well, the landlady is cheeky because your… sister is too fiery a person,” Vershina said with a slight hesitation on the word “sister.”
Peredonov frowned and stared ahead dully with half-sleepy eyes. Vershina started talking about something else. Peredonov pulled a caramel from his pocket, unwrapped it, and began to chew. He accidentally glanced at Martha and thought that she was envious and also wanted a caramel.
“Should I give her one or not?” Peredonov thought. “She’s not worth it. Or maybe I should give her one – so they don’t think I’m stingy. I have a lot, my pockets are full.”
And he pulled out a handful of caramels.
“Here,” he said and offered the candies first to Vershina, then to Martha, “good bonbons, expensive, thirty kopecks a pound.”
They each took one. He said:
“Take more. I have a lot, and good bonbons – I won’t eat bad ones.”
“Thank you, I don’t want any more,” Vershina said quickly and expressionlessly.
And Martha repeated the same words after her, but somewhat hesitantly. Peredonov looked at Martha distrustfully and said:
“Well, how can you not want any! Here.”
And he took one caramel for himself from the handful, and placed the rest in front of Martha. Martha smiled silently and bowed her head.
“Rude,” Peredonov thought, “doesn’t know how to thank properly.”
He didn’t know what to talk about with Martha. She wasn’t interesting to him, like all objects with which no pleasant or unpleasant relationships had been established for him by someone.
The rest of the beer was poured into Peredonov’s glass. Vershina looked at Martha.
“I’ll bring it,” Martha said. She always guessed without words what Vershina wanted.
“Send Vladya, he’s in the garden,” Vershina said.
“Vladislav!” Martha called out.
“Here,” the boy replied so close and so quickly, as if he had been eavesdropping.
“Bring two bottles of beer,” Martha said, “in the chest in the hallway.”
Soon Vladislav quietly ran up to the arbor, handed Martha the beer through the window, and bowed to Peredonov.
“Hello,” Peredonov said grimly, “how many bottles of beer have you guzzled today?”
Vladislav forced a smile and said:
“I don’t drink beer.”
He was a boy of about fourteen, with a freckled face like Martha’s, resembling his sister, awkward and sluggish in his movements. He was dressed in a coarse linen blouse.
Martha whispered to her brother. Both of them laughed. Peredonov looked at them suspiciously. When people laughed in his presence and he didn’t know why, he always assumed they were laughing at him. Vershina grew worried. She was about to call out to Martha. But Peredonov himself asked in an angry voice:
“What are you laughing at?”
Martha flinched, turned to him, and didn’t know what to say. Vladislav smiled, looking at Peredonov, and blushed slightly.
“That’s rude, in front of guests,” Peredonov reproached. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked.
Martha blushed, Vladislav was scared.
“Excuse me,” Martha said, “we weren’t laughing at you at all. We were talking about our own business.”
“A secret,” Peredonov said angrily. “It’s rude to talk about secrets in front of guests.”
“No, it’s not a secret,” Martha said, “but we were laughing because Vladya is barefoot and can’t come in here – he’s embarrassed.”
Peredonov calmed down, started inventing jokes about Vladya, then also treated him to a caramel.
“Martha, bring my black shawl,” Vershina said, “and while you’re at it, look in the kitchen, see how the pie is doing.”
Martha obediently left. She understood that Vershina wanted to talk to Peredonov, and she was glad, being lazy, that there was no hurry.
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