Have you ever noticed how donkeys
are loaded? Generally the poor beasts are piled up with everything one can
think of, regardless of bulk or quantity: kitchen paraphemalia, furniture,
beds, barrels, sacks with infants in them; they are packed so that they look
like huge formless masses, and even the tips of their hoofs are scarcely
visible. Alexie T, public prosecutor of the Khlamov district court, looked
somewhat like this when, after the bird bell had rung, he rushed into the
railway coach to secure a place. He was loaded from head to foot: bundles of
provision, pasteboard boxes, tin boxes, suitcase a large bottle of something or
other, a woman’s cloak and heaven only knows what more! Streams of perspiration
ran down his red face, his legs were about to give way under him, and the light
of suffering was in his eyes. His wife, Natasha L, followed him carrying her
multicoated parasol. She was a small freckled blonde with a protuberant jaw and
bulging eyes, and looked exactly like a young pickerel being drawn from the
water of the end of a hook.
After wandering at length through
several coaches, the prosecutor succeeded in finding places; he dropped his
baggage onto his seats, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and headed
for the exit.
“Where are you going?” his wife
asked.
“I want to go into the station,
sweetheart, to drink a glass of vodka.”
“You can put that idea out of your
head. Sit down!” Balbinsky sighed and sat down.
“Hold this basket-it has the dishes
in it.”
Balbinsky took the large basket and
looked longingly out the window.
At the fourth stop, his wife sent
him into the station for hot water and there, near the buffet, he met his
friend Flyazhkin, assistant to the president of the district court of Plinsk,
with whom he had planned to make this trip abroad.
“My dear fellow, what does this
mean?” Flyazhkin swooped down upon him. “This is a dirty trick, to say the
least. We agreed to travel together in the same coach. What the devil are you
doing in a third class coach? Why are you travelling in third class? No money?
Or what?”
Balbinsky made a despairing gesture
and began to blink his eyes.
“It’s all the same to me now”, he
muttered, “I’d just as soon ride in the tender. It looks as if it’s all over, everything
we planned. I could throw myself under the train. You cannot imagine, my dear
fellow, to what extent my wife has worn me out. I’m so exhausted it’s a wonder
I’m still alive! My God! The weather is magnificent... this air... the open
country... nature... all the conditions for an undisturbed existence. Just the
thought of going abroad ought to be enough to make me ecstatic. But no! Some
evil destiny had to fasten that treasure round my neck. And observe the irony
of fate: I invented this liver complaint for the sole purpose of getting away
from my wife. I wanted to escape for a while – go abroad. All winter long I’ve
dreamed of freedom, even in my waking dreams I saw myself alone. And now? I’m
stuck with her for the trip! I tried one thing and then another-all for
nothing! I’m going with you, no matter what.. Well, she came. I suggested we go
second class. Not for the world! Why’ she says ‘should we waste the money?’ I
gave her all the reasons. I told her we had the money that we lose prestige if
we travel third class that it’s stuffy, it sinks, but she wouldn’t listen. A
demon of frugality possesses her. Take this baggage for instance. Now, why do
we have to drag along such masses of stuff? Why all these the bundles, boxes,
suitcase, and other trash? Not only did we check ten poods of baggage, but we
still require four seats in our car. The conductor keeps asking us to make room
for others; the passenger get angry, she wrangles with them. It’s a shame!
Would you believe it? I’m on oat coals! But to get away from her? God help me!
She won’t allow me one step from her. I have to sit next to her and hold an
enormous basket on my knees. Just now she sent me for hot water. Now, does it
look proper for a court prosecutor to run about carrying a copper teapot? You
know, probably some of my witnesses and defendants travelling on this train. My
prestige is going to hell. But from now on, my dear fellow, this is going to be
a lesson to me. It’s impossible to realize what personal freedom means!
Sometimes you get carried away and, you know, for no reason at all, you stick
someone in jail. Well, now I understand, it’s penetrated... I understand what
it means to be in jail. Oh, how I understand!”
“I guess you’d be glad to get out on
bail.” Flyazhkin smirked.
“Overjoyed! Would you believe it,
regardless of my circumstances I’d be willing to put up a bond of 10.000! but
I’ve got to run. She’s probably having a fit. I’ll get roasted.!
In Verzhbolovo, when Flyazhkin was
taking on early morning stroll on the platform, he caught sight of Balbinsky’s
sleeping face at the window of one of the third class coaches.
“Wait a minute”, the prosecutor
beckoned to him. “She still sleeping -not awake yet- and when she’s asleep, I’m
relatively free. To get out would be impossible, but at least I can put this
basket on the floor in the meantime. That’s something to be thankful for! Oh,
yes! I didn’t tell you? I’m so happy!”
“Why?”
“Two boxes and one bag were stolen
from us –now we’re that much lighter. Yesterday we finished the goose and all
the meat pies. I purposely ovrate so there would be less baggage. And the air
in this coach! You could hang a hatched on it. Whew! This isn’t a journey –
it’s sheer torture!”
The prosecutor turned and looked
with bitterness at his sleeping spouse. “My Varvarka.” He whispered. “What a
tyrant, what a herod you are! With my luck, will I ever escape from you,
Xantippe? …Would you believe it Ivan Nikitich, sometimes I close my eyes and
dream… What do I dream? If ifs and ans were pots and pans, she would fall into
my clutches as my defendant. I think I’d sentence her to hard labor. But –she’s
waking up- sh!”
In the twinkling of an eye he
assumed an innocent expression, picked up the basket and set it on his lap.
At Eidkumen, when he came out to get
hot water, he looked more cheerful.
“Two more boxes stolen!” he confided
exultantly to Flyazhkin. And we’ve eaten up the rolls –we’re that much
lighter!”
When they reached Konigsberg he ran
into Flyazhkin coach looking positively transfigured. He threw himself down on
the divan and burst into laughter.
“My dear friend! Ivan Nikitich! Let
me embrace you! I’m so happy, so
perniciously happy! I am free! Co you understand? Free! My wife has run away!”
“What you mean ‘run away’?”
“She left the coach during the
night, and she hasn’t come back! She ran off, or fell under the train, or maybe
she left in a station somewhere. Anyway, she’s gone! Oh my angel!”
“But listen,” Flyazhkin became
alarmed, “in that case you ought to telegraph-“
“Gor forbid! I’m enjoying my freedom
so much, I can’t even describe it to you! Let’s go out on the platform and walk
up and down… and breath freely!”
The two friends went out and marched
up and down the platform. With every breath the prosecutor exclaimed, “How
good! I can breathe! Are there actually people that live like this all the
time? Do you know that, brother?” He reached a sudden decision. “I’ll move with
you. We’ll spread out and live like bachelors.” And he ran headlong to his own
coach to get his things.
Within a few minutes he was back
again, no longer bearning, but pale, stunned, and with the copper teapot in his
hands. He staggered slightly, and clutched his heart.
“She back!” He made a despairing
gesture in answer to his friend’s questioning gaze. “It seems that during the
night she got confused about the cars, and went into the wrong one by mistake.
And that’s it, brother!”
The prosecutor stood before his
friend with a dazed, despairing look on his face. Tears rose to his eyes. There
was a moment of silence.
“Do you know what?” Flyazhkin said,
taking him gently by the collar. “If I were in your place, I’d do the running
away…”
“What do you mean?”
“Run away, that’s all; otherwise
you’re going to wither away. You should see yourself!”
“Run away… run away…” mused the
prosecutor. “That’s an idea! Well, I tell you what I’ll do, brother: I’ll get
onto the wrong train at the next station and –I’m off! Later I can tell her it
was a mistake. Well, Good bye… See you in Paris!”
From http://niianotes.blogspot.com/2011/10/jailer-jailed.html
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