Short Fiction by Leonid Andreyev (fastest ebook reader TXT) 📕

urged him; I cried so much and threatened him, so he consented. Men always give in⁠—isn’t that true, Desfoso?”

Haggart looks at his wife in a state of great perplexity, his eyebrows brought close to each other. Mariet continues, without looking at him, still smiling as before:

“You will ask me, why I wanted Philipp’s death? Yes, yes, you will ask this question, I know it. He never did me any harm, that poor Philipp, isn’t that true? Then I will tell you: He was my betrothed. I don’t know whether you will be able to understand me. You, old Desfoso⁠—you would not kill the girl you kissed one day? Of course not. But we women are such strange creatures⁠—you can’t even imagine what strange, suspicious, peculiar creatures we are. Philipp was my betrothed, and he kissed me⁠—”

She wipes her mouth and continues, laughing:

“Here I am wiping my mouth even now. You have all seen how I wiped my mouth. I am wiping away Philipp’s kisses. You are laughing. But ask your wife, Desfoso⁠—does she want the life of the man who kissed her before you? Ask all women who love⁠—even the old women! We never grow old in love. We are born so, we women.”

Haggart almost believes her. Advancing a step forward, he asks:

“You urged me? Perhaps it is true, Mariet⁠—I don’t remember.”

Mariet laughs.

“Do you hear? He has forgotten. Go on, Gart. You may say that it was your own idea? That’s the way you men are⁠—you forget everything. Will you say perhaps that I⁠—”

“Mariet!” Haggart interrupts her threateningly.

Mariet, turning pale, looking sorrowfully at his terrible eyes which are now steadfastly fixed upon her, continues, still smiling:

“Go on, Gart! Will you say perhaps that I⁠—Will you say perhaps that I dissuaded you? That would be funny⁠—”

Haggart⁠—No, I will not say that. You lie, Mariet! Even I, Haggart⁠—just think of it, people⁠—even I believed her, so cleverly does this woman lie.

Mariet⁠—Go⁠—on⁠—Haggart.

Haggart⁠—You are laughing? Abbot, I don’t want to be the husband of your daughter⁠—she lies.

Abbot⁠—You are worse than the devil, Gart! That’s what I say⁠—You are worse than the devil, Gart!

Haggart⁠—You are all foolish people! I don’t understand you; I don’t know now what to do with you. Shall I laugh? Shall I be angry? Shall I cry? You want to let me go⁠—why, then, don’t you let me go? You are sorry for Philipp. Well, then, kill me⁠—I have told you that it was I who killed the boy. Am I disputing? But you are making grimaces like monkeys that have found bananas⁠—or have you such a game in your land? Then I don’t want to play it. And you, abbot, you are like a juggler in the marketplace. In one hand you have truth and in the other hand you have truth, and you are forever performing tricks. And now she is lying⁠—she lies so well that my heart contracts with belief. Oh, she is doing it well!

And he laughs bitterly.

Mariet⁠—Forgive me, Gart.

Haggart⁠—When I wanted to kill him, she hung on my hand like a rock, and now she says that she killed him. She steals from me this murder; she does not know that one has to earn that, too! Oh, there are queer people in your land!

“I wanted to deceive them, not you, Gart. I wanted to save you,” says Mariet.

Haggart replies:

“My father taught me: ‘Eh, Noni, beware! There is one truth and one law for all⁠—for the sun, for the wind, for the waves, for the beasts⁠—and only for man there is another truth. Beware of this truth of man, Noni!’ so said my father. Perhaps this is your truth? Then I am not afraid of it, but I feel very sad and very embittered. Mariet, if you sharpened my knife and said: ‘Go and kill that man’⁠—it may be that I would not have cared to kill him. ‘What is the use of cutting down a withered tree?’⁠—I would have said. But now⁠—farewell, Mariet! Well, bind me and take me to the city.”

He waits haughtily, but no one approaches him. Mariet has lowered her head upon her hands, her shoulders are twitching. The abbot is also absorbed in thought, his large head lowered. Desfoso is carrying on a heated conversation in whispers with the fishermen. Khorre steps forward and speaks, glancing at Haggart askance:

“I had a little talk with them, Noni⁠—they are all right, they are good fellows, Noni. Only the priest⁠—but he is a good man, too⁠—am I right, Noni? Don’t look so crossly at me, or I’ll mix up the whole thing! You see, kind people, it’s this way: this man, Haggart, and I have saved up a little sum of money, a little barrel of gold. We don’t need it, Noni, do we? Perhaps you will take it for yourselves? What do you think? Shall we give them the gold, Noni? You see, here I’ve entangled myself already.”

He winks slyly at Mariet, who has now lifted her head.

“What are you prating there, you scarecrow?” asks the abbot.

Khorre continues:

“Here it goes, Noni; I am straightening it out little by little! But where have we buried it, the barrel? Do you remember, Noni? I have forgotten. They say it’s from the gin, kind people; they say that one’s memory fails from too much gin. I am a drunkard, that’s true.”

“If you are not inventing⁠—then you had better choke yourself with your gold, you dog!” says the abbot.

Haggart⁠—Khorre!

Khorre⁠—Yes.

Haggart⁠—Tomorrow you will get a hundred lashes. Abbot, order a hundred lashes for him!

Abbot⁠—With pleasure, my son. With pleasure.

The movements of the fishermen are just as slow and languid, but there is something new in their increased puffing and pulling at their pipes, in the light quiver of their tanned hands. Some of them arise and look out of the window with feigned indifference.

“The fog is rising!” says one, looking out of the window. “Do you hear what I said about the fog?”

“It’s time to go to sleep.