Conduct—fives and fours sprang before his eyes, and all this mixed together with Friday tethered to him, he perceived the combed whiskers of Nikodim Aleksandrich and Katya’s red cheeks as a boundless, insurmountable ennui, such that he but very nearly cried out in despair as he asked himself: “Could it be, could it really be that I won’t leave?”
Two card tables were placed close to one another, and they took their seats to play a game of post office. Laevsky sat down as well.
Friday
…
Friday
… he thought, smiling as he removed a pencil from his pocket.
Friday
…
He wanted to contemplate his predicament but was afraid to think. He was afraid to admit that the doctor had caught him in the deceit that he for so long, had so carefully, concealed from himself. Any time he thought of his future, he wouldn’t allow his thoughts free reign. He would take a seat in a train car and set off—this would determine the question of his life, he had not allowed his thoughtsto go any further. Like a distant lackluster flame in a field, so from time to time a thought flickered in his mind that somewhere along one of the side streets of Petersburg, in the distant future, in order to part company with Nadezhda Fyodorovna and repay his debts, he would have to resort to telling a small lie. He would tell this lie only once, and it would be followed by total renewal. And this was good: for the price of one small lie he would purchase a large truth.
But for now, as the doctor’s refusal harshly alluded to his deceit, it became clear to him that he would require the lie not only in the distant future but today, and tomorrow, and in a month’s time and, possibly even to the end of his life. In actuality, so that he could leave, he would have to lie to Nadezhda Fyodorovna, his creditors and the civic administration; next, so as to procure money in Petersburg, he would have to lie to his mother, telling her that he had already parted company with Nadezhda Fyodorovna—and Mother wouldn’t give him more than five hundred rubles, which meant that he’d already deceived the doctor, seeing as how he would be in no state to send him money any time soon. What’s more, when Nadezhda Fyodorovna arrived in Petersburg, he would have to employ a whole row of minor and major deceits so as to part company with her; and again, there would be tears, ennui, an odious life, remorse, which in turn means there would be no renewal at all. Deceit and nothing more. An entire mountain of lies had sprung up in Laevsky’s imagination. To leap over it in a single bound, and not lie piecemeal, he saw it would be necessary to resort to drastic measures, for instance, without saying a word, torise from his seat, put on his hat and set off that instant without the money, without saying a word, but Laevsky felt that this was impossible for him to do.
Friday
…
Friday
…, he thought.
Friday
…
They had written notes, folded them in half and placed them in Nikodim Aleksandrich’s old top hat, and, when enough notes had accumulated, Kostya, imitating a postman, walked around the table distributing them. The deacon, Katya and Kostya had all received funny notes, and, in attempting to make their replies even funnier, were all in an uproar.
“We need to talk,” Nadezhda Fyodorovna read from her note. She exchanged glances with Maria Konstantinovna, who smiled back all almond-infused and nodded her head in acknowledgment.
What is there to talk about?
Nadezhda Fyodorovna thought.
If you can’t divulge everything, then there’s no point in talking
.
Before they had set off to call on their friends, she had knotted Laevsky’s tie, and this meaningless act had filled her soul with tenderness and sorrow. The anxiety on his face, the distracted looks, paleness and the incomprehensible changeover, the incidents surrounding them in the recent past, and that she was keeping a frightful, disgusting secret from him, and that her hands shook as
Two card tables were placed close to one another, and they took their seats to play a game of post office. Laevsky sat down as well.
Friday
…
Friday
… he thought, smiling as he removed a pencil from his pocket.
Friday
…
He wanted to contemplate his predicament but was afraid to think. He was afraid to admit that the doctor had caught him in the deceit that he for so long, had so carefully, concealed from himself. Any time he thought of his future, he wouldn’t allow his thoughts free reign. He would take a seat in a train car and set off—this would determine the question of his life, he had not allowed his thoughtsto go any further. Like a distant lackluster flame in a field, so from time to time a thought flickered in his mind that somewhere along one of the side streets of Petersburg, in the distant future, in order to part company with Nadezhda Fyodorovna and repay his debts, he would have to resort to telling a small lie. He would tell this lie only once, and it would be followed by total renewal. And this was good: for the price of one small lie he would purchase a large truth.
But for now, as the doctor’s refusal harshly alluded to his deceit, it became clear to him that he would require the lie not only in the distant future but today, and tomorrow, and in a month’s time and, possibly even to the end of his life. In actuality, so that he could leave, he would have to lie to Nadezhda Fyodorovna, his creditors and the civic administration; next, so as to procure money in Petersburg, he would have to lie to his mother, telling her that he had already parted company with Nadezhda Fyodorovna—and Mother wouldn’t give him more than five hundred rubles, which meant that he’d already deceived the doctor, seeing as how he would be in no state to send him money any time soon. What’s more, when Nadezhda Fyodorovna arrived in Petersburg, he would have to employ a whole row of minor and major deceits so as to part company with her; and again, there would be tears, ennui, an odious life, remorse, which in turn means there would be no renewal at all. Deceit and nothing more. An entire mountain of lies had sprung up in Laevsky’s imagination. To leap over it in a single bound, and not lie piecemeal, he saw it would be necessary to resort to drastic measures, for instance, without saying a word, torise from his seat, put on his hat and set off that instant without the money, without saying a word, but Laevsky felt that this was impossible for him to do.
Friday
…
Friday
…, he thought.
Friday
…
They had written notes, folded them in half and placed them in Nikodim Aleksandrich’s old top hat, and, when enough notes had accumulated, Kostya, imitating a postman, walked around the table distributing them. The deacon, Katya and Kostya had all received funny notes, and, in attempting to make their replies even funnier, were all in an uproar.
“We need to talk,” Nadezhda Fyodorovna read from her note. She exchanged glances with Maria Konstantinovna, who smiled back all almond-infused and nodded her head in acknowledgment.
What is there to talk about?
Nadezhda Fyodorovna thought.
If you can’t divulge everything, then there’s no point in talking
.
Before they had set off to call on their friends, she had knotted Laevsky’s tie, and this meaningless act had filled her soul with tenderness and sorrow. The anxiety on his face, the distracted looks, paleness and the incomprehensible changeover, the incidents surrounding them in the recent past, and that she was keeping a frightful, disgusting secret from him, and that her hands shook as
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