Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories Page 6

  as a girl of self-respect (high praise on the lips of house serfs)

  who, though she had seen something of life, had not let herself down.

  She was rather clever with her needle, too, yet with all this Lizaveta

  Prohorovna was not very warmly disposed toward her, thanks to the

  headmaid, Kirillovna, a sly and intriguing woman, no longer young.

  Kirillovna exercised great influence over her mistress and very

  skilfully succeeded in getting rid of all rivals.

  With this Dunyasha Akim must needs fall in love! And he fell in love

  as he had never fallen in love before. He saw her first at church: she

  had only just come back from Moscow.... Afterwards, he met her several

  times in his mistress's house; finally he spent a whole evening with

  her at the steward's, where he had been invited to tea in company with

  other highly respected persons. The house serfs did not disdain him,

  though he was not of their class and wore a beard; he was a man of

  education, could read and write and, what was more, had money; and he

  did not dress like a peasant but wore a long full coat of black cloth,

  high boots of calf leather and a kerchief on his neck. It is true that

  some of the house serfs did say among themselves that: "One can see

  that he is not one of us," but to his face they almost flattered him.

  On that evening at the steward's Dunyasha made a complete conquest of

  Akim's susceptible heart, though she said not a single word in answer

  to his ingratiating speeches and only looked sideways at him from time

  to time as though wondering why that peasant was there. All that only

  added fuel to the flames. He went home, pondered and pondered and made

  up his mind to win her hand.... She had somehow "bewitched" him. But

  how can I describe the wrath and indignation of Dunyasha when five

  days later Kirillovna with a friendly air invited her into her room

  and told her that Akim (and evidently he knew how to set to work) that

  bearded peasant Akim, to sit by whose side she considered almost an

  indignity, was courting her.

  Dunyasha first flushed crimson, then she gave a forced laugh, then she

  burst into tears; but Kirillovna made her attack so artfully, made the

  girl feel her own position in the house so clearly, so tactfully

  hinted at the presentable appearance, the wealth and blind devotion of

  Akim and finally mentioned so significantly the wishes of their

  mistress that Dunyasha went out of the room with a look of hesitation

  on her face and meeting Akim only gazed intently into his face and did

  not turn away. The indescribably lavish presents of the love-sick man

  dissipated her last doubts. Lizaveta Prohorovna, to whom Akim in his

  joy took a hundred peaches on a large silver dish, gave her consent to

  the marriage, and the marriage took place. Akim spared no expense--and

  the bride, who on the eve of her wedding at her farewell party to her

  girl friends sat looking a figure of misery, and who cried all the

  next morning while Kirillovna was dressing her for the wedding, was

  soon comforted.... Her mistress gave her her own shawl to wear in the

  church and Akim presented her the same day with one like it, almost

  superior.

  And so Akim was married, and took his young bride home.... They began

  their life together.... Dunyasha turned out to be a poor housewife, a

  poor helpmate to her husband. She took no interest in anything, was

  melancholy and depressed unless some officer sitting by the big

  samovar noticed her and paid her compliments; she was often absent,

  sometimes in the town shopping, sometimes at the mistress's house,

  which was only three miles from the inn. There she felt at home, there

  she was surrounded by her own people; the girls envied her finery.

  Kirillovna regaled her with tea; Lizaveta Prohorovna herself talked to

  her. But even these visits did not pass without some bitter

  experiences for Dunyasha.... As an innkeeper's wife, for instance, she

  could not wear a hat and was obliged to tie up her head in a kerchief,

  "like a merchant's lady," said sly Kirillovna, "like a working woman,"

  thought Dunyasha to herself.

  More than once Akim recalled the words of his only relation, an uncle

  who had lived in solitude without a family for years: "Well,

  Akimushka, my lad," he had said, meeting him in the street, "I hear

  you are getting married."

  "Why, yes, what of it?"

  "Ech, Akim, Akim. You are above us peasants now, there's no denying

  that; but you are not on her level either."

  "In what way not on her level?"

  "Why, in that way, for instance," his uncle had answered, pointing to

  Akim's beard, which he had begun to clip in order to please his

  betrothed, though he had refused to shave it completely.... Akim

  looked down; while the old man turned away, wrapped his tattered

  sheepskin about him and walked away, shaking his head.

  Yes, more than once Akim sank into thought, cleared his throat and

  sighed.... But his love for his pretty wife was no less; he was proud

  of her, especially when he compared her not merely with peasant women,

  or with his first wife, to whom he had been married at sixteen, but

  with other serf girls; "look what a fine bird we have caught," he

  thought to himself.... Her slightest caress gave him immense pleasure.

  "Maybe," he thought, "she will get used to it; maybe she will get into

  the way of it." Meanwhile her behaviour was irreproachable and no one

  could say anything against her.

  Several years passed like this. Dunyasha really did end by growing

  used to her way of life. Akim's love for her and confidence in her

  only increased as he grew older; her girl friends, who had been

  married not to peasants, were suffering cruel hardships, either from

  poverty or from having fallen into bad hands.... Akim went on getting

  richer and richer. Everything succeeded with him--he was always lucky;

  only one thing was a grief: God had not given him children. Dunyasha

  was by now over five and twenty; everyone addressed her as Avdotya

  Arefyevna. She never became a real housewife, however--but she grew

  fond of her house, looked after the stores and superintended the woman

  who worked in the house. It is true that she did all this only after a

  fashion; she did not keep up a high standard of cleanliness and order;

  on the other hand, her portrait painted in oils and ordered by herself

  from a local artist, the son of the parish deacon, hung on the wall of

  the chief room beside that of Akim. She was depicted in a white dress

  with a yellow shawl with six strings of big pearls round her neck,

  long earrings, and a ring on every finger. The portrait was

  recognisable though the artist had painted her excessively stout and

  rosy--and had made her eyes not grey but black and even slightly

  squinting.... Akim's was a complete failure, the portrait had come out

  dark--à la Rembrandt--so that sometimes a visitor would go up

  to it, look at it and merely give an inarticulate murmur. Avdotya had

  taken to being rather careless in her dress; she would fling a big

  shawl over her shoulders, while the dress under
it was put on anyhow:

  she was overcome by laziness, that sighing apathetic drowsy laziness

  to which the Russian is only too liable, especially when his

  livelihood is secure....

  With all that, the fortunes of Akim and his wife prospered

  exceedingly; they lived in harmony and had the reputation of an

  exemplary pair. But just as a squirrel will wash its face at the very

  instant when the sportsman is aiming at it, man has no presentiment of

  his troubles, till all of a sudden the ground gives way under him like

  ice.

  One autumn evening a merchant in the drapery line put up at Akim's

  inn. He was journeying by various cross-country roads from Moscow to

  Harkov with two loaded tilt carts; he was one of those travelling

  traders whose arrival is sometimes awaited with such impatience by

  country gentlemen and still more by their wives and daughters. This

  travelling merchant, an elderly man, had with him two companions, or,

  speaking more correctly, two workmen, one thin, pale and hunchbacked,

  the other a fine, handsome young fellow of twenty. They asked for

  supper, then sat down to tea; the merchant invited the innkeeper and

  his wife to take a cup with him, they did not refuse. A conversation

  quickly sprang up between the two old men (Akim was fifty-six); the

  merchant inquired about the gentry of the neighbourhood and no one

  could give him more useful information about them than Akim; the

  hunchbacked workman spent his time looking after the carts and finally

  went off to bed; it fell to Avdotya to talk to the other one.... She

  sat by him and said little, rather listening to what he told her, but

  it was evident that his talk pleased her; her face grew more animated,

  the colour came into her cheeks and she laughed readily and often. The

  young workman sat almost motionless with his curly head bent over the

  table; he spoke quietly, without haste and without raising his voice;

  but his eyes, not large but saucily bright and blue, were rivetted on

  Avdotya; at first she turned away from them, then she, too, began

  looking him in the face. The young fellow's face was fresh and smooth

  as a Crimean apple; he often smiled and tapped with his white fingers

  on his chin covered with soft dark down. He spoke like a merchant, but

  very freely and with a sort of careless self-confidence and went on

  looking at her with the same intent, impudent stare.... All at once he

  moved a little closer to her and without the slightest change of

  countenance said to her: "Avdotya Arefyevna, there's no one like you

  in the world; I am ready to die for you."

  Avdotya laughed aloud.

  "What is it?" asked Akim.

  "Why, he keeps saying such funny things," she said, without any

  particular embarrassment.

  The old merchant grinned.

  "Ha, ha, yes, my Naum is such a funny fellow, don't listen to him."

  "Oh! Really! As though I should," she answered, and shook her head.

  "Ha, ha, of course not," observed the old man. "But, however," he went

  on in a singsong voice, "we will take our leave; we are thoroughly

  satisfied, it is time for bed, ..." and he got up.

  "We are well satisfied, too," Akim brought out and he got up, "for

  your entertainment, that is, but we wish you a good night.

  Avdotyushka, come along."

  Avdotya got up as it were unwillingly. Naum, too, got up after her ...

  the party broke up. The innkeeper and his wife went off to the little

  lobby partitioned off, which served them as a bedroom. Akim was

  snoring immediately. It was a long time before Avdotya could get to

  sleep.... At first she lay still, turning her face to the wall, then

  she began tossing from side to side on the hot feather bed, throwing

  off and pulling up the quilt alternately ... then she sank into a light

  doze. Suddenly she heard from the yard a loud masculine voice: it was

  singing a song of which it was impossible to distinguish the words,

  prolonging each note, though not with a melancholy effect. Avdotya

  opened her eyes, propped herself on her elbows and listened.... The

  song went on.... It rang out musically in the autumn air.

  Akim raised his head.

  "Who's that singing?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she answered.

  "He sings well," he added, after a brief pause. "Very well. What a

  strong voice. I used to sing in my day," he went on. "And I sang well,

  too, but my voice has gone. That's a fine voice. It must be that young

  fellow singing, Naum is his name, isn't it?" And he turned over on the

  other side, gave a sigh and fell asleep again.

  It was a long time before the voice was still ... Avdotya listened and

  listened; all at once it seemed to break off, rang out boldly once

  more and slowly died away.... Avdotya crossed herself and laid her

  head on the pillow.... Half an hour passed.... She sat up and softly

  got out of bed.

  "Where are you going, wife?" Akim asked in his sleep.

  She stopped.

  "To see to the little lamp," she said, "I can't get to sleep."

  "You should say a prayer," Akim mumbled, falling asleep.

  Avdotya went up to the lamp before the ikon, began trimming it and

  accidentally put it out; she went back and lay down. Everything was

  still.

  Early next morning the merchant set off again on his journey with his

  companions. Avdotya was asleep. Akim went half a mile with them: he

  had to call at the mill. When he got home he found his wife dressed

  and not alone. Naum, the young man who had been there the night

  before, was with her. They were standing by the table in the window

  talking. When Avdotya saw Akim, she went out of the room without a

  word, and Naum said that he had come for his master's gloves which the

  latter, he said, had left behind on the bench; and he, too, went away.

  We will now tell the reader what he has probably guessed already:

  Avdotya had fallen passionately in love with Naum. It is hard to say

  how it could have happened so quickly, especially as she had hitherto

  been irreproachable in her behaviour in spite of many opportunities

  and temptations to deceive her husband. Later on, when her intrigue

  with Naum became known, many people in the neighbourhood declared that

  he had on the very first evening put a magic potion that was a love

  spell in her tea (the efficacy of such spells is still firmly believed

  in among us), and that this could be clearly seen from the appearance

  of Avdotya who, so they said, soon after began to pine away and look

  depressed.

  However that may have been, Naum began to be frequently seen in Akim's

  yard. At first he came again with the same merchant and three months

  later arrived alone, with wares of his own; then the report spread

  that he had settled in one of the neighbouring district towns, and

  from that time forward not a week passed without his appearing on the

  high road with his strong, painted cart drawn by two sleek horses

  which he drove himself. There was no particular friendship between

  Akim and him, nor was there any hostility noticed between them; Akim