Ragin blushed at this last question.
'Yes, it's a patient, but an interesting young fellow,' he said.
They asked no more questions.
As Ragin was putting his coat on in the hall the nilitary commander laid a hand on his shoulder.
'It's time we old fellows were put out to grass,' he sighed.
As he left the townwn hall, Ragin realized that this had been a commission appointed to assess his sanity. He blushed as he remembered their questions and for the first time in his life he somehow found himself terribly upset about the state of medicine.
'My God,' thought he, remembering the doctors who had just investigated him. 'Why, these people took a course in psychiatry only recently, they sat an examination. So why such crass ignorance? They have no conception of psychiatry.'
And for the first time in his life he felt insulted and enraged.
Michael Averyanovich called that evening. He came up to Ragin without greeting him and took him by both hands.
'My dear, good friend,' said the postmaster in a voice vibrant with emotion, 'prove that you believe in my sincere good will and consider me your friend. My friend . . •
'I like you because you're so well-educated and generous-hearted,' he went on excitedly, not letting Ragin speak. 'Now, listen to me, my dear fellow. Medical etiquette obliges those doctors to keep the truth from you, but I'm going to give it you straight from the shoulder, soldier-fashion. You're not well. I'm sorry, my dear fellow, but it is so—everyone round here noticed it some time ago. As Dr. Eugene Khobotov was saying just now, you need rest and a change for your health's sake. Perfectly true, that—a capital idea! Now I'm taking my leave in a day or two and I'm going away for a whiff of fresh air. So prove you're my friend—come with me. It will be quite like old times.'
'I feel completely well,' said Ragin after a little thought, 'and I can't go with you. Permit me to prove my friendship in some other way.'
Going off on some trip without rhyme or reason, without books, without Daryushka, without beer, while so brusquely shattering a routine of twenty years' standing ... at first the idea struck him as wildly grotesque. But remembering the interview at the town hall and his depressed state on the way home, he suddenly warmed to the prospect of a short break from this abode of morons who thought him insane.
'Now, where are you thinking of going ?' he asked.
'Moscow, St. Petersburg, Warsaw. I spent the five happiest years of my life in Warsaw. A staggering city, that! Let's go, my dear fellow!'
XIII
A week later Dr. Ragin was invited to 'take a holiday': to resign, in other words. He didn't mind and a week later he and Michael Averya- novich were bowling along in a post-chaise on their way to the nearest railway station. The days were cool and bright, the sky was blue, the distant view was clear. They did the hundred and twenty miles to the station in forty-eight hours, with two overnight stops. Whenever they were served tea in dirty glasses at the coaching inns, whenever harnessing their horses took too much time, Michael Avcryanovich turned crimson and shook all over.
'Shut up!' he would shout. 'Don't you bandy words with me!'
In the carriage he kept up a non-stop account of his trips in the Caucasus and Poland—so many adventures he had had, such meetings! He spoke so loudly and he looked so amazed about it all that he might have been supposed to be lying, besides which he breathed into Ragin's face while describing all this and guffawed into his ear. This irked the doctor—prevented him from thinking and concentrating.
On the train they went by third-class non-smoker to save money. Half the passengers were of the respectable sort. Michael Averyanovich quickly got to know them all, moving from one seat to another and loudly averring that one shouldn't usc these disgusting railways: the whole thing was such a racket! Now, horseback riding was a different. matter! You could knock up your sixty miles a day, and you felt healthy and hearty afterwards. Now, the reason why we had bad harvests was the draining of the Pripet Marshes. By and large things were in a pretty pickle! He grew heated, spoke loudly and no one else could get a word in edgeways. This endless natter interspersed with loud guffaws and eloquent gestures ... it wearied Ragin.
'Which of us two is the lunatic?' he wondered indignantly. 'Is it I, who try not to annoy the other passengers ? Or this megalomaniac who thinks he is cleverer and more interesting than everyone else, and so won't leave anyone alone?'
In Moscow Michael Averyanovich donned a military tunic without cpaulcttes and trousers with red piping. He wore an officer's peaked cap and cloak in the streets, and the soldiers saluted him. The man had squandered all the good patrician qualities which he had once possessed, Ragin now felt, and had kept only the bad ones. He liked being waited on, even when it was completely pointless. There might be matches on the table in front of his eyes, but that wouldn't stop him shouting for a waiter to bring him a light. When the chambermaid was in his room he walked around in his unde^ear and made no bones about it. He was very off-hand with all the servants, even the old ones, and called them oafs and blockheads when he lost his temper. These were the manners of the squirearchy, Ragin thought, but they were odious.
Michael Averyanovich first took his friend to see the Iverian Madonna. He prayed fervently, bowing to the ground and weeping, and sighed deeply when he had finished.
'Even if you aren't a believer you'll feel easier somehow after a spot of prayer. Kiss the icon, old man.'
Embarrassed, Ragin did so. Michael Averyanovich mouthed a whispered prayer, while his head swayed and his eyes once more brimmed with tears. Then they went to the Kremlin, where they saw the 'Tsar Cannon' and the 'Tsar Bell', even touching them with their fingers. They enjoyed the view across the river, they visited St. Saviour's Temple and the Rumyantsev Museum.
They dined at Testov's. Michael Averyanovich scrutinized the menu for some time, stroking his side-whiskers and adopting the tone of a lusty trencherman completely at home in restaurants.
'Now, my good man,' he would say. 'What treat have you in store today ?'
XIV
The doctor went about, saw the sights, ate and drank, but his sole sensation was of annoyance with Michael Averyanovich. He wanted a holiday from his friend, he wanted to go away and hide, but his friend felt in duty bound not to let Ragin out ofhis sight and to furnish him with as much entertainment as possible. When there were no sights to see he entertained Ragin with talk. Ragin stood it for two days, but on the third he told his friend that he was ill and wanted to stay in all day. In that case, said his friend, he would stay in too. They did need a rest, actually, if their feet were going to stay the course. Ragin lay facing the back of the sofa and listened, teeth clenched, to the friend who fervently assured him that France would certainly smash Germany sooner or later, that Moscow was teeming with crooks and that one should neverjudge a horse's qualities by its looks. The doctor's ears buzzed and his heart pounded, but he was too tactful to ask the friend to go away or be quiet. Luckily Michael Averyanovich tired of being cooped up in a hotel room and went for a stroll in the afternoon.
Left on his o^n, Ragin relaxed completely. How pleasant to lie perfectly still on a sofa and know you are alone in the room! True happiness is impoffiible without privacy. The fallen angel probably betrayed God because he wanted the privacy denied to an angel. Ragin wanted to think about what he had seen and heard during the last few days, but he was obsessed with thoughts of Michael Averyanovich.
'He took his holiday and made this trip with me out of friendship and generosity, didn't he?' the doctor brooded in dismay. 'There's nothing worse than such paternalism. Oh, he seems kind and generous all right, he is cheerful enough, but he's such a bore, such a shattering bore! He is like those people who can't speak without uttering witticisms and bons mots, yet leave you feeling how very dull they are.'