FullReads

FOOTNOTE:
[22]
A sourish, non-intoxicating beverage, prepared
by putting water on rye meal or the crusts of sour
black rye bread and allowing it to ferment.
–TRANSLATOR.

After this fashion he spent six weeks with me, then went back to Moscow. From Moscow he wrote to me twice, and it seemed to me, from his letters, as though he were regaining his sensibilities. But picture to yourself my surprise, my dear sir! Suddenly, in the very middle of the winter, just before the Christmas holidays, he presents himself before me!

“How didst thou get here? How is this? What’s the matter? I know that thou hast no vacation at this time.–Dost thou come from Moscow?”–I ask.

“Yes.”

“And how about … the university?”

“I have left the university.”

“Thou hast left it?”

“Just so.”

“For good?”

“For good.”

“But art thou ill, pray, Yakoff?”

“No, father,” says he, “I am not ill; but just don’t bother me and question me, dear father, or I will go away from here–and that’s the last thou wilt ever see of me.”

Yakoff tells me that he is not ill, but his face is such that I am fairly frightened. It was dreadful, dark–not human, actually!–His cheeks were drawn, his cheek-bones projected, he was mere skin and bone; his voice sounded as though it proceeded from a barrel … while his eyes…. O Lord and Master! what eyes!–menacing, wild, incessantly darting from side to side, and it was impossible to catch them; his brows were knit, his lips seemed to be twisted on one side…. What had happened to my Joseph Most Fair,[23] to my quiet lad? I cannot comprehend it. “Can he have gone crazy?” I say to myself. He roams about like a spectre by night, he does not sleep,–and then, all of a sudden, he will take to staring into a corner as though he were completely benumbed…. It was enough to scare one!

FOOTNOTE:
[23]
One of the ancient religious ballads sung by the “wandering cripples.” Joseph (son of Jacob) is called by this appellation, and also a “tzarevitch,” or king’s son. For a brief account of these ballads see: “The Epic Songs of Russia” (Introduction), and Chapter I in “A Survey of Russian Literature” (I. F. Hapgood). This particular ballad is mentioned on page 22 of the last-named book.–TRANSLATOR.

Although he had threatened to leave the house if I did not leave him in peace, yet surely I was his father! My last hope was ruined–yet I was to hold my tongue! So one day, availing myself of an opportunity, I began to entreat Yakoff with tears, I began to adjure him by the memory of his dead mother:

“Tell me,” I said, “as thy father in the flesh and in the spirit, Yasha, what aileth thee? Do not kill me; explain thyself, lighten thy heart! Can it be that thou hast ruined some Christian soul? If so, repent!”

“Well, dear father,” he suddenly says to me (this took place toward nightfall), “thou hast moved me to compassion. I will tell thee the whole truth. I have not ruined any Christian soul–but my own soul is going to perdition.”

“How is that?”

“In this way….” And thereupon Yakoff raised his eyes to mine for the first time.–“It is going on four months now,” he began…. But suddenly he broke off and began to breathe heavily.

“What about the fourth month? Tell me, do not make me suffer!”

“This is the fourth month that I have been seeing him.”

“Him? Who is he?”

“Why, the person … whom it is awkward to mention at night.”

I fairly turned cold all over and fell to quaking.

“What?!” I said, “dost thou see him?“

“Yes.”

“And dost thou see him now?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” And I did not dare to turn round, and we both spoke in a whisper.

“Why, yonder …” and he indicated the spot with his eyes … “yonder, in the corner.”