Short Fiction, Leo Tolstoy [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

“People are laughing,” thought Kornéy, recalling Kouzmá’s words. “But just you wait a bit!” And, breathing hard, he rose slowly, put the stump of his pencil into his waistcoat pocket, hung the counting-frame on its nail, and went to the door of the partition. She was standing facing the icons and praying. He stopped and waited. She crossed herself many times, bowed down, and whispered her prayers. It seemed to him that she had already finished all her prayers, and was repeating them over and over again. But at last she bowed down to the ground, got up, whispered a few more words of prayer, and turned towards him.

“Agatha is already asleep,” said she, pointing to the little girl, and smilingly sat down on the creaking bed.

“Has Justin been here long?” said Kornéy, entering.

With a quiet movement she threw one of her heavy plaits over her bosom, and with deft fingers began unplaiting it. She looked straight at him and her eyes laughed.

“Justin?⁠ ⁠… Oh, I don’t know. Two or three weeks.⁠ ⁠…”

“You are living with him?” brought out Kornéy.

She let the plait drop from her hands, but immediately caught up her thick hard hair again, and began plaiting it.

“What won’t people invent? I⁠ ⁠… live with Justin!” She pronounced the name “Justin” with a peculiar ringing intonation. “What an idea! Who said so?”

“Tell me, is it true or not?” said Kornéy, clenching his powerful fists in his pockets.

“What’s the use of talking such rubbish?⁠ ⁠… Shall I help you off with your boots?”

“I am asking you a question⁠ ⁠…” he insisted.

“Dear me!⁠ ⁠… What a treasure! Fancy Justin proving a temptation to me!” she said. “Who’s been telling you lies?”

“What were you saying to him in the passage?”

“What was I saying? Why, that the tub wanted a new hoop.⁠ ⁠… But what are you bothering me for?”

“I command you: tell me the truth!⁠ ⁠… or I’ll kill you, you dirty slut!”

And he seized her by the plait. She pulled it out of his hand, and her face contracted with pain.

“Beating’s all I’ve ever had from you! What good have I had of you?⁠ ⁠… A life like mine’s enough to drive one to anything!”

“… To what?” uttered he, approaching her.

“What have you pulled half my plait out for? There⁠ ⁠… it’s coming out by handfuls!⁠ ⁠… What are you bothering for? And it’s true!⁠ ⁠…”

She did not finish. He seized her by the arm, pulled her off the bed, and began beating her head, her sides, and her breast. The more he beat her, the fiercer grew his anger. She screamed, defended herself, and tried to get away; but he would not let her go. The little girl woke up and rushed to her mother.

“Mammy!” she cried.

Kornéy seized the child’s arm, tore her from her mother, and threw her into a corner as though she were a kitten. The child gave a yell, and for some seconds became silent.

“Murderer!⁠ ⁠… You’ve killed the child!” shouted Martha, and tried to get to her daughter. But he caught her again, and struck her breast so that she fell back and also became silent. But the little girl was again screaming, desperately and unceasingly.

His old mother, without her kerchief, her grey hair all in disorder and her head shaking, tottered into the room, and, without looking either at Kornéy or at Martha, went to her granddaughter, who was weeping desperately, and lifted her up.

Kornéy stood breathing heavily, looking about as if he had just woke up and did not know where he was or who was with him.

Martha raised her head, and groaning, wiped some blood from her face with her sleeve.

“Hateful brute!” said she. “Yes, I am living with Justin, and have lived with him!⁠ ⁠… There, now, kill me outright!⁠ ⁠… And Agatha is not your daughter, but his!⁠ ⁠…” and she quickly covered her face with her elbow, expecting a blow.

But Kornéy seemed not to understand anything, and only sniffed and looked about him.

“See what you’ve done to the girl! You’ve put her arm out,” said his mother, showing him the dislocated, helpless arm of the girl, who did not cease screaming. Kornéy turned away, and silently went out into the passage and into the porch.

Outside it was still frosty and dull. Hoarfrost fell on his burning cheeks and forehead. He sat on the step and ate handfuls of snow, gathering it from the handrail. From indoors came Martha’s groans and the girl’s piteous cries. Then the door into the passage opened, and he heard his mother leave the bedroom with the child and go through the passage into the other half of the house. He rose and returned to the bedroom. The half-turned-down lamp on the table gave a dim light. From behind the partition came Martha’s groans, which grew louder when he entered.

In silence he put on his outdoor things, drew his portmanteau from under the bench, packed it, and tied it up with a cord.

“Why have you killed me? What for?⁠ ⁠… What have I done to you?” said Martha in a doleful voice.

Kornéy, without replying, lifted his portmanteau and carried it to the door.

“Felon!⁠ ⁠… Brigand!⁠ ⁠… Just you wait! Do you think there’s no law for the likes of you?” said she bitterly, and in quite a different voice.

Kornéy, without answering, pushed the door with his foot, and slammed it so violently that the walls shook.

Going into the other part of the house, Kornéy roused the dumb lad and told him to harness the horse. The lad, half awake, looked at his uncle with astonishment, questioningly, and scratched his head with both hands. At last, understanding what was wanted of him, he jumped up, drew on his high felt boots and torn coat, took a lantern, and went to the door.

It was already quite light when Kornéy, in the small sledge, drove out of the gateway with the dumb lad, and went back along the same road he had driven over in the evening with Kouzmá.

He reached the station five minutes before the train started. The dumb lad saw how he