‘“But you haven’t read it, Mikhailik!” she would argue loudly. “I’m telling you, I swear you haven’t read any of it!”
‘“And I’m telling you that I have!” Kovalenko would shout, banging his stick on the pavement.
‘“Really, Mikhailik! I don’t see why you have to be so angry. This is a question of principle, after all.”
‘“But I am telling you that I have read it!” Kovalenko would shout even louder.
‘And they would also start squabbling as soon as anyone came to see them at home. She probably found it all a bit wearing, and was wishing she had her own space, and then you have to take her age into consideration; she did not have the luxury of being able to choose, and she was ready to get married to anyone, even the Greek teacher. It’s the same with most of our young ladies; they just want to get married; they are not fussed who to. Anyway, Varenka started to show obvious favour towards old Belikov.
‘And what about old Belikov? He visited Kovalenko like he used to visit us. He would turn up, sit there, and say nothing. And while he sat there saying nothing, Varenka would sing “The Winds are Blowing” or look at him dreamily with her dark eyes, or suddenly burst out laughing: “Ha-ha-ha!”
‘Suggestion plays an important role in affairs of the heart. My colleagues and all the ladies started to assure him that he ought to get married, and that getting married was the one thing which he had left to do in life; we all congratulated him, put on serious expressions, and mouthed a lot of platitudes, such as marriage being a serious step to take. Varenka was not bad-looking, moreover, and she was interesting; she was the daughter of a state councillor, and had a property in the country; but the main thing was that she was the first woman who had shown him any kindness or affection. His head was turned and he decided that he really should get married.’
‘That’s when you should have taken away his galoshes and his umbrella,’ chipped in Ivan Ivanych.
‘Would you believe it, it turned out to be impossible. He put Varenka’s portrait on his desk, and kept coming to talk to me about Varenka, and about family life, and about how marriage was an important step, and he often went over to the Kovalenkos, but he did not change his way of life at all. It was almost the opposite–the decision to get married seemed to make him ill: he lost weight, he went all pale, and seemed to retreat even further into his shell.
‘“I like Varvara Savvishna,” he would tell me with his crooked little smile; “and I know everyone should get married, but… all this has come about rather suddenly, you know… I need to think about it.”
‘“What is there to think about?” I would ask him. “You just get married, that’s all there is to it.”
‘“Oh no, marriage is a serious step and first you need to weigh up all the duties and responsibilities you will have… to avoid mishaps. It worries me so much I don’t sleep at night. And I have to confess that I am rather afraid: she and her brother have a strange way of thinking; the way they discuss things is also strange, you know, and she’s got such a lively personality. Who knows what trouble I might get into if I get married.”
‘And so he did not propose, but kept putting it off, to the great disappointment of the principal’s wife and all the other ladies; he kept weighing up all the duties and responsibilities which lay ahead, but meanwhile he carried on taking walks with Varenka almost every day, perhaps thinking that was the correct thing to do in his position, and he kept coming to see me to talk about family life. And he probably would have eventually proposed and entered into one of those unnecessary, stupid marriages such as thousands of people enter into out of boredom and want of anything better to do, had there not suddenly been a kolossalische Skandal. * I need to point out here that Kovalenko, Varenka’s brother, loathed Belikov from the very first day they met and just could not stand him.
‘“I just do not understand,” he said to us, shrugging his shoulders, “I do not understand how you can put up with that horrible old sneak. The way you live, gentlemen! The atmosphere here is suffocating, it’s totally vile. You think you are teachers, engaged in pedagogical work? You’re time-servers, that’s what. This is no sacred place of learning, it’s more like a police station, and it smells as sour as a sentry box. I’ll stay just a while longer with you, my friends, and then I’m going off to my house in the country to catch crayfish and teach young Ukrainians. I’m going, and I’ll leave you here to your Judas, curse him.”
‘Or he would laugh, laugh till he cried, sometimes in a deep bass, sometimes in a squeaky high voice, and he would ask me, throwing up his hands:
‘“Why does he have to sit at my place? What does he want? He just sits there staring.”
‘He even called Belikov “the vampire spider”. Obviously, we avoided talking to him about his sister Varenka’s plans to marry this “vampire spider”. And when the principal’s wife hinted one day to him that it would be a good idea to fix Varenka up with a reliable, well-respected man like Belikov, he frowned, and snarled:
‘“It’s nothing to do with me. She can marry a viper as far as I am concerned, I don’t like involving myself in other people’s business.”
‘Anyway, listen to what happened next. Some joker drew a cartoon: it showed Belikov in galoshes, wearing trousers with the ends turned up, walking under an umbrella with Varenka on his arm; underneath there was a caption: “Anthropos in love”. And you know, his expression had been caught brilliantly. The artist must have spent more than just one night on it, because every teacher in the boys’ and girls’ schools, as well as the seminary teachers and all our officials received a copy. Belikov received one too. The cartoon had a terrible effect on him.
‘There was one day when we had an outing–it was the first of May, as it happened, a Sunday, and all of us teachers and pupils had agreed to meet at school and then walk out of town to the woods. Just as we were leaving Belikov appeared, looking quite green, with an expression that was blacker than a storm-cloud.
‘“What nasty, malicious people there are!” he said, his lips quivering.
‘I even began to feel sorry for him. Well, we were walking along when suddenly, can you imagine, Kovalenko came rolling by on a bicycle, followed by Varenka, also on a bicycle, red-faced and tired out, but clearly looking as if she was enjoying herself.
‘“We’re going on ahead!” she shouted. “It’s such lovely weather, it’s glorious!”
‘And they both disappeared. Belikov turned from green to white, and it was if he had been struck dumb. He stopped and looked at me…
‘“May I ask, just what is the meaning of this? Or do my eyes deceive me? It cannot be proper for schoolteachers and women to ride bicycles.”
‘“What’s improper about it?” I said. “I think they should cycle away to their heart’s content.”
‘“I don’t believe it!” he shouted, appalled at how unperturbed I was. “Do you realize what you are saying?”
‘And he was so shocked that he did not want to walk any further; he just turned round and went home.
‘He spent the next day rubbing his hands together nervously, and you could see from his face that he was not well. He left school early, which he had never done before in his life. And he did not have lunch. And then towards evening he wrapped up warmly, even though the weather was completely summery, and trudged off to the Kovalenkos. Varenka was out, so he found only her brother at home.
‘“Do please take a seat,” said Kovalenko coldly, with a frown; he looked very bleary-eyed, as he had just woken up from his afternoon nap and he really was not in a good mood.
‘Belikov sat there without saying anything for ten minutes, then he began:
‘“I have come to see you to take a weight off my mind. I’m very, very troubled. Some lampoonist drew a picture poking fun at me and another individual who is close to us both. I consider it my duty to assure you that it had nothing to do with me… I gave absolutely no grounds for such ridicule–the opposite in fact; I have always behaved like a resp
ectable person.”
‘Kovalenko sat there fuming, but did not say anything.
‘“And there is something else I have to say to you. I have been teaching for a long time, but you have just started your career, so I consider it my duty as your senior colleague to warn you. You have been riding a bicycle, and it is a pastime which is totally improper for an educator of young people.”
‘“Why is that?” asked Kovalenko in his bass voice.
‘“Do I really have to spell out why it is unacceptable, Mikhail Savvich? If a teacher rides a bicycle, what can we expect of the pupils? They will be walking on their heads next! Since permission has not been granted in a regulation, it is forbidden. I was horrified yesterday! When I saw your sister I felt faint. To see a woman or a young girl on a bicycle is monstrous!”
‘“What exactly is it you want?”
‘“I want just one thing–to warn you, Mikhail Savvich. You are a young man with your future ahead of you, and you need to comport yourself very, very carefully, as you have been extremely negligent; oh, how negligent you have been! You walk around in an embroidered shirt, you are always out on the street with some book or other, and now there is the bicycle too. The principal will find out that you and your sister have been riding bicycles, and then it will get to the school’s trustee…”
‘“It’s nobody’s business that my sister and I ride on bicycles!” said Kovalenko, going crimson. “People who interfere in my private and family business can go to hell.”
‘Belikov went pale and stood up.
‘“I cannot carry on if you are going to speak to me in that tone,” he said. “And I must ask you never to speak in such a manner about our superiors while in my presence. You must have respect for authority.”
‘“And what have I said that is critical of the authorities?” said Kovalenko, looking at him angrily. “Please leave me in peace. I am an honest man and do not wish to talk to a gentleman like you. I do not like sneaks.”
‘Belikov started fidgeting nervously and then quickly put on his coat, with an expression of horror on his face. It was the first time in his life that he had heard someone being so rude, after all.
‘“You may say whatever you want,” he said, as he stepped from the hall onto the landing in the stairway. “But I do have to warn you that someone may have heard us, and lest our conversation is interpreted the wrong way, or there are repercussions, I will have to report the contents of our discussion to the principal… in general terms. I am obliged to.”
‘“You’re going to write a report? Well, go ahead, write it!”
‘Kovalenko grabbed him by the collar from behind and gave him a shove, and Belikov flew down the stairs, his galoshes thudding as he went. It was a long, steep staircase but he landed safely at the bottom. He stood up and touched his nose: were his spectacles broken? But just as he had been tumbling down the stairs Varenka had come in, accompanied by two ladies; they had stood at the bottom and watched, and for Belikov that was worse than anything else. He would have preferred to have broken his neck and both his legs to being made a laughing-stock; the whole town would know now, it would get to the principal and the school trustee–oh and where might it all lead!–someone would draw a new cartoon, and it would end in him being asked to submit his resignation…
‘When he got up, Varenka recognized him, and as she looked at his funny face, and his crumpled coat, and his galoshes, not understanding what had happened but thinking he must have slipped, she could not restrain herself from bursting out laughing very loudly:
‘“Ha-ha-ha!”
‘And that booming, resonant “ha-ha-ha!” brought everything to an end: both the matchmaking and Belikov’s earthly existence. He no longer heard what Varenka was saying, and could see nothing. When he returned home, he first of all removed her picture from his desk and then he went to bed and never got up again.
‘Afanasy came to see me three days later to ask whether a doctor should not be called out, as there was something wrong with his master. I went over to see Belikov. He was lying behind his bed curtains, covered up with a blanket and not speaking; if you asked him anything, all he would answer was yes or no, but he made no other sound. He went on lying there while Afanasy wandered about gloomily with a scowl on his face, sighing deeply; he reeked of vodka like a tavern.
‘Belikov died a month later. We all took part in burying him, that is to say, both the schools and the seminary. He had such a meek, pleasant, and even happy expression on his face lying in the grave that it was as if he was glad that he had finally been put in a case which he would never climb out of. Yes, he had reached his goal! And the weather on the day of his funeral was overcast and rainy, as if in his honour, and we all wore galoshes and carried umbrellas. Varenka also came to the funeral, and she shed a few tears when they lowered the coffin into the grave. I have noticed that Ukrainian women can only ever laugh or cry; there is no middle ground for them.
‘I have to confess that burying people like Belikov is very pleasurable. When we came home from the cemetery we all had suitably pious faces of course–no one wanted to admit to feeling pleased, and I was reminded of those times long, long ago in childhood, when all the grown-ups would go out and we would be able to run round the garden for an hour or two, enjoying the feeling of being completely free! Ah yes, freedom! Even a hint of it, just the faintest hope of it, is enough to make one’s spirit soar, don’t you think?
‘We came home from the cemetery in a good mood. But barely a week had gone by before everything went back to normal: the same grim, exhausting, pointless life in which things were not expressly forbidden, but not really permitted either; nothing had improved. We might have buried Belikov, but there were so many other people in cases still, and just think how many more there are going to be!’
‘Yes, that just about sums it up,’ said Ivan Ivanych as he lit his
pipe.
‘Just think how many more there are going to be!’ Burkin said again.
The schoolteacher went out of the barn. He was a short, fat man who was completely bald, with a black beard that went almost down to his waist; he was followed by two dogs.
‘Look at that moon!’ he said, looking up.
It was already midnight. To the right one could see the whole village, and a long road stretching for about three miles into the distance. Everything had been plunged into a quiet, deep sleep; there was no movement and no sound, and it was hard to believe that such silence could exist in the countryside. Seeing that wide village street with its little houses, haystacks, and somnolent willows on a moonlit night, brought a sense of peace to one’s heart; during its time of rest, sheltered by night’s shadows from troubles, toil, and sorrow, it looked meek, sad, and lovely; it seemed that even the stars were gazing down tenderly and affectionately, that there was no more evil in the world and that all would be well. Open countryside began to the left of the village; one could see it stretching as far as the horizon, and there was no sound or movement coming from its great moonlit expanse either.
‘Yes, that just about sums it up,’ said Ivan Ivanych again. ‘But what about the cramped, stuffy lives we lead in town, writing useless papers and playing cards–is that not living in a case too? And what about the way we spend our whole lives amongst idlers, pedants, and vain, stupid women, talking and listening to all sorts of rubbish–is not that a kind of case as well? There is a very instructive story I can tell you, if you would like.’
‘No, it’s time to go to sleep,’ said Burkin. ‘Let’s leave it till morning!’
They both went into the barn and lay down on the hay. And they had both tucked themselves up and were starting to doze off when they suddenly heard light footsteps going tap, tap… Someone was walking near the barn, taking a few steps then stopping, and then starting again a minute later: tap, tap… The dogs started growling.
‘That must be Mavra,’ said Burkin.
The footsteps died away.
‘To see and hear people lying
,’ said Ivan Ivanych, turning on to his other side, ‘and then to be called a fool for putting up with it; to endure insults and humiliations but to be too scared to come out in the open and declare that you are on the side of honest, free people, and then to lie and smile ingratiatingly yourself, when it’s all for the sake of a crust of bread, a roof over your head, and a pathetic little job in the service which is not worth anything–no, it’s impossible to go on living like that!’
‘Well that’s a whole other story, Ivan Ivanych,’ the teacher said. ‘Let’s get some sleep.’
And about ten minutes later Burkin was already asleep. But Ivan Ivanych kept tossing from side to side and sighing; then he got up and went outside again, sat down by the door, and lit his pipe.
GOOSEBERRIES
Rain-clouds had filled the whole sky since early morning; it was quiet, not particularly warm, and dull, as so often on those grey, overcast days when dark clouds hang over the landscape for ages and you keep expecting it to rain but it never does. Ivan Ivanych the veterinary surgeon and Burkin the schoolmaster had already grown tired of walking, and the open countryside seemed endless. A long way ahead you could just about see the windmills in the village of Mironositskoe; to the right there was a series of hills which stretched away and then disappeared far beyond the village, and they both knew that this was the riverbank, where there were meadows, green willows, and estates; if you stood on the top of one of the hills you could see another equally enormous stretch of open countryside, as well as telegraph poles and a train creeping along in the distance like a caterpillar, while on clear days you could even see the town. Ivan Ivanych and Burkin were filled with love for this landscape in this subdued weather, with the whole countryside looking so meek and pensive, and both were thinking how magnificent and beautiful their country was.