LITMIR.BIZ

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leapt up, and craning his neck, stared fixedly at his father’s red and wrathful face. His big eyes first began blinking, then were dimmed with moisture, and the boy’s face began working.

      “But why are you scolding?” squealed Petya. “Why do you attack me, you stupid? I am not interfering with anybody; I am not naughty; I do what I am told, and yet… you are cross! Why are you scolding me?”

      The boy spoke with conviction, and wept so bitterly that Zaikin felt conscience-stricken.

      “Yes, really, why am I falling foul of him?” he thought. “Come, come,” he said, touching the boy on the shoulder. “I am sorry, Petya… forgive me. You are my good boy, my nice boy, I love you.”

      Petya wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sat down, with a sigh, in the same place and began cutting out the queen. Zaikin went off to his own room. He stretched himself on the sofa, and putting his hands behind his head, sank into thought. The boy’s tears had softened his anger, and by degrees the oppression on his liver grew less. He felt nothing but exhaustion and hunger.

      “Father,” he heard on the other side of the door, “shall I show you my collection of insects?”

      “Yes, show me.”

      Petya came into the study and handed his father a long green box. Before raising it to his ear Zaikin could hear a despairing buzz and the scratching of claws on the sides of the box. Opening the lid, he saw a number of butterflies, beetles, grasshoppers, and flies fastened to the bottom of the box with pins. All except two or three butterflies were still alive and moving.

      “Why, the grasshopper is still alive!” said Petya in surprise. “I caught him yesterday morning, and he is still alive!”

      “Who taught you to pin them in this way?”

      “Olga Kirillovna.”

      “Olga Kirillovna ought to be pinned down like that herself!” said Zaikin with repulsion. “Take them away! It’s shameful to torture animals.”

      “My God! How horribly he is being brought up!” he thought, as Petya went out.

      Pavel Matveyitch forgot his exhaustion and hunger, and thought of nothing but his boy’s future. Meanwhile, outside the light was gradually fading…. He could hear the summer visitors trooping back from the evening bathe. Some one was stopping near the open dining-room window and shouting: “Do you want any mushrooms?” And getting no answer, shuffled on with bare feet…. But at last, when the dusk was so thick that the outlines of the geraniums behind the muslin curtain were lost, and whiffs of the freshness of evening were coming in at the window, the door of the passage was thrown open noisily, and there came a sound of rapid footsteps, talk, and laughter….

      “Mamma!” shrieked Petya.

      Zaikin peeped out of his study and saw his wife, Nadyezhda Stepanovna, healthy and rosy as ever; with her he saw Olga Kirillovna, a spare woman with fair hair and heavy freckles, and two unknown men: one a lanky young man with curly red hair and a big Adam’s apple; the other, a short stubby man with a shaven face like an actor’s and a bluish crooked chin.

      “Natalya, set the samovar,” cried Nadyezhda Stepanovna, with a loud rustle of her skirts. “I hear Pavel Matveyitch is come. Pavel, where are you? Good-evening, Pavel!” she said, running into the study breathlessly. “So you’ve come. I am so glad…. Two of our amateurs have come with me…. Come, I’ll introduce you…. Here, the taller one is Koromyslov… he sings splendidly; and the other, the little one… is called Smerkalov: he is a real actor… he recites magnificently. Oh, how tired I am! We have just had a rehearsal…. It goes splendidly. We are acting ‘The Lodger with the Trombone’ and ‘Waiting for Him.’… The performance is the day after tomorrow… .”

      “Why did you bring them?” asked Zaikin.

      “I couldn’t help it, Poppet; after tea we must rehearse our parts and sing something…. I am to sing a duet with Koromyslov…. Oh, yes, I was almost forgetting! Darling, send Natalya to get some sardines, vodka, cheese, and something else. They will most likely stay to supper…. Oh, how tired I am!”

      “H’m! I’ve no money.”

      “You must, Poppet! It would be awkward! Don’t make me blush.”

      Half an hour later Natalya was sent for vodka and savouries; Zaikin, after drinking tea and eating a whole French loaf, went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed, while Nadyezhda Stepanovna and her visitors, with much noise and laughter, set to work to rehearse their parts. For a long time Pavel Matveyitch heard Koromyslov’s nasal reciting and Smerkalov’s theatrical exclamations…. The rehearsal was followed by a long conversation, interrupted by the shrill laughter of Olga Kirillovna. Smerkalov, as a real actor, explained the parts with aplomb and heat….

      Then followed the duet, and after the duet there was the clatter of crockery…. Through his drowsiness Zaikin heard them persuading Smerkalov to read “The Woman who was a Sinner,” and heard him, after affecting to refuse, begin to recite. He hissed, beat himself on the breast, wept, laughed in a husky bass…. Zaikin scowled and hid his head under the quilt.

      “It’s a long way for you to go, and it’s dark,” he heard Nadyezhda Stepanovna’s voice an hour later. “Why shouldn’t you stay the night here? Koromyslov can sleep here in the drawing-room on the sofa, and you, Smerkalov, in Petya’s bed…. I can put Petya in my husband’s study…. Do stay, really!”

      At last when the clock was striking two, all was hushed, the bedroom door opened, and Nadyezhda Stepanovna appeared.

      “Pavel, are you asleep?” she whispered.

      “No; why?”

      “Go into your study, darling, and lie on the sofa. I am going to put Olga Kirillovna here, in your bed. Do go, dear! I would put her to sleep in the study, but she is afraid to sleep alone…. Do get up!”

      Zaikin got up, threw on his dressing-gown, and taking his pillow, crept wearily to the study…. Feeling his way to his sofa, he lighted a match, and saw Petya lying on the sofa. The boy was not asleep, and, looking at the match with wide-open eyes:

      “Father, why is it gnats don’t go to sleep at night?” he asked.

      “Because… because… you and I are not wanted…. We have nowhere to sleep even.”

      “Father, and why is it Olga Kirillovna has freckles on her face?”

      “Oh, shut up! I am tired of you.”

      After a moment’s thought, Zaikin dressed and went out into the street for a breath of air…. He looked at the grey morning sky, at the motionless clouds, heard the lazy call of the drowsy corncrake, and began dreaming of the next day, when he would go to town, and coming back from the court would tumble into bed…. Suddenly the figure of a man appeared round the corner.

      “A watchman, no doubt,” thought Zaikin. But going nearer and looking more closely he recognized in the figure the summer visitor in the ginger trousers.

      “You’re not asleep?” he asked.

      “No, I can’t sleep,” sighed Ginger Trousers. “I am enjoying Nature…. A welcome visitor, my wife’s mother, arrived by the night train, you know. She brought with her our nieces… splendid girls! I was delighted to see them, although… it’s very damp! And you, too, are enjoying Nature?”

      “Yes,” grunted Zaikin, “I am enjoying it, too…. Do you know whether there is any sort of tavern or restaurant in the neighbourhood?”

      Ginger Trousers raised his eyes to heaven and meditated profoundly.

       THE CHORUS GIRL [trans. by Marian Fell]

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