BETWEEN twelve and one at night a tall gentleman, wearing a top-hat and a coat with a hood1, stops before the door of Marya Petrovna Koshkin, a midwife and an old maid. Neither face nor hand can be distinguished2 in the autumn darkness, but in the very manner of his coughing and the ringing of the bell a certain solidity, positiveness, and even impressiveness can be discerned. After the third ring the door opens and Marya Petrovna herself appears. She has a man’s overcoat flung on over her white petticoat. The little lamp with the green shade which she holds in her hand throws a greenish light over her sleepy, freckled3 face, her scraggy neck, and the lank4, reddish hair that strays from under her cap.
“Can I see the midwife?” asks the gentleman.
“I am the midwife. What do you want?”
The gentleman walks into the entry and Marya Petrovna sees facing her a tall, well-made man, no longer young, but with a handsome, severe face and bushy whiskers.
“I am a collegiate assessor, my name is Kiryakov,” he says. “I came to fetch you to my wife. Only please make haste.”
“Very good . . .” the midwife assents5. “I’ll dress at once, and I must trouble you to wait for me in the parlour.”
Kiryakov takes off his overcoat and goes into the parlour. The greenish light of the lamp lies sparsely6 on the cheap furniture in patched white covers, on the pitiful flowers and the posts on which ivy7 is trained. . . . There is a smell of geranium and carbolic. The little clock on the wall ticks timidly, as though abashed8 at the presence of a strange man.
“I am ready,” says Marya Petrovna, coming into the room five minutes later, dressed, washed, and ready for action. “Let us go.”
“Yes, you must make haste,” says Kiryakov. “And, by the way, it is not out of place to enquire—what do you ask for your services?”
“I really don’t know . . .” says Marya Petrovna with an embarrassed smile. “As much as you will give.”
“No, I don’t like that,” says Kiryakov, looking coldly and steadily9 at the midwife. “An arrangement beforehand is best. I don’t want to take advantage of you and you don’t want to take advantage of me. To avoid misunderstandings it is more sensible for us to make an arrangement beforehand.”
“I work myself and am accustomed to respect the work of others. I don’t like injustice12. It will be equally unpleasant to me if I pay you too little, or if you demand from me too much, and so I insist on your naming your charge.”
“Well, there are such different charges.”
“H’m. In view of your hesitation13, which I fail to understand, I am constrained14 to fix the sum myself. I can give you two roubles.”
“Good gracious! . . . Upon my word! . . .” says Marya Petrovna, turning crimson15 and stepping back. “I am really ashamed. Rather than take two roubles I will come for nothing . . . . Five roubles, if you like.”
“Two roubles, not a kopeck more. I don’t want to take advantage of you, but I do not intend to be overcharged.”
“As you please, but I am not coming for two roubles. . . .”
“But by law you have not the right to refuse.”
“Very well, I will come for nothing.”
“I won’t have you for nothing. All work ought to receive remuneration. I work myself and I understand that. . . .”
“I won’t come for two roubles,” Marya Petrovna answers mildly. “I’ll come for nothing if you like.”
“In that case I regret that I have troubled you for nothing. . . . I have the honour to wish you good-bye.”
“Well, you are a man!” says Marya Petrovna, seeing him into the entry. “I will come for three roubles if that will satisfy you.”
Kiryakov frowns and ponders for two full minutes, looking with concentration on the floor, then he says resolutely16, “No,” and goes out into the street. The astonished and disconcerted midwife fastens the door after him and goes back into her bedroom.
“He’s good-looking, respectable, but how queer, God bless the man! . . .” she thinks as she gets into bed.
But in less than half an hour she hears another ring; she gets up and sees the same Kiryakov again.
“Extraordinary the way things are mismanaged. Neither the chemist, nor the police, nor the house-porters can give me the address of a midwife, and so I am under the necessity of assenting17 to your terms. I will give you three roubles, but . . . I warn you beforehand that when I engage servants or receive any kind of services, I make an arrangement beforehand in order that when I pay there may be no talk of extras, tips, or anything of the sort. Everyone ought to receive what is his due.”
Marya Petrovna has not listened to Kiryakov for long, but already she feels that she is bored and repelled18 by him, that his even, measured speech lies like a weight on her soul. She dresses and goes out into the street with him. The air is still but cold, and the sky is so overcast19 that the light of the street lamps is hardly visible. The sloshy snow squelches20 under their feet. The midwife looks intently but does not see a cab.
“I suppose it is not far?” she asks.
“No, not far,” Kiryakov answers grimly.
They walk down one turning, a second, a third. . . . Kiryakov strides along, and even in his step his respectability and positiveness is apparent.
“What awful weather!” the midwife observes to him.
But he preserves a dignified21 silence, and it is noticeable that he tries to step on the smooth stones to avoid spoiling his goloshes. At last after a long walk the midwife steps into the entry; from which she can see a big decently furnished drawing-room. There is not a soul in the rooms, even in the bedroom where the woman is lying in labour. . . . The old women and relations who flock in crowds to every confinement22 are not to be seen. The cook rushes about alone, with a scared and vacant face. There is a sound of loud groans23.
Three hours pass. Marya Petrovna sits by the mother’s bedside and whispers to her. The two women have already had time to make friends, they have got to know each other, they gossip, they sigh together. . . .
“You mustn’t talk,” says the midwife anxiously, and at the same time she showers questions on her.
Then the door opens and Kiryakov himself comes quietly and stolidly24 into the room. He sits down in the chair and strokes his whiskers. Silence reigns25. Marya Petrovna looks timidly at his handsome, passionless, wooden face and waits for him to begin to talk, but he remains26 absolutely silent and absorbed in thought. After waiting in vain, the midwife makes up her mind to begin herself, and utters a phrase commonly used at confinements27.
“Well now, thank God, there is one human being more in the world!”
“Yes, that’s agreeable,” said Kiryakov, preserving the wooden expression of his face, “though indeed, on the other hand, to have more children you must have more money. The baby is not born fed and clothed.”
A guilty expression comes into the mother’s face, as though she had brought a creature into the world without permission or through idle caprice. Kiryakov gets up with a sigh and walks with solid dignity out of the room.
“What a man, bless him!” says the midwife to the mother. “He’s so stern and does not smile.”
The mother tells her that he is always like that. . . . He is honest, fair, prudent28, sensibly economical, but all that to such an exceptional degree that simple mortals feel suffocated29 by it. His relations have parted from him, the servants will not stay more than a month; they have no friends; his wife and children are always on tenterhooks30 from terror over every step they take. He does not shout at them nor beat them, his virtues31 are far more numerous than his defects, but when he goes out of the house they all feel better, and more at ease. Why it is so the woman herself cannot say.
“The basins must be properly washed and put away in the store cupboard,” says Kiryakov, coming into the bedroom. “These bottles must be put away too: they may come in handy.”
What he says is very simple and ordinary, but the midwife for some reason feels flustered32. She begins to be afraid of the man and shudders33 every time she hears his footsteps. In the morning as she is preparing to depart she sees Kiryakov’s little son, a pale, close-cropped schoolboy, in the dining-room drinking his tea. . . . Kiryakov is standing10 opposite him, saying in his flat, even voice:
“You know how to eat, you must know how to work too. You have just swallowed a mouthful but have not probably reflected that that mouthful costs money and money is obtained by work. You must eat and reflect. . . .”
The midwife looks at the boy’s dull face, and it seems to her as though the very air is heavy, that a little more and the very walls will fall, unable to endure the crushing presence of the peculiar34 man. Beside herself with terror, and by now feeling a violent hatred35 for the man, Marya Petrovna gathers up her bundles and hurriedly departs.
Half-way home she remembers that she has forgotten to ask for her three roubles, but after stopping and thinking for a minute, with a wave of her hand, she goes on.
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1
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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2
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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3
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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5
assents
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| 同意，赞同( assent的名词复数 ) | |
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6
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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7
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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8
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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10
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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11
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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12
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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13
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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14
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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15
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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16
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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17
assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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18
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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19
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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20
squelches
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的第三人称单数 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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21
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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22
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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23
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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24
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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25
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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26
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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27
confinements
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| 限制，被监禁( confinement的名词复数 )； 分娩 | |
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28
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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29
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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30
tenterhooks
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| n.坐立不安 | |
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31
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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32
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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33
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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34
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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35
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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