“And he didn’t propose, he kept postponing it, to the great vexation of the director’s wife and our other ladies; he kept weighing his future duties and responsibilities and meanwhile went strolling with Varenka almost every day, perhaps thinking it was necessary in his position, and came to me to talk about family life. And, in all probability, he would have proposed in the end, and one of those needless, stupid marriages would have taken place, such as take place here by the thousand out of boredom and idleness, if a kolossalische Scandal had not suddenly occurred. It must be said that Varenka’s brother, Kovalenko, had hated Belikov from the first day of their acquaintance and could not bear him.
“‘I don’t understand,’ he said to us, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I don’t understand how you stomach that snitcher, that vile mug! Eh, gentlemen, how can you live here? The atmosphere is nasty, stifling. Are you pedagogues, teachers? No, you’re rank-grabbers, your school isn’t a temple of knowledge, it’s an office of public order, and there’s a sour stink to it, like in a sentry’s box. No, brothers, I’ll live with you a little longer and then go back to my farmstead to catch crayfish and teach little Ukrainians. I’ll leave you, and you can stay here with your Judas till he bursts.’
“Or else he’d laugh, laugh himself to tears, now in a bass, now in a thin, squeaky voice, and ask me, spreading his hands:
“‘Why is he sitting with me? What does he want? He sits and looks.’
“He even gave Belikov the name of ‘the bloodsucker, alias the spider.’ And, to be sure, we avoided talking to him about his sister Varenka marrying ‘alias the spider.’ And once when the director’s wife hinted to him that it would be nice to have his sister settle down with such a solid, well-respected man as Belikov, he scowled and said gruffly:
“‘It’s none of my business. She can even marry a viper, I don’t like interfering in other people’s affairs.’
“Now hear what happened next. Some prankster drew a caricature: Belikov walking in his galoshes, with his tucked-in trousers, under an umbrella, and Varenka arm-in-arm with him; the caption underneath: ‘Anthropos in love.’ The expression was really caught remarkably well. The artist must have worked more than one night, because all the teachers in the boys’ and girls’ schools, the seminary teachers, the officials—everybody got a copy. Belikov got one, too. The caricature made a most painful impression on him.
“We’re leaving the house together—it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all of us, teachers and students, had arranged to meet by the school and then go on foot together to the woods outside town—we’re leaving the house, and he’s green, dark as a cloud.
“‘What bad, wicked people there are!’ he said, and his lips trembled.
“I even felt sorry for him. We’re walking along and suddenly, if you can imagine, Kovalenko rides by on a bicycle, followed by Varenka, also on a bicycle, red, tired, but cheerful, joyful.
“‘And we’re going on ahead!’ she cries. ‘The weather’s so fine, so fine, it’s simply awful!’
“And they both vanished. My Belikov turned from green to white and froze. He stopped and stared at me …
“‘Excuse me, but what is that?’ he asked. ‘Or maybe my eyes are deceiving me? Is it proper for schoolmasters and women to ride bicycles?’
“‘What’s improper about it?’ I said. ‘They can ride as much as they like.’
“‘But how is this possible?’ he cried, amazed at my calmness. ‘What are you saying?!’
“He was so struck that he refused to go any further and turned back home.
“The next day he kept rubbing his hands nervously and twitching all the time, and you could see from his face that he wasn’t well. And he left class, which happened to him for the first time in his life. And he ate no dinner. Towards evening he got dressed warmly, though it was quite summery outside, and trudged to the Kovalenkos. Varenka was not at home, he found only her brother.
“‘Kindly sit down,’ Kovalenko said coldly and scowled; his face was sleepy, he had just finished his after-dinner nap and was in a very bad humor.
“Belikov sat silently for some ten minutes and then began:
“‘I’ve come to you to ease my soul. I’m very, very distressed. Some lampoonist has portrayed me and another person close to us both in a ridiculous way. I consider it my duty to assure you that I have nothing to do with it … I never gave any pretext for such mockery—on the contrary, I’ve always behaved as a perfectly decent man.’
“Kovalenko sat pouting and said nothing. Belikov waited a little and went on softly, in a mournful voice:
“‘And I have something else to tell you. I have been teaching for a long time, while you are just beginning, and I consider it my duty, as an older colleague, to warn you. You ride a bicycle, and that is an amusement absolutely improper for a teacher of youth.’
“‘Why so?’ Kovalenko asked in a bass voice.
“‘But is there anything here that needs more explaining, Mikhail Savvich, is there anything that isn’t clear? If the teacher rides on a bicycle, what remains for the students? It remains only for them to walk on their heads! And since it is not permitted by the circulars, you cannot do it. I was horrified yesterday! When I saw your sister, my eyes went dim. A woman or a girl on a bicycle—it’s awful!’
“‘What exactly do you want?’
“‘I want just one thing—to warn you, Mikhail Savvich. You are a young man, you have a future ahead of you, you must behave very, very carefully, yet you are negligent, oh, so negligent! You go around in an embroidered shirt, you’re always outside with some sort of books, and now there’s also the bicycle. The director will find out that you and your sister ride bicycles, then it will reach the superintendent … What’s the good of it?’
“‘That my sister and I ride bicycles is nobody’s business!’ Kovalenko said and turned purple. ‘And if anybody meddles in my domestic and family affairs, I’ll send him to all the devils in hell.’
“Belikov paled and got up.
“‘If you talk with me in such a tone, I cannot go on,’ he said. ‘And I beg you never to speak like that in my presence about our superiors. You must treat the authorities with respect.’
“‘Did I say anything bad about the authorities?’ Kovalenko asked, looking at him spitefully. ‘Kindly leave me in peace. I’m an honest man and have no wish to talk with gentlemen like you. I don’t like snitchers.’
“Belikov fussed about nervously and quickly began to dress, with a look of horror on his face. It was the first time in his life that he’d heard such rude things.
“‘You may say whatever you like,’ he said, as he went out from the front hall to the landing. ‘Only I must warn you: someone may have heard us, and, since our conversation might be misunderstood and something might come of it, I will have to report the content of our conversation to the director … in its main features. It is my duty to do so.’
“‘Report? Go on, report!’
“Kovalenko seized him from behind by the collar and shoved, and Belikov went tumbling down the stairs, his galoshes clunking. The stairs were high and steep, but he reached the bottom safely, got up, and felt his nose: were his glasses broken? But just as he was tumbling down the stairs, Varenka came in and there were two ladies with her; they stood below and watched—and for Belikov this was the most terrible thing of all. It would have been better, he thought, to break his neck and both legs than to become a laughingstock: now the whole town would know, it would reach the director, the superintendent—ah, something might come of it!— there would be a new caricature, and the upshot of it all would be that he would be ordered to resign …
“When he got up, Varenka recognized him and, looking at his ridiculous face, his crumpled overcoat, his galoshes, not understanding what it was about, and supposing he had fallen accidentally, could not help herself and laughed for the whole house to hear: