The Gentleman from San Francisco, and Other StoriesBunin, Ivan Alekseevich
General
The Gentleman from San Francisco, and Other Stories
Bunin, Ivan Alekseevich
Bunin, Ivan Alekseevich, 1870-1953 -- Translations into English; Soviet Union -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The young lady, who had glanced at him strangely all the time, now sat
down in a chair and sobbed, with her handkerchief to her mouth. The
elder lady's tears dried at once, her face flared up. Raising her voice
and using her own language she began to insist, unable to believe that
the respect for them had gone already. The manager cut her short with
polite dignity. "If madame does not like the ways of the hotel, he dare
not detain her." And he announced decisively that the corpse must be
removed at dawn: the police had already been notified, and an official
would arrive presently to attend to the necessary formalities. "Is it
possible to get a plain coffin?" madame asked. Unfortunately not!
Impossible! And there was no time to make one. It would have to be
arranged somehow. Yes, the English soda-water came in large strong
boxes--if the divisions were removed.
The whole hotel was asleep. The window of No. 43 was open, on to a
corner of the garden where, under a high stone wall ridged with broken
glass, grew a battered banana tree. The light was turned off, the door
locked, the room deserted. The deceased remained in the darkness, blue
stars glanced at him from the black sky, a cricket started to chirp with
sad carelessness in the wall.... Out in the dimly-lit corridor two
chambermaids were seated in a window-sill, mending something. Entered
Luigi, in slippers, with a heap of clothes in his hand.
"Pronto?" he asked, in a singing whisper, indicating with his eyes the
dreadful door at the end of the corridor. Then giving a slight wave
thither with his free hand: "Patenza!" he shouted in a whisper, as
though sending off a train. The chambermaids, choking with noiseless
laughter, dropped their heads on each other's shoulders.
Tip-toeing, Luigi went to the very door, tapped, and cocking his head on
one side asked respectfully, in a subdued tone:
"Ha suonato, Signore?"
Then contracting his throat and shoving out his jaw, he answered himself
in a grating, drawling, mournful voice, which seemed to come from behind
the door:
"_Yes, come in...._"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account