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Updated: June 17, 2025
He saw the tall figure of Aristid Fomich Kuvalda, in a gray cap with a red band, with his arms bound behind his back, being led away. Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled.
For a fortnight the inhabitants of the dosshouse awaited the further development of events, but Petunikoff never once visited the building. It was known that he was not in town, and that the copy of the petition had not yet been handed to him. Kuvalda raged at the delays of the civil court.
"It teaches one . . . I learned to read there . . . I also got this book . . . And all these you see, free. . . ." When the teacher appeared in the dosshouse, Tyapa had already lived there for some time. He looked long into the teacher's face, as if to discover what kind of a man he was.
The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse and died away. "This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging the teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain listened to his breathing, which was rapid and uneven, and looked at his sunken grey face. He sighed and looked upon him, knitting his eyebrows.
The Captain stopped and thought. "And what is right on this earth? Go to the Devil!" And he pushed Tyapa aside. On the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, seeming to chase each other. The teacher lay on the board at full length and snored.
The drops of rain sounded strangely on the iron roof of the dosshouse. Above the mountain where the town lay the ringing of bells was heard, rung by the watchers in the churches.
I tell you frankly that she's too good for you. Look how she's shaped in Charles Street! As if she'd been born to it. And never once never once allowed to anybody that she's been in the wrong. Not to a soul. And neither you nor I believe that she has nor did old Dosshouse, or whatever his name was." Ingram knew quite well to whom he so airily referred.
All things are relative in this world, and a man cannot sink into any condition so bad that it could not be worse. One day, toward the end of September, Captain Aristid Kuvalda was sitting, as was his custom, on the bench near the door of the dosshouse, looking at the stone building built by the merchant Petunikoff close to Vaviloff's eating-house, and thinking deeply.
On hearing these stories, the heroes of which always seemed to be saints, kings, priests, or generals, even the inmates of the dosshouse spat and rubbed their eyes in astonishment at the imagination of the Deacon, who told them shameless tales of lewd, fantastic adventures, with blinking eyes and a passionless expression of countenance.
"You are the proof of that," said Petunikoff quietly, while his eyes shot forth poisonous glances. And he went away, leaving Kuvalda under the pleasant impression that the merchant was afraid of him. If he were not afraid of him he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. But then he would think twice before turning him out, because of the five roubles a month.
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