FullReads

III

On the day of my arrival, Narkiz, having given me lunch and cleared the table, stood in the doorway, looked intently at me, and with some play of the eyebrows observed:

‘What are you going to do now, sir?’

‘Well, really, I don’t know. If Nikolai Petrovitch had kept his word and come, we should have gone shooting together.’

‘So you really expected, sir, that he would come at the time he promised?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘H’m.’ Narkiz looked at me again and shook his head as it were with commiseration. ‘If you ‘d care to amuse yourself with reading,’ he continued: ‘there are some books left of my old master’s; I’ll get them you, if you like; only you won’t read them, I expect.’

‘Why?’

‘They’re books of no value; not written for the gentlemen of these days.’

‘Have you read them?’

‘If I hadn’t read them, I wouldn’t have spoken about them. A dream-book, for instance … that’s not much of a book, is it? There are others too, of course … only you won’t read them either.’

‘Why?’

‘They are religious books.’

I was silent for a space…. Narkiz was silent too.

‘What vexes me most,’ I began, ‘is staying in the house in such weather.’

‘Take a walk in the garden; or go into the copse. We’ve a copse here beyond the threshing-floor. Are you fond of fishing?’

‘Are there fish here?’

‘Yes, in the pond. Loaches, sand-eels, and perches are caught there. Now, to be sure, the best time is over; July’s here. But anyway, you might try…. Shall I get the tackle ready?’

‘Yes, do please.’

‘I’ll send a boy with you … to put on the worms. Or maybe I ‘d better come myself?’ Narkiz obviously doubted whether I knew how to set about things properly by myself.

‘Come, please, come along.’

Narkiz, without a word, grinned from ear to ear, then suddenly knitted his brows … and went out of the room.

IV

Half an hour later we set off to catch fish. Narkiz had put on an extraordinary sort of cap with ears, and was more dignified than ever. He walked in front with a steady, even step; two rods swayed regularly up and down on his shoulders; a bare-legged boy followed him carrying a can and a pot of worms.

‘Here, near the dike, there’s a seat, put up on the floating platform on purpose,’ Narkiz was beginning to explain to me, but he glanced ahead, and suddenly exclaimed: ‘Aha! but our poor folk are here already … they keep it up, it seems.’

I craned my head to look from behind him, and saw on the floating platform, on the very seat of which he had been speaking, two persons sitting with their backs to us; they were placidly fishing.

‘Who are they?’ I asked.

‘Neighbours,’ Narkiz responded, with displeasure. ‘They’ve nothing to eat at home, and so here they come to us.’

‘Are they allowed to?’

‘The old master allowed them…. Nikolai Petrovitch maybe won’t give them permission…. The long one is a superannuated deacon–quite a silly creature; and as for the other, that’s a little stouter–he’s a brigadier.’

‘A brigadier?’ I repeated, wondering. This ‘brigadier’s’ attire was almost worse than the deacon’s.

‘I assure you he’s a brigadier. And he did have a fine property once. But now he has only a corner given him out of charity, and he lives … on what God sends him. But, by the way, what are we to do? They’ve taken the best place…. We shall have to disturb our precious visitors.’

‘No, Narkiz, please don’t disturb them. We’ll sit here a little aside; they won’t interfere with us. I should like to make acquaintance with the brigadier.’

‘As you like. Only, as far as acquaintance goes … you needn’t expect much satisfaction from it, sir; he’s grown very weak in his head, and in conversation he’s silly as a little child. As well he may be; he’s past his eightieth year.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Vassily Fomitch. Guskov’s his surname.’