Staff-Captain Ribnikov immediately informed his landlady3 that he was called away from Petersburg on business for a day or two, and told her not to worry about his absence. Then he dressed himself, left the house, and never returned to it again.
Only five days had passed when the landlady was summoned to the police station to give evidence about her missing lodger4. She was a tall woman of forty-five, the honest widow of an ecclesiastical official, and in a simple and straightforward5 manner she told all that she knew of him. Her lodger was a quiet, poor, simple man, a moderate eater, and polite. He neither drank nor smoked, rarely went out of the house, and had no visitors. She could say40 nothing more, in spite of all her respectful terror of the inspector6 of gendarmerie, who moved his luxurious7 moustaches in a terrifying way and had a fine stock of abuse on hand.
During this five days’ interval8 Staff-Captain Ribnikov ran or drove over the whole of Petersburg. Everywhere, in the streets, restaurants, theatres, tramcars, the railway stations, this dark lame9 little officer appeared. He was strangely talkative, untidy, not particularly sober, dressed in an infantry10 uniform, with an all-over red collar—a perfect type of the rat attached to military hospitals, or the commissariat, or the War Office. He also appeared more than once at the Staff Office, the Committee for the Care of the Wounded, at police stations, at the office of the Military Governor, at the Cossack headquarters, and at dozens of other offices, irritating the officials by his senseless grumbling11 and complaints, by his abject12 begging, his typical infantry rudeness, and his noisy patriotism13. Already every one knew by heart that he had served in the Army Transport, had been wounded in the head at Liao-Yang, and touched in the leg in the retreat from Mukden. ‘Why the devil hasn’t he received a gratuity14 before now! Why haven’t they given him his daily money and his travelling expenses! And his last two months pay! He is absolutely ready to give his last drop of blood—damn it all—for the Czar, the throne, and the country, and he will return to the Far East the moment his leg has healed. But the cursed leg41 won’t heal—a hundred devils take it. Imagine only—gangrene! Look yourself——’ and he put his wounded leg on a chair, and was already eagerly pulling up his trouser; but he was stopped every time by a squeamish and compassionate15 shyness. His bustling16 and nervous familiarity, his startled, frightened look, which bordered strangely on impertinence, his stupidity, his persistent17 and frivolous18 curiosity taxed to the utmost the patience of men occupied in important and terribly responsible scribbling19.
In vain it was explained to him in the kindest possible way that he had come to the wrong place; that he ought to apply at such and such a place; that he must produce certain papers; that they will let him know the result. He understood nothing, absolutely nothing. But it was impossible to be very angry with him; he was so helpless, so easily scared and simple, and if any one lost patience and interrupted him, he only smiled and showed his gums with a foolish look, bowed hastily again and again, and rubbed his hands in confusion. Or he would suddenly say in a hoarse20, ingratiating tone:
‘Couldn’t you give me one small smoke? I’m dying to smoke. And I haven’t a cent to buy them. “Blessed are the poor.... Poverty’s no crime,” as they say—but sheer indecency.’
With that he disarmed21 the most disagreeable and dour22 officials. He was given a cigarette, and allowed to sit by the extreme corner of the table. Unwillingly23, and of course in an off-hand way, they would answer his importunate42 questions about what was happening at the war. But there was something very affecting and childishly sincere in the sickly curiosity with which this unfortunate, grubby, impoverished24 wounded officer of the line followed the war. Quite simply, out of mere25 humanity, they wanted to reassure26, to inform, and encourage him; and therefore they spoke27 to him more frankly28 than to the rest.
His interest in everything which concerned Russo-Japanese events was so deep that while they were making some complicated inquiry29 for him he would wander from room to room, and table to table, and the moment he caught a couple of words about the war he would approach and listen with his habitual30 strained and silly smile.
When he finally went away, as well as a sense of relief he would leave a vague, heavy and disquieting31 regret behind him. Often well-groomed, dandified staff-officers referred to him with dignified32 acerbity33:
‘And that’s a Russian officer! Look at that type. Well, it’s pretty plain why we’re losing battle after battle. Stupid, dull, without the least sense of his own dignity—poor old Russia!’
During these busy days Captain Ribnikov took a room in a dirty little hotel near the railway station.
Though he had with him a Reserve officer’s proper passport, for some reason he found it necessary to declare that his papers were at43 present in the Military Governor’s office. Into the hotel he took his things, a hold-all containing a rug and pillow, a travelling bag, and a cheap, new box, with some underclothing and a complete outfit34 of mufti.
Subsequently, the servants gave evidence that he used to come to the hotel late and as if a little the worse for drink, but always regularly gave the door porter twopence for a tip. He never used to sleep more than three or four hours, sometimes without undressing. He used to get up early and pace the room for hours. In the afternoon he would go off.
From time to time he sent telegrams to Irkutsk from various post offices, and all the telegrams expressed a deep concern for some one wounded and seriously ill, probably a person very dear to the captain’s heart.
It was with this same curious busy, uncouth35 man that Vladimir Ivanovich Schavinsky, a journalist on a large Petersburg paper, once met.
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1
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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6
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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7
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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8
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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9
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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gratuity
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| n.赏钱，小费 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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18
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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19
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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21
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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25
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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27
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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29
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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30
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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31
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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32
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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33
acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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34
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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