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Updated: June 18, 2025
Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. The courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly. "Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the whip. The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. The teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected from beneath them.
And when Vaviloff had received the hundred roubles and signed the paper, he threw the pen down on the table and said bitterly: "Now I will have a nice time! They will laugh at me, they will cry shame on me, the devils!" "But you tell them that I paid all your claim," suggested Petunikoff, calmly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them float upward. "But do you think they will believe it?
Petunikoff was silent for a moment, then looked at him, and suddenly asked, coldly and drily, "And why do you wish to do so?" Vaviloff did not expect such a question, and therefore had no reply ready. In his opinion the question was quite unworthy of any attention, and so he laughed at young Petunikoff. "That is easy to understand. Men like to live peacefully with one another."
Petunikoff put out his trembling hand towards his mite, and protecting his head from Kuvalda's fist with the other hand, said: "You are my witnesses, Sir Inspector, and you good people!" "We are not good people, merchant!" said the voice of Abyedok, trembling with anger.
"He writes for the papers ... He is one of your lodgers ... there they all are outside ... Clear them away, for Christ's sake! The robbers! They disturb and annoy everyone in the street. One cannot live for them ... And they are all desperate fellows ... You had better take care, or else they will rob or burn you ..." "And this reporter, who is he?" asked Petunikoff, with interest. "He?
"I feel inclined to commit a murder," declared Martyanoff, laughing his dull laugh. "Upon whom?" asked Abyedok, edging away from him. "It's all the same to me ... Petunikoff ... Egorka ... or even you!" "And why?" inquired Kuvalda. "I want to go to Siberia ... I have had enough of this vile life ... one learns how to live there!"
"But all the same, says the teacher, "merchants, so to speak, created Genoa, Venice, Holland and all these were merchants, merchants from England, India, the Stroyanoff merchants. . . ." "I do not speak of these men, I am thinking of Judas Petunikoff, who is one of them. . . ." "And you say you have nothing to do with them?" asks the teacher quietly. "But do you think that I do not live? Aha!
Petunikoff sighed deeply, crossed himself again, and spoke in an angry tone. "By God! It is just as I feared. It always ends in your having to come here... Ay, ay, ay! God save everyone. Times without number have I refused to lease this house to this man, and he has always won me over, and I was afraid. You know... They are such awful people ... better give it them, I thought, or else ..."
"Yes, they have a particularly good way of teaching in Siberia," agreed the Captain, sadly. They spoke no more of Petunikoff, or of the turning out of the inhabitants of the dosshouse. They all knew that they would have to leave soon, therefore they did not think the matter worth discussion.
"Do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" asked Petunikoff calmly, and added, with a sigh, "I have no doubt he would have landed you in rather an awkward fix . . . had we not taken pity upon you." "Ah!" And the angry soldier raised his hand. "There are two of them . . . One of them discovered it, the other wrote the petition, the accursed reporter!" "Why the reporter?"
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