Sanine by Mikhail Artsybashev (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

after him hath committed adultery with him already in her heart,’ most of them would probably think that you had made a most original remark.”

Von Deitz burst into a fit of hoarse laughter that sounded like the barking of a dog. He had not understood Ivanoff’s joke, but felt sorry not to have made it himself.

Suddenly Novikoff held out his hand to him.

“What? Are you off?” asked Von Deitz in surprise.

Novikoff made no reply.

“Where are you going?” asked Sanine.

Still Novikoff was silent. He felt that in another moment the grief pent up within his bosom must break forth in a flood of tears.

“I know what’s wrong with you,” said Sanine. “Spit on it all!”

Novikoff glanced piteously at him. His lips trembled and with a deprecating gesture, he silently went out, feeling utterly overcome at his own helplessness. To soothe himself, he thought:

“Of what good would it have been to hit that blackguard in the face? It would have only led to a stupid fight. Better not soil my hands!”

But the sense of jealously unsatisfied and of utter impotence still oppressed him, and he returned home in deep dejection. Flinging himself on his bed, he buried his face in the pillows and lay thus almost the whole day long, bitterly conscious that he could do nothing.

“Shall we play makao?” asked Malinowsky.

“All right!” said Ivanoff.

The orderly at once opened the card-table and gaily the green cloth beamed upon them all. Malinowsky’s suggestion had roused the company, and he now began to shuffle the cards with his short, hairy fingers. The bright coloured cards were now scattered circle-wise on the green table, as the chink of silver roubles was heard after each deal, while on all sides fingers like spiders closed greedily on the coin. Only brief, hoarse ejaculations were audible, expressing either vexation or pleasure. Sarudine had no luck. He obstinately made a point of staking fifteen roubles, and lost every time. His handsome face wore a look of extreme irritation. Last month he had gambled away seven hundred roubles, and now there was all this to add to his previous loss. His ill-humour was contagious, for soon between Von Deitz and Malinowsky there was an interchange of high words.

“I have staked on the side, there!” exclaimed Von Deitz irritably.

It amazed him that this drunken boor, Malinowsky, should dare to dispute with such a clever, accomplished person as himself.

“Oh! so you say!” replied Malinowsky, rudely. “Damnation, take it! when I win, then you tell me you’ve staked on the side, and when I lose⁠ ⁠…”

“I beg your pardon,” said Von Deitz, dropping his Russian accent, as he was wont to do when angry.

“Pardon be hanged! Take back your stake! No! No! Take it back, I say!”

“But let me tell you, sir, that⁠ ⁠…”

“Good God, gentlemen! what the devil does all this mean?” shouted Sarudine, as he flung down his cards.

At this juncture a newcomer appeared in the doorway, Sarudine was ashamed of his own vulgar outburst, and of his noisy, drunken guests, with their cards and bottles, for the whole scene suggested a low tavern.

The visitor was tall and thin, and wore a loosely-fitting white suit, and an extremely high collar. He stood on the threshold amazed, endeavouring to recognize Sarudine.

“Hallo! Pavel Lvovitsch! What brings you here?” cried Sarudine, as, crimson with annoyance, he advanced to greet him.

The newcomer entered in hesitating fashion, and the eyes of all were fixed on his dazzlingly white shoes picking their way through the beer-bottles, corks and cigarette-ends. So white and neat and scented was he, that, in all these clouds of smoke, and amid all these flushed, drunken fellows, he might have been likened to a lily in the marsh, had he not looked so frail and worn-out, and if his features had not been so puny, nor his teeth so decayed under his scanty, red moustache.

“Where have you come from? Have you been away a long while from Pitjer?”2 said Sarudine, somewhat flurried, as he feared that “Pitjer” was not exactly the word which he ought to have used.

“I only got here yesterday,” said the gentleman in white, in a determined tone, though his voice sounded like the suppressed crowing of a cock. “My comrades,” said Sarudine, introducing the others. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Pavel Lvovitsch Volochine.”

Volochine bowed slightly.

“We must make a note of that!” observed the tipsy Ivanoff, much to Sarudine’s horror.

“Pray sit down, Pavel Lvovitsch. Would you like some wine or some beer?”

Volochine sat down carefully in an armchair and his white, immaculate form stood out sharply against the dingy oilcloth cover.

“Please don’t trouble. I just came to see you for a moment,” he said, somewhat coldly, as he surveyed the company.

“How’s that? I’ll send for some white wine. You like white wine, don’t you?” asked Sarudine, and he hurried out.

“Why on earth does the fool want to come here today?” he thought, irritably, as he sent the orderly to fetch wine. “This Volochine will say such things about me in Petersburg that I shan’t be able to get a footing in any decent house.”

Meanwhile Volochine was taking stock of the others with undisguised curiosity, feeling that he himself was immeasurably superior. There was a look in his little glassy, grey eyes of unfeigned interest, as if he were being shown a collection of wild beasts. He was specially attracted by Sanine’s height, his powerful physique, and his dress.

“An interesting type, that! He must be pretty strong!” he thought, with the genuine admiration of the weakling for the athlete. In fact, he began to speak to Sanine but the latter, leaning against the windowsill, was looking out at the garden. Volochine stopped short; the very sound of his own squeaky voice vexed him.

“Hooligans!” he thought.

At this moment Sarudine came back. He sat down next to Volochine and asked questions about St. Petersburg, and also about the latter’s factory, so as to let the others know what a very wealthy and important person his visitor was. The handsome face of this sturdy