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

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      «No, sir. They keep on pestering me, sir. They won’t give us any credit. To-day’s the first of the month».

      «Oh dear!» said Oblomov dejectedly. «A fresh worry! Well, what are you standing there for? Put them on the table. I’ll get up presently, wash, and have a look at them. So my water is ready, is it?»

      «It’s ready, sir», said Zakhar.

      «All right, now», – he groaned and was about to raise himself in his bed in order to get up.

      «I forgot to tell you, sir», Zakhar began. «Just a few hours ago, while you were still asleep, the house agent sent the porter to say that we must move – they want the flat».

      «Well, what about it? If they want it, we shall of course move. What are you pestering me for? It’s the third time you’ve told me».

      «They’re pestering me too, sir».

      «Tell them we’re going to move».

      «They say, sir, you’ve been promising to move for the last month but you still don’t move. They’re threatening to tell the police».

      «Let them!» Oblomov said resolutely. «We’ll move as soon as the weather gets warmer – in three weeks or so».

      «In three weeks, sir? Why, sir, the agent says the workmen are coming in in a fortnight’s time. They’re going to break the whole place down. You’ll have to move to-morrow or the day after – that’s what he says, sir!»

      «Does he? He’s in too much of a hurry! He wants us to move at once, does he? Don’t you dare even to mention the flat to me again. I’ve told you once before and you’re at it again. Take care!»

      «But what am I to do, sir?» Zakhar asked.

      «What are you to do? So that’s the way you want to wriggle out of your responsibilities?» replied Oblomov. «You’re asking me! What do I care? So long as you don’t bother me, you can make any arrangements you like, provided we haven’t got to move out of this flat! You won’t do anything for your master, will you?»

      «But what can I do, sir?» – Zakhar began, speaking in a soft, hoarse voice. «It’s not my house, is it? How can we refuse to go, if we’re being chucked out? Now, if it was my house, sir, I’d have been only too glad…»

      «Can’t you persuade them somehow? Tell them we’ve been here for years, always paid the rent regularly…»

      «I told them that, sir».

      «Oh? Well, what did they say?»

      «Why, sir, what do you think they said? They just keep on saying we must move because they have to do all sorts of alterations. You see, sir, they want to convert this flat and the doctor’s next door into one big flat in time for the landlord’s son’s wedding».

      «Goodness me, how do you like that?» Oblomov said with vexation. «To think that there are such donkeys who want to get married!»

      He turned over on his back.

      «Why don’t you write to the landlord, sir?» said Zakhar. «Perhaps he wouldn’t bother you then, but tell the workmen to break down the flat next door first».

      Zakhar pointed somewhere to the right.

      «Oh, very well, I’ll write as soon as I get up. You’d better go back to your room now, and I’ll think it over», he added. «It seems that you can’t do anything and I shall have to arrange this stupid affair myself too».

      Zakhar went out of the room and Oblomov began thinking. But he could not make up his mind what he was to think of first: the bailiff’s letter, or moving out of the flat, or looking through the accounts. He was lost in a flood of worldly cares, and remained lying in bed, turning over from side to side. At times sudden cries were heard in the room: «Oh dear, oh dear! You can’t run away from life – it gets at you everywhere!»

      It is difficult to say how long he would have remained in this state of indecision, if there had not been a ring at the front door.

      «There’s someone at the door already», said Oblomov, wrapping his dressing-gown round him, «and I haven’t got up yet. Oh, it’s disgraceful! I wonder who it can be so early?»

      And without attempting to get up, he looked curiously at the door.

      2

      A YOUNG MAN of twenty-five, looking the picture of health, with laughing cheeks, lips, and eyes, entered the room. It made one envious to look at him.

      He was irreproachably groomed and dressed, and his countenance, linen, gloves, and frock-coat had a dazzling freshness. An elegant chain with numberless tiny trinkets stretched across his waistcoat. He pulled out a handkerchief of the finest lawn, inhaled the perfumes of the Orient, then, passing it lightly across his face and his shiny hat, flicked his patent leather boots with it.

      «Oh, Volkov, how are you?» said Oblomov.

      «How are you, Oblomov?» the dazzling gentleman said, walking up to him.

      «Don’t come near me», Oblomov cried, «don’t come near me; you’re straight from the cold street!»

      «Oh, you spoilt darling, you sybarite!» Volkov said, looking for a place to put down his hat, but, seeing the dust everywhere, he decided to keep it in his hand. He parted the skirts of his frock-coat to sit down, but after a careful glance at the armchair, remained standing.

      «You aren’t up yet! What an old-fashioned dressing-gown you’re wearing – I haven’t seen one like it for ages!»

      «It’s a perfectly good dressing-gown», said Oblomov, lovingly wrapping the wide folds of the garment round him.

      «Are you well?» asked Volkov.

      «Well? Good Lord, no!» Oblomov answered, yawning. «Couldn’t feel worse. High blood pressure, you know. And how are you?»

      «Me? I’m all right. In perfect health, and having a jolly good time», the young man added with feeling.

      «Where do you come from so early?» asked Oblomov.

      «From my tailor’s. How do you like my frock-coat? Splendid, isn’t it?» he said, turning round before Oblomov.

      «Splendid! In excellent taste», said Oblomov. «But why is it so wide at the back?»

      «It’s a riding-coat; for riding on horseback».

      «Oh, I see! But do you ride?»

      «Of course I do! I had the coat specially made for to-day. It’s the first of May to-day: Goryunov and I are going to Yekaterinhof. Oh, you don’t know, do you? Misha Goryunov has received his commission – so we’re celebrating to-day», Volkov added with enthusiasm.

      «Oh, indeed», said Oblomov.

      «He has a chestnut horse», Volkov went on. «All the horses in his regiment are chestnut; and mine is a black one. How will you go – will you walk or drive?»

      «Oh, СКАЧАТЬ