Short Fiction

we packed her off that same evening. When I was chasing her out, she took on something awful. She cried and she couldn’t catch her breath for sobbing; she even tore her hair. Of course, her fix wasn’t any too sweet. Where was she to go? All her goods, all her booty, was her own person. But nevertheless she went off. Vanniya, too, quieted down for a while. He was let out from under lock and key in the morning⁠—and never a peep out of him; he was very much scared, and you could see by his face that he was conscience-stricken. He settled down to work. And so I even rejoiced and was set at rest⁠—but not for long. Again there were leaks from the till; and this here streetwalker started sending a boy into the shop, and my son, now, would supply her with all sorts of delicacies! Now he’d give her all the sugar she wanted, now tea, now tobacco.⁠ ⁠… Or a handkerchief, or soap, again and again⁠—whatever came to his hand.⁠ ⁠… How was a body to watch him all the time? And then he started in to drink, harder and harder. At last he neglected the store entirely: he didn’t even live at home, come to think of it⁠—he’d just come in and eat, and then he’d be off again without as much as a by-your-leave. Every day he’d go off to see her; he’d put a bottle under his coat, and away with him; and this same vodka, now, was already dear then. I run around like a chicken without its head⁠—from the dram-shop to the store, from the store to the dram-shop; and by that time I was afraid to tell him as much as a word⁠—he had become a downright tramp! He always was a good-looker⁠—he took after me entirely; his face was very fair and soft⁠—just like a young lady, he was; he had clear, intelligent eyes; was well-built, broad-shouldered, with chestnut curly hair.⁠ ⁠… But now his mug was all bloated; his hair got shaggy and came down over his collar; his eyes got bleary, and he got all tattered and had begun to stoop. He always kept silent now, looking at the bridge of his nose all the time⁠—in deep thought, like.

“Don’t you bother me now,” he’d say, “I’m liable to do something that will lead to prison.”

And when he’d get tipsy, he’d start slobbering, laughing over nothing at all; he’d be playing “Time Fled Beyond Recall” on his accordion, and his eyes would fill with tears. Well, I see my affairs are in a bad way⁠—time for me to get married, soon as I can. And right then they was trying to make a match betwixt me and a certain widower⁠—he had a store, too, and lived in a suburb. An elderly man, he was, but in good standing, with means. Just the very thing, you understand, that I was striving for. I find out as quickly as I can from trustworthy folks all about his life, down to the last stitch; I see there’s nothing out of the way whatsoever. I got to decide about getting up an acquaintance as quick as possible⁠—the matchmaker had only shown us to each other in church before that; I got to bring it about, you understand, so’s we can visit each other⁠—sort of make an inspection, as it were. He comes to me first, and gives his credentials: “Lagutin, Nikolai Ivannich⁠—storekeeper.” “Very pleased to meet you,” I says. I see he’s altogether a fine man⁠—not any too tall, of course, and all gray; but so agreeable, quiet, neat, diplomatic⁠—you could see he was a thrifty sort; he had never run up a copper of debt to anybody in all his life, he says. Then me and the matchmaker went to see him, like it was on business. We get there. I see he’s got a wine-cellar⁠—Rhine wines, mostly; and a store stocked with everything that goes with wines: cured lard, now, and ham, and sardines, and herrings. The house wasn’t large, but neat as a pin. There was flowers and little curtains on the windows, the floor was swept clean⁠—even though he were a bachelor. In the yard everything was in order, too. There was three cows and two horses. One was a three-year-old broodmare⁠—he’d been offered five hundred for it already, he said, but he’d turned the offer down. Well, I just went into raptures watching that horse⁠—that’s how handsome it was! But he only smiles quiet-like, walks with little steps before us, crackling his fingers, and telling us everything, like he was reading off some price-list: here’s this and this, and there’s that and that.⁠ ⁠… So, thinks I, it’s no use trying to be too smart here; the business ought to be brought to an end quick.⁠ ⁠…

Of course, it’s only now that I’m telling all these things so briefly; but only my poor head knows what feelings I went through at that time! I couldn’t feel my legs under me for joy⁠—I’d gotten what I was after, you see, I had found the party I was looking for! But I kept silent, I was afraid and shivering all over⁠—supposing all my hopes was to be dashed down? And that’s almost what did happen; all my trouble almost went for nothing⁠—and I can’t tell calmly the reason why, even now;⁠—it was on account of this here poor cripple, and on account of my darling little son! We was managing this business so quietly, so genteel, that we thought never a soul would know. But no, I hear that the entire suburb already knows about my intentions and Nikolai Ivannich’s; the rumour, of course, reached the Samokhvalovs as well⁠—never fear, it was nobody else but Polkanikha that whispered it to them. And he, the poor cripple, now, took and hung himself, like I’m telling you! “There now, you⁠—I threatened and you didn’t believe me, so now, I’ll do it just to spite