The Duel and Other Stories | Page 8

the glass, at that
moment, in the kitchen and in the passage near, Samoylenko, without
his coat and waistcoat, with his neck bare, excited and bathed in
perspiration, was bustling about the tables, mixing the salad, or making
some sauce, or preparing meat, cucumbers, and onion for the cold soup,
while he glared fiercely at the orderly who was helping him, and
brandished first a knife and then a spoon at him.
"Give me the vinegar!" he said. "That's not the vinegar--it's the salad
oil!" he shouted, stamping. "Where are you off to, you brute?"
"To get the butter, Your Excellency," answered the flustered orderly in
a cracked voice.
"Make haste; it's in the cupboard! And tell Daria to put some fennel in
the jar with the cucumbers! Fennel! Cover the cream up, gaping
laggard, or the flies will get into it!"
And the whole house seemed resounding with his shouts. When it was
ten or fifteen minutes to two the deacon would come in; he was a lanky
young man of twenty-two, with long hair, with no beard and a hardly
perceptible moustache. Going into the drawing-room, he crossed
himself before the ikon, smiled, and held out his hand to Von Koren.
"Good-morning," the zoologist said coldly. "Where have you been?"
"I've been catching sea-gudgeon in the harbour."
"Oh, of course. . . . Evidently, deacon, you will never be busy with

work."
"Why not? Work is not like a bear; it doesn't run off into the woods,"
said the deacon, smiling and thrusting his hands into the very deep
pockets of his white cassock.
"There's no one to whip you!" sighed the zoologist.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes passed and they were not called to
dinner, and they could still hear the orderly running into the kitchen
and back again, noisily treading with his boots, and Samoylenko
shouting:
"Put it on the table! Where are your wits? Wash it first."
The famished deacon and Von Koren began tapping on the floor with
their heels, expressing in this way their impatience like the audience at
a theatre. At last the door opened and the harassed orderly announced
that dinner was ready! In the dining-room they were met by
Samoylenko, crimson in the face, wrathful, perspiring from the heat of
the kitchen; he looked at them furiously, and with an expression of
horror, took the lid off the soup tureen and helped each of them to a
plateful; and only when he was convinced that they were eating it with
relish and liked it, he gave a sigh of relief and settled himself in his
deep arm-chair. His face looked blissful and his eyes grew moist. . . .
He deliberately poured himself out a glass of vodka and said:
"To the health of the younger generation."
After his conversation with Laevsky, from early morning till dinner
Samoylenko had been conscious of a load at his heart, although he was
in the best of humours; he felt sorry for Laevsky and wanted to help
him. After drinking a glass of vodka before the soup, he heaved a sigh
and said:
"I saw Vanya Laevsky to-day. He is having a hard time of it, poor
fellow! The material side of life is not encouraging for him, and the
worst of it is all this psychology is too much for him. I'm sorry for the
lad."
"Well, that is a person I am not sorry for," said Von Koren. "If that
charming individual were drowning, I would push him under with a
stick and say, 'Drown, brother, drown away.' . . ."
"That's untrue. You wouldn't do it."
"Why do you think that?" The zoologist shrugged his shoulders. "I'm
just as capable of a good action as you are."

"Is drowning a man a good action?" asked the deacon, and he laughed.
"Laevsky? Yes."
"I think there is something amiss with the soup . . ." said Samoylenko,
anxious to change the conversation.
"Laevsky is absolutely pernicious and is as dangerous to society as the
cholera microbe," Von Koren went on. "To drown him would be a
service."
"It does not do you credit to talk like that about your neighbour. Tell us:
what do you hate him for?"
"Don't talk nonsense, doctor. To hate and despise a microbe is stupid,
but to look upon everybody one meets without distinction as one's
neighbour, whatever happens--thanks very much, that is equivalent to
giving up criticism, renouncing a straightforward attitude to people,
washing one's hands of responsibility, in fact! I consider your Laevsky
a blackguard; I do not conceal it, and I am perfectly conscientious in
treating him as such. Well, you look upon him as your neighbour--and
you may kiss him if you like: you look upon him as your neighbour,
and that means that