'No, hang on ... We may still catch something. They bite better towards dusk . .. You know, I've been sitting here since first thing this morning - I'm bored stiff! God knows what put this fishing bug into me. I know it's a stupid wasteoftime but still I go on with it! I sit here chained to this bank like a convict and stare at the water as if I was daft. I ought to be out haymaking and here I am fishing. Yesterday the Bishop was taking the service at Khaponyevo, but I didn'tgo, I sat here all day with this . . . this trout . .. this old hag . . .'
'Are you crazy?' Ottsov asked in embarrassment, glancing side- ways at the Englishwoman. 'Swearing in front of a lady . . . calling her names . . .'
'To hell with her! She doesn't understand a word of Russian anyway. You can pay her compliments or call her names for all she cares. And look at that nose! Her nose alone is enough to freeze your blood. We fish here for days on end and she doesn't say a word. Just stands there like a stuffed dummy, staring at the water with those goggle eyes.'
The Englishwoman yawned, changed the worm on her line and cast out again.
'You know, it's a very funny thing,' Gryabov continued. 'This fool of a woman has lived over here for ten years and you'd think she'd be able to say something in Russian. Any tinpot aristocrat of ours can go over there and start jabbering away in their lingo in no time, but not them - oh no! Just look at her nose! Take a really good look at that nose!'
19
'Oh come now, this is embarrassing . .. Stop going on at the woman . ..'
r. - 2
'She's not a woman, she's a spinster. I expect she spends all day dreaming of a fiance, the witch. And there's a kind of rotten smell about her ... I tell you, old man, I hate her guts! I can't look at her without getting worked up! When she turns those huge eyes on me, I get this jarring sensation all over, as if I'd knocked my funny-bone. She's another one who likes fishmg. And look at the way she goes about it: as if it were some holy rite! Turning up her nose at every- thing, damn her . . . Here am I, she says to herself, a member of the human race, so that makes me superior to the rest of creation." And do you know what her name is? Wilka Charlesovna Tvice! Ugh, I can't even say it properly!'
Hearing her name, the Englishwoman slowly brought her nose round in Gryabov's direction and measured him with a look of contempt. Then, raising her glance from Gryabov to Ousov, she poured contempt over him too. And all of this was done in silence, solemnly and slowly.
'You see?' said Gryabov, roaring with laughter. 'That's what she thinks of us! Old hag! I only keep the codfish because of the children. But for them, I wouldn't let her within a hundred versts of the estate . . . Just like a hawk's beak, that nose . .. And what about her waist? The witch reminds me of a tent-peg-you know, take hold ofher and bang her into the ground. Hang on, I think I've got a bite . ..'
Gryabov jumped up and lifted his rod. The line went taut . .. He gave a rug but could not pull the hook out.
'It's snagged!' he said, frowning. 'Caught behind a stone, I expect ... Blast!'
Gryabov looked worried. Sighing, scuttling from side to side and muttering oaths, he tugged and rugged at the line - but to no effect. Gryabov paled.
'Blow it! I'll have to get into the water.'
'Oh, give it up!'
'Can't do that . . . They bite so well towards dusk ... What a ruddy mess! I'll simply have to get into the water. Nothing else for it! And I'd do anything notto have to undress! It means I'll have to get rid of the Englishwoman ... I can't undress in front of her. She is a lady, after all!'
Gryabov threw off his hat and tie.
'Miss ... er ... Miss Tvice!' he said, turning to the English- woman. 'fe vous prie . .. Now how can I put it? How can I put it so you'll understand? Listen . . . over there! Go over there! Got it?'
Miss Tvice poured a look ofcontempt over Gryabov and emitted a nasal sound.
'Oh, you don't understand? Clear off, I'm teiling you! I've got to undress, you old hag! Go on! Over there!'
Tugging at the governess's sleeve, Gryabov pointed to the bushes and crouched down - meaning, of course, go behind the bushes and keep out of sight . . . Twitching her eyebrows energetically, the Englishwoman delivered herself of a long sentence in English. The landowners burst out laughing.
'That's the first time I've heard her voice. lt's a voice all right! What am I going to do with her? She just doesn't understand.'
'Forget it! Let's go and have some vodka.'
'Can't do that, this is when they shouldstart biting . .. At dusk . .. Well, what do you propose I do? lt's no good! I'll have to undress in front of her . . .'
Gryabov removed his jacket and waistcoat, and sat down on the sand to take off his boots.
'Look, Ivan Kuzmich,' said the Marshal, spluttering with laughter. 'Now you're actually insulting her, my friend, you're making a mockery of her.'
'No one asked her not to understand, did they? Let this be a lesson to these foreigners!'
Gryabov took off his boots and trousers, removed his underwear, and stood there in a state of nature. Onsov doubled up, his face scarlet from a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. The English- woman twitched her eyebrows and blinked . . . Then a haughty, contemptuous smile passed over her yellow face.
'Must cool down first,' said Gryabov, slapping his thighs. 'Do tell me, Fyodor Andreich, why is it I get this rash on my chest every summer?'
'Oh hurry up and get in the water, you great brute, or cover yourself with something!'
'She might at least show some embarrassment, the hussy!' said Gryabov, geting into the water and crossing himself. 'Brrr . . . this water's cold . .. Look at those eyebrows ofhers twitching! She's not going away . . . She's above the crowd! Ha, ha, ha! She doesn't even regard us as human beings!'
When he was up to his knees in the water, he drew himself up to his full enormous height, winked and said:
'Bit different from England, eh?!'
Miss Tvice coolly changed her worm, gave a yawn and cast her line. Omov turned aside. Gryabov detached the hook, immersed himself and came puffing out of the water. Two minutes later he was sming on the sand again, fishing.
Oysters 1884
It does not require a great feat of memory for me to recall in all its detail that rainy autumn evening when I was standing with my father on one of Moscow's crowded streets and began to feel a strange illness gradually take hold of me ...
There is no pain at all, but my legs are giving way beneath me, words stick in my throat, and my head is lolling helplessly to one side. I am evidently on the point of falling down unconscious.
Had I ben admitted to hospital at that moment, the doctors would have had to write on my card Fames -an illness that does not appear in any of the medical textbooks.
Beside me on the pavement stands my dear father in a threadbare summer coat and a linle tricot cap with a piece of white wadding sticking out. He is wearing large heavy galoshes. A vain man, he is afraid of people noticing that he is wearing the galoshes over bare feet, and so has pulled an old pair ofboot-tops tight round his shins.
This poor, foolish old clown, for whom my love grows stronger as his rather dandified summer coat gets more and more dirty and tattered, arrived in the city five months ago to seek an appointment in the clerical line. These five long months he has been wandering round the city asking for a job, and today for the first time he has brought himself to go out onto the streets and beg ...
Opposite us is a large three-storey building with a blue sign that says 'Eating-House'. My head is tilted back feebly to one side, so I cannot help looking up at its lighted windows. Human figures flit across them and I can make out the right-hand comer of a mechani- cal organ, rwo oleographs, some hanging lamps . . . Peering through one of the windows, I discern a shining white spot. Because it does not move and has straight edges, this spot stands out sharply from the general background of dark brown. Straining my eyes, I see that it is a white placard on the wall. Something is written on it - but what, I can't make out . ..