Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories, Page 3

of shaking it off: it is a sort of curse. Later inlife I came across a lady who described to me the effect on her of herson's death, of her "boundless" grief, of her fears for her reason, insuch exaggerated language, with such theatrical gestures, suchmelodramatic movements of her head and rolling of her eyes, that Ithought to myself, "How false and affected that lady is! She did notlove her son at all!" And a week afterwards I heard that the poorwoman had really gone out of her mind. Since then I have become muchmore careful in my judgments and have had far less confidence in myown impressions.

  X

  The story which Tyeglev told me was, briefly, as follows. He hadliving in Petersburg, besides his influential uncle, an aunt, notinfluential but wealthy. As she had no children of her own she hadadopted a little girl, an orphan, of the working class, given her aliberal education and treated her like a daughter. She was calledMasha. Tyeglev saw her almost every day. It ended in their falling inlove with one another and Masha's giving herself to him. This wasdiscovered. Tyeglev's aunt was fearfully incensed, she turned theluckless girl out of her house in disgrace, and moved to Moscow whereshe adopted a young lady of noble birth and made her her heiress. Onher return to her own relations, poor and drunken people, Masha's lotwas a bitter one. Tyeglev had promised to marry her and did not keephis promise. At his last interview with her, he was forced to speakout: she wanted to know the truth and wrung it out of him. "Well," shesaid, "if I am not to be your wife, I know what there is left for meto do." More than a fortnight had passed since that last interview.

  "I never for a moment deceived myself as to the meaning of her lastwords," added Tyeglev. "I am certain that she has put an end to herlife and ... and that it was _her_ voice, that it was _she_calling me ... to follow her there ... I _recognised_ hervoice.... Well, there is but one end to it."

  "But why didn't you marry her, Ilya Stepanitch?" I asked. "You ceasedto love her?"

  "No; I still love her passionately."

  At this point I stared at Tyeglev. I remembered another friend ofmine, a very intelligent man, who had a very plain wife, neitherintelligent nor rich and was very unhappy in his marriage. Whensomeone in my presence asked him why he had married and suggested thatit was probably for love, he answered, "Not for love at all. It simplyhappened." And in this case Tyeglev loved a girl passionately and didnot marry her. Was it for the same reason, then?

  "Why don't you marry her, then?" I asked again.

  Tyeglev's strange, drowsy eyes strayed over the table.

  "There is ... no answering that ... in a few words," he began,hesitating. "There were reasons.... And besides, she was ... aworking-class girl. And then there is my uncle.... I was obliged toconsider him, too."

  "Your uncle?" I cried. "But what the devil do you want with your unclewhom you never see except at the New Year when you go to congratulatehim? Are you reckoning on his money? But he has got a dozen childrenof his own!"

  I spoke with heat.... Tyeglev winced and flushed ... flushed unevenly,in patches.

  "Don't lecture me, if you please," he said dully. "I don't justifymyself, however. I have ruined her life and now I must pay thepenalty...."

  His head sank and he was silent. I found nothing to say, either.

  XI

  So we sat for a quarter of an hour. He looked away--I looked athim--and I noticed that the hair stood up and curled above hisforehead in a peculiar way, which, so I have heard from an army doctorwho had had a great many wounded pass through his hands, is always asymptom of intense overheating of the brain.... The thought struck meagain that fate really had laid a heavy hand on this man and that hiscomrades were right in seeing something "fatal" in him. And yetinwardly I blamed him. "A working-class girl!" I thought, "a fine sortof aristocrat you are yourself!"

  "Perhaps you blame me, Ridel," Tyeglev began suddenly, as thoughguessing what I was thinking. "I am very ... unhappy myself. But whatto do? What to do?"

  He leaned his chin on his hand and began biting the broad flat nailsof his short, red fingers, hard as iron.

  "What I think, Ilya Stepanitch, is that you ought first to makecertain whether your suppositions are correct.... Perhaps your ladylove is alive and well." ("Shall I tell him the real explanation ofthe taps?" flashed through my mind. "No--later.")

  "She has not written to me since we have been in camp," observedTyeglev.

  "That proves nothing, Ilya Stepanitch."

  Tyeglev waved me off. "No! she is certainly not in this world. Shecalled me."

  He suddenly turned to the window. "Someone is knocking again!"

  I could not help laughing. "No, excuse me, Ilya Stepanitch! This timeit is your nerves. You see, it is getting light. In ten minutes thesun will be up--it is past three o'clock--and ghosts have no power inthe day."

  Tyeglev cast a gloomy glance at me and muttering through his teeth"good-bye," lay down on the bench and turned his back on me.

  I lay down, too, and before I fell asleep I remember I wondered whyTyeglev was always hinting at ... suicide. What nonsense! What humbug!Of his own free will he had refused to marry her, had cast her off ...and now he wanted to kill himself! There was no sense in it! He couldnot resist posing!

  With these thoughts I fell into a sound sleep and when I opened myeyes the sun was already high in the sky--and Tyeglev was not in thehut.

  He had, so his servant said, gone to the town.

  XII

  I spent a very dull and wearisome day. Tyeglev did not return todinner nor to supper; I did not expect my brother. Towards evening athick fog came on again, thicker even than the day before. I went tobed rather early. I was awakened by a knocking under the window.

  It was _my_ turn to be startled!

  The knock was repeated and so insistently distinct that one could haveno doubt of its reality. I got up, opened the window and saw Tyeglev.Wrapped in his great-coat, with his cap pulled over his eyes, he stoodmotionless.

  "Ilya Stepanitch!" I cried, "is that you? I gave up expecting you.Come in. Is the door locked?"

  Tyeglev shook his head. "I do not intend to come in," he pronounced ina hollow tone. "I only want to ask you to give this letter to thecommanding officer to-morrow."

  He gave me a big envelope sealed with five seals. I wasastonished--however, I took the envelope mechanically. Tyeglev at oncewalked away into the middle of the road.

  "Stop! stop!" I began. "Where are you going? Have you only just come?And what is the letter?"

  "Do you promise to deliver it?" said Tyeglev, and moved away a fewsteps further. The fog blurred the outlines of his figure. "Do youpromise?"

  "I promise ... but first--"

  Tyeglev moved still further away and became a long dark blur."Good-bye," I heard his voice. "Farewell, Ridel, don't remember evilagainst me.... And don't forget Semyon...."

  And the blur itself vanished.

  This was too much. "Oh, the damned _poseur_," I thought. "Youmust always be straining after effect!" I felt uneasy, however; aninvoluntary fear clutched at my heart. I flung on my great-coat andran out into the road.

  XIII

  Yes; but where was I to go? The fog enveloped me on all sides. Forfive or six steps all round it was a little transparent--but furtheraway it stood up like a wall, thick and white like cotton wool. Iturned to the right along the village street; our house was the lastbut one in the village and beyond it came waste land overgrown hereand there with bushes; beyond the waste land, a quarter of a mile fromthe village, there was a birch copse through which flowed the samelittle stream that lower down encircled our village. The moon stood, apale blur in the sky--but its light was not, as on the evening before,strong enough to penetrate the smoky density of the fog and hung, abroad opaque canopy, overhead. I made my way out on to the open groundand listened.... Not a sound from any direction, except the calling ofthe marsh birds.

  "Tyeglev!" I cried. "Ilya Stepanitch!! Tyeglev!!"

  My voice died away near me without an answer; it seemed as though thefog would not let it go further. "Tyeglev!" I repe
ated.

  No one answered.

  I went forward at random. Twice I struck against a fence, once Inearly fell into a ditch, and almost stumbled against a peasant'shorse lying on the ground. "Tyeglev! Tyeglev!" I cried.

  All at once, almost behind me, I heard a low voice, "Well, here I am.What do you want of me?"

  I turned round quickly.

  Before me stood Tyeglev with his hands hanging at his sides and withno cap on his head. His face was pale; but his eyes looked animatedand bigger than usual. His breathing came in deep, prolonged gaspsthrough his parted lips.

  "Thank God!" I cried in an outburst of joy, and I gripped him by