'Nothing,' he answered in a faint voice; 'I'm a bit feeble. What chance brought you here?'
I sat down on a chair beside Pasinkov's bed, and, never letting his hands out of my hands, I began gazing into his face. I recognised the features I loved; the expression of the eyes and the smile were unchanged; but what a wreck illness had made of him!
He noticed the impression he was making on me.
'It's three days since I shaved,' he observed; 'and, to be sure, I've not been combed and brushed, but except for that … I'm not so bad.'
'Tell me, please, Yasha,' I began; 'what's this Elisei's been telling me … you were wounded?'
'Ah! yes, it's quite a history,' he replied. 'I'll tell you it later.
Yes, I was wounded, and only fancy what by?—an arrow.'
'An arrow?'
'Yes, an arrow; only not a mythological one, not Cupid's arrow, but a real arrow of very flexible wood, with a sharply-pointed tip at one end…. A very unpleasant sensation is produced by such an arrow, especially when it sticks in one's lungs.'
'But however did it come about? upon my word!…'
'I'll tell you how it happened. You know there always was a great deal of the absurd in my life. Do you remember my comical correspondence about getting my passport? Well, I was wounded in an absurd fashion too. And if you come to think of it, what self-respecting person in our enlightened century would permit himself to be wounded by an arrow? And not accidentally—observe—not at sports of any sort, but in a battle.'
'But you still don't tell me …'
'All right, wait a minute,' he interrupted. 'You know that soon after you left Petersburg I was transferred to Novgorod. I was a good time at Novgorod, and I must own I was bored there, though even there I came across one creature….' (He sighed.) … 'But no matter about that now; two years ago I got a capital little berth, some way off, it's true, in the Irkutsk province, but what of that! It seems as though my father and I were destined from birth to visit Siberia. A splendid country, Siberia! Rich, fertile—every one will tell you the same. I liked it very much there. The natives were put under my rule; they're a harmless lot of people; but as my ill-luck would have it, they took it into their heads, a dozen of them, not more, to smuggle in contraband goods. I was sent to arrest them. Arrest them I did, but one of them, crazy he must have been, thought fit to defend himself, and treated me to the arrow…. I almost died of it; however, I got all right again. Now, here I am going to get completely cured…. The government—God give them all good health!—have provided the cash.'
Pasinkov let his head fall back on the pillow, exhausted, and ceased speaking. A faint flush suffused his cheeks. He closed his eyes.
'He can't talk much,' Elisei, who had not left the room, murmured in an undertone.
A silence followed; nothing was heard but the sick man's painful breathing.
'But here,' he went on, opening his eyes, 'I've been stopping a fortnight in this little town…. I caught cold, I suppose. The district doctor here is attending me—you'll see him; he seems to know his business. I'm awfully glad it happened so, though, or how should we have met?' (And he took my hand. His hand, which had just before been cold as ice, was now burning hot.) 'Tell me something about yourself,' he began again, throwing the cloak back off his chest. 'You and I haven't seen each other since God knows when.'
I hastened to carry out his wish, so as not to let him talk, and started giving an account of myself. He listened to me at first with great attention, then asked for drink, and then began closing his eyes again and turning his head restlessly on the pillow. I advised him to have a little nap, adding that I should not go on further till he was well again, and that I should establish myself in a room beside him. 'It's very nasty here …' Pasinkov was beginning, but I stopped his mouth, and went softly out. Elisei followed me.
'What is it, Elisei? Why, he's dying, isn't he?' I questioned the faithful servant.
Elisei simply made a gesture with his hand, and turned away.
Having dismissed my driver, and rapidly moved my things into the next room, I went to see whether Pasinkov was asleep. At the door I ran up against a tall man, very fat and heavily built. His face, pock-marked and puffy, expressed laziness—and nothing else; his tiny little eyes seemed, as it were, glued up, and his lips looked polished, as though he were just awake.
'Allow me to ask,' I questioned him, 'are you not the doctor?'
The fat man looked at me, seeming with an effort to lift his overhanging forehead with his eyebrows.
'Yes, sir,' he responded at last.
'Do me the favour, Mr. Doctor, won't you, please, to come this way into my room? Yakov Ivanitch, is, I believe, now asleep. I am a friend of his and should like to have a little talk with you about his illness, which makes me very uneasy.'
'Very good,' answered the doctor, with an expression which seemed to try and say, 'Why talk so much? I'd have come anyway,' and he followed me.
'Tell me, please,' I began, as soon as he had dropped into a chair, 'is my friend's condition serious? What do you think?'
'Yes,' answered the fat man, tranquilly.
'And… is it very serious?'
'Yes, it's serious.'
'So that he may…even die?'
'He may.'
I confess I looked almost with hatred at the fat man.
'Good heavens!' I began; 'we must take some steps, call a consultation, or something. You know we can't… Mercy on us!'
'A consultation?—quite possible; why not? It's possible. Call in Ivan
Efremitch….'
The doctor spoke with difficulty, and sighed continually. His stomach heaved perceptibly when he spoke, as it were emphasising each word.
'Who is Ivan Efremitch?'
'The parish doctor.'
'Shouldn't we send to the chief town of the province? What do you think? There are sure to be good doctors there.'
'Well! you might.'
'And who is considered the best doctor there?'
'The best? There was a doctor Kolrabus there … only I fancy he's been transferred somewhere else. Though I must own there's no need really to send.'
'Why so?'
'Even the best doctor will be of no use to your friend.'
'Why, is he so bad?'
'Yes, he's run down.' 'In what way precisely is he ill?'
'He received a wound…. The lungs were affected in consequence … and then he's taken cold too, and fever was set up … and so on. And there's no reserve force; a man can't get on, you know yourself, with no reserve force.'
We were both silent for a while.
'How about trying homoeopathy?…' said the fat man, with a sidelong glance at me.
'Homoeopathy? Why, you're an allopath, aren't you?'
'What of that? Do you think I don't understand homoeopathy? I understand it as well as the other! Why, the chemist here among us treats people homeopathically, and he has no learned degree whatever.'
'Oh,' I thought, 'it's a bad look-out!…'
'No, doctor,' I observed, 'you had better treat him according to your usual method.'
'As you please.'
