“You can’t go without an iron in the household,” said Samoylenko, reddening from the fact that Laevsky was speaking with him so candidly about a lady with whom he was acquainted. “I’m noticing that you, Vanya, aren’t in high spirits today. Nadezhda Fyodorovna is a wonderful woman, educated, you’re—a man of superior intellect … Of course, you’re not married,” continued Samoylenko, glancing at the neighboring tables, “but see, that isn’t your fault, and what’s more … you must remain free from prejudice and stand on par with contemporary thought. Yes, personally, I believe in civil union … But, in my opinion, since your paths have already converged, then you must live together until death parts you.”
“Without love?”
“I’ll explain it to you right now,” said Samoylenko. “About eight years ago we had a little old envoy stationed here with us, a person of superior intellect. Here’s what he used to say: in family life, the most important thing—is patience. Do you hear me, Vanya? Not love, but patience. Love can’t endure for long. You’ve lived in love for about two years, but now, evidently, your family life has taken a step into that period when you, let’s say, so as to maintain equilibrium, must put forth all of your patience …”
“You believe your little old envoy, but his advice is meaningless to me. Your little old man could have been a hypocrite, he could have exercised patience and all the while looked at the unloved person, as he would at an object integral to his exercise, but I have not sunk so low yet. If I feel the urge to exercise patience, then I’ll buy myself a set of dumb-bells or a pummel-horse, but I’ll leave the person in peace.”
Samoylenko ordered white wine with ice. After they’d each drunk a glass, Laevsky suddenly asked:
“Tell me, please, what does a softening of the brain mean?”
“It’s, well, how can I explain it to you … It’s a disease where the brain begins to soften … as though it were dissolving.”
“Is it treatable?”
“Yes, if the disease doesn’t go unchecked. Cold showers, the fly … Well, something internal.”
“There … there, do you see what kind of a predicament I’m in? I can’t live with her. It requires more strength than I have. While I’m with you, I can go ahead and philosophize, and smile, but at home my spirits totally plummet. I’ve reached the point where it’s so macabre, that if someone were to tell me, let’s say, that I’m obliged to live with her for even one more month, then I would probably shoot a bullet through my forehead. And at the same time, I can’t leave her. She’s solitary, she doesn’t know how to work, I don’t have any money and neither does she … Where would she go? Who would she turn to? I can’t figure this out … So, there you have it, tell me: what do I do?”
“Hmmm, yes …” mumbled Samoylenko, not knowing how to respond. “Does she love you?”
“Yes, she loves me to the extent that she, at her age and with her temperament, needs a man. It would be as difficult for her to part with me, as it would her powder or hair-curlers. To her, I’m a necessary component in the arrangement of her boudoir.”
Samoylenko felt embarrassed.
“You, Vanya, aren’t in high spirits today,” he said. “You didn’t sleep, that must be it.”
“Yes, I slept badly … In general, brother, I feel rotten. Empty headed, heavy hearted, there’s a kind of weakness … I must run!”
“Where?”
“Over there, to the north. To the pines, to mushrooms, to people, to ideas … I would give up half my life, to be in some Moscow province right now or one in Tula, swimming in a river, getting a chill, you know? Then to wander around for at least three hours with the worst possible little student and to blab and blab … Oh, and how it smells of hay! Do you remember? And in the evenings, as you walk through the garden, the sound of a grand piano wafts from the house, you can hear the passing of a train …”
Laevsky began laughing from pleasure. Tears came to his eyes, and to conceal them he reached over to the neighboring table for matches without rising from his seat.
“I haven’t been to Russia in eighteen years,” said Samoylenko. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like there. In my opinion, there’s no outskirt more magnificent than the Caucasus.”
“There’s a painting by Vereshchagin where those destined for death languish at the bottom of the deepest well. Your magnificent Caucasus appear to be exactly that kind of a well to me. If only I were given the choice between the two, being a chimney sweep in Petersburg or being a duke in these parts, I would definitely take being a chimney sweep.”
Laevsky lost himself in thought. To look at his body slumped over, at his eyes fixed on one point, at his pale, perspiring face and furrowed brow, at his gnawed fingernails and at his shoe, which hung off his heel revealing a haplessly stitched stocking, imbued Samoylenko with pity and, possibly because Laevsky reminded him of a helpless child, he asked:
“Is your mother alive?”
“Yes, but we’ve had a falling-out. She could not forgive me for this relationship.”
Samoylenko loved his friend. In Laevsky he saw a good-natured fellow, a student, a straightforward man whom he could drink with, and laugh with and soul search with. What he understood of him, he disliked extremely. Laevsky drank too much and, at inappropriate times, played cards, held his work in contempt, lived beyond his means, often used profane expressions in conversation, walked the streets in shoes and publicly fought with Nadezhda Fyodorovna—and Samoylenko disliked that. But then again, Laevsky had once been enrolled in the philology department of a university, he now subscribed to two fat journals, often spoke so astutely that only a handful of people could understand him, lived with an intelligent woman—Samoylenko understood none of this, and it appealed to him, and he considered Laevsky better than himself and respected him.
“There’s one more detail,” Laevsky said, shaking his head. “But this is just between us. I’ve been keeping it from Nadezhda Fyodorovna so far, so don’t let it slip in front of her … A couple of days ago I received a letter that her husband had died from a softening of the brain.”
“Kingdom of heaven …” sighed Samoylenko. “Why are you hiding this from her?”