Short Fiction by Vsevolod Garshin (always you kirsty moseley TXT) 📕

in the possession of a retired Captain Grum-Skjebitski, who rented out his quite large, but somewhat dirty, rooms to budding artists, the wealthier class of students and musicians. These formed the preponderating element of those lodging with the stern Captain, who was severely solicitous for the good name of what he called his “hotel.”

I went up the iron staircase and entered the passage. From the first door came fleeting passages by a violin; a little farther on a cello was booming away; at the end of the corridor a piano was thundering. I knocked at Helfreich’s door.

“Come in!” he called in a high voice.

He was sitting on the floor, and was packing his household goods into a huge case. A trunk, already corded, lay near it. Simon Ivanovich was stowing away things into the case without any attempt at system. At the bottom he had placed a pillow, on it a lamp, which had been taken to pieces and wrapped in paper; then followed a small leather cushion, boots, a bundle of studies, a box of paints, books, and all sorts of odds and ends. Alongside the case sat a huge ginger-coloured cat, which gazed into its master’s eyes. This cat, according to Helfreich, was always on duty for him.

“I am ready, Andrei,” said Helfreich. “I am very glad you have come to fetch me. Tell me, was there a sitting today? Did she come?”

“Yes, yes; she came, Senia⁠ ⁠…” I replied, with triumph in my heart. “Do you remember in the night you said something about giving your left hand?”

“Well?” said he, sitting on the case and smiling.

“I understand you a little now, Senia.⁠ ⁠…”

“Ah! Look here, Andrei, Andrei! help her out of it! I cannot. I am a stupid, humpbacked devil. You yourself well know that I cannot even drag through life, bearing only my own burden, without outside help⁠—without you, for instance⁠—and how could I support another? I am myself in want of rescue from darkness, of someone to take me, make me work, keep my money, paint baskets, couches, and all the setting for my cats. Ah, Andrei, Andrei! What should I do without you?”

And in an unexpected burst of tenderness Senichka suddenly jumped up from the case, ran towards me, seized my hands, and pressed his head to my chest. His soft silky hair touched my lips. Then he just as quickly left me, ran to the corner of the room (I have a strong suspicion that the dear chap brushed away a tear), and sat himself down in an armchair standing in the corner in the shadow.

“Well, you see, I am not fit for that. But you⁠ ⁠… you⁠—it is different. Take her out of it, Andrei.”

I said nothing.

“There was yet another who could have done so,” continued Simon Ivanovich, “but he was unwilling.”

“Bezsonow?” I inquired.

“Yes, Bezsonow.”

“Has he known her long, Senichka?”

“A long time⁠—longer than I have. He is a man whose brain is nothing but compartments and drawers. He will open one, take out a ticket, read what is on it, and act in accordance. That is the way in which he saw this case. He sees a fallen woman, and immediately he refers to his brain (the compartments are alphabetically arranged), opens the drawer, and reads: ‘They never return.’ ”

Simon Ivanovich said no more, but, resting his chin in his hand, thoughtfully looked straight ahead into space.

“Tell me how they got to know each other. What are the extraordinary relations between them?”

“Afterwards, Andrei; I will not begin now. And perhaps she will tell you herself. Not ‘perhaps,’ but for certain she will. You are that sort of man⁠ ⁠…” said Simon smilingly. “Come along; I must settle with the Captain.”

“Have you any money?”

“Yes, yes. The cats save me.”

He went into the passage, called out something to a servant, and a minute later the Captain himself appeared. He was a sturdy, thickset old man, very fresh-looking, with a smooth, clean-shaven face. Coming into the room, he bowed affectedly, and gave his hand to Helfreich; he made the same silent deep bow to me.

“What does the gentleman require?” he inquired courteously.

“I am leaving you, Captain.”

“That is your business,” he replied, elevating his shoulders. “I have been very pleased with you, sir. I am glad when well-behaved and well-educated people patronize my hotel.⁠ ⁠… The gentleman’s friend is also an artist?” he inquired, turning towards me with a second and very exaggerated bow. “Allow me to recommend myself: Captain Grum-Skjebitski, an old soldier.”

I put out my hand and gave him my name.

“Mr. Lopatin!” exclaimed the Captain, his face assuming an expression of respectful astonishment. “It is a famous name. I have heard it from all students at the Academy. Very happy to make your acquaintance. I wish you the fame of Semiradsky and Mateik.⁠ ⁠… Where are you going to?” the Captain inquired of Helfreich.

“To him⁠ ⁠…” replied Helfreich, smiling confusedly.

“Although you are taking an excellent lodger from me, I do not regret it. Friendship has that right⁠ ⁠…” said the Captain, again bowing. “In a minute I will bring my book.⁠ ⁠…”

He went out, holding his head well up, with a somewhat military gait.

“Where did he serve?” I asked Senia.

“I don’t know; I only know he is not a Russian Captain. I found that out from his passport. He is simply dvorianin Kesari Grum-Skjebitski. He tells everyone in confidence that he was in the Polish Rebellion. There is an old musket hanging on the wall of his room.”

The Captain brought his book and accounts. Having referred to them for two or three minutes, he informed Helfreich of the amount owing for his board and lodging up to the end of the month. Simon Ivanovich settled, and we parted on very friendly terms. When they had taken out all his belongings, Simon Ivanovich took the ginger-coloured cat under his arm. It had for some time been rubbing itself against his leg, holding its tail high and stiff like a stick, every now and then giving a short mew (probably the desolate look of the