The Man Who Was Afraid Part 38

Firmly and kind-heartedly shaking Ookhtishchev's hand, Foma asked him:

"And what makes you think that I am modest?"

"What a question! A man, who lives like a hermit, who neither drinks, nor plays, nor likes any women. By the way, do you know, Foma Ignatyevich, that peerless patroness of ours is going abroad tomorrow for the whole summer?"

"Sophya Pavlovna?" asked Foma, slowly. "Of course! The sun of my life is setting. And, perhaps, of yours as well?"

Ookhtishchev made a comical, sly grimace and looked into Foma's face.

And Foma stood before him, feeling that his head was lowering on his breast, and that he was unable to hinder it.

"Yes, the radiant Aurora."

"Is Medinskaya going away?" a deep ba.s.s voice asked. "That's fine! I am glad."

"May I know why?" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly and stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev's interlocutor.

That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and deep, heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma's ears.

"Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town."

"Shame, Martin Nikitich!" said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully, knitting his brow.

"How do you know that she is a coquette?" asked Foma, sternly, coming closer to the whiskered man. The man measured him with a scornful look, turned aside and moving his thigh, drawled out:

"I didn't say--coquette."

"Martin Nikitich, you mustn't speak that way about a woman who--" began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him:

"Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is the meaning of the word he said?"

And as he articulated this firmly and calmly, Foma thrust his hands deep into his trousers-pockets, threw his chest forward, which at once gave his figure an att.i.tude of defiance. The whiskered gentleman again eyed Foma with a sarcastic smile.

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly.

"I said, co-cot-te," p.r.o.nounced the whiskered man, moving his lips as if he tasted the word. "And if you don't understand it, I can explain it to you."

"You had better explain it," said Foma, with a deep sigh, not lifting his eyes off the man.

Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside.

"A cocotte, if you want to know it, is a prost.i.tute," said the whiskered man in a low voice, moving his big, fat face closer to Foma.

Foma gave a soft growl and, before the whiskered man had time to move away, he clutched with his right hand his curly, grayish hair. With a convulsive movement of the hand, Foma began to shake the man's head and his big, solid body; lifting up his left hand, he spoke in a dull voice, keeping time to the punishment:

"Don't abuse a person--in his absence. Abuse him--right in his face--straight in his eyes."

He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout arms were swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he was shaking, were bending under him, sc.r.a.ping against the floor. His gold watch fell out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his round paunch. Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation of the sedate man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, trembling with the happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and in a dull voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a great feeling--the feeling of emanc.i.p.ation from the wearisome burden which had long oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crus.h.i.+ng his toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark, heavy ma.s.s moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they tore him away and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma:

"You mustn't beat me! You mustn't! I have an...

"Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.

"Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, O--O--O! You may expect a duel!"

And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear:

"Come, my dear boy, for G.o.d's sake!"

"Wait, I'll give him a kick in the face," begged Foma. But he was dragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile:

"I gave him a sound drubbing, didn't I?"

"Listen!" exclaimed the gay secretary, indignantly. "You must pardon me but that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessed such a thing before!"

"My dear man!" said Foma, friendly, "did he not deserve the drubbing? Is he not a scoundrel? How can he speak like that behind a person's back?

No! Let him go to her and tell it plainly to her alone."

"Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn't for her alone that you gave him the drubbing?"

"That is, what do you mea,--not for her alone? For whom then?" asked Foma, amazed.

"For whom? I don't know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! Oh Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!"

"He--that man--who is he?" asked Foma, and suddenly burst out laughing.

"How he roared, the fool!"

Ookhtishchev looked fixedly into his face and asked:

"Tell me, is it true, that you don't know whom you've thrashed? And is it really only for Sophya Pavlovna?"

"It is, by G.o.d!" avowed Foma.

"So, the devil knows what the result may be!" He stopped short, shrugged his shoulders perplexedly, waved his hand, and again began to pace the sidewalk, looking at Foma askance. "You'll pay for this, Foma Ignatyevich."

"Will he take me to court?"

"Would to G.o.d he does. He is the Vice-Governor's son-in-law."

"Is that so?" said Foma, slowly, and made a long face.

"Yes. To tell the truth, he is a scoundrel and a rascal. According to this fact I must admit, that he deserves a drubbing. But taking into consideration the fact that the lady you defended is also--"

"Sir!" said Foma, firmly, placing his hand on Ookhtishchev's shoulder, "I have always liked you, and you are now walking with me. I understand it and can appreciate it. But do not speak ill of her in my presence.

Whatever she may be in your opinion, in my opinion, she is dear to me.

To me she is the best woman. So I am telling you frankly. Since you are going with me, do not touch her. I consider her good, therefore she is good."

There was great emotion in Foma's voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him and said thoughtfully: