“KIND sir, have pity; turn to a poor, hungry man!
I have had nothing to eat for three days; I haven’t five copecks for lodging, I swear.
I was a schoolteacher for eight years and lost my place.
I fell to calumny.
It is a year since I have had anything to do.”
Sergei looked at the ragged overcoat, dull eyes, red cheeks, and it seemed he had seen this man before.
“I have an offer in Kaluga,” the mendicant went on, “but I haven’t money to get there.
Help me; I am ashamed to ask, but circumstances oblige me.”
Sergei’s eyes fell on the man’s overshoes, and he remembered something.
“Look, I met you in Sadovya Street,” he said; “you told me you were an expelled student, not a schoolteacher.
Do you remember?”
“N-no, that can’t be,” mumbled the beggar.
“I am a schoolteacher, I can show papers.”
“Have done with lying!
You called yourself a student and told me why you were expelled.
Don’t you remember?”
Sergei flushed and turned with disgust.
“This is dishonesty!” he cried.
“This is swindling — I shall send for the police!”
“Sir!” he said, laying his hand on his heart, “I was lying!
I am neither student nor schoolteacher.
I sang in a choir and was sent away for drunkenness.
What can I do?
I can’t get along without lying.
No one will give me anything when I tell the truth.”
“What can you do?”
cried Sergei.
“Work!
You must work!” “Work — yes, I know; but where can I find work?”
“How would you like to chop wood for me?”
“I wouldn’t refuse, but wood-cutters find themselves sitting without bread.”
“Will you chop wood for me?”
“Yes, I will.”
“We’ll find out.”
Sergei hastened, rubbing his hands.
He called his cook.
“Here, Olga,” he said, “take him to the wood-shed and let him chop wood.”
The beggar shrugged and went after the cook.
It was obvious he had not consented to chop wood because he wanted work, but from pride and shame.
His strength had been undermined by vodka, and he did not feel inclination for toil.
Sergei hurried to the dining-room.
One could see the wood-shed from the windows.
Sergei saw the cook and beggar come out and make their way to the shed.
Olga glared, shoved him, unlocked the shed, and banged the door.
He saw the pseudo-teacher seat himself and become lost in thought.
The woman flung an axe, spat, and began to scold.
The beggar pulled wood, set it up, and tapped it.
The billet wavered and fell.
He pulled it again, blew on his hands, and tapped it; the wood fell.
Sergei’s anger had vanished, and he began to feel sorry for having set a drunken man to work.
Olga came and announced the wood had been chopped.
“Give him half a rouble,” said Sergei.
“If he wants, he can come and cut wood monthly.
We can find work.”
The waif made his appearance and earned half a rouble. |
He often appeared, and work was found.
He would shovel snow, put the shed in order, beat dust from rugs.
He received twenty to forty copecks, once trousers were sent.
Sergei moved and hired him to help with packing and hauling.
The waif was sober, gloomy, silent.
He hardly touched the furniture, walked behind wagons, shivered, and became embarrassed when carters jeered.
Sergei sent for him.
“I am happy my words have taken effect,” he said, handing him a rouble.
“I see you are sober and have no objection to work.
What is your name?”
“Lushkoff.”
“I can offer cleaner employment.
Can you write?”
“I can.”
“Take this letter tomorrow; you will be given copying to do.
Work, don’t drink, remember what I have said.
Goodbye!” Sergei tapped Lushkoff and gave him his hand.
Lushkoff took the letter and came no more.
Two years went by.
Sergei was standing at a theatre paying for a seat and noticed a man.
The man asked for a gallery seat and paid in coins.
“Lushkoff, is that you?”
cried Sergei, recognising his wood-chopper.
“How are you?
What are you doing?”
“I am a notary and am paid thirty-five roubles.”
“I am delighted.
I gave you a push, you know.
Do you remember what I gave you?
Thank you for not forgetting.”
“Thank you,” said Lushkoff.
“If I hadn’t come, I might have been calling myself a teacher.
I dragged myself out.”
“I am glad.”
“Thank you for your words and deeds.
You spoke finely; I shall be indebted, but Olga saved me.”
“How is that?”
“I used to come to chop wood; she used to begin: ‘Oh, you sot!’ She would sit, look, and weep.
She would carry on.
She suffered, shed tears.
She used to chop the wood.
I did not chop.
She did it.
I changed, stopped drinking because of her; I cannot explain.
Her deeds took place in my heart; she set me right.
I shall not forget.
It is time to go; the bell goes.”
Lushkoff bowed and departed.
— ANTON
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