A Russian Affair by Anton Chekhov

Author:Anton Chekhov
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141963969
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2010-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

Sergey Sergeich said.

Podgorin felt that he’d heard those lines a thousand times, he was sick and tired of them! When they reached the outhouse, Sergey Sergeich drew a bottle and two glasses from his loose jacket and put them on the table.

‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘It’s a Double-O. It’s impossible to have a drink in the house with Varvara around. She’d be on to me about alcoholism. But we can feel free here. It’s a fine brandy.’

They sat down. The brandy was very good.

‘Let’s have a really good drink tonight,’ Sergey Sergeich continued, nibbling a lemon. ‘I’ve always been a gay dog myself and I like having a fling now and again. That’s a must!’

But the look in his eyes still showed that he needed something from Podgorin and was about to ask for it.

‘Drink up, old man,’ he went on, sighing. ‘Things are really grim at the moment. Old eccentrics like me have had their day, we’re finished. Idealism’s not fashionable these days. It’s money that rules and if you don’t want to get shoved aside you must go down on your knees and worship filthy lucre. But I can’t do that, it’s absolutely sickening!’

‘When’s the auction?’ asked Podgorin, to change the subject.

‘August 7th. But there’s no hope at all, old man, of saving Kuzminki. There’s enormous arrears and the estate doesn’t bring in any income, only losses every year. It’s not worth the battle. Tatyana’s very cut up about it, as it’s her patrimony of course. But I must admit I’m rather glad. I’m no country man. My sphere is the large, noisy city, my element’s the fray!’

He kept on and on, still beating about the bush and he watched Podgorin with an eagle eye, as if waiting for the right moment.

Suddenly Podgorin saw those eyes close to him and felt his breath on his face.

‘My dear fellow, please save me,’ Sergey Sergeich gasped. ‘Please lend me two hundred roubles!’

Podgorin wanted to say that he was hard up too and he felt that he might do better giving two hundred roubles to some poor devil or simply losing them at cards. But he was terribly embarrassed – he felt trapped in that small room with one candle and wanted to escape as soon as possible from that breathing, from those soft arms that grasped him around the waist and which already seemed to have stuck to him like glue. Hurriedly he started feeling in his pockets for his notecase where he kept money.

‘Here you are,’ he muttered, taking out a hundred roubles. ‘I’ll give you the rest later. That’s all I have on me. You see, I can’t refuse.’ Feeling very annoyed and beginning to lose his temper he went on. ‘I’m really far too soft. Only please let me have the money back later. I’m hard up too.’

‘Thank you. I’m so grateful, dear chap.’

‘And please stop imagining that you’re an idealist. You’re as much an idealist as I’m a turkey-cock. You’re simply a frivolous, indolent man, that’s all.’

Sergey Sergeich sighed deeply and sat on the couch.

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