Vassily, the porter, took off Schavinsky’s overcoat, with a friendly and respectful smile.
‘If you please, Vladimir Ivanovitch, company’s all there. In the big saloon, where Prokhov waits.’
And Prokhov, stout9, close-cropped, and red-moustached, also gave him a kindly10 and familiar45 smile, as usual not looking straight into the eyes of a respectable customer, but over his head.
‘A long time since you’ve honoured us, Vladimir Ivanovich! This way, please. Everybody’s here.’
As usual his fellow-writers sat round the long table hurriedly dipping their pens in the single inkpot and scribbling11 quickly on long slips of paper. At the same time, without interrupting their labours, they managed to swallow pies, fried sausages and mashed12 potatoes, vodka and beer, to smoke and exchange the latest news of the town and newspaper gossip that cannot be printed. Some one was sleeping like a log on the sofa with his face in a handkerchief. The air in the saloon was blue, thick and streaked13 with tobacco smoke.
As he greeted the reporters, Schavinsky noticed the captain, in his ordinary army uniform, among them. He was sitting with his legs apart, resting his hands and chin upon the hilt of a large sword. Schavinsky was not surprised at seeing him, as he had learned not to be surprised at anything in the reporting world. He had often seen lost for weeks in that reckless noisy company,—landowners from the provinces, jewellers, musicians, dancing-masters, actors, circus proprietors14, fishmongers, café-chantant managers, gamblers from the clubs, and other members of the most unexpected professions.
When the officer’s turn came, he rose, straightened his shoulders, stuck out his elbows, and introduced himself in the proper46 hoarse15, drink-sodden voice of an officer of the line:
‘H’m!... Captain Ribnikov.... Pleased to meet you.... You’re a writer too?... Delighted.... I respect the writing fraternity. The press is the sixth great power. Eh, what?’
With that he grinned, clicked his heels together, shook Schavinsky’s hand violently, bowing all the while in a particularly funny way, bending and straightening his body quickly.
‘Where have I seen him before?’ the uneasy thought flashed across Schavinsky’s mind. ‘He’s wonderfully like some one. Who can it be?’
Here in the saloon were all the celebrities16 of the Petersburg reporting world. The Three Musketeers—Kodlubtzov, Riazhkin, and Popov—were never seen except in company. Even their names were so easily pronounced together that they made an iambic tetrameter. This did not prevent them from eternally quarrelling, and from inventing stories of incredible extortion, criminal forgery17, slander18, and blackmail19 about each other. There was present also Sergey Kondrashov, whose unrestrained voluptuousness20 had gained him the name of ‘A Pathological Case, not a man.’ There was also a man whose name had been effaced21 by time, like one side of a worn coin, to whom remained only the general nickname ‘Matanya,’ by which all Petersburg knew him. Concerning the dour-looking Svischov, who wrote paragraphs ‘In the police courts,’ they said jokingly: ‘Svischov is an47 awful blackmailer—never takes less than three roubles.’ The man asleep on the sofa was the long-haired poet Piestrukhin, who supported his fragile, drunken existence by writing lyrics22 in honour of the imperial birthdays and the twelve Church holidays. There were others besides of no less celebrity23, experts in municipal affairs, fires, inquests, in the opening and closing of public gardens.
Said lanky24, shock-headed, pimply25 Matanya: ‘They’ll bring you the card immediately, Vladimir Ivanovich. Meanwhile, I commend our brave captain to your attention. He has just returned from the Far East, where, I may say, he made mince-meat of the yellow-faced, squinting26, wily enemy.... Now, General, fire away!’
The officer cleared his throat and spat27 sideways on the floor.
‘Swine!’ thought Schavinsky, frowning.
‘My dear chap, the Russian soldier’s not to be sneezed at!’ Ribnikov bawled28 hoarsely29, rattling30 his sword. ‘“Epic heroes!” as the immortal31 Suvorov said. Eh, what? In a word, ... but I tell you frankly32, our commanders in the East are absolutely worthless! You know the proverb: “Like master, like man.” Eh, what? They thieve, play cards, have mistresses ... and every one knows, where the devil can’t manage himself he sends a woman.’
‘You were talking about plans, General,’ Matanya reminded him.
48 ‘Ah! Plans! Merci! ... My head.... I’ve been on the booze all day.’ Ribnikov threw a quick, sharp glance at Schavinsky. ‘Yes, I was just saying.... They ordered a certain colonel of the general staff to make a reconnaissance, and he takes with him a squadron of Cossacks—dare-devils. Hell take ’em!... Eh, what? He sets off with an interpreter. Arrives at a village, “What’s the name?” The interpreter says nothing. “At him, boys!” The Cossacks instantly use their whips. The interpreter says: “Butundu!” And “Butundu” is Chinese for “I don’t understand.” Ha-ha! He’s opened his mouth—the son of a bitch! The colonel writes down “village, Butundu.” They go further to another village. “What’s the name?” “Butundu.” “What! Butundu again?” “Butundu.” Again the colonel enters it “village, Butundu.” So he entered ten villages under the name of “Butundu,” and turned into one of Tchekov’s types—“Though you are Ivanov the seventh,” says he, “you’re a fool all the same.”’
‘Oh, you know Tchekov?’ asked Schavinsky.
‘Who? Tchekov? old Anton? You bet—damn him.... We’re friends—we’re often drunk together.... “Though you are the seventh,” says he, “you’re a fool all the same.”’
‘Did you meet him in the East?’ asked Schavinsky quickly.
‘Yes, exactly, in the East, Tchekov and I, old man.... “Though you are the seventh——”’
49 While he spoke33 Schavinsky observed him closely. Everything in him agreed with the conventional army type: his voice, manner, shabby uniform, his coarse and threadbare speech. Schavinsky had had the chance of observing hundreds of such debauched captains. They had the same grin, the same ‘Hell take ’em,’ twisted their moustaches to the left and right with the same bravado34; they hunched35 their shoulders, stuck out their elbows, rested picturesquely36 on their sword and clanked imaginary spurs. But there was something individual about him as well, something different, as it were, locked away, which Schavinsky had never seen, neither could he define it—some intense, inner, nervous force. The impression he had was this: Schavinsky would not have been at all surprised if this croaking37 and drunken soldier of fortune had suddenly begun to talk of subtle and intellectual matters, with ease and illumination, elegantly; neither would he have been surprised at some mad, sudden, frenzied38, even bloody39 prank40 on the captain’s part.
What struck Schavinsky chiefly in the captain’s looks was the different impression he made full face and in profile. Side face, he was a common Russian, faintly Kalmuck, with a small, protruding41 forehead under a pointed42 skull43, a formless Russian nose, shaped like a plum, thin stiff black moustache and sparse44 beard, the grizzled hair cropped close, with a complexion45 burnt to a dark yellow by the sun.... But when he turned full face Schavinsky was50 immediately reminded of some one. There was something extraordinarily46 familiar about him, but this ‘something’ was impossible to grasp. He felt it in those narrow coffee-coloured bright eagle eyes, slit47 sideways; in the alarming curve of the black eyebrows48, which sprang upwards49 from the bridge of the nose; in the healthy dryness of the skin strained over the huge cheekbones; and, above all, in the general expression of the face—malicious, sneering50, intelligent, perhaps even haughty51, but not human, like a wild beast rather, or, more truly, a face belonging to a creature of another planet.
‘It’s as if I’d seen him in a dream!’ the thought flashed through Schavinsky’s brain. While he looked at the face attentively52 he unconsciously screwed up his eyes, and bent53 his head sideways.
Ribnikov immediately turned round to him and began to giggle54 loudly and nervously55.
‘Why are you admiring me, Mr. Author. Interested? I!’ He raised his voice and thumped56 his chest with a curious pride. ‘I am Captain Ribnikov. Rib-ni-kov! An orthodox Russian warrior57 who slaughters58 the enemy, without number. That’s a Russian soldier’s song. Eh, what?’
Kodlubtzov, running his pen over the paper, said carelessly, without looking at Ribnikov, ‘and without number, surrenders.’
Ribnikov threw a quick glance at Kodlubtzov, and Schavinsky noticed that strange yellow green fires flashed in his little brown eyes. But51 this lasted only an instant. The captain giggled59, shrugged60, and noisily smacked61 his thighs62.
‘You can’t do anything; it’s the will of the Lord. As the fable5 says, Set a thief to catch a thief. Eh, what?’
He suddenly turned to Schavinsky, tapped him lightly on the knee, and with his lips uttered a hopeless sound: ‘Phwit! We do everything on the off-chance—higgledy-piggledy—anyhow! We can’t adapt ourselves to the terrain63; the shells never fit the guns; men in the firing line get nothing to eat for four days. And the Japanese—damn them—work like machines. Yellow monkeys—and civilisation64 is on their side. Damn them! Eh, what?’
‘So you think they may win?’ Schavinsky asked.
Again Ribnikov’s lips twitched65. Schavinsky had already managed to notice this habit of his. All through the conversation, especially when the captain asked a question and guardedly waited the answer, or nervously turned to face a fixed67 glance from some one, his lips would twitch66 suddenly, first on one side then on the other, and he would make strange grimaces68, like convulsive, malignant69 smiles. At the same time he would hastily lick his dry, cracked lips with the tip of his tongue—thin bluish lips like a monkey’s or a goat’s.
‘Who knows?’ said the captain. ‘God only.... You can’t set foot on your own doorstep without God’s help, as the proverb goes. Eh, what? The campaign isn’t over yet. Everything’s52 still to come. The Russian’s used to victory. Remember Poltava and the unforgettable Suvorov ... and Sebastopol!... and how we cleared out Napoleon, the greatest captain in the world, in 1812. Great is the God of Russia. What?’
As he began to talk the corners of his lips twitched into strange smiles, malignant, sneering, inhuman70, and an ominous71 yellow gleam played in his eyes, beneath the black frowning eyebrows.
At that moment they brought Schavinsky coffee.
‘Wouldn’t you like a glass of cognac?’ he asked the captain.
Ribnikov again tapped him lightly on the knee. ‘No thanks, old man. I’ve drunk a frightful72 lot to-day, damn it. My noddle’s fairly splitting. Damn it all, I’ve been pegging73 since the early morning. “Russia’s joy’s in the bottle!” Eh, what?’ he cried suddenly, with an air of bravado and an unexpectedly drunken note in his voice.
‘He’s shamming,’ Schavinsky instantly thought. But for some reason he did not want to leave off, and he went on treating the captain.
‘What do you say to beer ... red wine?’
‘No thanks. I’m drunk already without that. Gran’ merci.’
‘Have some soda74?’
The captain cheered up.
‘Yes, yes, please. Soda, certainly. I could do with a glass.’
53 They brought a siphon. Ribnikov drank a glass in large greedy gulps75. Even his hands began to tremble with eagerness. He poured himself out another immediately. At once it could be seen that he had been suffering a long torment76 of thirst.
‘He’s shamming,’ Schavinsky thought again. ‘What an amazing man! Excited and tired, but not the least bit drunk.’
‘It’s hot—damn it,’ Ribnikov said hoarsely. ‘But I think, gentlemen, I’m interfering77 with your business.’
‘No, it’s all right. We’re used to it,’ said Riazhkin shortly.
‘Haven’t you any fresh news of the war?’ Ribnikov asked. ‘A-ah, gentlemen,’ he suddenly cried and banged his sword. ‘What a lot of interesting copy I could give you about the war! If you like, I’ll dictate78, you need only write. You need only write. Just call it: Reminiscences of Captain Ribnikov, returned from the Front. No, don’t imagine—I’ll do it for nothing, free, gratis79. What do you say to that, my dear authors?’
‘Well, it might be done,’ came Matanya’s lazy voice from somewhere. ‘We’ll manage a little interview for you somehow. Tell me, Vladimir Ivanovich, do you know anything of the Fleet?’
‘No, nothing.... Is there any news?’
‘There’s an incredible story, Kondrashov heard from a friend on the Naval80 Staff. Hi! Pathological Case! Tell Schavinsky.’
54 The Pathological Case, a man with a black tragedy beard and a chewed-up face, spoke through his nose:
‘I can’t guarantee it, Vladimir Ivanovich. But the source seems reliable. There’s a nasty rumour81 going about the Staff that the great part of our Fleet has surrendered without fighting—that the sailors tied up the officers and ran up the white flag—something like twenty ships.’
‘That’s really terrible,’ said Schavinsky in a quiet voice. ‘Perhaps it’s not true, yet? Still—nowadays, the most impossible things are possible. By the way, do you know what’s happening in the naval ports—in all the ships’ crews there’s a terrible underground ferment82 going on. The naval officers ashore83 are frightened to meet the men in their command.’
The conversation became general. This inquisitive84, ubiquitous, cynical company was a sensitive receiver, unique of its kind, for every conceivable rumour and gossip of the town, which often reached the private saloon of ‘The Glory of Petrograd’ quicker than the minister’s sanctum. Each one had his news. It was so interesting that even the Three Musketeers, who seemed to count nothing in the world sacred or important, began to talk with unusual fervour.
‘There’s a rumour going about that the reserves in the rear of the army refuse to obey orders. The soldiers are shooting the officers with their own revolvers.’
‘I heard that the general in command hanged55 fifty sisters of mercy. Well, of course, they were only dressed as sisters of mercy.’
Schavinsky glanced round at Ribnikov. Now the talkative captain was silent. With his eyes screwed and his chest pressed upon the hilt of his sword, he was intently watching each of the speakers in turn. Under the tight-stretched skin of his cheekbones the sinews strongly played, and his lips moved as if he were repeating every word to himself.
‘My God, whom does he remind me of?’ the journalist thought impatiently for the tenth time. This so tormented85 him that he tried to make use of an old familiar trick ... to pretend to himself that he had completely forgotten the captain, and then suddenly to give him a quick glance. Usually that trick soon helped him to recall a name or a meeting-place, but now it was quite ineffective.
Under his stubborn look, Ribnikov turned round again, gave a deep sigh and shook his head sadly.
‘Awful news! Do you believe it? What? Even if it is true we need not despair. You know what we Russians say: “Whom God defends the pigs can’t eat,”—that’s to say, I mean that the pigs are the Japanese, of course.’
He held out stubbornly against Schavinsky’s steady look, and in his yellow animal eyes the journalist noticed a flame of implacable, inhuman hatred86.
Piestrukhin, the poet asleep on the sofa,56 suddenly got up, smacked his lips, and stared at the officer with dazed eyes.
‘Ah!... you’re still here, Jap mug,’ he said drunkenly, hardly moving his mouth. ‘You just get out of it!’
And he collapsed87 on the sofa again, turning on to his other side.
‘Japanese!’ Schavinsky thought with anxious curiosity, ‘That’s what he’s like,’ and drawled meaningly: ‘You are a jewel, Captain!’
‘I?’ the latter cried out. His eyes lost their fire, but his lips still twitched nervously. ‘I am Captain Ribnikov!’ He banged himself on the chest again with curious pride. ‘My Russian heart bleeds. Allow me to shake your hand. My head was grazed at Liao-Yang, and I was wounded in the leg at Mukden. You don’t believe it? I’ll show you now.’
He put his foot on a chair and began to pull up his trousers.
‘Don’t!... stop! we believe you,’ Schavinsky said with a frown. Nevertheless, his habitual88 curiosity enabled him to steal a glance at Ribnikov’s leg and to notice that this infantry89 captain’s underclothing was of expensive spun90 silk.
A messenger came into the saloon with a letter for Matanya.
‘That’s for you, Vladimir Ivanovich,’ said Matanya, when he had torn the envelope. ‘The race-card from the stable. Put one on Zenith both ways for me. I’ll pay you on Tuesday.’
57 ‘Come to the races with me, Captain?’ said Schavinsky.
‘Where? To the races? With pleasure.’ Ribnikov got up noisily, upsetting his chair. ‘Where the horses jump? Captain Ribnikov at your service. Into battle, on the march, to the devil’s dam! Ha, ha, ha! That’s me! Eh, what?’
* * * * *
When they were sitting in the cab, driving through Cabinetsky Street, Schavinsky slipped his arm through the officer’s, bent right down to his ear, and said, in a voice hardly audible:
‘Don’t be afraid. I shan’t betray you. You’re as much Ribnikov as I am Vanderbilt. You’re an officer on the Japanese Staff. I think you’re a colonel at least, and now you’re a military agent in Russia....’
Either Ribnikov did not hear the words for the noise of the wheels or he did not understand. Swaying gently from side to side, he spoke hoarsely with a fresh drunken enthusiasm:
‘We’re fairly on the spree now! Damn it all, I adore it. I’m not Captain Ribnikov, a Russian soldier, if I don’t love Russian writers! A magnificent lot of fellows! They drink like fishes, and know all about life. “Russia’s joy is in the bottle.” And I’ve been at it from the morning, old man!’
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1
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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annotations
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| n.注释( annotation的名词复数 )；附注 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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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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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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voluptuousness
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| n.风骚，体态丰满 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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lanky
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pimply
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| adj.肿泡的；有疙瘩的；多粉刺的；有丘疹的 | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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spat
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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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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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bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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picturesquely
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croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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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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prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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48
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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50
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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51
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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52
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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53
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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54
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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55
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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56
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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slaughters
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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pegging
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| n.外汇钉住，固定证券价格v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的现在分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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