“He is paying visits,” Fyodor Stepanovich thought. “Even here he has a comfortable life. He has friends. I should have stolen more money.”
Coming near the church, Fyodor Stepanovich heard another voice. It was a woman’s voice. He saw a postal carriage packed with travelers’ suitcases and bags. There was a woman’s face peering from behind all the bags.
“Where is … Oh my dear, Fyodor Stepanovich, it’s you!” the little face was calling.
Fyodor Stepanovich ran to the carriage, looked intently at the woman’s face, and held her hand.
“What is this? Am I dreaming? Have you come back to me? How did you come to this decision, dear Olya?”
“Where does Barabaev live?”
“Why do you want to see Barabaev?”
“Because he invited me here. He sent me two thousand rubles, and promised three hundred rubles per month in addition. Are there any theaters around here?”
Until late that night, the exile walked around the town looking for a place to live. It rained the whole day, and there was not a moment of sunshine.
“How can these animals live without sunshine?” he thought, trudging through the deep slush. “How can they be happy without sunshine? They’re probably used to it.”
THE ONLY WAY OUT
(From the History of the St. Petersburg Mutual Fund)
There was a time when accountants ripped off our company. It is terrible, thinking about those times! Not only did they embezzle, they drained the accounts. The inside of our safe was covered with green velvet, and one morning even the green velvet had been stolen. One man was in so deep that, when he took the money, he took the lock and the lid with him, too. We’ve had nine accountants in the last five years, and now, during the holiday season, we get postcards from all of them, from Krasnoiarsk, Siberia. All of them went to prison.
“This is terrible, but what can we do?” we said to each other, disappointed, when the police arrested the ninth accountant. “It is terrible, disgusting, shameful. All nine of them were scoundrels,” we said to each other, trying to think who the new accountant could be.
Who would be the best man for the job? And then we chose Ivan Petrovich, a junior accountant. He is a quiet man; he believes in God; he does not live a cushy or extravagant life, and he does not overspend. So we chose him, we prayed, and we trusted him. But not for long.
On the second day, Ivan Petrovich came to work wearing a beautiful new tie. On the third day, he came in a cab, which he had never done before.
“Have you noticed?” we were whispering a week later. “He has a new tie and new glasses, and today he invited all of us to come to his birthday party. He prays more often also; he probably has some sins to confess.”
We reported our doubts and concerns to the director.
“You think the tenth man could be a scoundrel as well?” The bank director sighed deeply. “He is a such an honest, quiet man. All right, let’s go talk to him!”
We all went up to Ivan Petrovich and crowded around his desk.
“Excuse me, Ivan Petrovich,” said the director imploringly. “Of course, we trust you. We really do! But please, let us search your desk. Please, let us do this!”
“Very well, go ahead,’ the accountant said at once.
We started counting. When we had counted out the bills, we found that four thousand rubles were missing. That was very bad. First of all, if he had stolen that much money in one week, then how would he steal in a year? Or two years? We were numb with horror and despair.
“What shall we do? Should we take him to court? We tried that before, and it didn’t work. Next, the eleventh and then twelfth accountant will steal also. You can’t take all of them to court. Should we beat him up? He will be offended. Should we sack him, and hire a new one? But the new one will steal as well. That’s not the way out. What shall we do?” Our faces were pale.
The red-faced director was looking straight into Ivan Petrovich’s eyes, leaning over the yellow counter. We all suffered, trying to think what to do with him. He was sitting in his chair, with his back straight, making calculations. We were quiet for a ling time.
“Where have you spent the money?” the director finally asked him in a trembling voice, with tears in his eyes.
“I have some personal needs, your honor.”
“Ha! Very good! You have some needs, ha! Shut up! I am going to punish you!” The director paced the room and then continued, “What shall we do? How will we stop ourselves from repeating this mistake? Gentlemen, silence, please! What shall we do?” The director thought for a while and decided,
“We can’t beat him up! Ivan Petrovich, listen, we will put the money back ourselves, and we won’t make a fuss. The hell with you! But tell us all, tell us everything plainly. Do you like women?”
Ivan Petrovich responded with a confused smile.
“Yes, I see,” said the director. “I understand. Everyone needs love, as some philosopher said. I see. Look, if you like women, then listen to me. I will give you a letter of introduction to someone. She is a wonderful woman. And I will pay for your expenses. Do you want another one? I will give you a letter of introduction to another one. A third one? I will give you a third letter as well! All three women are nice, well-grown, and attractive. Do you like wine?”
“There are different wines, your honor. For example, Lisbon Port: I cannot stand its taste. Everything has its purpose in this world, as the saying goes.”
“Don’t talk so much. I will send you a dozen bottles of champagne regularly, every single week. Listen, you will have all this, but please, do not embezzle our money. I am not ordering, but imploring you! Do you like the theater?”
And so on, and so on. In the end we decided that we would triple his salary and would provide him with a season ticket to the theater, a couple of good horses, and a brief vacation out of town every week, all at company expense. We also agreed to pay for his tailor, his cigars, his photographs, his flowers to be sent to actresses, his furniture, and his lodging. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as he did not embezzle. He must not steal!
The result? A year has gone by. Ivan Petrovich is still sitting in his chair, working at his desk. And we are delighted; we could not find a better man for the job! Everything is open, honest, and wonderful. He does not steal. Every week though, we review all our transactions, and we find a hundred or so rubles missing.
But there isn’t serious theft, it’s nothing. And besides, he said he had his accountant’s instinct still alive, so we have to make sacrifices. Let him take a little money, at least he will not dip into the thousands!
Now, our company is flourishing, and our cash desk is filled with money all the time. We pay an awful lot for our accountant, but he is only a tenth as expensive as his nine predecessors were. I guarantee you, there is hardly any other bank, company, or mutual fund that spends so little on its accountant. We are the leaders; therefore, all you managers, you are all making a big mistake if you aren’t following our example.
AN EXPENSIVE DOG
Sergeant Oaks, an elderly officer, and his friend, the post office worker Mr. Knapps, were sharing a bottle of wine in the Oaks house.
“A great dog!” said Mr. Oaks, showing his dog Darling to Mr. Knapps. “A wonderful dog! Just look closely at its face!! A dog with a face like this costs a lot. A true dog lover would pay at least two thousand rubles for this face. Don’t you think so? Don’t you believe me? Then, you don’t understand anything about dogs.”
“Well, I only know a little about dogs.”
“Just look here; this is a setter, a British purebred. It can smell game from a great distance. Do you know that I paid one thousand rubles for a puppy? What a great dog! Darling! Look at me, Darling, come to me, my little doggy!”
Mr. Oaks brought his Darling doggy closer and kissed her between her ears. Tears of admiration appeared in his eyes.
“I will never give you away, my special dog! I know you love me, Darling, don’t you? Hey,
get away; you put your dirty paws on my uniform jacket. Now, Mr. Knapps, listen, I paid fifteen hundred rubles for a puppy. It was worth it! But it’s a pity that I don’t have time for hunting. This dog’s instincts are wasted without hunting practice, and its rare talent is slowly being lost. So, I would like to sell it. Buy this dog, Knapps, you will be grateful to me forever…. If you don’t have enough money, I’ll cut the price. Take it for five hundred, and rob me as you do it.”
“No, my dear friend.” Mr. Knapps sighed. “If your Darling were male, maybe then I would have bought it.”
“Darling is not a male?” The sergeant looked puzzled. “Knapps, you are joking! Darling is not male? Humph! Why do you think he is a female? Look at him! Ha-ha! My understanding is that you cannot see the difference between a male and a female.”
Knapps looked offended, “Surely, this is a female. You talk to me as if I were a blind man or a little baby.”
“And maybe you are going to tell me that I am a woman, too? My dear Mr. Knapps! And you have graduated from a technical school! No, my dear, this is a real purebred male dog! Even more—he will give ten points ahead to any other male. And you say that he is not a male dog! Ha-ha-ha.”
“Excuse me, Michael, my friend, but do you take me for a complete idiot?”
“All right, if you don’t want it, you do not have to buy it. I can’t make you. Maybe soon you are going to tell me that this is not a tail but a leg! I was just trying to do you a favor. Hey, Vakromev, bring us some more brandy.”
The butler brought another bottle of brandy. Both friends poured a glass each. They were lost in their own thoughts. Half an hour passed in silence.
“Even if this is a female,” the sergeant interrupted the silence, looking gloomily at the bottle of brandy, “it is even better for you. She will give you puppies, and every puppy could be sold at least for two hundred fifty rubles each. Everyone would come to you to buy her puppies. I don’t know why you don’t like females! They are a thousand times better than males. Females are more grateful and more attached. If you are so afraid of females, all right, take it for two-fifty.”
“No, my friend, I won’t give you a single penny. First of all, I do not need the dog, and second, I do not have money at the moment.”
“You should have told me about this earlier. Hey, Darling, get out of here. Vakromev, bring us something to eat!”
The butler served scrambled eggs. Both friends started eating, and cleared their plates in silence.
“You are a great guy. You’re an honest, straightforward man,” said Mr. Oaks, as he was wiping his lips. “But I don’t see why you should be going away empty-handed. You know what? Take this dog for free!”
“Where can I keep it?” Knapps asked, sighing. “Who will take care of it?”
“All right, all right. If you don’t want it, then you don’t need it. What the hell? Where are you going? Sit down, everything is fine. Sit down.” Knapps stood up and stretched.
“It is time for me to go,” Knapps said after a deep yawn.
“Wait a second! I will see you off,” said Mr. Oaks.
Mr. Knapps and Mr. Oaks got their coats on and went out into the street. They walked the first hundred steps in silence.
“Do you know where I can give my dog away?” the sergeant inquired, breaking the silence. “Do you know anyone? The dog is nice, it is purebred, but I really do not need it.”
“I don’t know, my friend, really. I don’t have any other friends around here.”
The rest of the way to Mr. Knapps’s house, not a single word passed between them. In front of the Knapps house, as they shook hands in front of his gates, Sergeant Oaks suddenly cleared his throat and undecidedly asked,
“Do you know where the local animal shelter is? Maybe they accept dogs now.”
“I think they do. But I cannot tell you for sure.”
“I will send my butler to bring the dog to them. What the hell! It’s a terrible, disgusting dog! As if it is not bad enough for it to go to the washroom in my living room, but—even more—yesterday, it ate all the meat in my kitchen. Dirty dog! And if only it were a nice breed—but no, it is has no breeding at all, just a cross between stray dog and pig. Good night!”
“See you later,” said Mr. Knapps, and closed the gate that led to the street.
CURVED MIRROR
I went into the living room, accompanied by my wife. It smelled of moss and darkness. Swarms of rats and mice jumped to each side as light penetrated a darkness that had been there for a hundred years. As I closed the door behind us, a gust of wind ruffled sheets of paper, scattered in piles across the floor. As some dim light fell on the paper we saw ancient script and medieval illuminations.
The walls were covered with green slime and were decorated with portraits of ancestors. They looked very strict and haughty, as if they would say,
“You need a good beating, brother.”
The sounds of our steps could be heard all over the house. The same echo, which answered my ancestors, resounded all over the house.
The wind was howling and blowing outside. It sounded as if someone were crying and howling in the chimney, and I felt a quiet desperation in this cry. Huge drops of rain were striking the dark, dim windows, giving additional poignancy to the scene.
“My dear ancestors,” I said, heaving a deep sigh, “if I were a writer, then after looking at your portraits I would write a long novel. Because each of these old men was young once, and probably had a love story behind him—probably, an exciting story. Just look at this old woman, my great-grandmother. She is not beautiful; perhaps she was even ugly, but she could tell an exciting story.
“Do you see that mirror hanging there in the corner?” I said to my wife, and I pointed at a large mirror in the corner, framed in black bronze, hanging next to the portrait of my great-grandmother.
“That mirror has magical powers. It destroyed that woman, my great-grandmother. She paid a lot of money for it, and she couldn’t go away from the mirror until she died.
“She looked into the mirror day and night without ceasing; she looked even when she ate and drank. When she went to bed, she took the mirror with her, and when she was dying, she asked to have the mirror put into her coffin. Her wishes weren’t followed, though, because there wasn’t enough room for the mirror in the casket.”
“Was she very much interested in men?”
“Probably. But don’t you think she could have had other mirrors? And why did she like this particular mirror? You think she had no better ones? No, dear, there is a terrible mystery hidden here; I am sure of it. Legend says that a devil was living in the mirror, and that my great-grandmother had a weakness for the devil. Of course that’s nonsense, but there’s definitely some mysterious force hidden within this bronze frame.”
I swept the dust off the mirror, looked at it, and started laughing. The sound of my laughter resounded in echoes. The mirror was curved, and my face was distorted in various directions. My nose was on my left cheek, and my chin became doubled and moved to the side.
“My great-grandmother had strange tastes,” I said.
My wife also came closer to the mirror and looked at it, and then something terrible happened. She blanched, trembled all over, and screamed. The candlestick fell from her hands and rolled onto the floor, and the candle was snuffed out. We were in total darkness. I heard some heavy object fall onto the floor. It was my wife, who had fainted.
The wind blew louder, more rats scampered about, and mice made a terrible shuffling noise amid the papers scattered on the floor. The hair on my head stood up and started tingling when a window shutter fell outward, into the street. I saw moonlight through the window.
I clutched the body of my wife, and brought her out of my ancestors’ old house. She came to her senses only the next evening.
“The mirror! Where is it? Give me the mirror!” she said, as soon as she came to her senses.
For several days she neither drank nor slept, and kept shou
ting that she needed the mirror. She was nightmarish and fevered in her bed, and when the doctors said that she might die of exhaustion, and that her state was perilous for her health, I went down to the basement, and brought my great-grandmother’s mirror to her. When she saw the mirror, she started laughing with happiness and pierced the mirror with her gaze.
Ten years have passed, and she has been looking at the mirror all the while, without diverting her glance for a second.
“Is it me?” she whispers, then her face flushes, and an expression of joy and happiness appears on her face.
“Yes, it’s me! Everything lies except for this mirror! People lie to me; my husband lies! If only I could have seen myself like this earlier. If only I had known how beautiful I am, I would have never married this man! The most beautiful and noble men would lie at my feet.”
One day, as I was standing behind my wife, I cast a sidelong glance into the mirror, and the terrible mystery was revealed to me. In the mirror, I saw a woman of striking beauty, a woman so beautiful that I had never seen such a fine-looking person in my life. It was a mystery, nature’s own harmony of beauty, perfection, and love.
But what had happened? What had actually happened? How did my ill-favored, vile, awkward wife seem so beautiful in the mirror? This phenomenon happened because the curved mirror changed her features, moving them to different sides.
From all these deformations her face suddenly became beautiful in the mirror. A negative times a negative equals a positive.
And now both I and my wife sit in front of the mirror, and without averting our gazes for a second, we look into it. My nose has moved to my left cheek; my chin has became doubled and moved to one side, but my wife’s face is amazing. Then, I become filled with her terrible, mad passion.
“Ha, ha, ha!” I cry wildly.
And my wife whispers, “I am so beautiful!”