a grudge against you. At least, that's what Korablev thinks. And others
too. In short, I ask you to show me these letters which go to prove that
some von Vyshimirsky or other is responsible for the loss of the
expedition and that the death of—' (I swallowed the word) 'and that all
the rest is my fault.'
It was rather a long speech, but as I had prepared it beforehand I
rattled it off without a hitch. I only stumbled when I mentioned the
death of Maria Vasilievna and again at the words 'and others too',
because I was thinking of Katya. She was still standing in the doorway,
tensed, holding her breath.
Only now, during this speech, did I notice how old Nikolai Antonich
had grown. With that hooked nose of his and the sagging jowls he was
like an old bird, and even his gold tooth, which used to light up his
whole face, had lost its brightness.
He breathed heavily as he listened to me. He seemed to be at a loss for
a reply. Just then one of the Bubenchikov ladies asked in surprise: 'Who
is this?'
He drew his breath and began to speak.
'Who is this?' he queried with a hiss. 'It's that foul slanderer I've
been telling you about day in day out.'
'Nikolai Antonich, if you're going to call names—'
138
'It's the person who killed her,' Nikolai Antonich went on. His face
quivered and he began to crack his knuckles. 'That is the person who
slandered me with the most frightful slander the imagination is capable
of. But I'm not dead yet!'
Nobody thought he was, and I was about to tell him as much, when he
started shouting again:
'I'm not dead yet!'
Nina Kapitonovna took hold of his arm. He wrenched it free.
'I could have had the law on him and have him condemned for
everything ... for all that he has done to poison my life. But there are
other laws and other bars, and by these laws he will yet be made to feel
one day what he has done. He killed her,' said Nikolai Antonich, and the
tears fairly gushed from his eyes. 'She died because of him. Let him go
on living if he can...'
Nina Kapitonovna pushed her chair back and took hold of his arm as
though she were afraid he was going to fall. He stared at her dully. For a
moment I doubted whether I was in the right. But only for a moment.
'Because of whom? My God, because of whom?' Nikolai Antonich
went on. 'Because of this guttersnipe, who is so devoid of feeling that he
dares to come again to the house in which she died. Because of this
guttersnipe of impure blood!'
I don't know what he meant by this and why his blood should be any
purer than mine. No matter! I listened to him in silence. Katya stood by
the wall, rigid and very straight.
'—who has dared to enter the house from which I kicked him out like
the snake he is. What a fate mine has been, 0 God! I gave my whole life
to her, I did everything a man could do for the woman he loves, and she
dies on account of this vile, contemptible snake, who tells her that I am
not I, that I had always deceived her, that I had killed her husband, my
own cousin.'
I was astonished to hear him speak with such passion and utter
abandon. I felt that I had gone very pale. No matter! I knew how to
answer him.
'Nikolai Antonich,' I said, trying to keep cool and noticing that my
tongue was obeying me none too well. 'I won't reply to your epithets,
because I understand the state you are in. You did turn me out, but I
came back and will continue to come back until I have proved that I am
absolutely innocent of the death of Maria Vasilievna. And if anyone is
guilty, it's not me, but someone else. The fact is that you have certain
letters of the late Captain Tatarinov which you have used to persuade
Korablev and evidently everybody else that I have slandered you. Will
you please show me those letters so that all can be persuaded that I am
the vile snake you have just said I am.'
The uproar that followed these words was terrific. The Bubenchikovs,
still understanding nothing, started shouting again: 'Who is this?' As
nobody explained to them who I was they went on shouting louder still.
Nina Kapitonovna was shouting at me too, demanding that I should go
away. But Katya did not utter a word. She stood by the wall and looked
from Nikolai Antonich to me and back again.
Abruptly, all fell silent. Nikolai Antonich pushed the old lady aside
and went into his room from which he returned a moment later with a
batch of letters in his hands. Not just one or two letters, but a batch,
some forty or so. I don't think they were all Captain Tatarinov's letters,
139
more probably they were miscellaneous letters from different people in
connection with the expedition or something of that sort. He flung the
letters at me, spat in my face and dropped into a chair. The old ladies
rushed over to him.
Very likely, if he had spat in my face and hit the target, I would have
knocked him down or even killed him. Nobody had ever spat in my face,
and I would have killed the man who did, rules or no rules. But he
missed. And the letters fell short too.
Naturally, I did not pick them up, though there was a moment when I
very nearly picked one of them up-one which bore a big wax seal and the
words St. Maria on it. But I did not pick them up. I was in this house for
the last time. Katya stood between us, by the armchair in which he lay
with clenched teeth, clutching at his heart. I looked at her, looked her
straight in the face, which I was seeing for the last time.
'Ah, well,' I said. 'I'm not going to read these letters which you have
thrown into my face. I'll do another thing. I'll find the expedition—1
don't believe it can have disappeared without a trace—and then we'll see
who's right.'
I wanted to take my leave of Katya and tell her that I would never
