The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia

him a hiding, and he would have another fit of silence. He was a mean and cowardly fellow, and the object of general contempt. His stature was low, he had little flesh on him, he had wandering eyes, though they sometimes got mixed and seemed filled with a stupid sort of thinking. When he told you anything he worked himself into a fever, gesticulated wildly, suddenly broke off and went to another subject, lost himself in fresh details, and at last forgot altogether what he was talking about. He often got into squabbles, this Chichkof, and when he poured insult on his adversary, he spoke with a sentimental whine and was affected nearly to tears. He was not a bad hand at playing the _balalaika_, and had a weakness for it; on fête days he would show you his dancing powers when others set him at it, and he danced by no means badly. You could easily enough make him do what you wanted ... not that he was of a complying turn, but he liked to please and to get intimate with fellows. For some considerable time I couldn’t understand the story Chichkoff was telling; that night I mean. It seemed to me as though he were constantly rambling from the point to talk of something else. Perhaps he had observed that Tchérévine was paying little attention to the narrative, but I fancy that he was minded to overlook this indifference, so as not to take offence. “When he went out on business,” he continued, “every one saluted him politely, paid him every respect ... a fellow with money that.” “You say that he was in some trade or other.” “Yes; trade indeed! The trading class in my country is wretchedly ill-off; just poverty-stricken. The women go to the river and fetch water from ever such a distance to water their gardens. They wear themselves to the very bone, and, for all that, when winter comes, they haven’t got enough to make a mere cabbage soup. I tell you it’s starvation. But that fellow had a good lump of land, which his labourers cultivated; he had three. Then he had hives, and sold his honey; he was a cattle-dealer too; a much respected man in our parts. He was very old and quite gray, his seventy years lay heavy on his old bones. When he came to the market-place with his fox-skin pelisse, everybody saluted him. “‘Good-day, daddy Aukoudim Trophimtych!’ “‘Good-day,’ he’d return. “‘How are you getting along;’ he never looked down on any one. “‘God keep you, Aukoudim Trophimtych!’ “‘How goes business with you?’ “‘Business is as good as tallow’s white with me; and how’s yours, daddy?’ “‘We’ve just got enough of a livelihood to pay the price of sin; always sweating over our bit of land.’ “‘Lord preserve you, Aukoudim Trophimtych!’ “He never looked down on anybody. All his advice was always worth having; every one of his words was worth a rouble. A great reader he was, quite a man of learning; but he stuck to religious books. He would call his old wife and say to her, ‘Listen, woman, take well in what I say;’ then he would explain things. His old Marie Stépanovna was not exactly an old woman, if you please; it was his second wife; he had married her to have children, his first wife had not brought him any. He had two boys still quite young, for the second of them was born when his father was close on sixty; Akoulka, his daughter, was eighteen years old, she was the eldest.” “Your wife? Isn’t it so?” “Wait a bit, wait. Then Philka Marosof begins to kick up a row. Says he to Aukoudim: ‘Let’s split the difference. Give me back my four hundred roubles. I’m not your beast of burden; I don’t want to do any more business with you, and I don’t want to marry your Akoulka. I want to have my fling now that my parents are dead. I’ll liquor away my money, then I’ll engage myself, ’list for a soldier; and in ten years I’ll come back here a field-marshal!’ Aukoudim gave him back his money--all he had of his. You see he and Philka’s father had both put in money and done business together. “‘You’re a lost man,’ that’s what he said to Philka. “‘Whether I’m a lost man or not, old gray-beard, you’re the biggest cheat I know. You’d try to screw a fortune out of four farthings, and pick up all the dirt about to do it with. I spit upon it. There you are piling up here, digging deep there, the devil only knows why. I’ve got a will of my own, I tell you. All the same I won’t take your Akoulka; I’ve slept with her already.’ “‘How dare you insult a respectable father--a respectable girl? When did you sleep with her, you spawn of the sucker, you dog, you hound, you----?’ said Aukoudim shaking with passion. (Philka told us all this later). “‘I’ll not only not marry your daughter, but I’ll take good care that nobody marries her, not even Mikita Grigoritch, for she’s a disreputable girl. We had a fine time together, she and I, all last autumn. I don’t want her at any price. All the money in the world wouldn’t make me take her.’ “Then the fellow went and had high jinks for a while. All the town was as one man in sending up a cry against him. He got a lot of other fellows round him, for he had a heap of money. Three months he had of it. Such recklessness as you never heard of. Every penny went. “‘I want to see the end of this money. I’ll sell the house; everything; then I’ll ’list or go on the tramp.’ “He was drunk from morning to evening, and went about with a carriage and pair. “The girls liked him well, I tell you, for he played the guitar very nicely.” “Then it is true that he had been too well with this Akoulka?” “Wait, wait, can’t you? I had just buried my father. My mother lived by baking gingerbread. We got our livelihood by working for Aukoudim; barely enough to eat, a precious hard life it was. We had a bit of land the other side of the woods, and grew corn there; but when my father died I went on a spree. I made my mother give me money; but I had to give her a good hiding first.” “You were very wrong to beat her; a great sin that?” “Sometimes I was drunk the whole blessed day. We had a house that was just tumbling to pieces with dry rot, still it was our own; we were as near famished as could be; for weeks together we had nothing but rags to chew. Mother nearly killed me with one stupid trick or another, but I didn’t care a curse. Philka Marosof and I were always together day and night. ‘Play the guitar to me,’ he’d say, ‘and I’ll lie in bed the while. I’ll throw money to you, for I’m the richest chap in the world!’ The fellow could not speak without lying. There was only one thing. He wouldn’t touch a thing if it had been stolen. ‘I’m no thief, I’m an honest man. Let’s go and daub Akoulka’s door with pitch,[5] for I won’t have her marry Mikita Grigoritch, I’ll stick to that.’ “The old man had long meant to give his daughter to this Mikita Grigoritch. He was a man well on in life, in trade too, and wore spectacles. When he heard the story of Akoulka’s bad conduct, he said to the old father, ‘That would be a terrible disgrace for me, Aukoudim Trophimtych; on the whole, I’ve made up my mind not to marry; it’s to late.’ “So we went and daubed Akoulka’s door all over with pitch. When we’d done that her folks beat her so that they nearly killed her. “Her mother, Marie Stépanovna, cried, ‘I shall die of it,’ while the old man said, ‘If we were in the days of the patriarchs, I’d have hacked her to pieces on a block. But now everything is rottenness and corruption in this world.’ Sometimes the neighbours from one end of the street to the other heard Akoulka’s screams. She was whipped from morning to evening, and Philka would cry out in the market-place before everybody: “Akoulka’s a jolly girl to get drunk with. I’ve given it those people between the eyes, they won’t forget me in a hurry.’ “Well, one day, I met Akoulka, she was going for water with her bucket, so I cried out to her: ‘A fine morning, pet Akoulka Koudimovna! you’re the girl who knows how to please fellows. Who’s living with you now, and where do you get your money for your finery?’ That’s just what I said to her; she opened her eyes as wide as you please. No more flesh on her than on a log of wood. She had only just given me a look, but her mother thought she was larking with me, and cried from her door-step, ‘Impudent hussy, what do you mean by talking with that fellow?’ And from that moment they began to beat her again. Sometimes they hided her for an hour together. The mother said, ‘I give her the whip because she isn’t my daughter any more.’” “She was then as bad as they said?” “Now you just listen to my story, nunky, will you? Well, we used to get drunk all the time with Philka. One day when I was abed, mother comes and says: “‘What d’ye mean by lying in bed, you hound, you thief!’ She abused me for some time, then she said, ‘Marry Akoulka. They’ll be glad to give her to you, and they’ll give three hundred roubles with her.’ “‘But,’ says I, ‘all the world knows that she’s a bad girl----’ “‘Hist, the marriage ceremony cures all that; besides, she’ll always be in fear of her life from you, so you’ll be in clover together. Their money would make us comfortable; I’ve spoken about the marriage already to Marie Stépanovna, we’re of one mind about it.’ “So I say, ‘Let’s have twenty roubles down on the spot, and I’ll have her.’ “Well, you needn’t believe it unless you please, but I was drunk right up to the wedding-day. Then Philka Marosof kept threatening me all the time. “‘I’ll break every bone in your body, a nice fellow you to be engaged, and to Akoulka; if I like I’ll sleep every blessed night with her when she’s your wife.’ “‘You’re a hound, and a liar,’ that’s what I said to him. But he insulted me so in the street, before everybody, that I ran to Aukoudim’s and said, ‘I won’t marry her unless I have fifty roubles down this moment.’” “And they really did give her to you in marriage?” “Me? Why not, I should like to know? We were respectable people enough. Father had been ruined by a fire a little before he died; he had been a richer man than Aukoudim Trophimtych. “‘A fellow without a shirt to his back like you ought to be only too happy to marry my daughter;’ that’s what old Aukoudim said. “‘Just you think of your door, and the pitch that went on it,’ I said to him. “‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said he, ‘there’s no proof whatever that the girl’s gone wrong.’ “‘Please yourself. There’s the door, and you can go about your business; but give back the money you’ve had!’ “Then Philka Marosof and I settled it together to send Mitri Bykoff to Father Aukoudim to tell him that we’d insult him to his face before everybody. Well, I had my skin as full as it could hold right up to the wedding-day. I wasn’t sober till I got into the church. When they took us home after church the girl’s uncle, Mitrophone Stépanytch, said: “‘This isn’t a nice business; but it’s over and done now.’ “Old Aukoudim was sitting there crying, the tears rolled down on his gray beard. Comrade, I’ll tell you what I had done: I had put a whip into my pocket before we went to church, and I’d made up my mind to have it out of her with that, so that all the world might know how I’d been swindled into the marriage, and not think me a bigger fool than I am.” “I see, and you wanted her to know what was in store for her. Ah, was----?” “Quiet, nunky, quiet! Among our people I’ll tell you how it is; directly after the marriage ceremony they take the couple to a room apart, and the others remain drinking till they return. So I’m left alone with Akoulka; she was pale, not a bit of colour on her cheeks; frightened out of her wits. She had fine hair, supple and bright as flax, and great big eyes. She scarcely ever was known to speak; you might have thought she