Part 23

Everything spoke of spring, of fine warm, clear days, but in the little room it smelt damp and close. From time to time a melancholy, sorrowful word was uttered, the samovar hummed and glittered in the sunshine.

"We sit here as if we were at a funeral," said Ilya.

"Yes, Vyera's," added Gratschev. He sat there like a beaten hound. His hands moved slackly, his face was despairing, and he spoke slowly in a dull voice.

"Pull yourself together," said Ilya to him coldly. "It's no good giving way."

"It's my conscience," said Gratschev, shaking his head. "I sit here and think that I drove her to prison."

"That's quite possible," said Ilya remorselessly.

Gratschev raised his head and looked at his friend reproachfully.

"Why do you look at me?"

"You're a bad-hearted man."

"Well, why should I be good? What joy have I to make me cheerful?" cried Ilya. "Who has ever done any good thing for me? Who has cared for me? One soul perhaps in all the world, and she was a ne'er-do-well, a vicious woman, ah! Every one may strike me, and I'm to keep quiet? No thank you!"

His face flushed as anger welled up in him, his eyes grew bloodshot; he sprang up in a paroxysm of rage, longing to scream, to insult them, to strike the walls or the table with his fists. Masha, terrified, cried aloud like a child:

"I want to go home, let me go," she said in a trembling tearful voice, and moved her head as though trying to hide it.

Lunev was silent; he saw Pavel look at him with enmity.

"Well, what are you crying at?" he said ill-temperedly. "I didn't shout at you, and you needn't go. I'll go, I must. Pavel will stay with you."

"Gavrilo! If Tatiana Vlassyevna----"

"Who's that?"

There was a knock at the door of the courtyard. Gavrik looked inquiringly at his master.

"Open," said Ilya.

Gavrik's sister appeared on the threshold. She stood without moving for a few seconds, as straight as a dart, her head drawn back, and looked at them all with screwed-up eyes. Then on her cold, ugly face appeared a grimace of disgust, and without noticing Ilya's bow, she said to her brother:

"Gavrik, come here a moment."

Ilya flared out. The blood rushed to his face at the insult with such force that his eyes burned.

"If you're saluted, madam, you might acknowledge it," he said emphatically, restraining himself as well as he could. But she held her head higher and her brows contracted. With lips close-pressed, she measured Ilya with her eyes, and said nothing. Gavrik also looked with anger at his master.

"You are not visiting drunkards or rascals," Ilya went on, quivering with his emotion. "You receive a respectful greeting, and as a well-mannered lady, you are bound to acknowledge it."

"Don't be stuck up, Sonyka," said Gavrik suddenly, in a peaceful tone, and took her hand. A painful silence followed. Ilya and the girl faced one another and waited. Masha shrunk silently into a corner. Pavel blinked stupidly.

"Speak up! Sonyka," said Gavrik impatiently. "Do you suppose they'll hurt you?" and he added with an unexpected smile, "You are funny, you people."

His sister snatched away her hand and said to Lunev coldly and sharply:

"What do you want?"

"Nothing, only----"

But here a fine idea came into his head. He advanced and said as politely as he could:

"Allow me; you see we are three uneducated people, quite obscure. You are an educated lady."

He was eager to speak out his thought but could not. The stern, open glance of the dark eyes confused him; it never wavered and seemed to drive his senses from him. Her nostrils twitched, and her fingers pressed her brother's hand nervously. Ilya lowered his eyes and murmured confusedly and angrily:

"I don't know how to say it right off; if you've time, come in, sit down," and he made way for her.

"Stay here, Gavrik!" said the girl, left her brother by the door and went into the room. Ilya pushed a stool towards her. She sat down; Pavel went into the shop, Masha shrank into the corner by the stove, but Lunev stood motionless two paces from the girl and sought for words to speak.

"Well," she said.

"See, this is the business," said Ilya, with a deep sigh. "You see, this girl, that is, she's not a girl, she's married to an old man, who bullies her; she is all bruised and tortured and she ran away, she came to me. Perhaps you think that means something sinful. It doesn't at all." He confused his words and spoke vaguely between his desire to tell Masha's story and give the girl his own thoughts about it. He wanted especially to make his hearer share his own thoughts. She looked at him, and her face was more yielding, though her eyes flashed strangely.

"I understand," she interrupted. "You don't know what to do. First of all you must get a doctor; he must examine her. I know a good doctor, if you like, shall I take her to him? Gavrik, what's the time? Close on eleven. Good, that's his consultation hour. Gavrik, call a droshky, and you introduce me to her."

But Ilya did not move. He had not imagined that this stern, serious girl could speak in such a soft voice. Her face, too, amazed him; still proud, but now wholly anxious, and in it something good, kind, capable, that Ilya had never seen before. He looked at her and smiled in silent amazement. She, however, had turned away already, and going over to Masha, spoke to her gently.

"Don't cry, dear; don't be frightened, the doctor is a good man, he'll examine you and make out a certificate, and that's all. I'll bring you back here; now my dear, don't cry like that." She put her hands on Masha's shoulders, and tried to draw her closer.

"A--ah! that hurts," groaned Masha softly.

"How? What is it?"

Lunev heard and smiled.

"How? Good heavens, how awful!" cried the girl, falling back; her face was pale, and fear and anger glittered in her eyes.

"How she's bruised! Ah!"

"You see how we live!" cried Lunev, flaring up again. "Do you see? I can show you another, there! Allow me, my comrade, Pavel Savelitch Gratschev." Pavel came slowly out of the shop, and held out his hand without looking at the girl.

"Medvedeva, Sofia Nikonovna," she said, as she looked at Pavel's despairing face. "And you are Ilya Jakovlevitch?" and she turned again to Lunev.

"Yes," said Ilya, pressed her hand, and went on, still holding it----

"You see, since you're so good--that's to say--as you've helped in one business, you won't despise the other. There's a trouble here too."

She looked attentively and seriously in his handsome excited face and tried quietly to withdraw her hand; but he told her of Vyera and Pavel, speaking warmly, passionately, feeling that a load was falling from his heart. He shook her hand hard and said:

"He makes verses and all sorts of things. But he's quite knocked over by this. And she too, you think, that it's all right because she's--that kind of woman? No, don't think that! No one is all good or all bad!"

"How d'you mean?"

"I mean, even if any one is bad, still there's something good there, and if he's good, there's sure to be something bad. All our souls are two-coloured--all."

"That's well said," she agreed, and nodded seriously. "That's thought like a man! but please let go my hand, you hurt me."

Ilya began to apologise, but she did not attend to him, saying to Pavel in a tone of conviction;

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gratschev; you mustn't be like that; you must do something. One must always try to do something, either defend or attack. We must get her a lawyer, an advocate, d'you see? I'll find you one, and nothing will happen to her because he'll get her off. I promise you, he'll get her off."

Her face was flushed, the hair on her temples disordered, and her eyes burned with a strange joy. Masha stood by her and looked at her with the trustful curiosity of a child. But Lunev looked at Pavel and Masha triumphantly, and felt mingled pride and joy at the presence of this girl in his room.

"If you can really help," said Pavel, with a trembling voice, "help us. I'll never forget it as long as I live; although I don't believe it can come to a good end, yet I _will_ believe it!"

"Come to me at seven o'clock, will you? Gavrik will tell you where."

"I'll come. I don't know how to thank you."

"Why--thank me?"

"But I feel----"

"Don't say anything! we ought to help one another."

"Yes, men think that, don't they?" cried Ilya, ironically.

The girl turned round on him quickly. But Gavrik, who felt himself in this confusion the only healthy, sensible person, caught her hand and said:

"There, get on, you chatterbox!"

"Yes, Masha, get your things on!"

"I haven't anything to put on," said Masha shyly.

"Ah! well, anyhow, let's go. You'll come then, Gratschev, eh? Good-bye Ilya Jakovlevitch."

The men pressed her hand respectfully and silently, then she went out leading Masha. In the door, however, she turned round, threw her head up, and said to Ilya:

"I forgot, but it's important! I didn't acknowledge your greeting when I came in. That was abominable. I beg your pardon."

Her face flamed red, and her eyes were lowered; Ilya looked at her and his heart rejoiced.

"I'm sorry, very sorry! I thought you had a drinking party; it was very stupid, but----"

She broke off as though the words choked her.

"When you blamed me for not speaking, I thought he's speaking as the employer, and I was wrong. I'm very glad it was a real human feeling that spoke."

She broke into a bright happy smile and said sincerely, and as though it gave her pleasure to say it:

"Oh! it is so good to recognise human feeling in any one. I'm very glad, very; everything has come right, so splendidly--splendidly."

She disappeared like a little grey cloud, lighted with the rays of the morning sun. The friends looked after her; both faces were solemn and withal a little comic. Lunev looked round the room and said:

"Quite jolly here? eh?" Pavel laughed softly.

"Well, she's a good sort!" Lunev continued with a little sigh. "How she----ah!"

"She just swept everything clean like the wind!"

"There, did you see?" cried Ilya in triumph, pulling at his curly hair, "How she apologised, eh? You see what it's like to be really cultivated; you can respect a person, but you're never the first to make advances, see?"

"She's good," Gratschev confirmed him. "How long was she here? Close on an hour; it seems like a minute or two."

"Like a star."

"Yes, and put everything straight in no time; told us how and where and when."

Lunev laughed excitedly; he was delighted that this proud girl should have shown herself so capable and cheerful, and he was pleased with himself for knowing how to conduct himself worthily.

"Ah, yes," he cried regretfully. "I forgot; she took me by surprise with her apology."

"What did you forget?"

"I ought to have kissed her hand; that's what they do, educated people; it shows special respect."

Gavrik came in apparently loafing aimlessly.

"Ah, Gavrik!" said Ilya, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Your sister's a brick."

"Yes, she's a good sort," the boy agreed condescendingly. "Are we going to work to-day, or have a holiday? for I'd like to go into the country."

"No work to-day. Pavel, come, let's go for a walk."

"I shall go to the police station," said Pavel, and his face clouded over again.

"Perhaps they'll let me see her."

"I shall go for a walk," said Ilya.

Fresh and happy he strolled through the streets thinking of Gavrik's sister, and comparing this strange girl with all the people he had ever known. It was clear to him that she was better than them all, and had treated him better. The words of her apology rang in his ears, and he saw before him her face, with its wide nostrils, and every feature stamped with an expression of striving towards some unknown goal.

"And how she used to look down on me at first," he said to himself smiling, and began to wonder why at first she had treated him so proudly and distantly when she did not know him, and had hardly exchanged a word with him.

Life surged round about him. Students went by laughing, droshkys and carts of goods rolled past, a beggar limped along in front of him, his wooden leg tapping loudly on the stone pavement.

Two prisoners, guarded by a soldier, were carrying a wooden tub on a pole between them. A seller of pears passed along shouting, "Garden pears! Cooking pears!" Behind him ran a little dog with lolling tongue, rattle and crash, shouting and tramping, every sound blended in a lively, exciting hubbub. A warm dust whirled aloft and tickled the nostrils; the sun flamed out of a deep clean sky, and flooded the whole world with radiant splendour. Lunev looked at everything with a joy to which he had long been a stranger; everything in the streets seemed new and interesting; there, almost dancing along, goes a pretty girl with a merry red-cheeked face, and looks Ilya in the eyes, frank and friendly, as though she would say: "How nice you are!" Lunev smiled back at her. A droshky driver took off his hat, bowing sideways, with a grin, and said to a fat lady standing on the pavement: "It's too little, lady, five kopecks more." Ilya saw by his face that he was lying, the rascal--he had his proper fare. A young man hurries out of a shop with a copper can in his hand, pours out the cold water, sprinkling the passers-by, and the lid of the can rings cheerfully. The street is hot, stifling, noisy, and the thick green of the old lime-trees in the town churchyard is enticing with its peace and cool shade. The churchyard is surrounded with a white stone wall, and the thick foliage of the old trees sweeps up in a mighty wave to heaven, crowned with a spray of pointed green leaves. Against the blue every leaf stands out, and slowly quivering seems to melt away, and high over the foam of leaves shines the golden crosses of the church, a net-work of glancing, trembling rays.

Lunev entered the churchyard and went slowly along the broad alley, drawing deep breaths of perfume from the blossoming limes. Between the trees, under the branches' shade, stood monuments of marble and granite, stout and heavy, overgrown with moss and lichen. Here and there in the mysterious twilight crosses or half-erased inscriptions glimmered; golden honeysuckle, acacia, whitethorn and elder grew in the hedges, and their branches hid the graves. Here and there in the dense green a slender grey wooden cross appeared and was lost immediately among the surrounding bushes. White stems of young birch-trees glimmered like velvet through the thick network of leaves; they seemed to choose the shade with calculated modesty in order to be seen more easily. On green mounds, behind railings, shone gay flowers, a bee buzzed by in the stillness, two white butterflies played in the air; all kinds of flies swarmed noiselessly; and everywhere grasses and plants made towards the light, hid the mournful graves, and all the green of the churchyard was full of a tense striving to grow, to develop, to drink in air and light and change the richness of the earth to colour and scent and beauty for the joy of eyes and hearts. Everywhere life prevails and will prevail.

Lunev rejoiced to wander at will in the quiet and breathe in the sweet perfume of the flowers and the lime-trees. In his heart, too, there was rest and peace, he thought of nothing, but tasted the joy of solitude long unknown to him. He turned to the left out of the alley by a narrow path, and went slowly reading the inscriptions on crosses and gravestones. The graves hemmed him in with their railings, ornamental and wrought, or plain cast-iron.

"Beneath this cross rest the ashes of Vonifanty, servant of God."

He read and smiled, the name seemed ridiculous. Over the ashes of Vonifanty was set a huge granite stone. Near by in another enclosure rested "Peter Babushkin, twenty-eight years old."

"A young fellow," thought Ilya.

On a pillar of white marble he read:

"Earth's little flower is plucked and dies, A new star shines in heaven's skies."

Lunev read the couplet over and felt something touching in it. Suddenly he felt as though he had been struck to the heart, he swayed and shut his eyes; but through his closed lids he still saw clearly the inscription that had terrified him. The shining, golden letters on the big, brown stone seemed to have been cut on his brain:

"Here lies the body of the merchant Gilde Vassily Gavrilovitsch Poluektov, the younger."

After a moment or two, terrified at his own fear, he opened his eyes quickly, and looked suspiciously round about him. No one was there, only far off a burial service was being conducted. Through the stillness rang a thin tenor voice singing:

"Let us pray."

A deep, rather unpleasant voice answered, "Have mercy," and the clinking of the censers was just audible.

Lunev stood with his back against a maple-tree, his head thrown back, staring at the grave of the man he had murdered. He had pushed his cap off his brow, and it was pressed against the tree by the back of his head. His eyebrows were dark, his upper lip twitched, showing his teeth; his hands were deep in his jacket pockets, and his feet braced against the ground.

Poluektov's monument represented a coffin, and carved on it an open book, and a skull and crossbones. Beside it in the same enclosure was another smaller stone with an inscription that beneath it rested Eupraxia Poluektov, twenty-two years old.

"The first wife," thought Lunev. The thought came from only a small part of his brain, that remained free from the straining labour of his memory. He was gripped by the recollections of Poluektov; the first meeting, the murder, the feeling of the old man's saliva on his hands. But while all this stirred to life in his memory, he felt no trouble, no remorse, he looked at the gravestone with hate and bitterness and deep ill-will; and under his breath, with hot anger in his heart, and a real conviction of the truth of his words, he addressed the merchant:

"It's for you, damn you, that I ruined all my life, for you! You devil. What life is it I lead, through you! I have smirched myself for ever through you."

The words "for you" thumped in him like hammer strokes. He longed to cry with all his might these words for every one to hear, and he could hardly restrain the fierce desire. He pressed his teeth together till they ached, and stared before him while the thought of his life took hold of his soul like fire. Before him appeared the little, spiteful face, and near it somehow the wicked, bald head of Strogany with the red eyebrows, the self-satisfied face of Petrusha, the stupid Kirik, the grey head of Ehrenov, snub-nosed and pig-eyed--a whole crowd of familiar faces. There was a roaring in his ears, and it seemed as though all these men surrounded him, pressed on him, crowded him obstinately. He stepped away from the tree; his cap fell down behind him; as he bent to pick it up, he could not help stealing a sidelong glance at the money-changer's gravestone. He felt hot and sick, his face was full of blood, his eyes were strained with the tenseness of their gaze. With great difficulty he tore them away, walked straight up to the enclosure, grasped the railings in his hands and trembling with hate, spat on the grave; as he went away he stamped his feet on the ground as though to free them from a pain.

He could not go home; his soul was heavy and a sense of sick, cold weariness grew suffocatingly upon him. He walked with slow steps without looking at any one, without caring for anything, without thinking. In this way he walked along one street, turned mechanically into a second at the corner, went on a little further, and then found himself close to Petrusha Filimonov's tavern; the thought of Jakov came into his mind. As he passed by the door he felt that he must go in, though he had no wish to do so. As he went up the steps he heard Perfishka's voice.

"Oh! good people, be tender with your hands and spare my sides."

Lunev stood still in the open door; he saw Jakov behind the counter through the clouds of dust and tobacco smoke. His hair plastered down, in a coat with short sleeves, he was hurrying about, putting tea in teapots, counting lumps of sugar, pouring out brandy, and drawing the drawer of the till noisily in and out. The waiters hurried up and called, throwing the counters on the table: "Half a bottle, two beers, roast meat, ten kopecks' worth."

"He's grown handier," thought Lunev with an almost malicious pleasure, as he saw how quickly his friend's red hands moved.

"Ah! I'll remember that half-rouble against him," growled the loud harsh voice of a customer.

"Ah!" cried Jakov in delight, as Ilya came up to the counter, then looked nervously at the door behind him. His forehead was wet with perspiration, his cheeks yellow, with red patches. He grasped Ilya's hand and shook it, coughing at the same time, a harsh, dry cough.

"How are you?" asked Lunev, forcing a smile.

"Pretty well. I help in the business."

"Brought into the yoke at last?"

"What's a fellow to do?"

Jakov's shoulders were bowed, and he looked as if he had grown smaller.

"What ages it is since we met," he said, and looked in Ilya's face with his loving mournful eyes. "I'd like a bit of a talk with you. Father isn't there as it happens. See here, come in, and I'll ask the step-mother to let me away for a little."

He opened the door of his father's room slightly, and called respectfully:

"Mamma, can I speak to you a minute?"

Ilya entered the room that he had shared with his uncle, and looked round with interest. It was hardly altered; the wall-paper was darker, and instead of two beds there was only one, and above it a shelf of books. On the spot where he used to sleep stood a high, stout chest.

"There, I've got off for an hour," said Jakov cheerfully as he came in, and then shut and bolted the door. "But would you like some tea? All right. Ivan, tea," he called loudly, then began to cough and coughed for a long time; he supported himself with a hand against the wall, bowed his head and bent his back as though he would force something from his chest.

"That's a pretty noise to make," said Lunev,

"It's consumption, but I am glad to see you again, and my word, how you look! so swell, quite splendid! Well and how are you getting on?"

"I? What?" answered Lunev hesitatingly.

"Oh! I get along, but you, tell me, that's much more interesting."

Lunev felt absolutely disinclined to give information about himself; he hardly wanted to speak at all. He looked at Jakov and seeing him suffering, pitied him, but it was a cold pity, almost an empty, unmeaning feeling.

"I, brother? I endure my life as well as I can," answered Jakov, half aloud.

"Your father sucks your blood."

"Oh, he's in a tight place himself."

"Serves him right!"

"Step-mother's the chief person in the house now; if she says a thing, that's the law."

"Child, what use is money to you? Give me a kiss, I'll give you two,"

sang Perfishka in a piping voice in the next room, and played on his harmonica.

"What kind of a chest is that?" asked Ilya.

"That? That's a harmonium. Father bought it for me for four roubles. 'Learn to play it,' he said, 'then I'll buy you a good one at three hundred roubles,' he said, 'and we'll put it in the restaurant, and you can play to the guests and be some use, anyhow.' It was smart of him; they have organs in all the taverns now except ours, and I like playing."

"He's a mean wretch!" cried Lunev.

"Not at all! Why? Let him alone. It's quite true, I'm no use to him."

Ilya looked darkly at his friend, and said bitterly:

"Here's a good idea for him! Tell him when you die to make a show of you in the bar, and charge to see it, five kopecks a head. Then you'll be worth something to him."

Jakov laughed in an embarrassed way, and began to cough again, holding his hand first against his chest, then against his throat.

And Perfishka went on cheerfully: