Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories

by Иван Тургенев

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.

  Akim stopped

  "Yes."

  "Shall I give you a lift?"

  "Please do."

  Yefrem moved to one side and Akim climbed into the cart. Yefrem, who

  seemed to be somewhat exhilarated, began lashing at his wretched

  little horse with the ends of his cord reins; it set off at a weary

  trot continually tossing its unbridled head.

  They drove for nearly a mile without saying one word to each other.

  Akim sat with his head bent while Yefrem muttered to himself,

  alternately urging on and holding back his horse.

  "Where have you been without your cap, Semyonitch?" he asked Akim

  suddenly and, without waiting for an answer, went on, "You've left it

  at some tavern, that's what you've done. You are a drinking man; I

  know you and I like you for it, that you are a drinker; you are not a

  murderer, not a rowdy, not one to make trouble; you are a good

  manager, but you are a drinker and such a drinker, you ought to have

  been pulled up for it long ago, yes, indeed; for it's, a nasty

  habit.... Hurrah!" he shouted suddenly at the top of his voice,

  "Hurrah! Hurrah!"

  "Stop! Stop!" a woman's voice sounded close by, "Stop!"

  Akim looked round. A woman so pale and dishevelled that at first he

  did not recognise her, was running across the field towards the cart.

  "Stop! Stop!" she moaned again, gasping for breath and waving her

  arms.

  Akim started: it was his wife.

  He snatched up the reins.

  "What's the good of stopping?" muttered Yefrem. "Stopping for a woman?

  Gee-up!"

  But Akim pulled the horse up sharply. At that instant Avdotya ran up

  to the road and flung herself down with her face straight in the dust.

  "Akim Semyonitch," she wailed, "he has turned me out, too!"

  Akim looked at her and did not stir; he only gripped the reins

  tighter.

  "Hurrah!" Yefrem shouted again.

  "So he has turned you out?" said Akim.

  "He has turned me out, Akim Semyonitch, dear," Avdotya answered,

  sobbing. "He has turned me out. The house is mine, he said, so you can

  go."

  "Capital! That's a fine thing ... capital," observed Yefrem.

  "So I suppose you thought to stay on?" Akim brought out bitterly,

  still sitting in the cart.

  "How could I! But, Akim Semyonitch," went on Avdotya, who had raised

  her head but let it sink to the earth again, "you don't know, I ...

  kill me, Akim Semyonitch, kill me here on the spot."

  "Why should I kill you, Arefyevna?" said Akim dejectedly, "you've been

  your own ruin. What's the use?"

  "But do you know what, Akim Semyonitch, the money ... your money ...

  your money's gone.... Wretched sinner as I am, I took it from under

  the floor, I gave it all to him, to that villain Naum.... Why did you

  tell me where you hid your money, wretched sinner as I am? ... It's

  with your money he has bought the house, the villain."

  Sobs choked her voice.

  Akim clutched his head with both hands.

  "What!" he cried at last, "all the money, too ... the money and the

  house, and you did it.... Ah! You took it from under the floor, you

  took it.... I'll kill you, you snake in the grass!" And he leapt out

  of the cart.

  "Semyonitch, Semyonitch, don't beat her, don't fight," faltered

  Yefrem, on whom this unexpected adventure began to have a sobering

  effect.

  "No, Akim Semyonitch, kill me, wretched sinner as I am; beat me, don't

  heed him," cried Avdotya, writhing convulsively at Akim's feet.

  He stood a moment, looked at her, moved a few steps away and sat down

  on the grass beside the road.

  A brief silence followed. Avdotya turned her head in his direction.

  "Semyonitch! hey, Semyonitch," began Yefrem, sitting up in the cart,

  "give over ... you know ... you won't make things any better. Tfoo,

  what a business," he went on as though to himself. "What a damnable

  woman.... Go to him," he added, bending down over the side of the cart

  to Avdotya, "you see, he's half crazy."

  Avdotya got up, went nearer to Akim and again fell at his feet.

  "Akim Semyonitch!" she began, in a faint voice.

  Akim got up and went back to the cart. She caught at the skirt of his

  coat.

  "Get away!" he shouted savagely, and pushed her off.

  "Where are you going?" Yefrem asked, seeing that he was getting in

  beside him again.

  "You were going to take me to my home," said Akim, "but take me to

  yours ... you see, I have no home now. They have bought mine."

  "Very well, come to me. And what about her?"

  Akim made no answer.

  "And me? Me?" Avdotya repeated with tears, "are you leaving me all

  alone? Where am I to go?"

  "You can go to him," answered Akim, without turning round, "the man

  you have given my money to.... Drive on, Yefrem!"

  Yefrem lashed the horse, the cart rolled off, Avdotya set up a

  wail....

  Yefrem lived three-quarters of a mile from Akim's inn in a little

  house close to the priest's, near the solitary church with five

  cupolas which had been recently built by the heirs of a rich merchant

  in accordance with the latter's will. Yefrem said nothing to Akim all

  the way; he merely shook his head from time to time and uttered such

  ejaculations as "Dear, dear!" and "Upon my soul!" Akim sat without

&nbs
p; moving, turned a little away from Yefrem. At last they arrived. Yefrem

  was the first to get out of the cart. A little girl of six in a smock

  tied low round the waist ran out to meet him and shouted,

  "Daddy! daddy!"

  "And where is your mother?" asked Yefrem.

  "She is asleep in the shed."

  "Well, let her sleep. Akim Semyonitch, won't you get out, sir, and

  come indoors?"

  (It must be noted that Yefrem addressed him familiarly only when he

  was drunk. More important persons than Yefrem spoke to Akim with

  formal politeness.)

  Akim went into the sacristan's hut.

  "Here, sit on the bench," said Yefrem. "Run away, you little rascals,"