The Duel, Anton Chekhov [most interesting books to read TXT] 📗

to you by God, by my happiness and anything you like, I’ll send you the money as soon as I arrive. And I’ll send you my old debt too.”

“Look here, Vanya⁠ ⁠…” said Samoylenko, turning crimson and taking him by the button. “You must forgive my meddling in your private affairs, but⁠ ⁠… why shouldn’t you take Nadyezhda Fyodorovna with you?”

“You queer fellow. How is that possible? One of us must stay, or our creditors will raise an outcry. You see, I owe seven hundred or more to the shops. Only wait, and I will send them the money. I’ll stop their mouths, and then she can come away.”

“I see.⁠ ⁠… But why shouldn’t you send her on first?”

“My goodness, as though that were possible!” Laevsky was horrified. “Why, she’s a woman; what would she do there alone? What does she know about it? That would only be a loss of time and a useless waste of money.”

“That’s reasonable⁠ ⁠…” thought Samoylenko, but remembering his conversation with Von Koren, he looked down and said sullenly: “I can’t agree with you. Either go with her or send her first; otherwise⁠ ⁠… otherwise I won’t give you the money. Those are my last words⁠ ⁠…”

He staggered back, lurched backwards against the door, and went into the drawing room, crimson, and overcome with confusion.

“Friday⁠ ⁠… Friday,” thought Laevsky, going back into the drawing room. “Friday.⁠ ⁠…”

He was handed a cup of chocolate; he burnt his lips and tongue with the scalding chocolate and thought: “Friday⁠ ⁠… Friday.⁠ ⁠…”

For some reason he could not get the word “Friday” out of his head; he could think of nothing but Friday, and the only thing that was clear to him, not in his brain but somewhere in his heart, was that he would not get off on Saturday. Before him stood Nikodim Alexandritch, very neat, with his hair combed over his temples, saying:

“Please take something to eat.⁠ ⁠…”

Marya Konstantinovna showed the visitors Katya’s school report and said, drawling:

“It’s very, very difficult to do well at school nowadays! So much is expected⁠ ⁠…”

“Mamma!” groaned Katya, not knowing where to hide her confusion at the praises of the company.

Laevsky, too, looked at the report and praised it. Scripture, Russian language, conduct, fives and fours, danced before his eyes, and all this, mixed with the haunting refrain of “Friday,” with the carefully combed locks of Nikodim Alexandritch and the red cheeks of Katya, produced on him a sensation of such immense overwhelming boredom that he almost shrieked with despair and asked himself: “Is it possible, is it possible I shall not get away?”

They put two card tables side by side and sat down to play post. Laevsky sat down too.

“Friday⁠ ⁠… Friday⁠ ⁠…” he kept thinking, as he smiled and took a pencil out of his pocket. “Friday.⁠ ⁠…”

He wanted to think over his position, and was afraid to think. It was terrible to him to realise that the doctor had detected him in the deception which he had so long and carefully concealed from himself. Every time he thought of his future he would not let his thoughts have full rein. He would get into the train and set off, and thereby the problem of his life would be solved, and he did not let his thoughts go farther. Like a faraway dim light in the fields, the thought sometimes flickered in his mind that in one of the side-streets of Petersburg, in the remote future, he would have to have recourse to a tiny lie in order to get rid of Nadyezhda Fyodorovna and pay his debts; he would tell a lie only once, and then a completely new life would begin. And that was right: at the price of a small lie he would win so much truth.

Now when by his blunt refusal the doctor had crudely hinted at his deception, he began to understand that he would need deception not only in the remote future, but today, and tomorrow, and in a month’s time, and perhaps up to the very end of his life. In fact, in order to get away he would have to lie to Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, to his creditors, and to his superiors in the Service; then, in order to get money in Petersburg, he would have to lie to his mother, to tell her that he had already broken with Nadyezhda Fyodorovna; and his mother would not give him more than five hundred roubles, so he had already deceived the doctor, as he would not be in a position to pay him back the money within a short time. Afterwards, when Nadyezhda Fyodorovna came to Petersburg, he would have to resort to a regular series of deceptions, little and big, in order to get free of her; and again there would be tears, boredom, a disgusting existence, remorse, and so there would be no new life. Deception and nothing more. A whole mountain of lies rose before Laevsky’s imagination. To leap over it at one bound and not to do his lying piecemeal, he would have to bring himself to stern, uncompromising action; for instance, to getting up without saying a word, putting on his hat, and at once setting off without money and without explanation. But Laevsky felt that was impossible for him.

“Friday, Friday⁠ ⁠…” he thought. “Friday.⁠ ⁠…”

They wrote little notes, folded them in two, and put them in Nikodim Alexandritch’s old top-hat. When there were a sufficient heap of notes, Kostya, who acted the part of postman, walked round the table and delivered them. The deacon, Katya, and Kostya, who received amusing notes and tried to write as funnily as they could, were highly delighted.

“We must have a little talk,” Nadyezhda Fyodorovna read in a little note; she glanced at Marya Konstantinovna, who gave her an almond-oily smile and nodded.

“Talk of what?” thought Nadyezhda Fyodorovna. “If one can’t tell the whole, it’s no use talking.”

Before going out for the evening she had tied Laevsky’s cravat for him, and that simple action filled her soul with tenderness and sorrow. The anxiety in his face, his absentminded