spitting on the ground, she was not able to get it finished that day
and stayed the night at the inn, begging Fetinya to spend the night in
her room. But she only fell into a feverish doze towards morning and
the tears trickled down her cheeks even in her sleep.
Meanwhile Yefrem woke up earlier than usual in his lumber room and
began knocking and asking to be let out. At first his wife was
unwilling to release him and told him through the door that he had not
yet slept long enough; but he aroused her curiosity by promising to
tell her of the extraordinary thing that had happened to Akim; she
unbolted the door. Yefrem told her what he knew and ended by asking
"Is he awake yet, or not?"
"The Lord only knows," answered his wife. "Go and look yourself; he
hasn't got down from the stove yet. How drunk you both were yesterday!
You should look at your face--you don't look like yourself. You are as
black as a sweep and your hair is full of hay!"
"That doesn't matter," answered Yefrem, and, passing his hand over his
head, he went into the room. Akim was no longer asleep; he was sitting
on the stove with his legs hanging down; he, too, looked strange and
unkempt. His face showed the effects the more as he was not used to
drinking much.
"Well, how have you slept, Akim Semyonitch?" Yefrem began.
Akim looked at him with lustreless eyes.
"Well, brother Yefrem," he said huskily, "could we have some again?"
Yefrem took a swift glance at Akim.... He felt a slight tremor at that
moment; it was a tremor such as is felt by a sportsman when he hears
the yap of his dog at the edge of the wood from which he had fancied
all the game had been driven.
"What, more?" he asked at last.
"Yes, more."
"My wife will see," thought Yefrem, "she won't let me out, most
likely.
"All right," he pronounced aloud, "have a little patience."
He went out and, thanks to skilfully taken precautions, succeeded in
bringing in unseen a big bottle under his coat.
Akim took the bottle. But Yefrem did not sit down with him as he had
the day before--he was afraid of his wife--and informing Akim that he
would go and have a look at what was going on at the inn and would see
that his belongings were being packed and not stolen--at once set off,
riding his little horse which he had neglected to feed--but judging
from the bulging front of his coat he had not forgotten his own needs.
Soon after he had gone, Akim was on the stove again, sleeping like the
dead.... He did not wake up, or at least gave no sign of waking when
Yefrem returned four hours later and began shaking him and trying to
rouse him and muttering over him some very muddled phrases such as
that "everything was moved and gone, and the ikons have been taken out
and driven away and that everything was over, and that everyone was
looking for him but that he, Yefrem, had given orders and not allowed
them, ..." and so on. But his mutterings did not last long. His wife
carried him off to the lumber room again and, very indignant both with
her husband and with the visitor, owing to whom her husband had been
drinking, lay down herself in the room on the shelf under the
ceiling.... But when she woke up early, as her habit was, and glanced
at the stove, Akim was not there. The second cock had not crowed and
the night was still so dark that the sky hardly showed grey overhead
and at the horizon melted into the darkness when Akim walked out of
the gate of the sacristan's house. His face was pale but he looked
keenly around him and his step was not that of a drunken man.... He
walked in the direction of his former dwelling, the inn, which had now
completely passed into the possession of its new owner--Naum.
Naum, too, was awake when Akim stole out of Yefrem's house. He was not
asleep; he was lying on a bench with his sheepskin coat under him. It
was not that his conscience was troubling him--no! he had with amazing
coolness been present all day at the packing and moving of all Akim's
possessions and had more than once addressed Avdotya, who was so
downcast that she did not even reproach him ... his conscience was at
rest but he was disturbed by various conjectures and calculations. He
did not know whether he would be lucky in his new career; he had never
before kept an inn, nor had a home of his own at all; he could not
sleep. "The thing has begun well," he thought, "how will it go
on?" ... Towards evening, after seeing off the last cart with Akim's
belongings (Avdotya walked behind it, weeping), he looked all over the
yard, the cellars, sheds, and barns, clambered up into the loft, more
than once instructed his labourers to keep a very, very sharp look-out
and when he was left alone after supper could not go to sleep. It so
happened that day that no visitor stayed at the inn for the night;
this was a great relief to him. "I must certainly buy a dog from the
miller to-morrow, as fierce a one as I can get; they've taken theirs
away," he said to himself, as he tossed from side to side, and all at
once he raised his head quickly ... he fancied that someone had passed
by the window ... he listened ... there was nothing. Only a cricket
from time to time gave a cautious churr, and a mouse was scratching
somewhere; he could hear his own breathing. Everything was still in
the empty room dimly lighted by the little glass lamp which he had
managed to hang up and light before the ikon in the corner.... He let
his head sink; again he thought he heard the gate creak ... then a
faint snapping sound from the fence.... He could not refrain from
jumping up; he opened the door of the room and in a low voice called,
"Fyodor! Fyodor!" No one answered.... He went out into the passage and
almost fell over Fyodor, who was lying on the floor. The man stirred
in his sleep with a faint grunt; Naum roused him.
"What's there? What do you want?" Fyodor began.
"What are you bawling for, hold your tongue!" Naum articulated in a
whisper. "How you sleep, you damned fellows! Have you heard nothing?"