THE COMPLETE NOVELLAS & SHORT STORIES OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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СКАЧАТЬ said Vasya, looking at his friend with such meaning that Arkady was quite frightened, for Vasya had never been so agitated before… . “If I were alone, as I used to be… . No! I don’t mean that. I keep wanting to tell you as a friend, to confide in you… . But why worry you, though? … You see, Arkady, to some much is given, others do a little thing as I do. Well, if gratitude, appreciation, is expected of you, … and you can’t give it?”

      “Vasya, I don’t understand you in the least.”

      “I have never been ungrateful,” Vasya went on softly, as though speaking to himself, “ but if I am incapable of expressing all I feel, it seems as though … it seems, Arkady, as though I am really ungrateful, and that’s killing me.”

      “What next, what next ! As though gratitude meant nothing more than your finishing that copy in time? Just think what you are saying, Vasya? Is that the whole expression of gratitude?”

      Vasya sank into silence at once, and looked open-eyed at Arkady, as though his unexpected argument had settled all his doubts. He even smiled, but the same melancholy expression came back to his face at once. Arkady, taking this smile as a sign that all his uneasiness was over, and the look that succeeded it as an indication that he was determined to do better, was greatly relieved.

      “Well, brother Arkasha, you will wake up,” said Vasya, “keep an eye on me; if I fall asleep it will be dreadful. I’ll set to work now… . Arkasha?”

      “What?”

      “Oh, it’s nothing, I only … I meant… .”

      Vasya settled himself, and said no more, Arkady got into bed. Neither of them said one word about their friends, the Artemyevs. Perhaps both of them felt that they had been a little to blame, and that they ought not to have gone for their jaunt when they did. Arkady soon fell asleep, still worried about Vasya. To his own surprise he woke up exactly at eight o’clock in the morning. Vasya was asleep in his chair with the pen in his hand, pale and exhausted; the candle had burnt out. Mavra was busy getting the samovar ready in the kitchen.

      “Vasya, Vasya!” Arkady cried in alarm, “when did you fall asleep?”

      Vasya opened his eyes and jumped up from his chair.

      “Oh!” he cried, “I must have fallen asleep… .”

      He flew to the papers — everything was right; all were in order; there was not a blot of ink, nor spot of grease from the candle on them.

      “I think I must have fallen asleep about six o’clock,” said Vasya. “How cold it is in the night! Let us have tea, and I will go on again. …”

      “Do you feel better?”

      “Yes, yes, I’m all right, I’m all right now.”

      “A happy New Year to you, brother Vasya.”

      “And to you too, brother, the same to you, dear boy.”

      They embraced each other. Vasya’s chin was quivering and his eyes were moist. Arkady Ivanovitch was silent, he felt sad. They drank their tea hastily.

      “Arkady, I’ve made up my mind, I am going myself to Yulian Mastakovitch.”

      “Why, he wouldn’t notice.”

      “But my conscience feels ill at ease, brother.”

      “But you know it’s for his sake you are sitting here; it’s for his sake you are wearing yourself out.”

      “Enough!”

      “Do you know what, brother, I’ll go round and see… .”

      “Whom?” asked Vasya.

      “The Artemyevs. I’ll take them your good wishes for the New Year as well as mine.”

      “My dear fellow! Well, I’ll stay here; and I see it’s a good idea of yours; I shall be working here, I shan’t waste my time. Wait one minute, I’ll write a note.”

      “Yes, do brother, do, there’s plenty of time. I’ve still to wash and shave and to brush my best coat. Well, Vasya, we are going to be contented and happy. Embrace me, Vasya.”

      “Ah, if only we may, brother. …”

      “Does Mr. Shumkov live here?” they heard a child’s voice on the stairs.

      “Yes, my dear, yes,” said Mavra, showing the visitor in.

      “What’s that? What is it? “ cried Vasya, leaping up from the table and rushing to the entry, “ Petinka, you?”

      “Good morning, I have the honour to wish you a happy New Year, Vassily Petrovitch,” said a pretty boy of ten years old with curly black hair. “Sister sends you her love, and so does Mamma, and Sister told me to give you a kiss for her.”

      Vasya caught the messenger up in the air and printed a long, enthusiastic kiss on his lips, which were very much like Lizanka’s.

      “Kiss him, Arkady,” he said handing Petya to him, and without touching the ground the boy was transferred to Arkady Ivanovitch’s powerful and eager arms.

      “Will you have some breakfast, dear?”

      “Thank-you, very much. We have had it already, we got up early to-day, the others have gone to church. Sister was two hours curling my hair, and pomading it, washing me and mending my trousers, for I tore them yesterday, playing with Sashka in the street, we were snowballing.”

      “Well, well, well!”

      “So she dressed me up to come and see you, and then pomaded my head and then gave me a regular kissing. She said : ‘Go to Vasya, wish him a happy New Year, and ask whether they are happy, whether they had a good night, and …’ to ask something else, oh yes! whether you had finished the work you spoke of yesterday … when you were there. Oh, I’ve got it all written down,” said the boy, reading from a slip of paper which he took out of his pocket. “ Yes, they were uneasy.”

      “It will be finished! It will be! Tell her that it will be. I shall finish it, on my word of honour!”

      “And something else… . Oh yes, I forgot. Sister sent a little note and a present, and I was forgetting it ! …”

      “My goodness! Oh, you little darling! Where is it? where is it? That’s it, oh! Look, brother, see what she writes. The darling, the precious! You know I saw there yesterday a paper-case for me; it’s not finished, so she says, ‘I am sending you a lock of my hair, and the other will come later.’ Look, brother, look!”

      And overwhelmed with rapture he showed Arkady Ivanovitch a curl of luxuriant, jet-black hair; then he kissed it fervently and put it in his breast pocket, nearest his heart.

      “Vasya, I shall get you a locket for that curl,” Arkady Ivanovitch said resolutely at last.

      “And we are going to have hot veal, and tomorrow brains. Mamma wants to make cakes … but we are not going to have millet porridge,” said the boy, after a moment’s thought, to wind up his budget of interesting items.

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