The Complete Short Novels

everything, not hurrying, but with prayer and with zeal, then you can find your work. Once you know everything, it will be easy for you on any path. Only study and acquire grace, and God will show you what you should be. A doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer...’

Father Khristofor spread a little caviar on a small piece of bread, put it in his mouth, and said:

‘‘The apostle Paul says: ‘Be not carried about with divers and strange doctrines.’²⁶ Of course, if it’s black magic, or senseless talk, or calling up spirits from the other world like Saul,²⁷ or learning subjects that are of no use either to you or to anyone else, then it’s better not to study. One should take in only what God has blessed. Just consider... The holy apostles spoke all languages—so you learn languages; Basil the Great taught mathematics and philosophy—so you learn them; Saint Nestor²⁸ wrote history—so you study and write history. Consider the saints...’

Father Khristofor sipped from his saucer, wiped his mustache, and shook his head.

‘‘Very well!’’ he said. ‘‘I was taught in the old way, I’ve forgotten a lot, and I also live differently from others. It’s even impossible to compare. For instance, somewhere in a big company, at a dinner or a gathering, I say something in Latin, or from history or philosophy, and people are pleased, and I’m pleased myself... Or there’s also when the circuit court arrives, and people have to be sworn in; all the other priests are embarrassed, but I hobnob with the judges and prosecutors and lawyers: I have some learned talk, drink tea with them, laugh, ask some questions about things I don’t know... And they’re pleased. So you see, old boy... Learning is light, and ignorance is darkness. Study! It’s hard, of course: these days learning costs a lot... Your mama’s a widow, she lives on a pension, well, but then...’

Father Khristofor glanced fearfully at the door and went on in a whisper:

‘‘Ivan Ivanych will help you. He won’t abandon you. He has no children of his own, and he’ll help you. Don’t worry.’’

He made a serious face and whispered still more softly:

‘‘Only watch out, Georgiy, God keep you from forgetting your mother and Ivan Ivanych. The commandment tells you to honor your mother, and Ivan Ivanych is your benefactor and takes the place of a father. If you become a learned man and, God forbid, begin to feel burdened and scorn people because they’re stupider than you are, then woe, woe to you!’’

Father Khristofor raised his arm and repeated in a thin little voice:

‘‘Woe! Woe!’’

Father Khristofor got warmed up and acquired what is known as a relish for speaking; he would have gone on till dinner, but the door opened and Ivan Ivanych came in. The uncle greeted them hastily, sat down at the table, and began quickly gulping tea.

‘‘Well, I’ve managed to take care of all my affairs,’’ he said. ‘‘We could have gone home today, but there’s still Egor to worry about. He’s got to be settled. My sister said her friend Nastasya Petrovna lives somewhere around here; maybe she’ll give him lodgings.’’

He rummaged in his wallet, took out a crumpled letter, and read:

‘‘ ‘To Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov, at her own house, Malaya Nizhnyaya Street.’ I must go and look her up at once. Bother!’’

Soon after tea, Ivan Ivanych and Egorushka left the inn.

‘‘Bother!’’ the uncle muttered. ‘‘You’re stuck to me like a burr, deuce take it! For you it’s studies and noble ways, but for me you’re one big torment...’

When they passed through the yard, the wagons and wagoners were no longer there; they had gone to the pier early in the morning. In the far corner of the yard, the familiar britzka could be seen; beside it the two bays stood eating oats.

‘‘Farewell, britzka!’’ thought Egorushka.

First they had a long climb uphill by the boulevard, then they crossed a big marketplace; here Ivan Ivanych asked a policeman how to get to Malaya Nizhnyaya Street.

‘‘Well, now!’’ the policeman grinned. ‘‘That’s pretty far, out there by the common!’’

On the way they met several cabs coming towards them, but the uncle allowed himself such a weakness as taking a cab only on exceptional occasions and major feast days. He and Egorushka walked for a long time along paved streets, then along streets where only the sidewalks were paved and not the roadways, and finally ended up on streets that had neither sidewalks nor paved roadways. When their legs and tongues had brought them to Malaya Nizhnyaya Street, they were both red in the face, and, taking off their hats, they wiped away the sweat.

‘‘Tell me, please,’’ Ivan Ivanych addressed an old man who was sitting on a bench by a gateway, ‘‘where is Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov’s house?’’

‘There’s no Toskunov here,’’ the old man replied, having pondered. ‘‘Maybe you mean Timoshenko?’’

‘‘No, Toskunov...’

‘‘Sorry, there’s no Toskunov...’

Ivan Ivanych shrugged his shoulders and plodded on.

‘‘Don’t go looking!’’ the old man called out behind him. ‘‘If I say no, it means no!’’

‘‘Listen, auntie,’’ Ivan Ivanych addressed an old woman who was selling sunflower seeds and pears at a stand on the corner, ‘‘where is Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov’s house hereabouts?’’

The old woman looked at him in astonishment and laughed.

‘‘You mean you think Nastasya Petrovna still lives in her own house?’’ she asked. ‘‘Lord, it’s already some eight years since she married off her daughter and made the house over to her son-in-law! Her son-in-law lives in it now!’’

And her eyes said: ‘‘How is it you fools don’t know such a simple thing?’’