Stories

“This is some sort of misunderstanding …” he said, spreading his arms in perplexity. “It must be explained, there’s a misunderstanding here …”

Just then Ivan Dmitrich woke up. He sat up and propped his cheeks on his fists. He spat. Then he glanced lazily at the doctor and for the first moment apparently understood nothing; but soon his sleepy face turned malicious and jeering.

“Aha, so they’ve stuck you in here, too, my dear!” he said in a voice hoarse from sleep, squinting one eye. “Delighted. You used to suck people’s blood, now they’ll suck yours. Excellent!”

“This is some sort of misunderstanding…” said Andrei Yefimych, frightened by Ivan Dmitrich’s words; he shrugged and repeated: “A misunderstanding of some sort…”

Ivan Dmitrich spat again and lay down.

“Cursed life!” he growled. “And what’s so bitter and offensive is that this life will end not with a reward for suffering, not with an apotheosis, as in the opera, but with death; peasants will come and drag your dead body by the arms and legs to the basement. Brr! Well, never mind … But in the other world it will be our turn to celebrate … I’ll come from the other world as a ghost and scare these vipers. I’ll give them all gray hair.”

Moiseika came back and, seeing the doctor, held out his hand.

“Give me a little kopeck!” he said.

XVIII

Andrei Yefimych walked over to the window and looked out at the field. It was getting dark, and on the horizon to the right a cold, crimson moon was rising. Not far from the hospital fence, no more than two hundred yards away, stood a tall white building surrounded by a stone wall. This was the prison.

“Here is reality!” thought Andrei Yefimych, and he felt frightened.

The moon was frightening, and the prison, and the nails on the fence, and the distant flame of the bone-burning factory. He heard a sigh behind him. Andrei Yefimych turned around and saw a man with stars and decorations gleaming on his chest, who smiled and slyly winked his eye. This, too, was frightening.

Andrei Yefimych assured himself that there was nothing special about the moon or the prison, and that mentally sound people also wore decorations, and that in time everything would rot and turn to clay, but despair suddenly overwhelmed him, he seized the grille with both hands and shook it with all his might. The strong grille did not yield.

Then, not to feel so frightened, he went to Ivan Dmitrich’s bed and sat down.

“I’ve lost heart, my dear,” he murmured, trembling and wiping off the cold sweat. “Lost heart.”

“Try philosophizing,” Ivan Dmitrich said jeeringly

“My God, my God … Yes, yes … You once said there’s no philosophy in Russia, yet everybody philosophizes, even little folk. But little folk’s philosophizing doesn’t harm anyone,” Andrei Yefimych said, sounding as if he wanted to weep and awaken pity “Why, then, this gleeful laughter, my dear? And how can little folk help philosophizing, if they’re not content? An intelligent, educated, proud, freedom-loving man, the likeness of God,¹⁹ has no other recourse than to work as a doctor in a dirty, stupid little town, and deal all his life with cupping glasses, leeches, and mustard plasters! Charlatanism, narrow-mindedness, banality! Oh, my God!”

“You’re pouring out nonsense. If you loathe being a doctor, you should have become a government minister.”

“Impossible, it’s all impossible. We’re weak, my dear … I used to be indifferent, I reasoned cheerfully and sensibly, but life had only to touch me rudely and I lost heart … prostration … We’re weak, we’re trash … And you, too, my dear. You’re intelligent, noble, you drank in good impulses with your mother’s milk, but as soon as you entered into life, you got tired and fell ill … Weak, weak!”

Something persistent, apart from fear and a feeling of offense, oppressed Andrei Yefimych all the while as evening drew on. Finally, he realized that he wanted to drink some beer and smoke.

“I’m getting out of here, my dear,” he said. “I’ll tell them to bring a light here … I can’t take this … I’m not able …”

Andrei Yefimych went to the door and opened it, but Nikita immediately jumped up and barred his way.

“Where are you going? You can’t, you can’t!” he said. “It’s bedtime!”

“But I’ll only go out for a minute to stroll in the yard!” said Andrei Yefimych, quite dumbstruck.

“You can’t, you can’t, it’s against orders. You know it yourself.”

Nikita slammed the door and leaned his back against it.

“But if I go out, what’s that to anyone?” Andrei Yefimych asked, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t understand! Nikita, I have to go out!” he said in a quavering voice. “I must!”

“Don’t start any disorder, it’s not good!” Nikita said admonishingly

“What the devil is all this!” Ivan Dmitrich suddenly shouted and jumped up. “What right does he have not to let you out? How dare they keep us here? I believe the law clearly states that no one can be deprived of freedom without a trial! This is coercion! Tyranny!”

“Of course it’s tyranny!” said Andrei Yefimych, encouraged by Ivan Dmitrich’s shout. “I must go out, I have to! He has no right. Let me out, I tell you!”

“Do you hear, you dumb brute?” shouted Ivan Dmitrich, and he banged on the door with his fist. “Open up, or I’ll break the door down! Butcher!”

“Open up!” cried Andrei Yefimych, trembling all over. “I demand it!”

“Keep talking!” Nikita answered from outside the door. “Keep talking!”

“At least call Evgeny Fyodorych here! Tell him I ask him kindly … for a minute!”

“He’ll come himself tomorrow.”