Poor Folk and Other Stories (14 page)

Don't worry about a thing; with God's help it will all be settled. Fedora has managed to get a whole pile of work for the two of us to
do, and we have made a start on it in a thoroughly cheerful frame of mind; perhaps we shall set everything to rights. Fedora has a suspicion that Anna Fyodorovna may know a thing or two about my recent unpleasant experience; but now it's all the same to me. For some reason I feel unusually cheerful today. You want to borrow money – God forbid! You will have terrible trouble later on when you have to pay it back. You would do better to live on closer terms with us – come and see us more often and don't pay so much attention to your landlady. As for your other enemies and ill-wishers, I am sure you are tormenting yourself with needless doubts, Makar Alekseyevich! Take care; after all, I did tell you last time that your way of putting things is extremely irregular. Well, goodbye, until we meet. I expect to see you without fail.

I hasten to inform you, little light of my life, that I have begun to entertain hopes of a certain nature. But, daughter mine – you write, my little angel, that I am not to take any loans? My little dove, I cannot manage without them; after all, I am unwell, and what if things were suddenly to go wrong for you, as for all I know they might? I mean, you are not exactly strong; so that is why I wrote that I must absolutely borrow some money. Well, then, I shall continue.

Varvara Alekseyevna, I wish to draw your attention to the fact that in the office I sit next to Yemelyan Ivanovich. he is not the Yemelyan of whom you already know. This one is a titular councillor, like myself, and he and I are practically the oldest and longest-established employees in the whole of our department. he is a good soul, an altruistic soul; he doesn't say much, and always gives everyone a surly look. But he is businesslike, and he writes a good English round hand; if you want to know the truth, he writes as well as I do – he's a worthy fellow! He and I have never been on intimate terms, we're merely in the custom of saying hullo and goodbye to each other; and if I occasionally need to use the penknife I ask him for it – ‘Pass me the penknife, please, Yemelyan Ivanovich,' I'll say. In
short, our relationship has been limited to the demands of our working together in the same office. Well, today he said to me: ‘Makar Alekseyevich, why have you grown so pensive of late?' I could see that the man wished me no harm, and I told him what was on my mind. ‘It is like this and it is like that, Yemelyan Ivanovich,' I said; in other words I didn't tell him everything – God forbid, I shall never tell it all, as I have not the courage – but merely told him a bit about how I was feeling the pinch and that kind of thing. ‘You know what you ought to do, old chap?' Yemelyan Ivanovich said. ‘You ought to borrow; why don't you borrow from Pyotr Petrovich, he lends money at interest; I've borrowed from him myself in the past, he charges a reasonable rate – it won't overburden you.' Well, Varenka, my heart leapt. I thought and thought, it is just possible that the Lord will touch the soul of that beneficent man Pyotr Petrovich, and he will grant me a loan. I was already working out in my head how then I would be able to pay the landlady, help you, and sort out my affairs all round; otherwise I would be in such a shameful position: just sitting at my desk makes me feel terrible, never mind the jeering laughter of those scoffers of ours, the devil take them. And then, sometimes His Excellency passes my desk; well, God forbid that he should cast a glance at me and notice that I'm not properly dressed. The things that count for most with him are cleanliness and tidiness. He might not say anything, but I would die of shame – that is how it would be. So, in consequence, I summoned up my courage and, concealing my sense of shame in my pocket full of holes, I went off to see Pyotr Petrovich, full of hope and yet more dead than alive with apprehension – both at the same time. But why, Varenka, it all ended in nonsense! He was busy with something, and was talking to Fedosei Ivanovich. I approached him from the side and tugged his sleeve: ‘Pyotr Petrovich,' I said, ‘Pyotr Petrovich!' He looked round, and I continued, telling him this and that, how I needed thirty rubles, and so on. At first he did not understand me, and then, when I had explained it all to him, he merely laughed and said nothing. I repeated my request. Then he said to me: ‘Have you any security?' And he buried his nose in the document he was busy with, went on writing and did not give me a further glance. I was dumbfounded. ‘No, Pyotr Petrovich,' I said, ‘I've no deposit.' I explained to him that as soon as I received my salary I would consider it my first duty to pay the money back. At that point someone called him; I waited for him, he returned and then began to sharpen his
pen, apparently oblivious of me. I continued to press my case: ‘Pyotr Petrovich,' I said, ‘can't something be managed somehow?' He said nothing and seemed not to hear; I stood there and stood there. ‘Well,' I thought, ‘I'll try just one last time,' and I tugged him by the sleeve. He said something I could not make out, finished sharpening his pen, and began to write; I gave up, and walked away. You see, little mother, they may be worthy men, but they're proud, very proud – but what is that to me? Why should we trouble ourselves with them, Varenka? That is why I have written you all this. Yemelyan Ivanovich also laughed and shook his head, but he gave me hope, the kind fellow – Yemelyan Ivanovich is a worthy man. He promised to introduce me to a certain man; this man, Varenka, lives on the Vyborg Side, and also lends money at interest; he is some kind of fourteenth-class civil servant.
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Yemelyan Ivanovich says this man will be sure to lend me the money; I shall go and see him tomorrow, my little angel – eh? What do you think? I mean, I'll be in trouble if I don't get a loan. My landlady is almost on the point of evicting me, and she won't give me any more meals. And my boots are in a shocking state, little mother, and I've no buttons on my jacket… I've nothing much of anything else, either! Well, what if someone from the administration notices an improper state of affairs like that? I'll be in trouble, Varenka, terrible trouble!

Please, for the love of God, try to borrow some money as soon as you possibly can; I would do anything rather than ask you for help in your present circumstances, but if you only knew the position in which I find myself! It is out of the question for us to remain in this apartment. A most horribly unpleasant thing has happened to me, and you have no idea how upset and agitated I am! Imagine, my friend: this morning we received a visit from a stranger, advanced in years, an old man, practically, wearing medal-ribbons. I was totally bewildered, and could not think what he wanted with us. Fedora had gone out shopping at the time. This man started to ask me questions: how was I, what was I doing, and, without waiting for a
reply, he informed me that he was the uncle of that officer, and that he was very angry with his nephew for his bad behaviour and for having spread our name all over the house; he said that his nephew was a puerile, superficial fellow, and that he himself wished to offer me his protection; he advised me not to listen to young men, and added that he sympathized with me as a father, that he had fatherly feelings for me and wanted to help me in any way he could. I turned quite red, not knowing what to think, but was in no hurry to accept his offer. He took hold of my hand by force, patted me on the cheek, said that I was very pretty and that he was particularly pleased to note I had dimples (God knows what things he said!), and finally tried to kiss me, saying that he was just a harmless old man (what a vile character he was!). At that point Fedora came in. Put off his mark by this slightly, he once again said that he felt respect for me because of my modesty and my correct behaviour, and that he very much hoped I would not be put off by him. Then he took Fedora aside and tried to give her a certain sum of money on some strange pretext. Fedora naturally refused to take it. At last he got ready to leave, repeated his assurances, and said he would come and see me again and bring me earrings (I think he was very embarrassed); he advised me to move to another apartment and told me about a very nice one he knew of which he could get me for nothing; he said he had taken a real liking to me as I was an honest, sensible girl, counselled me to be on my guard against dissipated young men, ended by informing me that he knew Anna Fyodorovna and that Anna Fyodorovna had instructed him to tell me that she was going to pay me a visit. At that point it all became clear to me. I don't know what happened to me; it was the first time in my life that I had ever experienced such a situation; I was beside myself with rage; I put him utterly to shame. Fedora helped me, and together we more or less kicked him out of the apartment. We decided it must all have been Anna Fyodorovna is doing: otherwise how could he have known about us?

So now I turn to you, Makar Alekseyevich, and beseech you for help. For the love of God, do not leave me in a situation like this! Please try to borrow at least something, we don't have enough money to change apartments, and it's impossible for us to remain here any longer: that is what Fedora says, too. We need at least twenty-five rubles; I'll pay you the money back; I shall earn it. Fedora will get me some more work in a few days' time, so don't be put off if they
demand a high rate of interest – agree to anything. I'll pay it all back, only for the love of God don't withhold your help. It distresses me greatly to have to trouble you now, when you are in such dire straits yourself, but you are the only hope I have! Goodbye, Makar Alekseyevich, think of me, and may God grant you success!

All these unexpected blows are dumbfounding me! Such terrible disasters are breaking my spirit! What is more, this devil is brood of lickspittles and worthless old greybeards is trying to bring you to your sickbed, my little angel – not only that, these very same lickspitles are trying to wear me out. And they will succeed, I swear it, they will succeed! You know, I would sooner die than fail to bring you the help you need! If I fail to help you, Varenka, that will be the end of me, pure and simple; yet if I do help you, you will fly away from me, like a bird from the nest which these owls, these birds of prey, have been trying to peck to death. That is what is tormenting me, little mother. Oh, Varenka, you are cruel, too! Why are you like that? You are subjected to torture and insult, my little bird, you suffer, and what is more you grieve because you have to trouble me, and then you promise to work off the debt – which really means that in your frail state of health you will kill yourself in order to get me the money on time. I mean, Varenka, just think what you are saying! Why should you have to sew, why should you have to work, tormenting your poor little head, ruining your pretty little eyes and destroying your heakh? Oh, Varenka, Varenka! Look, my little dove, I am fit for nothing – I know I am fit for nothing, but I shall do things in such a way as to make myself fit for something! I shall overcome all difficulties. I'll get work on the side, I'll copy things for literary men, I'll go to them, I'll go to them myself and force them to give me work; because they're looking for good copyists, I know that they are, and I won't let you wear yourself out; I won't allow you to carry out such a ruinous intention. I shall surely borrow the money, my little angel, I'd rather die than not borrow it. And you write, my
dove, that I shouldn't be frightened off by a high rate of interest –well, I won't, little mother, I won't be frightened off, nothing can frighten me now. I'll ask for forty paper rubles, little mother; that is not too much, is it, Varenka – what do you think? Do you think I can get forty rubles' worth of credit first time off? In other words, what I mean is, do you think I'm capable of inspiring trust and confidence at first sight? Do you think it is possible that they'll judge me favourably at the first sight of my physiognomy? You remember me, my little angel, do you think I'm capable of inspiring confidence? What is your own personal opinion? You know I feel so terribly afraid – it's unhealthy, really unhealthy! Out of the forty rubles I shall set aside twenty for you, Varenka; the landlady will get two silver rubles, and the rest will be earmarked for my own personal expenditure. Now you see, I ought to give the landlady a bit more, it is even necessary, but you figure it out for yourself, little mother, take into account all my needs and you will see that it is impossible for me to give her more, so consequently there is no point in even talking about it, and we might as well forget about it. I shall spend one silver ruble on a pair of boots; I don't really think I can go to the office tomorrow wearing my old ones. A new tie would also be a good idea, as I've had my old one for more than a year now; but since you have promised to make me, out of your old apron, not only a tie but also a shirtfront, I shan't give any more thought to a new tie. So there, I have boots and a tie. Now we come to the subject of buttons, my little friend! After all, my little one, I think you will agree that one cannot do without buttons; and almost half of mine have fallen off! I tremble when I think that His Excellency may notice this disorderly state of affairs and say – oh, what would he say? At any rate, little mother, I wouldn't hear what he said; for I'd die, I'd die, I'd the on the spot, I should simply the of shame, from the very thought! Oh, little mother! Well, after all those necessities I'll have three rubles left; that will go on living expenses and half a pound of tobacco; because, my little angel, I can't live without tobacco, and it's nine days now since I had a pipeful. I would, to tell you the truth, buy it and say nothing about it to you, but I'd feel guilty. There you are in misery, you're doing without the most essential things, and here I am enjoying all sorts of gratification; so that is why I'm telling you all this, so as not to suffer the torments of my conscience. I will frankly confess to you, Varenka, that I am now in a thoroughly disastrous situation – indeed, nothing remotely
similar to this has ever happened to me before. The landlady treats me with contempt, and I get no respect from anyone; I'm terribly short of money, I have debts; and as for my life at the office, where even previously my fellow clerks weren't exactly in the habit of putting out the red carpet for me – well, little mother, now it doesn't bear speaking about. I hide my feelings, I scrupulously hide my feelings from them all, and I hide myself, and when I come into the office I do it stealthily, and I keep away from everyone else. I mean, you're the only person with whom I can summon up the strength of mind to confess it… And what if he won't lend me the money? No, Varenka, it is better not to think about that and not have one is spirit broken in advance by such ideas. Another reason I am writing to you is to warn you not to think about that and not to torment yourself with evil imaginings. Oh, my God, what will become of you then? It is true, however, that you won't be able to move out of that apartment, and I'll be with you – but no, I wouldn't come back. I'd just disappear somewhere, go missing. Here I am covering sheets with writing to you, and I ought to be getting shaved; it looks better, and looks are important. Well, may God be with us! I shall say a prayer, and then be off.