“A happy Easter to you!” he says to the usher, and the individual’s dyed mustache brushes three times against the porter’s prickly one as they exchange the ceremonial triple kiss. The sound of smacking lips is accompanied by the pleasant tinkle of the “small donation” dropped into the pocket of this modern-day Cerberus. This first individual is followed by a second, a third, a fourth, until one o’clock. The sheet of paper is covered with signatures from top to bottom. At four o’clock Cerberus disappears with the sheet into the inner chambers. He hands it to a little old man who begins reading it through.
“These are all the Easter greetings? Hmm . . . Ha! Hmm . . . Well, I don’t recognize any of the handwriting! I tell you, one man is responsible for all these signatures! A calligrapher—they hired a calligrapher to write their Easter greetings! The audacity! I can see they didn’t want to trouble themselves to come wish me a happy Easter in person! What have I done to deserve this? Why this lack of respect? (Pause.) Well . . . I say, Maksim, will you go and get . . .”
Eleven o’clock. A panting, sweating, flushed young man with a cockade on his military cap is clambering up the endless flights of stairs to the fifth floor. Having reached it, he frantically rings the bell. A young woman opens the door.
“Is Ivan Kapitonich at home?” the young man asks, still out of breath. “Tell him . . . tell him to hurry back to His Excellency’s! He must put his name down again on the list of Easter greetings! Someone stole the piece of paper! We need to put together a new list! Hurry!”
“Who in heaven’s name would steal something like that?”
“That damned woman . . . that . . . that housekeeper of his! She gathers up all the paper she can find and sells it by the bale! The miserly old biddy, damn her! But I have eight more people to go tell—goodbye!”
Another waiting room. A table and a sheet of paper. An usher, ancient and thin as a rake, is sitting on a stool in the corner. At eleven o’clock the door from the inner chambers opens. A bald head peeks in.
“What? No one has come yet to wish me happy Easter, Efim?” a voice asks.
“No, Your Excellency.”
At noon the same head peers in again.
“What? No one has come yet to wish me happy Easter, Efim?”
“Not a soul, Your Excellency!”
“Hmm . . . Ha! Hmm . . .”
The head peers in at one, at two—still nobody. At three o’clock a whole torso, complete with hands and legs, protrudes into the room. The little old man walks over to the table and stares intently at the empty sheet of paper. There is an expression of deep sadness on his face.
“Things aren’t what they used to be, Efim!” he says with a sigh. “Hmm . . . hmm . . . well, the fatal word ‘retired’ is stamped on my forehead. The poet Nekrasov wrote something about that, didn’t he? Efim, dear fellow, so my old woman doesn’t laugh me out of house and home, let’s fill up the sheet ourselves with an assortment of Easter greetings! Here’s the pen . . .”
TWENTY-SIX
(Excerpts from a Diary)
June 2nd
After dinner, I pondered the sad state of the Western European economy. I hired her as housekeeper.
June 18th
She was quarrelsome during dinner. From what I can tell, she must be going through some kind of emotional upheaval. I fear she is having an affair. I read in one of the lead articles in Golos that . . . Madness!
December 4th
My gates were opening and shutting all night. At five in the morning I saw Karyavov the clerk leaving the courtyard. When I asked him what he was doing, he was embarrassed. He was obviously up to no good, the rascal. I will have to fire him.
December 28th
She has been quarrelsome all day long. I’m sure someone has been loitering about outside. I caught a mouse in file folder 1302. I killed it.
New Year’s Day
Was wished a happy New Year. I presented her with an edifying book for her improvement. She was quarrelsome all day. Feeling despondent, I wrote a piece called “On the Pecheneg Raids in the District of Ufa.” I had a vision.
January 4th
She tore up both the piece I wrote and the book I gave her. She ordered me to rehire Karyavov. Yes, my sweet darling, right away! That night she was quarrelsome, tore up my papers, flew into hysterics, and informed me that she was leaving for Samara for a rest cure. I will not let her go!
February 6th
She has left! All day I lay on her bed weeping, and have come to the following conclusion: “She is in the best of health and consequently cannot have gone for a cure.” Something else is behind this—a love affair! I suspect that she might be drawn to one of my milksop clerks. But which one? I’ll find out tomorrow, since the culprit is bound to ask for a leave, and I . . . I will give him a good hiding! The gates didn’t keep opening and shutting last night, but I still slept badly. In spite of my dejection, I pondered the terrible state of France. I had two visions at the same time. Lord in heaven, forgive us sinners!
February 7th
I was handed twenty-six requests for leave. From all the clerks! Just you wait! They want to go to Kronstadt. Ha! So now Samara is in Kronstadt, is it? Just you wait!
February 8th
My grief has not diminished. I am deeply dejected. I have launched a reign of terror. All the clerks in the office are in a state of panic—the last thing on their minds is love. I dreamed of Kronstadt.
February 14th
Yesterday, Sunday, Karyavov went somewhere out of town, and today he is strutting about the office with a sarcastic smile on his lips. I am firing him.
February 25th
I received a letter from her. She is ordering me to send her money and to rehire Karyavov. “Yes, my sweet darling, right away!”
Just you wait, you rogues! Yesterday, three more clerks went somewhere out of town. Whose gates are they opening and shutting?
THE PHILADELPHIA CONFERENCE OF NATURAL SCIENTISTS
The first conference paper to be read was “The Descent of Man,” dedicated to the memory of Darwin. Since the delegates in the large conference hall were linked to each other by telephone, the paper was read in a whisper. The distinguished reader stated that he was in full agreement with Darwin: the apes were at the bottom of it all. If there had been no apes there would have been no people, and had there been no people there would have been no criminals. The delegates agreed unanimously that all apes were to be advised of our displeasure, and that the public prosecutor was to be notified.
Some delegates did, however, voice certain doubts:
The French delegate was in full agreement with the other delegates’ opinion, but at a loss to explain how one might account for the origins of, say, pigs in clover or crocodiles shedding tears. Having expounded on this point, the distinguished delegate presented diagrams of pigs in clover and teary-eyed crocodiles. The debate deadlocked, and it was proposed that the matter be postponed to the following session, and also that all telephones be disconnected before a final decision was reached.