Virgin Soil | Page 8

him desperately, frowning as
if in pain. "We know you are energetic and not afraid of anything--"
"I--not afraid of anything?" Paklin began.
"I wonder who could have betrayed Basanov? "Nejdanov continued. "I
simply can't understand!"
"A friend no doubt. Friends are great at that. One must look alive! I
once had a friend, who seemed a good fellow; he was always concerned
about me and my reputation. 'I say, what dreadful stories are being
circulated about you!' he would greet me one day. 'They say that you
poisoned your uncle and that on one occasion, when you were
introduced into a certain house, you sat the whole evening with your
back to the hostess and that she was so upset that she cried at the insult!
What awful nonsense! What fools could possibly believe such things!'
Well, and what do you think? A year after I quarrelled with this same
friend, and in his farewell letter to me he wrote, 'You who killed your
own uncle! You who were not ashamed to insult an honourable lady by
sitting with your back to her,' and so on and so on. Here are friends for
you!"
Ostrodumov and Mashurina exchanged glances.
"Alexai Dmitritch!" Ostrodumov exclaimed in his heavy bass voice; he
was evidently anxious to avoid a useless discussion. "A letter has come
from Moscow, from Vassily Nikolaevitch."
Nejdanov trembled slightly and cast down his eyes.
"What does he say? " he asked at last.
"He wants us to go there with her." Ostrodumov indicated to Mashurina
with his eyebrows.
"Do they want her too?'
"Yes."
"Well, what's the difficulty?
"Why, money, of course."
Nejdanov got up from the bed and walked over to the window.
"How much do you want?"
"Not less than fifty roubles."
Nejdanov was silent.
"I have no money just now," he whispered at last, drumming his fingers
on the window pane, "but I could get some. Have you got the letter?"
"Yes, it . . . that is . . . certainly. . ."

"Why are you always trying to keep things from me?" Paklin exclaimed.
"Have I not deserved your confidence? Even if I were not fully in
sympathy with what you are undertaking, do you think for a moment
that I am in a position to turn around or gossip?"
"Without intending to, perhaps," Ostrodumov remarked.
"Neither with nor without intention! Miss Mashurina is looking at me
with a smile . . . but I say--"
"I am not smiling!" Mashurina burst out.
"But I say," Paklin went on, "that you have no tact. You are utterly
incapable of recognising your real friends. If a man can laugh, then you
think that he can't be serious--"
"Is it not so?" Mashurina snapped.
"You are in need of money, for instance," Paklin continued with new
force, paying no attention to Mashurina; "Nejdanov hasn't any. I could
get it for you."
Nejdanov wheeled round from the window.
"No, no. It is not necessary. I can get the money. I will draw some of
my allowance in advance. Now I recollect, they owe me something. Let
us look at the letter, Ostrodumov."
Ostrodumov remained motionless for a time, then he looked around,
stood up, bent down, turned up one of the legs of his trousers, and
carefully pulled a piece of blue paper out of his high boot, blew at it for
some reason or another, and handed it to Nejdanov. The latter took the
piece of paper, unfolded it, read it carefully, and passed it on to
Mashurina. She stood up, also read it, and handed it back to Nejdanov,
although Paklin had extended his hand for it. Nejdanov shrugged his
shoulders and gave the secret letter to Paklin. The latter scanned the
paper in his turn, pressed his lips together significantly, and laid it
solemnly on the table. Ostrodumov took it, lit a large match, which
exhaled a strong odour of sulphur, lifted the paper high above his head,
as if showing it to all present, set fire to it, and, regardless of his fingers,
put the ashes into the stove. No one moved or pronounced a word
during this proceeding; all had their eyes fixed on the floor.
Ostrodumov looked concentrated and business-like, Nejdanov furious,
Paklin intense, and Mashurina as if she were present at holy mass.
About two minutes went by in this way, everyone feeling
uncomfortable. Paklin was the first to break the silence.

"Well?" he began. "Is my sacrifice to be received on the altar of the
fatherland? Am I permitted to bring, if not the whole at any rate,
twenty-five or thirty roubles for the common cause?"
Nejdanov flared up. He seemed to be boiling over with annoyance,
which was not lessened by the solemn burning of the letter--he was
only waiting