The squire came up to the counter and drank the vodka with delight.
“Give me the medallion for a second!” he whispered to Tikhon. “Just one look and... I’ll give it back to you!”
Tikhon frowned, and without saying a word handed him the medallion. The fellow with the pockmarked face sighed, shook his head, and asked for a vodka.
“Have a drink, your lordship! Hmm! Life is good without vodka, but it’s even better with it! With vodka even sorrows not sorrow! Drink up!”
After five glasses the squire sat down in his corner, opened the medallion, and with clouded, drunken eyes looked for the beloved face. But the face was gone. It had fallen out of the medallion when Tikhon opened it.
The lantern flared up and went out. In the corner a woman pilgrim was mumbling in delirium. The fellow with the pockmarked face prayed aloud and then lay down on the bench. Another traveler came in. The rain poured and poured. It got colder and colder, and it seemed as if there would be no end to this vile, dark autumn. The squire was still staring at the medallion, looking for the woman’s face. The candle went out.
Spring, where are you?
THE
GRATEFUL
GERMAN
IONCE KNEW A GRATEFUL GERMAN. The first time I met him was in Frankfurt-am-Main. He was walking along Dummstrasse with a monkey on a leash. One could read on the Germans face hunger, love of the father- land, and resignation. He sang a plaintive song, and the monkey danced. I took pity on them and gave them a coin.
“Thank you!” the German said to me, pressing it to his heart. “I shall remember your kindness to my dying day!”
The second time I met the German was in Frankfurt-an- der-Oder. He was walking along the Eselstrasse selling fried sausages. The moment he saw me tears ran down his cheeks, and he lifted his eyes to heaven.
“I thank you, mein Herr!” he said. “I will never forget the coin with which you saved both me and my late monkey from starving! Your coin gave us comfort!”
The third time I met him was here in Russia. He was teaching Russian children ancient languages, trigonometry, and musical theory. In his free time, after classes, he was trying to get a job as a railroad inspector.
“Ah, I remember you!” he said to me, shaking my hand. “All Russians are bad people, except for you. I can’t stand the Russians, but I shall remember that coin you gave me to my dying day!”
We never met again.
A
SIGN
OF
THE
TIMES
THEY DECLARED THEIR LOVE in a drawing room with light blue wallpaper.
The young man of pleasant appearance knelt before the young woman and vowed his love.
“I can not live without you, my dearest!” he sighed. “I swear, the moment I set eyes on you I was lost! Dearest, tell me... tell me... yes or no?”
The girl opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment her brothers head appeared at the door.
“Lily, can you come here a minute?” her brother asked.
“What is it?” Lily replied, and followed him out of the room.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I am your brother, and it’s my sacred duty to caution you... Be careful with that man. Say as little as possible—only what you have to.”
“But he’s proposing!”
“That’s fine! Declare your love, marry him, but for God’s sake be careful! I know what I’m talking about—he’s a complete scoundrel! Give him half a chance, and he’ll sell us out!” “Oh, Max, thank you! I had no idea!”
The young woman went back into the living room, answered the young man with a yes, kissed him, let him embrace her, and vowed she would be his. But she stepped carefully—she spoke only of love.
FROM
THE
DIARY
OF A
YOUNG
GIRL
OCTOBER 13TH Finally something is happening on my street too! I look out and can’t believe my eyes. A tall, stately, brownhaired man with dark, fiery eyes is pacing up and down beneath my window. His mustache—exquisite! He’s been pacing there for five days now, from early morning till late at night, and he’s constandy looking up at our windows! I pretend not to notice.
OCTOBER 15TH
It’s been pouring rain since early this morning, and the poor man is still walking up and down. As a reward I made eyes at him and blew him a kiss. He answered with the most charming smile. Who is he? My sister Varya says he’s in love with her, and that it’s because of her that he’s out there in the rain. She’s so naive! Is a dark-haired man likely to fall in love with a darkhaired girl? Mama sent us to put on something more elegant and sit by the window. “He might be a swindler or something, but he could well be a respectable gendeman,” she said. A swindler! Quel... Mummy, you are so silly!
OCTOBER 16TH
Varya says I’ve ruined her life. As if it were my fault that he loves me and not her! I unintentionally dropped a note onto the sidewalk. The naughty man—he wrote “later” with chalk on his sleeve! Then he walked up and down, and wrote on the gate across the way: “Yes, let’s meet! Later!” He wrote it in chalk, and then quickly erased it. Oh, why does my heart beat thus?
OCTOBER 17TH
Varya hit me in the chest with her elbow, the mean, despicable, jealous beast! Today he stopped a policeman and spoke to him for a long time about something or other, pointing up at our windows. The plot thickens! He must be bribing him... O men, you are such tyrants and despots, and yet how cunning and wonderful you are!
OCTOBER 18TH
After a long absence, my brother Sergei came back tonight. He didn’t even have time to lie down before they summoned him to the police station.
OCTOBER 19TH
The vermin! The beast! It turns out that for the past twelve days he’s been trying to catch my brother Sergei, who seems to have embezzled some money.
Today he wrote on the gate: “I’m free now, we can meet.” The swine! I stuck my tongue out at him!
THE
STATIONMASTER
THE STATIONMASTER AT Drebesky is called Stephan Stephanitch—his family name is Sheptunov. Last summer he was involved in a minor scandal. Insignificant though it was, this scandal cost him a great deal. Because of it he lost his new stationmaster s cap and his trust in humanity.
In the summer, train number 8 would pass his station at 2:40 in the morning, the most inconvenient time possible. Instead of sleeping, Stephan Stephanitch had to walk up and down the platform and stick around the telegraph office until morning.
Every summer Aleutov, his assistant, would leave to get married, and poor Sheptunov had to hold the fort on his own. Fate had dealt him a harsh blow! But not every evening was boring. Sometimes Marya Ilinishna, the bailiff Kutsapyetov’s wife, would come over from the neighboring estate and visit him at the station. She was not particularly young, or particularly beautiful, but gendemen, let’s face it: at night you can mistake a pillar for a policeman, or as the saying goes, “Bui - dom, like hunger, doth not a bosom buddy make.” So anything will do. When Madam Kutsapyetov came to the station, Sheptunov would take her by the arm, climb down the platform, and head for the freight cars. There by the cars, waiting for train number 8, he would begin declaiming vows, and keep it up right to the moment the train whisde blew.
One fine night he was standing by the cars with Marya Ilinishna, waiting for the train. The cloudless sky was quiet, and the moon shimmered gendy, casting its rays on the station, the field, the boundless expanse. All around them was quiet, serene. Sheptunov held his arm around Marya’s waist and was silent. She too was silent. Both stood in some kind of sweet light, quiet like the moon, forgotten.