Chapter 31 Chapter Thirteen Makeup (1)

After dealing with the Pavel papers, he had no reason to stay in Petersburg.The train leaves at eight o'clock and arrives in Dresden on Thursday, where he can be with his wife and children.As the departure time approached, he became less and less convinced that he could forget the pictures on the shrine.He could not believe that he would blow out the candle and leave Pavel's room in the hands of a stranger. But if he doesn't leave tonight, when will he leave? "Eternal lodger"—where did Anna Sergeyevna find that word?He is waiting for a ghost.How long can he wait?Unless he finds another woman, he will never leave after taking root.In that case, what about his wife?

He was in a mess.He can't figure out what he wants.All he knew was that eight o'clock hung over his head, as if his death sentence had been pronounced.He finally went to the janitor of the apartment, bargained for a long time, and asked the janitor to find a messenger, took his ticket to the station, and changed the ticket to the next day. When he came back, he was surprised to find his door was wide open.Inside, a woman stood with her back to him, searching for something at the shrine.He felt a sudden pang of guilt, thinking that his wife had chased him to Petersburg.But immediately, he recognized who it was, and a cry of protest burst out of his throat.Sergei Nechayev, in the same blue suit and beanie as that day!

Matrona came in at this moment.Before he could speak, Matrona struck first. "You shouldn't have sneaked in like this!" she cried. "But what are you two doing in my room?" "We're just at—" Matryona, in high spirits, was about to say, when Nechayev interrupted her. "Someone brought the police to us," he said, taking a few steps closer to him. "I hope it wasn't you." Beneath the smell of lavender, he smelled a man's sweat.On Nechayev's throat, there were streaks of makeup and beard stubble in the middle. "What a vile accusation, so vile. I repeat: what are you doing in my room?" He turned to Matrona. "And you—you're sick, you should stay in bed!"

Matrona ignored it and dragged out Pavel's suitcase by herself. "I said he should have Pavel Alexandrovitch's clothes," she went on before he could retort: ​​"Yes, he should! Pavel bought the suit with his own money." .Pavel is his friend!" Matrona opened the suitcase and took out the white suit. "Found it!" she said defiantly. Nechayev glanced at the clothes.He spread his clothes on the bed and unbuttoned his own. "Please explain—" "No time. I need a shirt." He pulled his arm out of his sleeve.The clothes fell off and piled up at his feet.He stood in front of the pile of clothes, his cotton underwear and black leather boots filthy.He wore no socks, and his legs were bony and fluffy.

Matrona was not at all embarrassed.She helped Nechayev dress Pavel.He wanted to protest, but the young man didn't take an old guy like him seriously.What can he say if the ears can't hear him? "What did your Finnish friend do, she's not with you?" Nechayev hastily put on his jacket.The jacket was too long, too wide at the shoulders, and it didn't fit or look as good on him as Pavel did.In desperation, he felt a little proud of his son.Undeserved feeling! "I have to leave her," Nechayev said. "It's important to leave quickly." "In other words, you abandoned her," he continued, without waiting for Nechayev to reply. "Go ahead and wash your face. You look like a clown."

Matrona ran out quickly.When she came back, she had a damp cloth in her hand.Nechayev wiped his face with a damp cloth. "Wipe on the forehead too," said Matrona. "Here." She took a wet cloth from Nechayev and wiped off the powder sticking to his eyebrows. little sister.Did she treat Pavel the same way?Something was gnawing at his heart.It's jealousy. Nechayev did not get angry at his mockery. "I need money," he said. He turned to face the child. "Do you have money?" Matrona rushed out of the house.They heard chairs being dragged across the floor.When she came back, she was holding a money pot full of coins in her hand.She dumped all the coins on the bed and counted them. "It's not enough," Nechayev muttered endlessly. "Five rubles and fifteen kopeks," Matrona announced aloud.

"I need more." "Then go to the street and ask for it. Don't expect me to give it to you. Go and ask for your relief in the name of the people." The two glared at each other. "Why don't you give him the money?" Matrona demanded him. "He's Pavel's friend!" "I have no money for him." "You lied! You told mother you had a lot of money. Why didn't you give him half? Pavel Alexandrovitch would have given him half." Pavel, my God! "I didn't say that, I don't have that much money." "Quick, give it to me!" Nechayev grabbed his arm, his eyes sparkling.He smelled the young man's guilty conscience again.Seriously, poor guy!He felt sorry for him, but he wanted to close the door on purpose. "Absolutely not."

"Why are you so stingy?" Matrona yelled, not hiding her contempt. "I'm not mean." "You are stingy! You are stingy to Pavel, and now you are stingy to his friends! You have a lot of money, but you keep it for yourself." She turned to Nechaev. "He earns thousands of rubles for his books, but he keeps them for himself! It's true! Pavel told me!" "Nonsense! Pavel has no idea about money." "Really! Pavel has seen your drawer! He has seen your ledger!" "Damn Pavel! Pavel can't read ledgers at all, he only sees what he wants to see! How many years I have been in debt, you can't imagine!" He turned to Nechayev and said, "This conversation is ridiculous. I have no money for you, and I think you'd better get out of here at once."

Instead, Nechayev became more unhurried.He even laughed. "There's nothing absurd about this conversation," he said. "On the contrary, it has served me well. I have always been suspicious of those who are Lao Tzu. Their real sin is greed. They never admit it. They want to keep everything for themselves. Money bags to death They don't want to let go. The money bag is everything to them. They don't even think about the result. I don't believe what your stepson said, because I heard you are a gambler. I think gamblers don't care much about money. But there's another side to gambling, isn't there? I should have realized that. You're supposed to be one of those people who can never get enough of a game and always want more money."

Funny accusation.He thought of Anja in Dresden, who was saving so little to feed and clothe her children.He thought of the collar of the coat he was wearing turned upside down, and the holes in his socks.He thought of writing letters year after year, lowering himself, begging Strakhov, Krajewski, Ljubimov, Strovsky to advance him the royalties.Miser Dostoyevsky, -- how absurd!He felt in his pocket and took out his last few rubles. "Here you are," he said loudly, holding the money to Nechayev's nose, "that's all!" Nechayev looked at his outstretched hand coldly.With a sudden movement, he snatched the money.A ruble fell to the floor and rolled under the bed.Matrona quickly ticked it off.

He tried to get his money back, even if it cost the young man a fight.Nechayev gently pushed him aside and stuffed the money into his pocket as quickly as before. "Wait... wait... wait," murmured Nechayev, "in your heart, Fyodor Mikhailovich, in your heart, for your son's sake, you are Trying to give me the money, I know." He took a step back and straightened his clothes, as if to brag about his victory.