'Yes, fs, I know the one . . .'
'It'll be novel, poetic and mysterious . . . Old Pot-Belly won't find out, nor will my dearly beloved. All right?'
Leo downed another glass and made his way back to the card- table. His discovery had not shocked or surprised him or even upset him at all. The days when he became worked up, made a scene, used bad language and even fought duels, were long since past; he had given that up and now turned a blind eye to his wife's giddy affairs. But all the same he felt put out. Such phrases as 'Old Paunch', 'Double-Chins' and 'Pot-Belly' were a blow to his self-esteem.
'What a scoundrel that Moorsky is!' he thought, chalking up his losses. 'Meet him in the street and he's all smiles, taps you on the stomach, pretends he's your best friend -and now look at the names he comes out with! Calls me friend to my face, but behind my back I'm nothing but "Paunch" and "Pot-Belly" . . .'
As his ghastly losses kept mounting, so his feeling of injured pride grew . ..
'Upstart,' he thought, angrily breaking the piece of chalk. 'Whipper-snapper . .. If I didn't want to keep out of it, I'd give you Double-Chins!'
Over supper he couldn't stand having to look at Moorsky's face, but the latter seemed to be going out of his way to pester him with questions: had he been winning? why was he so d'own in the mouth? etcetera. And he even had the nerve - speaking as an old friend, of course -to reproach Turmanov's wife in a loud voice for not looking after her husband's health properly. As forhis wife, she j ust gave him her usual come-hither look, laughed cheerfully and chattered away innocently, so that the devil himself would never have suspected her of being unfaithful.
Returning home, Leofeltangry and dissatisfied, as ifhe'd eaten an old pair of galoshes instead of veal at supper. He might have man- aged to rcstrain himself and forget all about it, had not his wife's chatter and smiles constantly reminded him of 'Paunch', 'Fattie', 'Pot-Belly' . . .
Td likP. to slap the blighter's chceks,' hc thought. 'Insult him in public.'
And he thought how pleasant it would be to give Moorsky a thrashing, to wmg him in a ducl like a sparrow . . . have him turfed out of his job, or put something foul and revolting in the marble urn — likc a dead rat, for examplc . . . Or how about stealing his wife's letter from the urn in advance, and substituting for it some smutry poem signed 'Eliza', or somcthing of that kind?
Turmanov paced up and down the bedroom for a long time, indulging in similar pleasing fancies. Suddenly he stopped and clap- ped his hand to his head.
'Got it, I've got it,' he exclaimed, and his whole face beamed with pleasure. 'That'll be perfcct, ab-so-lutely perfect!'
When his wife had gone to sleep, he sat down at his desk and after much thought, disguising his handwriting and concocung various mistakes, wrote as follows:
'To the merchant Dulinov. Dcar Sir! If before six this evening the rwelth ofseptember you have not dipposited rwo hundrid roubles in the marbel vase what stands in the park to the left of the vine arber you will be killed and your abbingdashery shop blown up.'
On completing the letter, Leo jumped for joy.
'What a brainwave!' he muttered, rubbing his hands. 'Superb! Old Nick himself couldn't have thought up a better revenge. The old merchant boy's sure to take fright and run straight round to the police, and they'II be lying in wait at six in the bushes . .. then as soon as you go poking round for your letter, lad, they'll nab you! He'll get the shock of his life! And while they're sorting it all out, just think what the scoundrel will have to go through, sitting there in the cells . . . Oh, excellcnt!'
Leo stuck on the stamp and took the letter round to the post-box himself. He fell asleep with a most blissful smile on his lips and slept more sweetly than he had done for years. When he woke up next morning and remembered his plan, he purred merrily and even chucked his unfaithful wife under the chin.
On his way to work and then sitting at his office desk, he kept on smiling and picturing to himself Moorsky's horror when the trap was sprung . ..
After five he could bear it no longer and hurried off to the park to feast his eyes on the desperate plight of his enemy.
'A-hah . . .' he said to himself, as he passed a policeman.
On reaching the vine arbour, he hid behind a bush and gazing avidly at the urn, settled down to wait. His impatience knew no bounds.
Moorsky appeared on the stroke of six. The young man was obviously in a most excellent frame of mind. His top-hat was perched jauntily on the back of his head, and his coat was thrown wide open, so that not just his waistcoat but his very soul seemed to be displayed to the world. He was whistling and smoking a cigar . . .
'Now we'll see about Double-Chins and Pot-Belly!' thought Tur- manov, with malicious glee. 'Just you wait!'
Moorsky went up to the urn and casually put his hand inside . .. Leo half rose, fastening his eyes on him .. . The young man pulled out of the urn a small packet, examined it this way and that, and shrugged his shoulders; then he unsealed it hesitantly, shrugging his shoulders yet again; and then the expression on his face changed to one of complete astonishment: the packet contained two multi- coloured hundred-rouble notes!
Moorsky studied these notes for a long time. Eventually, still shrugging his shoulders, he stuffed them into his pocket and said: 'Merci!'
The unfortunate Leoheard that word. All the rest ofthe evcninghe spent standing opposite Dulinov's shop, shaking his fist at the sign and muttering indignantly:
'Coward! Money-grubber! Jumped-up little merchant! Chicken! Pot-bellied little coward! . . .'
Easter Night
I was standing on the bank of the Goltva, waiting for the ferry to come over from the other side. At normal times the Goltva is a river of no great pretensions, taciturn and pensive, glinting meekly from behind thick rushes; now, a whole lake lay spread before me. The rampant spring waters had swept over both banks and flooded large areas on either side, capturing marshes, hay fields and vegetable plots, so that it was quite common to encounter on the surface lone poplars and bushes sticking out like grim crags in the darkness.
The weather struck me as magnificent. It was dark, yet even so I could see the trees, the water, and human beings . .. The world was lit by stars, bestrewing every corner of the sky. I don't think I have ever seen so many stars. Literally, you couldn't have stuck a pin between them. There were ones as big as goose eggs and others as tiny as hempseed . .. Each and every one of them, from great to small, had come out to parade for the festival, washed, refurbished and jubilant, and each and every one was quietly twinkling. The sky lay reflected in the water; the stars bathed in its dark depths and trembled with the faint ripples on the surface. The air was warm and still .. . Far away on the other bank, in impenetrable dark, several bright red fires were blazing furiously. ..
Close by me stood the dark silhouette ofa peasant in a tall hat and holding a short, knobbly staff.
'The ferry's taking a long time, isn't it?' I said.
'Yes, about time it was here,' the silhouette answered.
'Are you waiting for the ferry too?'
'No .. .'yawned thepeasant, 'I'm just waiting for theluminations. I'd go, but I ain't got the five kopecks for the ferry.'
'I'll give you them.'
'Thank you kindly sir, but I'd rather you put up a candle for me there in the monastery, with those five kopecks . . . That'll be more interesting, with me standing here. Where's that ferry got to - has it vanished or something?'