Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Suddenly the new major arrived to take command of the battalion. The
old lieutenant-colonel was taken ill at once, couldn’t leave his room
for two days, and didn’t hand over the government money. Dr. Kravchenko
declared that he really was ill. But I knew for a fact, and had known
for a long time, that for the last four years the money had never been
in his hands except when the Commander made his visits of inspection.
He used to lend it to a trustworthy person, a merchant of our town
called Trifonov, an old widower, with a big beard and gold-rimmed
spectacles. He used to go to the fair, do a profitable business with
the money, and return the whole sum to the colonel, bringing with it a
present from the fair, as well as interest on the loan. But this time
(I heard all about it quite by chance from Trifonov’s son and heir, a
driveling youth and one of the most vicious in the world)—this time, I
say, Trifonov brought nothing back from the fair. The
lieutenant-colonel flew to him. ‘I’ve never received any money from
you, and couldn’t possibly have received any.’ That was all the answer
he got. So now our lieutenant-colonel is confined to the house, with a
towel round his head, while they’re all three busy putting ice on it.
All at once an orderly arrives on the scene with the book and the order
to ‘hand over the battalion money immediately, within two hours.’ He
signed the book (I saw the signature in the book afterwards), stood up,
saying he would put on his uniform, ran to his bedroom, loaded his
double-barreled gun with a service bullet, took the boot off his right
foot, fixed the gun against his chest, and began feeling for the
trigger with his foot. But Agafya, remembering what I had told her, had
her suspicions. She stole up and peeped into the room just in time. She
rushed in, flung herself upon him from behind, threw her arms round
him, and the gun went off, hit the ceiling, but hurt no one. The others
ran in, took away the gun, and held him by the arms. I heard all about
this afterwards. I was at home, it was getting dusk, and I was just
preparing to go out. I had dressed, brushed my hair, scented my
handkerchief, and taken up my cap, when suddenly the door opened, and
facing me in the room stood Katerina Ivanovna.
“It’s strange how things happen sometimes. No one had seen her in the
street, so that no one knew of it in the town. I lodged with two
decrepit old ladies, who looked after me. They were most obliging old
things, ready to do anything for me, and at my request were as silent
afterwards as two cast-iron posts. Of course I grasped the position at
once. She walked in and looked straight at me, her dark eyes
determined, even defiant, but on her lips and round her mouth I saw
uncertainty.
“‘My sister told me,’ she began, ‘that you would give me 4,500 roubles
if I came to you for it—myself. I have come ... give me the money!’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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