Following the habit of most papas, Papa walked in on the math teacher unannounced. The things you hear and see when you enter unannounced! He heard the teacher telling his wife, “You’ve cost me a fortune, Ariadna! There’s no end to your whims!” He saw the teacher’s wife rush to embrace the teacher, exclaiming, “Forgive me! I’ve done next to nothing for you, I know, but you’re everything to me!” The teacher’s wife was very attractive, Papa thought, especially in dishabille.
“Hello,” he said, walking in jauntily and clicking his heels. The teacher was taken aback. His blushing wife darted into the next room at lightning speed.
“Excuse me,” began Papa with a little smile, “I may have, you know, disturbed you just now. I understand. How are you, sir? May I have the honor of introducing myself? Here’s my card. As you can see, I’m not just anyone. But a hard worker, like yourself.” He laughed loudly. “Not that there is anything for you to worry about, nothing at all.”
The teacher smiled ever so slightly, just to be polite, and pointed to the chair. Papa spun on his heels and took a seat.
“I came,” he continued, flashing his golden watch, “to have a talk with you, sir. Yes. You’ll have to forgive me, of course. I’m no speechifier. My kind, you know, speaks plainly and directly.” He laughed. “Did you attend university?”
“I did.”
“Right! My, it’s hot today. Ivan Fedorovich, you’ve given my boy a heap of Fs. Which is all right, you know. It’s according to one’s desserts. Yes . . . Tribute to whom tribute is due, and a lesson to whom a lesson is due.” He laughed. “Still, it’s unpleasant, you know. Do you mean to say that my son really doesn’t understand math?”
“How should I put it? It’s not that he doesn’t understand it as such, it’s, you see, well, he doesn’t study. So, no, he doesn’t understand.”
“And why not?”
The teacher raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, why?” he said. “He doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t because he doesn’t study.”
“Begging your pardon, Ivan Fedorovich! My son studies endlessly. I myself help him study. He stays up all night. He knows everything perfectly. And as for his tomfoolery . . . Well, that’s youth for you. Who among us wasn’t young once? Am I disturbing you?”
“Why would you think that? No, not in the least. I’m even grateful to you for dropping in. Fathers so rarely visit us educators. Mind you, it shows you trust us, and trust is the key to everything.”
“Naturally. The main thing is not to interfere. So this means that my son won’t advance to fourth grade?”
“That’s right. After all, it’s not just in math that he received an F.”
“I could visit his other teachers too. But what about math? Can you take care of that?”
“I cannot, sir!” (The teacher smiled.) “I cannot! I wanted your son to advance to the next grade. I did my best, but your son won’t study and lacks all respect. He gets into trouble again and again.”
“Well, that’s youth for you. What’s to be done? In any case, you have to give him a passing grade.”
“I can’t!”
“Oh, come now, it’s nothing at all! What are you saying? As if I have no idea what can and can’t be done. Of course you can, Ivan Fedorovich!”
“I can’t! What will the other failing students say! It’s not fair, no matter how you look at it. No, I can’t!”
Papa gave him a wink. “You can, Ivan Fedorovich! Ivan Fedorovich! Let’s not go on and on telling stories. This is nothing to chitchat about for hours. You’re a well-educated sort, why don’t you go ahead and tell me what you consider fair? Because we both know what your fairness is all about.” He laughed. “Why not go straight to the point, Ivan Fedorovich, no beating about the bush. You had certain intentions when you gave him an F, right? What’s so fair about that?”
The teacher raised his eyebrows. That was all. Why he didn’t take offense will remain locked in the teacher’s heart forever, as far I am concerned.
“You had certain intentions,” Papa went on. “You expected a guest.” He laughed. “Right? And here I am! I agree. Tribute to whom tribute is due. I understand all about what it means to be in public service, as you can see. No matter how much you believe in progress, old ways are best. More effective. Well, what’s mine is yours!”
Breathing heavily, Papa reached for his wallet. A twenty-five-ruble bill was extended toward the teacher’s fist.
“Here you go!”
The teacher blushed and cringed. That was it. Why he didn’t show Papa the door will remain locked in the teacher’s heart, as far as I am concerned.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Papa went on. “I understand. The ones who say they don’t take—they take. And who isn’t on the take, nowadays? It’s impossible not to take, my friend. Not used to it yet? Come on!”
“No, for God’s sake.”
“Not enough? Well, I can’t give you more than that. You’re not going to take it?”
“Good heavens!”
“As you wish. But that F has got to change. Not for my sake—for his mother’s. She’s crying, you know. Heart palpitations. All that.”
“I feel sorry for your wife, but I can’t.”
“And if my son doesn’t go on to the fourth grade, what then? No, you simply have to give him a passing grade!”
“I would have been happy to, but I can’t. Would you like a cigarette?”
“Un grand merci. What’s the harm in giving him a passing grade? What’s your rank, by the way?”
“Titular councillor. Though, by virtue of my position—the eighth rank.”*
“I see! Now the two of us are sure to hit it off. With just one stroke of the pen, eh? Agreed?” He laughed.
“I cannot, sir, for the life of me, I cannot!”
Papa fell silent for a bit, reflected, and then returned to the offensive. The attack dragged on and on. The teacher repeated his inexorable “I cannot, sir,” some twenty times. Finally, he was fed up. Papa was just impossible. Papa tried to give him a smooch, asked to take a math test himself, told dirty jokes, and got chummier and chummier. The teacher felt sick.
“Vanya, it’s time for you to go!” the teacher’s wife shouted from the other room. Papa saw what was up. With his broad short frame he blocked the escape path. The exhausted teacher started to whimper. Then he had a stroke of genius, or so he imagined.
“Look here,” he told Papa, “I’ll pass your son when all my other colleagues agree to pass him.”
“Word of honor?”
“Yes, I’ll pass him if they’ll pass him.”
“Agreed! Shake! You’ve got some class! I’ll let them know you’ve changed the grade. Deal! I owe you a bottle of champagne. When are they home?”
“Why don’t you try them now?”
“All right. And you and I will be friends, of course? Pop by one day for a nice visit!”
“With pleasure. All the best!”
“Au revoir!” Papa laughed. “Oh, young man, young man! Farewell! And of course I’ll extend your best regards to your esteemed colleagues! Please convey my most respectful aperçu to your spouse . . . Don’t forget to visit!”
Papa clicked his heels, put on his hat, and left.
“A good man,” thought the teacher, following Papa with his eyes. “A good man! What’s on his mind is on his tongue. Simple and kind, it’s plain to see . . . I like his sort.”
That very evening, Mama was once again sitting on Papa’s lap (the maid’s turn came later). Papa was assuring her that “our son” would go on to the next grade. Educated types, he said, don’t require money—just a pleasant manner and polite but relentless arm-twisting.