Oblomov / Обломов. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Иван Гончаров

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      «Anything else?» asked Oblomov with ill-disguised vexation.

      The doctor pondered.

      «Perhaps you could try the sea air; get on a steamer in England and take a trip to America».

      He got up to leave.

      «If you carry it all out exactly» – he said.

      «Very well, very well», Oblomov replied sarcastically, as he saw him off, «I shall certainly carry it out».

      The doctor went away, leaving Oblomov in a most pitiful condition. He closed his eyes, put both hands behind his head, huddled himself up in the chair and sat like that, seeing and feeling nothing.

      A timid voice called behind him:

      «Sir!»

      «Well?» he replied.

      «And what shall I tell the landlord’s agent?»

      «What about?»

      «About our moving?»

      «You’re at it again?» Oblomov asked in surprise.

      «But, sir, what am I to do? You must admit that my life’s not easy as it is. I’m worried to death…»

      «Oh no, it’s me you’re worrying to death by your talk of moving», said Oblomov. «You’d better hear what the doctor has just told me!»

      Zakhar did not know what to say to that and merely fetched so deep a sigh that the ends of the kerchief round his neck shook on his breast.

      «You’ve made up your mind to kill me, have you?» Oblomov asked again. «You’re sick of me, are you? Well, speak!»

      «Good Lord, sir, live as long as you like! I’m sure no one wishes you ill, sir», Zakhar growled, completely put out by the tragic turn the conversation was taking.

      «You do!» said Oblomov. «I’ve forbidden you to mention moving to me, and you remind me of it half a dozen times a day. It upsets me – don’t you realize that? I’m in a bad way as it is».

      «I thought, sir, that – I thought why shouldn’t we move?» Zakhar said in a voice trembling with emotion.

      «Why shouldn’t we move?» Oblomov said, turning together with his chair towards Zakhar. «You think it’s so easy, don’t you? But, my dear fellow, have you considered carefully what moving means? You haven’t, have you?»

      «I don’t think I have, sir», Zakhar answered humbly, ready to agree with his master about everything so long as there were no pathetic scenes, which he could not endure.

      «If you haven’t», said Oblomov, «then listen and see for yourself whether we can move or not. What does moving mean? It means that your master will have to leave the house for a whole day and walk about dressed from early morning».

      «Well, sir, why not leave the house?» Zakhar remarked. «Why not go away for a whole day? It’s unhealthy to sit at home. You do look bad, sir! Before, you looked the picture of health, but now that you always sit at home you look like nothing on earth. If you only took a walk in the streets, had a look at the people or something…»

      «Don’t talk nonsense and listen!» said Oblomov. «Take a walk in the streets!»

      «Why not, sir?» Zakhar went on warmly. «I’m told, sir, there’s a terrible monster on show. Why not go and have a look at it? Or you might go to a theatre or a mask ball, and we’d do the moving without you».

      «Don’t talk rubbish! So that’s how you look after your master’s comfort! You don’t care if I tramp about the streets all day long, do you? What would it matter to you if I had dinner in some poky little hole and couldn’t lie down after it? They’ll do the moving without me! If I’m not here to keep an eye on things, you’d be moving – bits and pieces. I know», Oblomov went on with growing conviction, «what moving furniture means! It means breakages, noise, everything will be piled together on the floor: trunks, the back of the sofa, pictures, books, pipes, all sorts of bottles one never sees at any other time which suddenly turn up goodness knows from where! And you have to look after it all so that nothing gets broken or lost – one half here, another on the cart, or in the new flat! You want to smoke, you pick up your pipe, but the tobacco’s already gone – you want to sit down, but there’s nothing to sit on, you can’t touch anything without getting dirty and covered with dust – nothing to wash with and you have to go about with hands as filthy as yours…»

      «My hands are clean», Zakhar remarked, showing what looked more like two soles than a pair of hands.

      «Oh, you’d better not show them to me», said Oblomov, turning away. «And should you want to have a drink, the decanter’s there, but there’s no glass».

      «You can drink from the decanter just as well», Zakhar observed good-naturedly.

      «That’s just like you: one can just as well not sweep the floor, not dust, and not beat the carpets. And at the new flat», Oblomov went on, carried away by the vivid picture of the moving he had conjured up, «things won’t be put straight for at least three days – everything is sure to be in the wrong place: the pictures on the floor by the walls, the goloshes on the bed, the boots in the same bundle as the tea and the pomatum. There’s a chair with a broken leg, a picture with a smashed glass, a sofa covered in stains. Whatever you ask for is not to be found, no one knows where it is – been lost or left at the old flat – go and run back for it».

      «Aye», Zakhar interrupted, «sometimes one has to run there and back a dozen times».

      «There you are», Oblomov went on. «And getting up in the morning in a new flat – what a bore! No water, no charcoal for the samovar, and in the winter you’re sure to freeze to death, the rooms are cold and there’s no firewood; you have to run and borrow some».

      «That depends on the kind of neighbours you get», Zakhar observed again. «Some wouldn’t lend you a jug of water, let alone a bundle of firewood».

      «Yes, indeed!» said Oblomov. «You move and you’d suppose that by the evening everything would be over, but not at all, you won’t be settled for another fortnight at least. Everything seems to be in its place, but there are still heaps of things to do: hang up the curtains, put up the pictures – you’d be sick and tired of it all, you’d wish you were dead. And the expense!»

      «Last time we moved, eight years ago», Zakhar confirmed, «it cost us two hundred roubles – I remember it as if it was today».

      «Well, that’s no joke, is it?» said Oblomov. «And how strange life is in a new flat at first! How soon will you get used to it? Why, I shan’t be able to sleep for at least a week in the new place. I’ll be eaten up with misery when I get up and don’t see the wood-turner’s signboard opposite; if that old woman with the short hair doesn’t look out of the window before dinner, I feel miserable. So you see now what you’re trying to let your master in for, don’t you?» Oblomov asked reproachfully.

      «I see, sir», Zakhar whispered humbly.

      «Then why did you try to persuade me to move?» said Oblomov. «Do you think I’m strong enough to stand it?»

      «I thought, sir, that other people are no better than us, and if they move, why can’t we?»

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