‘‘Fyodorovna,’’ Samoilenko corrected. ‘‘And what should society do?’’
‘‘It? That’s its business. In my opinion, the most direct and proper way is force. She ought to be sent to her husband manu militari,4 and if the husband won’t have her, then send her to hard labor or some sort of correctional institution.’’
‘‘Oof !’’ sighed Samoilenko. He paused and asked softly: ‘‘The other day you said people like Laevsky ought to be destroyed... Tell me, if somehow ... suppose the state or society charged you with destroying him, would you... do it?’’
‘‘With a steady hand.’’
IX
RETURNING HOME, LAEVSKY and Nadezhda Fyodorovna went into their dark, dull, stuffy rooms. Both were silent. Laevsky lit a candle, and Nadezhda Fyodorovna sat down and, without taking off her cloak and hat, raised her sad, guilty eyes to him.
He realized that she was expecting a talk from him; but to talk would be boring, useless, and wearisome, and he felt downhearted because he had lost control and been rude to her. He chanced to feel in his pocket the letter he had been wanting to read to her every day, and he thought that if he showed her the letter now, it would turn her attention elsewhere.
‘‘It’s time to clarify our relations,’’ he thought. ‘‘I’ll give it to her, come what may.’’
He took out the letter and handed it to her.
‘‘Read it. It concerns you.’’
Having said this, he went to his study and lay down on the sofa in the darkness, without a pillow. Nadezhda Fyodorovna read the letter, and it seemed to her that the ceiling had lowered and the walls had closed in on her. It suddenly became cramped, dark, and frightening. She quickly crossed herself three times and said:
‘‘Give rest, O Lord... give rest, O Lord...’21
And she wept.
‘‘Vanya!’’ she called. ‘‘Ivan Andreich!’’
There was no answer. Thinking that Laevsky had come in and was standing behind her chair, she sobbed like a child and said:
‘‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier that he had died? I wouldn’t have gone on the picnic, I wouldn’t have laughed so terribly... Men were saying vulgar things to me. What sin, what sin! Save me, Vanya, save me... I’m going out of my mind... I’m lost...’
Laevsky heard her sobs. He felt unbearably suffocated, and his heart was pounding hard. In anguish, he got up, stood in the middle of the room for a while, felt in the darkness for the chair by the table, and sat down.
‘‘This is a prison...’ he thought. ‘‘I must get out... I can’t...’
It was too late to go and play cards, there were no restaurants in the town. He lay down again and stopped his ears so as not to hear the sobbing, and suddenly remembered that he could go to Samoilenko’s. To avoid walking past Nadezhda Fyodorovna, he climbed out the window to the garden, got over the fence, and went on down the street. It was dark. Some steamer had just arrived—a big passenger ship, judging by its lights... An anchor chain clanked. A small red light moved quickly from the coast to the ship: it was the customs boat.
‘‘The passengers are asleep in their cabins ...’ thought Laevsky, and he envied other people’s peace.
The windows of Samoilenko’s house were open. Laevsky looked through one of them, then another: it was dark and quiet inside.
‘‘Alexander Davidych, are you asleep?’’ he called. ‘‘Alexander Davidych!’’
Coughing was heard, and an anxious cry:
‘‘Who’s there? What the devil?’’
‘‘It’s me, Alexander Davidych. Forgive me.’’
A little later, a door opened; the soft light of an icon lamp gleamed, and the enormous Samoilenko appeared, all in white and wearing a white nightcap.
‘‘What do you want?’’ he asked, breathing heavily from being awakened and scratching himself. ‘‘Wait, I’ll open up at once.’’
‘‘Don’t bother, I’ll come in the window...’
Laevsky climbed through the window and, going up to Samoilenko, seized him by the hand.
‘‘Alexander Davidych,’’ he said in a trembling voice, ‘‘save me! I beseech you, I adjure you, understand me! My situation is tormenting. If it goes on for another day or two, I’ll strangle myself like ... like a dog!’’
‘Wait ... What exactly are you referring to?’’
‘‘Light a candle.’’
‘Ho-hum ...’ sighed Samoilenko, lighting a candle. ‘‘My God, my God... It’s already past one o’clock, brother.’’
‘‘Forgive me, but I can’t stay at home,’’ said Laevsky, feeling greatly relieved by the light and Samoilenko’s presence. ‘‘You, Alexander Davidych, are my best and only friend... All my hope lies in you. Whether you want to or not, for God’s sake, help me out. I must leave here at all costs. Lend me some money!’’
‘‘Oh, my God, my God!...’ Samoilenko sighed, scratching himself. ‘‘I’m falling asleep and I hear a whistle—a steamer has come—and then you... How much do you need?’’
‘‘At least three hundred roubles. I should leave her a hundred, and I’ll need two hundred for my trip... I already owe you about four hundred, but I’ll send you all of it ... all of it...’
Samoilenko took hold of both his side-whiskers with one hand, stood straddle-legged, and pondered.
‘So ...’ he murmured, reflecting. ‘‘Three hundred... Yes... But I haven’t got that much. I’ll have to borrow it from somebody.’’
‘‘Borrow it, for God’s sake!’’ said Laevsky, seeing by Samoilenko’s face that he wanted to give him the money and was sure to do it. ‘‘Borrow it, and I’ll be sure to pay it back. I’ll send it from Petersburg as soon as I get there. Don’t worry about that. Look, Sasha,’’ he said, reviving, ‘‘let’s have some wine!’’
‘Wine... That’s possible.’’
They both went to the dining room.
‘‘And what about Nadezhda Fyodorovna?’’ asked Samoilenko, setting three bottles and a plate of peaches on the table. ‘‘Can she be staying on?’’
‘‘I’ll arrange it all, I’ll arrange it all ...’ said Laevsky, feeling an unexpected surge of joy. ‘‘I’ll send her money afterwards, and she’ll come to me... And then we’ll clarify our relations. To your health, friend.’’
‘‘Wait,’’ said Samoilenko. ‘‘Drink this one first... It’s from my vineyard. This bottle is from Navaridze’s vineyard, and this one from Akhatulov’s... Try all three and tell me frankly... Mine seems to be a bit acidic. Eh? Don’t you find?’’
‘‘Yes. You’ve really comforted me, Alexander Davidych. Thank you... I’ve revived.’’
‘‘A bit acidic?’’
‘‘Devil knows, I don’t know. But you’re a splendid, wonderful man!’’
Looking at his pale, agitated, kindly face, Samoilenko remembered von Koren’s opinion that such people should be destroyed, and Laevsky seemed to him a weak, defenseless child whom anyone could offend and destroy.
‘‘And when you go, make peace with your mother,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s not nice.’’
‘‘Yes, yes, without fail.’’
They were silent for a while. When they had drunk the first bottle, Samoilenko said:
‘‘Make peace with von Koren as well. You’re both most excellent and intelligent people, but you stare at each other like two wolves.’’
‘‘Yes, he’s a most excellent and intelligent man,’’ agreed Laevsky, ready now to praise and forgive everybody. ‘‘He’s a remarkable man, but it’s impossible for me to be friends with him. No! Our natures are too different. I’m sluggish, weak, submissive by nature; I might offer him my hand at a good moment, but he’d turn away from me ... with scorn.’’
Laevsky sipped some wine, paced from corner to corner, and, stopping in the middle of the room, went on:
‘‘I understand von Koren very well. He’s firm, strong, despotic by nature. You’ve heard him talking constantly about an expedition, and they’re not empty words. He needs the desert, a moonlit night; around him in tents and under the open sky sleep his hungry and sick Cossacks, guides, porters, a doctor, a priest, worn out by the difficult marches, and he alone doesn’t sleep and, like Stanley,22 sits in his folding chair and feels himself the king of the desert and master of these people. He walks, and walks, and walks somewhere, his people groan and die one after the other, but he walks and walks, and in the end dies himself, and still remains the despot and king of the desert, because the cross on his grave can be seen by caravans from thirty or forty miles away, and it reigns over the desert. I’m sorry the man is not in military service. He’d make an excellent, brilliant general. He’d know how to drown his cavalry in the river and make bridges from the corpses, and such boldness is more necessary in war than any fortifications or tactics. Oh, I understand him very well! Tell me, why does he eat himself up here? What does he need here?’’