First loves -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
In a couple of days he was at home, in his little hut, to the great
astonishment of the soldier’s wife who had been put in there. After
praying before the holy pictures, he set off at once to the village
elder. The village elder was at first surprised; but the haycutting had
just begun; Gerasim was a first-rate mower, and they put a scythe into
his hand on the spot, and he went to mow in his old way, mowing so that
the peasants were fairly astounded as they watched his wide sweeping
strokes and the heaps he raked together….
In Moscow the day after Gerasim’s flight they missed him. They went to
his garret, rummaged about in it, and spoke to Gavrila. He came,
looked, shrugged his shoulders, and decided that the dumb man had
either run away or had drowned himself with his stupid dog. They gave
information to the police, and informed the lady. The old lady was
furious, burst into tears, gave orders that he was to be found whatever
happened, declared she had never ordered the dog to be destroyed, and,
in fact, gave Gavrila such a rating that he could do nothing all day
but shake his head and murmur, “Well!” until Uncle Tail checked him at
last, sympathetically echoing “We-ell!” At last the news came from the
country of Gerasim’s being there. The old lady was somewhat pacified;
at first she issued a mandate for him to be brought back without delay
to Moscow; afterwards, however, she declared that such an ungrateful
creature was absolutely of no use to her. Soon after this she died
herself; and her heirs had no thought to spare for Gerasim; they let
their mother’s other servants redeem their freedom on payment of an
annual rent.
And Gerasim is living still, a lonely man in his lonely hut; he is
strong and healthy as before, and does the work of four men as before,
and as before is serious and steady. But his neighbours have observed
that ever since his return from Moscow he has quite given up the
society of women; he will not even look at them, and does not keep even
a single dog. “It’s his good luck, though,” the peasants reason; “that
he can get on without female folk; and as for a dog—what need has he of
a dog? you wouldn’t get a thief to go into his yard for any money!”
Such is the fame of the dumb man’s Titanic strength.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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