Short Fiction by Vladimir Korolenko (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

a state character. It was quiet everywhere, peaceful slumber, idyllic calm, M. Budnikov walking along the streets, obstinate, conceited, counting his steps.⁠ ⁠… Evenings, especially on holidays, these poetic murmurs, and there’s a lot of noise from some saloon like our ‘On the Crags,’ and some misshapen, sick and desperate soul carousing.⁠ ⁠… Satellites around, of course. This is a natural and necessary detail to fill up the provincial corners, so to speak.⁠ ⁠…

“Rogov met me soon after he turned up.⁠ ⁠… He bowed shyly and went to one side, especially when he was drunk. One time I met him, spoke to him, and asked him in.⁠ ⁠… He came⁠ ⁠… sober, serious, even bashful⁠ ⁠… from old habit, of course.⁠ ⁠… But we didn’t stick together. Memories parted us: I was a young teacher with a lively faith in my calling, with lively feelings and words: He was a young man, still pure and respecting my moral authority.⁠ ⁠… Now he was Vanka Rogov, a Tikhodol bum, engaged in shady business.⁠ ⁠… And I.⁠ ⁠… In a word, we seemed to be parted by a solid wall: the main reason of all I won’t mention. I felt that I had to shatter the barrier, tell him something that would reach his soul and control it as I used to.⁠ ⁠… He seemed to be waiting for this in terror: waiting for the cruel blow.⁠ ⁠… His eyes showed his pain and expectation.⁠ ⁠… I didn’t have the strength. It was gone,⁠ ⁠… lost probably when for the first time we parted in shame.⁠ ⁠…

“I had to watch like a sympathetic witness, so to speak, how this young fellow degraded himself, grew fast, drank, and defiled himself.⁠ ⁠… He got insolent, lost all sense of shame. Then I heard that Rogov was an extortioner and begging. Business was poor; he was on the border between the merely offensive and the criminal. He was as clever as an acrobat and laughed at everything. In two or three years he was absolutely transformed. He had become a menacing, dirty, and very unpleasant figure.

“Sometimes he’d come when he was drunk.⁠ ⁠… It’s strange: but I seemed to feel more at home when he was that way.⁠ ⁠… It simplified matters, his fault was evident, and it was easier to draw a moral. I remember after one of his descents into the loathsome, I said to him:

“ ‘This and that’s not right, Rogov.’

“He shrugged his shoulders, turned away his eyes, as if he was afraid of a moral beating; then he shook his hair, looked me straight in the eye, obviously relying on his impudence:

“ ‘What’s wrong, Pavel Semenovich?’

“ ‘It’s disgraceful,’ I said.

“ ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’ve changed one quarrelsome goal for another not less quarrelsome. That was wrong and now it’s disgraceful. My theory works out all right for me,’ he said. ‘Honor and everything like that is nothing but dessert. You know it comes after dinner. If there’s no dinner, what’s the use of dessert?⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘But, remember, Rogov,’ I said, ‘why you have no dinner.⁠ ⁠… You studied well, had a good start, and then suddenly went wrong.⁠ ⁠…’

“That moment I thought my statement was not only convincing but incontrovertible.⁠ ⁠… And he looked at me, laughed, and said:

“ ‘You’ve sometimes played billiards a little, haven’t you?’

“ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I play for relaxation.⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘You know the downward stroke?’

“ ‘Yes.’ You know that’s a peculiar and paradoxical shot. The ball first goes forward and then it suddenly and apparently of its own accord rolls back.⁠ ⁠… At first sight it seems incomprehensible and a violation of the laws of motion, but it’s really simple.

“ ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Has the ball a will of its own? No.⁠ ⁠… It’s merely a contest between two different motions.⁠ ⁠… One rules in the beginning, the other later.⁠ ⁠… Now you see,’ he said, ‘all her life my mother went straight but father, as you know, spun around like a top. That’s why I went straight at first, as long as my mother’s impulse lasted.⁠ ⁠… I hadn’t gotten my bearings, when I swung round to father’s pattern.⁠ ⁠… There’s my whole story.⁠ ⁠…’

“He spoke frankly and hopelessly. He dropped his head, shook his hair down over his face, and then, when he looked at me again, I felt uneasy. His eyes showed his pain. Did you ever see a sick animal?⁠ ⁠… A dog⁠—usually an affectionate brute, is willing then to bite its master.

“ ‘Now,’ he said, ‘whom do you think’s to blame?’

“ ‘I don’t know, Rogov. I’m not your judge.⁠ ⁠… It’s not a question of blame.⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘Not of blame, what then? I think he’s to blame who started me off with that shot.⁠ ⁠… That means to condemn no one. I’m a case of downward stroke in life.⁠ ⁠… I do the will of Him that sent me.⁠ ⁠… So there you are, my dear Pavel Semenovich.⁠ ⁠… Have you got two grivens of silver? I want to drown my sorrow.⁠ ⁠…’

“This was the first time that he had asked me for two grivens and I instantly felt that the old barrier between us had been broken. Now he could insult me as he would anyone else.

“I wanted to defend myself.

“ ‘No, Rogov. I won’t give you two grivens. Come any time you feel like.⁠ ⁠… I’m glad to see you.⁠ ⁠… But this is impossible.⁠ ⁠…’

“He dropped his shaggy head, sat down, and said dully:

“ ‘Yes, Pavel Semenovich. Excuse me. I’ll come without begging. Yet to sit down with you, I feel easier and free from my usual load.’

“He sat still. A long, strained silence ensued. Then he said:

“ ‘There was a time⁠ ⁠… when I hoped to receive something from you.⁠ ⁠… You don’t know what you meant to me. Even now I sometimes feel I must see you. You’re waiting for something.⁠ ⁠… No.⁠ ⁠… It’s hopeless.⁠ ⁠… A downward stroke and it’s all over.⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘Excuse me, Rogov,’ I said. ‘You’re really misusing that example from billiards. You’re not an ivory ball but a living man.’

“ ‘And for that reason, I feel.⁠ ⁠… As for a ball⁠—wherever you send it⁠—into a pocket or a hole, that ivory ball doesn’t care.⁠ ⁠… But a man, most esteemed Pavel Semenovich, finds it hard to be