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Updated: June 22, 2025
His fatness is unpleasant, flabby-looking, and he is sallow as people are who drink too much and sleep irregularly. "And now we might have a second glass," says Malahin. "It's cold now, it's no sin to drink. Please take some. So I can rely upon you, Mr. Guard, that there will be no hindrance or unpleasantness for the rest of the journey. For you know in moving cattle every hour is precious.
The inspector takes him by the arm and, still talking with heat, goes off with him to the platform. After the third bell the station-master runs into his room, and sits down at his table. "Listen, with what number am I to go?" asks Malahin. The station-master looks at a form and says indignantly: "Are you Malahin, eight vanloads?
You must pay a rouble a van and six roubles and twenty kopecks for stamps. You have no stamps. Total, fourteen roubles, twenty kopecks." Receiving the money, he writes something down, dries it with sand, and, hurriedly snatching up a bundle of forms, goes quickly out of the room. At ten o'clock in the evening Malahin gets an answer from the traffic manager: "Give precedence."
The young man discreetly takes hold of the fur of Malahin's coat with two pink fingers and, shifting from one foot to the other, explains affably and convincingly that such and such numbers have gone already, and that such and such are going, and that he is ready to do for Malahin everything in his power.
After selling the bullocks and buying for his family presents such as they could perfectly well have bought at home, Malahin and Yasha get ready for their journey back. Three hours before the train goes the old man, who has already had a drop too much with the purchaser and so is fussy, goes down with Yasha to the restaurant and sits down to drink tea.
"It's a nice job taking you by rail, you wretched brutes!" mutters Malahin. "I could wish you were dead to get it over! It makes me sick to look at you!" At midday the train stops at a big station where, according to the regulations, there was drinking water provided for cattle. Water is given to the cattle, but the bullocks will not drink it: the water is too cold....
Speak more clearly, I don't understand! How is it? Do you want me to be everywhere at once?" He showers questions on him, and for no apparent reason grows sterner and sterner. Malahin is already feeling in his pocket for his pocketbook, but in the end the station-master, aggrieved and indignant, for some unknown reason jumps up from his seat and runs out of the room.
It is pleasant to Malahin to talk to educated, cultured people. He strokes his beard and joins in the conversation with dignity. "Take this case, gentlemen, for instance," he says. "I am transporting cattle to X. Eight vanloads.
Malahin looks at the guard, reflects, and mutters mechanically as though to himself: "God be my judge, I have reckoned it and even jotted it down in a notebook; we have wasted thirty-four hours standing still on the journey. If you go on like this, either the cattle will die, or they won't pay me two roubles for the meat when I do get there. It's not traveling, but ruination."
In the morning Malahin wakes up again in a bad humor, but his wrath vents itself not on Yasha but the cattle. "The cattle are done for!" he grumbles. "They are done for! They are at the last gasp! God be my judge! they will all die. Tfoo!"
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