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Updated: May 26, 2025
Belyaev, having nothing better to do, began watching Alyosha's face. He had never before during the whole of his intimacy with Olga Ivanovna paid any attention to the boy, and had completely ignored his existence; the boy had been before his eyes, but he had not cared to think why he was there and what part he was playing.
"No." "Why is it that if you pull one hair it hurts, but if you pull a lot at once it doesn't hurt a bit? Ha, ha! And, you know, it's a pity you don't have whiskers. Here ought to be shaved . . . but here at the sides the hair ought to be left. . . ." The boy nestled up to Belyaev and began playing with his watch-chain. "When I go to the high-school," he said, "mother is going to buy me a watch.
"Your Pelagea, like a regular fool, takes them about to restaurants and arranges meetings with their papa. But that's not the point: the point is that their dear papa is a victim, while I'm a wretch who has broken up both your lives. . ." "Nikolay Ilyitch," moaned Alyosha. "Why, you promised on your word of honour!" "Oh, get away!" said Belyaev, waving him off.
A WELL-FED, red-cheeked young man called Nikolay Ilyitch Belyaev, of thirty-two, who was an owner of house property in Petersburg, and a devotee of the race-course, went one evening to see Olga Ivanovna Irnin, with whom he was living, or, to use his own expression, was dragging out a long, wearisome romance.
"This is more important than any word of honour. It's the hypocrisy revolts me, the lying! . . ." "I don't understand it," said Olga Ivanovna, and tears glistened in her eyes. "Tell me, Alyosha," she turned to her son. "Do you see your father?" Alyosha did not hear her; he was looking with horror at Belyaev. "It's impossible," said his mother; "I will go and question Pelagea."
The boy sprang up from his place and ran out. A minute later a lady came into the room with a little girl; this was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha's mother. Alyosha followed them in, skipping and jumping, humming aloud and waving his hands. Belyaev nodded, and went on walking up and down. "Of course, whose fault is it if not mine?" he muttered with a snort. "He is right! He is an injured husband."
Olga Ivanovna went out. "I say, you promised on your word of honour!" said Alyosha, trembling all over. Belyaev dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and went on walking up and down. He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy's presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys.
"Why, listen to this young gentleman!" said Belyaev, pointing to Alyosha. Alyosha flushed crimson, then turned pale, and his whole face began working with terror. "Nikolay Ilyitch," he said in a loud whisper. "Sh-sh!" Olga Ivanovna looked in surprise at Alyosha, then at Belyaev, then at Alyosha again. "Just ask him," Belyaev went on.
Alyosha blushed, and in great confusion, feeling caught in a lie, began zealously scratching the locket with his nail. . . . Belyaev looked steadily into his face and asked: "Do you see your father?" "N-no!" "Come, speak frankly, on your honour. . . . I see from your face you are telling a fib. Once you've let a thing slip out it's no good wriggling about it. Tell me, do you see him?
"H'm! . . . Why?" "That's what father says. 'You are unhappy children, he says. It's strange to hear him, really. 'You are unhappy, he says, 'I am unhappy, and mother's unhappy. You must pray to God, he says; 'for yourselves and for her." Alyosha let his eyes rest on a stuffed bird and sank into thought. "So . . ." growled Belyaev. "So that's how you are going on.
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