“Criminal” is a frightful word. This is how murderers, thieves, robbers, and, on the whole, wicked and immoral people are called. And Sasha has nothing to do with all that…. Well, he is involved in debts and does not pay the money he owes. But debt is not a crime, and very few people can do without debts. The Colonel and Ivan Markovich both have debts….
“Is there anything else I’ve done wrong?” Sasha ponders.
He has cashed a false note. But all the young men he knows do the same. Say, Handrikov and Von Burst always sell the false notes of their parents or acquaintances when they are short of money, and then, after receiving the money from home, they buy the notes back before they are due. Sasha did the same, but could not buy the note back as he had not received the money that Handrikov had promised to lend him. It is not he who is to blame but the circumstances. Well, it is no good to use another person’s signature, but, still, it is not a crime; it is a generally accepted tactic, an unpleasant formality that offended and harmed no one, and in forging the Colonel’s signature Sasha never meant to cause anybody trouble or loss.
“No, it doesn’t mean that I am a criminal …” Sasha thinks. “And one has to have a different character to commit a crime. I am too soft and sensitive … as soon as I have money I help the poor …”
Sasha ponders along these lines while the discussion goes on behind the door.
“Gentlemen, this is endless.” The Colonel flies into passion. “Imagine we have forgiven him and paid the note. But this doesn’t mean that after that he’ll give up that dissipated life he leads, or that he’ll never squander and make debts again, or go to our tailors to order clothes at our expense! Can you vouch that this will be his last fraud? As for me, I do not in the least believe that he’ll mend his ways!”
The Treasury man mutters something in reply, and after him Ivan Markovich starts talking smoothly and softly. The Colonel moves his chair impatiently and drowns out Ivan Markovich’s words with his disgusting metallic voice. Finally, the door opens and Ivan Markovich walks out of the study, red spots visible on his lean shaven face.
“Let’s go,” he says and takes Sasha by the hand. “Come in and explain everything open-heartedly. No pride, my dear boy, humbly and candidly.”
Sasha goes into the study. The official of the Treasury is seated; the Colonel, his hands in his pockets, one knee on a chair, is standing in front of the table. It is smoky and stuffy in the study. Sasha looks neither at the official nor at the Colonel. Suddenly, he feels ashamed and terrified. He looks anxiously at Ivan Markovich and mutters:
“I’ll pay it … I’ll give it back….”
“What did you hope for when you cashed the promissory note?” he hears a metallic voice.
“I … Handrikov promised to lend me the money before it is due.”
This is all Sasha can say. He walks out of the room and again sits down on the chair near the door.
He would have been happy to go away altogether, but hatred is choking him and he ardently desires to stay to cut the Colonel short and say something cheeky to him. He is sitting at the door trying to think of something impressive and momentous that he could say to the hateful uncle, and at the same time a woman’s figure, cloaked in the twilight, appears at the door of the drawing room. It is the Colonel’s wife. She beckons Sasha toward her, wringing her hands and weeping:
“Alexander, I know you don’t like me, but … listen to me, listen, I beg you…. My dear, how could it happen? Why, it’s awful, awful! For goodness’ sake, implore them, defend yourself, entreat them.”
Sasha looks at her quivering shoulders, at the big tears rolling down her cheeks, hears the muffled, nervous voices of the tired, exhausted people behind him, and shrugs his shoulders. He had never expected that his aristocratic relatives would make such a fuss over a mere fifteen hundred rubles! He cannot come to terms with the tears or with the quiver of their voices.
An hour later he hears the Colonel take the upper hand: the uncles finally incline to let the case go to court.
“It’s settled now,” says the Colonel with a sigh. “Enough.”
It is clear that after the decision all the uncles, even the insistent Colonel, lose their confidence. Silence follows.
“Oh, goodness!” Ivan Markovich sighs. “My poor sister!”
And he starts to say quietly that it is likely now that his sister, Sasha’s mother, is present invisibly in this study. He feels with his heart how this unhappy, holy woman is weeping, grieving, and begging for her boy. They should forgive Sasha so she can sleep in peace in the other world.
Sobs can be heard. Ivan Markovich is weeping and muttering something that one cannot make out through the door. The Colonel gets up and paces from corner to corner. The long conversation starts over again.
At last, the clock in the drawing room strikes two. The family council is over. The Colonel walks out of the study and goes not to the hall but to the entrance to avoid seeing the man who has occasioned him so much trouble. Ivan Markovich comes out into the hall. He is agitated, he rubs his hands and looks contented. His tearful eyes are cheerful and his mouth twists into a smile.
“Excellent,” he says to Sasha. “Thank God! My dear friend, you can go home and sleep tight. We’ve decided to pay the note, but on condition that you repent and tomorrow you’ll go with me to the village and get work.”
A minute later Ivan Markovich and Sasha, wearing their coats and caps, are going downstairs. The uncle is muttering didactically. Sasha ignores him as he feels something heavy and frightful dropping gradually off his shoulders. He is forgiven, he is free! Like a fresh wind, happiness bursts into his chest and splashes his heart with a sweet chill. He is willing to breathe, to move, to live! Glancing at the street lamps and the black sky, he remembers that today, in the “Bear” restaurant, Mr. Von Burst is giving a birthday party, and again happiness fills his heart. “I’m going!” he decides.
But then he remembers that he does not have a penny and that the friends he wanted to see despise him for his lack of money. He must get some money, whatever it may cost him!
“Uncle, lend me a hundred rubles,” he says to Ivan Markovich.
His uncle looks into his face with surprise and backs toward a lamppost.
“Give it to me,” says Sasha, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other and starting to lose his breath. “Uncle, I beg you, I need a hundred rubles.”
His face has distorted, he is trembling and advancing menacingly towards his uncle….
“Won’t you?” he asks, seeing that his uncle is still surprised and does not understand what is happening. “Listen, if you don’t give me the money, tomorrow I’ll denounce myself! I won’t let you pay the note! I’ll cash another false note tomorrow!”
Stupefied by terror, muttering incoherently, Ivan Markovich produces a hundred-ruble note from his wallet and gives it to Sasha. The latter takes it and quickly walks away.
In the cab, Sasha calms down and feels happiness breaking into his chest again. The “rights of youth” referred to by kind Uncle Ivan Markovich at the family council have awakened and spoken for themselves. Sasha is imagining the forthcoming bash, and a small thought flashes through his mind in between the bottles, women, and friends:
“Now I see I’m a criminal. Yes, I am a criminal.”