this “scared” he always pronounced with the nastiest smile on my score. It wasn’t a matter of being scared, I declare beforehand, and if I was afraid, it was of something quite different. This time I decided to go; it was also just two steps away. As we went, I asked Efim whether he still intended to run away to America.
“I may wait a little,” he answered with a slight laugh.
I didn’t much like him, I even didn’t like him at all. His hair was very blond, he had a full, much too white face, even indecently white, to the point of infantility, and he was even taller than I, but you wouldn’t have taken him for more than seventeen years old. I had nothing to talk about with him.
“And what’s there? Always a crowd?” I asked for the sake of solidity.
“But why do you keep getting scared?” he laughed again.
“Go to the devil!” I got angry.
“Not a crowd at all. Only acquaintances come, and all our people, rest assured.”
“But what the devil business is it of mine whether they’re all your people or not? Am I one of your people? Why should they go and trust me?”
“I’m bringing you, and that’s enough. They’ve even heard about you. Kraft can also speak for you.”
“Listen, will Vasin be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he is, nudge me as soon as we go in and point to Vasin—as soon as we go in, you hear?”
I had heard a lot about Vasin and had long been interested.
Dergachev lived in a little wing in the courtyard of a wooden house that belonged to a merchant’s widow, but the whole wing was at his disposal. There were three good rooms in all. The four windows all had their blinds lowered. He was a technician and had a job in Petersburg; I had heard in passing that he had been offered a profitable private post in the provinces and that he was about to set off.
As soon as we went into the tiny front hall, we heard voices; there seemed to be a heated argument and someone shouted: “
Quae medicamenta non sanant, ferrum sanat; quae ferrum non sanat, ignis sanat
.” 17 15
I was actually somewhat worried. Of course, I wasn’t used to company, even whatever it might be. In high school I had addressed all my comrades informally, but I was comrades with almost none of them; I had made myself a corner and lived in my corner. But that was not what troubled me. In any case, I had promised myself not to get into any arguments and to say only what was most necessary, so that no one could draw any conclusions about me; above all—don’t argue.
In the room, which was even much too small, there were some seven people, ten including the women. Dergachev was twentyfive years old, and he was married. His wife had a sister and another female relation; they also lived at Dergachev’s. The room was furnished haphazardly, though sufficiently, and was even clean. On the wall hung a lithographic portrait, but a very cheap one, and in the corner an icon without a casing, but with a lighted icon lamp. Dergachev came over to me, shook hands, and invited me to sit down.
“Sit down, they’re all our people here.”
“Be so kind,” a young woman added at once. She was rather pretty, very modestly dressed, and having bowed slightly to me, she at once went out. This was his wife, and it seemed by the look of it that she, too, had been arguing, but had now gone to nurse the baby. The other two ladies remained in the room—one very short, about twenty years old, in a black dress, and also not a bad-looking sort, while the other was about thirty, dry and sharp-eyed. They sat, listened very much, but did not enter into the conversation.
As far as the men were concerned, they were all standing, and the only ones seated, apart from me, were Kraft and Vasin. Efim pointed them out to me at once, because I was now seeing Kraft as well for the first time in my life. I got up from my seat and went over to make their acquaintance. I’ll never forget Kraft’s face: no special beauty, but something as
“I may wait a little,” he answered with a slight laugh.
I didn’t much like him, I even didn’t like him at all. His hair was very blond, he had a full, much too white face, even indecently white, to the point of infantility, and he was even taller than I, but you wouldn’t have taken him for more than seventeen years old. I had nothing to talk about with him.
“And what’s there? Always a crowd?” I asked for the sake of solidity.
“But why do you keep getting scared?” he laughed again.
“Go to the devil!” I got angry.
“Not a crowd at all. Only acquaintances come, and all our people, rest assured.”
“But what the devil business is it of mine whether they’re all your people or not? Am I one of your people? Why should they go and trust me?”
“I’m bringing you, and that’s enough. They’ve even heard about you. Kraft can also speak for you.”
“Listen, will Vasin be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he is, nudge me as soon as we go in and point to Vasin—as soon as we go in, you hear?”
I had heard a lot about Vasin and had long been interested.
Dergachev lived in a little wing in the courtyard of a wooden house that belonged to a merchant’s widow, but the whole wing was at his disposal. There were three good rooms in all. The four windows all had their blinds lowered. He was a technician and had a job in Petersburg; I had heard in passing that he had been offered a profitable private post in the provinces and that he was about to set off.
As soon as we went into the tiny front hall, we heard voices; there seemed to be a heated argument and someone shouted: “
Quae medicamenta non sanant, ferrum sanat; quae ferrum non sanat, ignis sanat
.” 17 15
I was actually somewhat worried. Of course, I wasn’t used to company, even whatever it might be. In high school I had addressed all my comrades informally, but I was comrades with almost none of them; I had made myself a corner and lived in my corner. But that was not what troubled me. In any case, I had promised myself not to get into any arguments and to say only what was most necessary, so that no one could draw any conclusions about me; above all—don’t argue.
In the room, which was even much too small, there were some seven people, ten including the women. Dergachev was twentyfive years old, and he was married. His wife had a sister and another female relation; they also lived at Dergachev’s. The room was furnished haphazardly, though sufficiently, and was even clean. On the wall hung a lithographic portrait, but a very cheap one, and in the corner an icon without a casing, but with a lighted icon lamp. Dergachev came over to me, shook hands, and invited me to sit down.
“Sit down, they’re all our people here.”
“Be so kind,” a young woman added at once. She was rather pretty, very modestly dressed, and having bowed slightly to me, she at once went out. This was his wife, and it seemed by the look of it that she, too, had been arguing, but had now gone to nurse the baby. The other two ladies remained in the room—one very short, about twenty years old, in a black dress, and also not a bad-looking sort, while the other was about thirty, dry and sharp-eyed. They sat, listened very much, but did not enter into the conversation.
As far as the men were concerned, they were all standing, and the only ones seated, apart from me, were Kraft and Vasin. Efim pointed them out to me at once, because I was now seeing Kraft as well for the first time in my life. I got up from my seat and went over to make their acquaintance. I’ll never forget Kraft’s face: no special beauty, but something as
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