Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (354 page)

One morning Akim and wife were just beginning lunch (owing to the summer work in the fields there were no travellers at the inn) when suddenly a cart rattled briskly along the road and pulled up sharply at the front door. Akim peeped out of window, frowned and looked down: Naum got deliberately out of the cart. Avdotya had not seen him, but when she heard his voice in the entry the spoon trembled in her hand. He told the labourers to put up the horse in the yard. At last the door opened and he walked into the room.

“Good - day,” he said, and took off his cap.

“Good - day,” Akim repeated through his teeth. “Where has God brought you from?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” replied Naum, and he sat down on the bench. “I have come from your lady.”

“From the lady,” said Akim, not getting up from his seat. “On business, eh?”

“Yes, on business. My respects to you, Avdotya Arefyevona.”

“Good morning, Naum Ivanitch,” she answered. All were silent.

“What have you got, broth, is it?” began Naum.

“Yes, broth,” replied Akim and all at once he turned pale, “but not for you.”

Naum glanced at Akim with surprise.

“Not for me?”

“Not for you, and that’s all about it.” Akim’s eyes glittered and he brought his fist on the table. “There is nothing in my house for you, do you hear?”

“What’s this, Semyonitch, what is the matter with you?”

“There’s nothing the matter with me, but I am sick of you, Naum Ivanitch, that’s what it is.” The old man got up, trembling all over. “You poke yourself in here too often, I tell you.”

Naum, too, got up.

“You’ve gone clean off your head, old man,” he said with a jeer. “Avdotya Arefyevna, what’s wrong with him?”

“I tell you,” shouted Akim in a cracked voice, “go away, do you hear? ... You have nothing to do with Avdotya Arefyevna ... I tell you, do you hear, get out!”

“What’s that you are saying to me?” Naum asked significantly.

“Go out of the house, that’s what I am telling to you. Here’s God and here’s the door ... do you understand? Or there will be trouble.”

Naum took a step forward.

“Good gracious, don’t fight, my dears,” faltered Avdotya, who till then had sat motionless at the table.

Naum glanced at her.

“Don’t be uneasy, Avdotya Arefyevna, why should we fight? Fie, brother, what a hullabaloo you are making!” he went on, addressing Akim. “Yes, really. You are a hasty one! Has anyone ever heard of turning anyone out of his house, especially the owner of it?” Naum added with slow deliberateness.

“Out of his house?” muttered Akim. “What owner?”

“Me, if you like.”

And Naum screwed up his eyes and showed his white teeth in a grin.

“You? Why, it’s my house, isn’t it?”

“What a slow - witted fellow you are! I tell you it’s mine.”

Akim gazed at him open - eyed.

“What crazy stuff is it you are talking? One would think you had gone silly,” he said at last. “How the devil can it be yours?”

“What’s the good of talking to you?” cried Naum impatiently. “Do you see this bit of paper?” he went on, pulling out of his pocket a sheet of stamped paper, folded in four, “do you see? This is the deed of sale, do you understand, the deed of sale of your land and your house; I have bought them from the lady, from Lizaveta Prohorovna; the deed was drawn up at the town yesterday; so I am master here, not you. Pack your belongings today,” he added, putting the document back in his pocket, “and don’t let me see a sign of you here to - morrow, do you hear?”

Akim stood as though struck by a thunderbolt.

“Robber,” he moaned at last, “robber.... Heigh, Fedka, Mitka, wife, wife, seize him, seize him -
 
- hold him.”

He lost his head completely.

“Mind now, old man,” said Naum menacingly, “mind what you are about, don’t play the fool....”

“Beat him, wife, beat him!” Akim kept repeating in a tearful voice, trying helplessly and in vain to get up. “Murderer, robber.... She is not enough for you, you want to take my house, too, and everything.... But no, stop a bit ... that can’t be.... I’ll go myself, I’ll speak myself ... how ... why should she sell it? Wait a bit, wait a bit.”

And he dashed out bareheaded.

“Where are you off to, Akim Ivanitch?” said the servant Fetinya, running into him in the doorway.

“To our mistress! Let me pass! To our mistress!” wailed Akim, and seeing Naum’s cart which had not yet been taken into the yard, he jumped into it, snatched the reins and lashing the horse with all his might set off at full speed to his mistress’s house.

“My lady, Lizaveta Prohorovna,” he kept repeating to himself all the way, “how have I lost your favour? I should have thought I had done my best!”

And meantime he kept lashing and lashing the horse. Those who met him moved out of his way and gazed after him.

In a quarter of an hour Akim had reached Lizaveta Prohorovna’s house, had galloped up to the front door, jumped out of the cart and dashed straight into the entry.

“What do you want?” muttered the frightened footman who was sleeping sweetly on the hall bench.

“The mistress, I want to see the mistress,” said Akim loudly.

The footman was amazed.

“Has anything happened?” he began.

“Nothing has happened, but I want to see the mistress.”

“What, what,” said the footman, more and more astonished, and he slowly drew himself up.

Akim pulled himself up.... He felt as though cold water had been poured on him.

“Announce to the mistress, please, Pyotr Yevgrafitch,” he said with a low bow, “that Akim asks leave to see her.”

“Very good ... I’ll go ... I’ll tell her ... but you must be drunk, wait a bit,” grumbled the footman, and he went off.

Akim looked down and seemed confused.... His determination had evaporated as soon as he went into the hall.

Lizaveta Prohorovna was confused, too, when she was informed that Akim had come. She immediately summoned Kirillovna to her boudoir.

“I can’t see him,” she began hurriedly, as soon as the latter appeared. “I absolutely cannot. What am I to say to him? I told you he would be sure to come and complain,” she added in annoyance and agitation. “I told you.”

“But why should you see him?” Kirillovna answered calmly, “there is no need to. Why should you be worried! No, indeed!”

“What is to be done then?”

“If you will permit me, I will speak to him.”

Lizaveta Prohorovna raised her head.

“Please do, Kirillovna. Talk to him. You tell him ... that I found it necessary ... but that I will compensate him ... say what you think best. Please, Kirillovna.”

“Don’t you worry yourself, madam,” answered Kirillovna, and she went out, her shoes creaking.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when their creaking was heard again and Kirillovna walked into the boudoir with the same unruffled expression on her face and the same sly shrewdness in her eyes.

“Well?” asked her mistress, “how is Akim?”

“He is all right, madam. He says that it must all be as you graciously please; that if only you have good health and prosperity he can get along very well.”

“And he did not complain?”

“No, madam. Why should he complain?”

“What did he come for, then?” Lizaveta Prohorovna asked in some surprise.

“He came to ask whether you would excuse his yearly payment for next year, that is, until he has been compensated.”

“Of course, of course,” Lizaveta Prohorovna caught her up eagerly. “Of course, with pleasure. And tell him, in fact, that I will make it up to him. Thank you, Kirillovna. I see he is a good - hearted man. Stay,” she added, “give him this from me,” and she took a three - rouble note out of her work - table drawer, “Here, take this, give it to him.”

“Certainly, madam,” answered Kirillovna, and going calmly back to her room she locked the note in an iron - cased box which stood at the head of her bed; she kept in it all her spare cash, and there was a considerable amount of it.

Kirillovna had reassured her mistress by her report but the conversation between herself and Akim had not been quite what she represented. She had sent for him to the maid’s room. At first he had not come, declaring that he did not want to see Kirillovna but Lizaveta Prohorovna herself; he had, however, at last obeyed and gone by the back door to see Kirillovna. He found her alone. He stopped at once on getting into the room and leaned against the wall by the door; he would have spoken but he could not.

Kirillovna looked at him intently.

“You want to see the mistress, Akim Semyonitch?” she began.

He simply nodded.

“It’s impossible, Akim Semyonitch. And what’s the use? What’s done can’t be undone, and you will only worry the mistress. She can’t see you now, Akim Semyonitch.”

“She cannot,” he repeated and paused. “Well, then,” he brought out at last, “so then my house is lost?”

“Listen, Akim Semyonitch. I know you have always been a sensible man. Such is the mistress’s will and there is no changing it. You can’t alter that. Whatever you and I might say about it would make no difference, would it?”

Akim put his arm behind his back.

“You’d better think,” Kirillovna went on, “shouldn’t you ask the mistress to let you off your yearly payment or something?”

“So my house is lost?” repeated Akim in the same voice.

“Akim Semyonitch, I tell you, it’s no use. You know that better than I do.”

“Yes. Anyway, you might tell me what the house went for?”

“I don’t know, Akim Semyonitch, I can’t tell you.... But why are you standing?” she added. “Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand, I am a peasant. I thank you humbly.”

“You a peasant, Akim Semyonitch? You are as good as a merchant, let alone a house - serf! What do you mean? Don’t distress yourself for nothing. Won’t you have some tea?”

“No, thank you, I don’t want it. So you have got hold of my house between you,” he added, moving away from the wall. “Thank you for that. I wish you good - bye, my lady.”

And he turned and went out. Kirillovna straightened her apron and went to her mistress.

“So I am a merchant, it seems,” Akim said to himself, standing before the gate in hesitation. “A nice merchant!” He waved his hand and laughed bitterly. “Well, I suppose I had better go home.”

And entirely forgetting Naum’s horse with which he had come, he trudged along the road to the inn. Before he had gone the first mile he suddenly heard the rattle of a cart beside him.

“Akim, Akim Semyonitch,” someone called to him.

He raised his eyes and saw a friend of his, the parish clerk, Yefrem, nicknamed the Mole, a little, bent man with a sharp nose and dim - sighted eyes. He was sitting on a bundle of straw in a wretched little cart, and leaning forward against the box.

“Are you going home?” he asked Akim.