The Duel (9 page)

“You are a horrible sinner. You destroyed the vow that you gave your husband at the altar. You seduced a brilliant young man, who could have been something had he not met you, could have taken a lawful partner for life, a girl from a good family, from his own circle, and right now he would be just like everybody else. You’ve ruined his youth. Don’t speak, don’t speak, darling! I wouldn’t believe it, if you told
me that our sins are the faults of men. Women are always at fault. Men are empty-headed when it comes to domestic affairs, they are guided by reason, not by the heart, there is much that they don’t understand, but a woman understands everything. Everything depends on her. She is given much, but it comes at a high price. Oh, darling, if she were less intelligent or weaker than man, God would not entrust her with the rearing of little boys and little girls. And what’s more, my dear, you’ve gone down the path of vice, forgetting all sense of decorum; any other woman in your position would hide away from people, would sit at home locked up, and people would only ever see her in the house of God, pale, dressed all in black, teary-eyed, and everyone would say with whole-hearted contrition: ‘God, this fallen angel has returned to you once again …’ But you, darling, have lost all sense of decency, you’ve lived openly, extravagantly, absolutely taking pride in sin, you’ve frolicked, laughed, and I would look at you and shudder from the horror of it all, and fear that heaven’s thunder would strike our house while you were sitting in it. Darling, don’t speak, don’t speak!” exclaimed Maria Konstantinovna, noticing that Nadezhda Fyodorovna wanted to speak. “Trust in me, I won’t mislead you nor would I conceal one bit of truth from the eyes of your soul. You must listen to me, my dear … God takes note of great sinners, and you have been noted. Keep in mind, your outfits have always been horrible!”

Having thus far always held the highest opinion of her own outfits, Nadezhda Fyodorovna stopped crying and looked at her in astonishment.

“Yes, horrible!” continued Maria Fyodorovna. “Based on the preciosity and garishness of your apparel, just about anyone can assess your behavior. Everyone took one look at you, shrugged their shoulders and began to laugh, but I agonized, agonized … And forgive me, darling, but your hygiene is lacking! When we met at the bathhouse, you made me convulse. All right your bodice is neither here nor there, but your skirt, your chemise … Darling, I’m blushing! There’s no one to properly knot poor Ivan Andreich’s tie either, and it’s evident from how well that poor fellow’s garments have been laundered and from his boots that no one cares for him at home. My dove, at home he always goes without food, and the truth of the matter is that if no one sees to the samovar and coffee at home, then you’ll have no choice but to spend half your earnings in a pavilion. Your household is simply a horror, a horror! No one in the entire town has flies, but there’s no place to hide from them at your house, all of your plates and saucers are black. Just look for yourself, there’s dust on the windowsills and on the tables, dead flies, glasses … What are these glasses doing here? And, darling, your table still hasn’t been cleared. And your bedroom, it’s shameful to walk in there: there are undergarments thrown about, all of your various caoutchoucs are hanging off the walls, there is some kind of … standing dish … Darling! A husband is not supposed to know anything, and a wife should be pure before him, like a little angel! I get up at the break of dawn every morning and wash my face with cold water so that my Nikodim Aleksandrich won’t notice that I’m groggy.”

“These are all trifles,” sobbed Nadezhda Fyodorovna. “If only I were happy, but I’m so miserable!”

“Yes, yes, you really are miserable!” sighed Maria Konstantinovna, barely containing herself to keep from crying. “And horrible grief awaits you in the future! Loneliness in your old age, illness, then having to answer on Judgment Day … Horrible, horrible! Now, fate herself is extending a helping hand, but you, uncomprehending, step out of her way. Get married, and get married quickly!”

“Yes, I must, I must,” Nadezhda Fyodorovna said, “but it’s impossible!”

“But why?”

“It’s impossible, oh, but if only you knew!”

Nadezhda Fyodorovna wanted to tell her about Kirilin and about how, last night on the wharf, she had met with the young, handsome Achmianov, and about how an insane but amusing thought had entered her mind of how to rid herself of the three-hundred-ruble debt, how she had found it all very amusing and returned home late in the evening, feeling irrevocably fallen and sold. She, herself, did not know how this had happened. And she wanted very much, now, to swear before Maria Konstantinovna that she would repay the debt without fail, but her sobs and shame prevented her from speaking.

“I’ll leave,” she said. “Let Ivan Andreich stay here, but I’ll leave.”

“And go where?”

“To Russia.”

“And how do you intend to live there? You don’t have anything.”

“I’ll work on translation … or I’ll open a little lending library …”

“You’re living in a fantasy world, my darling. It takes money to open a little lending library. Well, I’ll leave you now, you ought to calm down and do some thinking, and tomorrow come visit me cheerful as can be. It will be simply enchanting! Now, say farewell, my little angel. Let me give you a kiss.”

Maria Konstantinovna kissed Nadezhda Fyodorovna on the forehead, made the sign of the cross above her and quietly exited. It was already dark out, and Olga had lit a flame in the kitchen. Still crying, Nadezhda Fyodorovna went into the bedroom and got into bed. She was overcome by intense fever. She undressed reclining, crumpling her dress down about her legs, wrapped herself up in the blanket and curled into a ball. She was thirsty, but there was no one there to bring her anything.

“I’ll repay it!” she said to herself, and in her delirium it seemed to her as though she were seated beside some patient whom she recognized as herself. “I’ll pay it back. It was foolish to think that I would … over money … I’ll leave and I’ll send him the money from Petersburg. First, a hundred … then a hundred … and then—a hundred …”

Laevsky arrived late at night.

“First, a hundred …” Nadezhda Fyodorovna said to him, “then a hundred …”

“You should take your quinine,” he said, and thought:

Tomorrow is Wednesday, the steamship sets sail tomorrow, and I won’t be on it. That means I’ll have to live here until Saturday
.

Nadezhda Fyodorovna got up on her knees in bed.

“Was I just saying something?” she asked, smiling and squinting from the candlelight.

“Not a thing. We’ll have to send for the doctor tomorrow morning. Sleep.”

He took a pillow and proceeded to the door. Once he had definitively decided to go away and leave Nadezhda Fyodorovna behind, she began to incite pity and feelings of guilt in him; he felt a little bit ashamed in her presence, as one would in the presence of an old or sick horse that was to be destroyed. He stopped at the door and looked over at her.

“At the picnic, I was irritated and spoke crudely to you. Won’t you pardon me, for God’s sake.”

Having said this, he went into his own study, lay down, but could not fall asleep for a long time.

When Samoylenko arrived the morning of the following day, dressed, in full formal uniform including epaulets and orders for the occasion of the holiday, having felt Nadezhda Fyodorovna’s pulse and looked at her tongue, exited the bedroom, Laevsky, who’d been standing at the threshold asked him in a state of alarm:

“Well, what? What?”

His face expressed fear, or at the very least unease and hope.

“Clam down, it’s nothing dangerous,” Samoylenko said. “An ordinary fever.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Laevsky grimaced impatiently. “Did you get the money?”

“My dear soul, pardon me,” whispered Samoylenko, looking sideways at the door and ill at ease. “For God’s sake, pardon me! No one has any money to spare, and I’ve managed to gather five here, ten rubles there—all in all, one hundred and ten. I’ve still got a couple of people to talk to today. Be patient.”

“Well, by Saturday, at the very latest!” whispered Laevsky, shaking from impatience. “In the name of all that’s holy, do it by Saturday! If I haven’t left by Saturday, then I need for nothing … nothing! I just can’t understand how it is that a doctor can have no money!”

“Yes, it’s as the lord wills,” Samoylenko whispered quickly, encumbered, even as something squeaked in his throat. “They’ve all taken it, I’m owed seven thousand, and I owe money all over town. Am I really to blame here?”

“That means you’ll get it by Saturday? Yes?”

“I’ll try my best.”

“My good man, I’m imploring you! That’s it, the money must be in my hands by Friday morning.”

Samoylenko had a seat and mixed China bark into a prescription, kali bromati, rhubarb tincture, tincturae gentianae, aquae foeniculi—to all this, in one single mixture, he added rose syrup so the taste would not be bitter, and left.

“You look as though you’re coming to arrest me,” Von Koren said, seeing the approaching Samoylenko in formal uniform.

“I was just walking past and thought to myself: Why not go in, I’ll pay a call on zoology,” Samoylenko said, sitting down at a large table that had been cobbled together by the zoologist himself from common boards. “Hello, holy father!” he nodded to the deacon, who was sitting at the window transcribing something. “I’ll stay a moment then run home to arrange dinner. It’s about that time … I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Not in the least,” the zoologist answered, arranging small pieces of paper with particular notations out on the table. “We’re occupying ourselves with transcription.”

“Well, there you have it … Oh, my God, my God …” sighed Samoylenko; he carefully removed a dust-covered book from the table, on which a dead dehydrated arachnid lay, and said: “And yet! To think, some little green beetle is going about its business when suddenly it encounters this pariah in the road. I can only imagine the horror!”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Is it venomous, as a form of defense against enemies?”

“Yes, as a form of defense and also to allow for attack.”

“Well, well, well … And so everything in nature, my good men, is intentional and explicable,” sighed Samoylenko. “Only here’s what I don’t understand. Won’t you, as a man of superior intellect, please explain it to me? You know, there are little beasts, not much larger than rats,
that are attractive to the eye, but in the overall scheme of things, I’ll tell you, they are base and wicked. Such a beast goes about his business, let’s say through a forest, he sees a little bird, he catches it and eats it. He goes a little further and sees a nest in the grass with eggs; he’s already gobbled down his fill, he’s satiated, but he’ll bite into the egg anyway, the rest he’ll knock out of the nest with his paw. Then he encounters a frog and toys with it. Having finished tormenting the frog he continues on licking his chops, then he meets a beetle. The beetle gets the paw … And so he spoils and ruins everything along his path … He climbs into strangers’ dens … He tears anthills apart for no good reason, he’ll bite into a snail … If he encounters a rat—he’ll fight it; if he sees a snake or a little mouse—he’ll have to suffocate it. The whole day is spent like this. Well, tell me, what use is this beast? Why was it created?”

“I don’t know what beast you’re referring to,” Von Koren said, “most likely some type of insectivore. Well, let’s see. He caught the bird, because it wasn’t careful; he ruined the nest that contained the eggs, because the bird failed and had constructed the nest stupidly and didn’t conceal it successfully. The frog, most likely, had some sort of defect in its coloration, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to see it, and so on. Your beast only pulverizes the weak, the hapless, the careless; in a word, those who are lacking, those that nature does not see fit to pass down through posterity. The cunning, the careful, the strong and the cultivated are left among the living. In this manner, your little beast is serving the greater good of progress without realizing it.”

“Yes, yes, yes … By the way, brother,” Samoylenko said in an overly casual way, “give me a hundred rubles on loan.”

“Very well. You can find some very interesting subjects among the insectivores. The mole, for instance. They say that he is beneficial, seeing as how he exterminates harmful insects. There’s a story that some German sent Emperor Wilhelm I a fur coat made of mole hides and that the Emperor ordered he be reprimanded for having destroyed such a useful animal in such great number. By the way, the savagery of the mole does not capitulate in the least to that of your little beast and he is quite malevolent as well, he ruins meadows frightfully.”

Von Koren unlocked a wooden box and retrieved a hundred-ruble note from it.

“The mole has a very strong rib cage, like the bat,” he continued, locking the wooden box, “frightfully evolved bones and muscles, uncommonly armored jaws. If he were the size of an elephant, he would be an all-powerful, invincible animal. Interestingly, when two moles encounter one another belowground, they both, in absolute unison, begin to burrow a tract; they need the tract so that it will be easier for them to do battle. Having completed it, they enter into brutal combat and fight until the weaker opponent has fallen. Go on, take the hundred rubles,” Von Koren said, lowering his voice, “but on the condition that you’re not taking it for Laevsky.”

“And what if it is for Laevsky!” Samoylenko flared up. “What business is it of yours?”

“I can’t give if it’s for Laevsky. I know that you love to
loan out money. You’d loan to Karim the thief if he asked you, but, you’ll pardon me, I can’t help you go down this road you’ve chosen.”

“Yes, I’m asking for Laevsky!” Samoylenko said, standing and flailing his right arm. “Yes! For Laevsky! And no damned beast, nor devil, has the right to instruct me on how to handle my own money. Are you not inclined to give it to me? No?”

The Deacon burst out laughing.

“Don’t get all worked up over it, but use your reason,” the zoologist said. “To be charitable to Mr. Laevsky is as stupid, in my opinion, as watering weeds or feeding locust.”