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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Your attention is so vitally concentrated on this question." "I did try!" answered Platonov with a cheerless smile. "But nothing came of it. I started writing and at once became entangled in various 'whats, 'which's, 'was's. The epithets prove flat. The words grow cold on the page. It's all a cud of some sort.
What swearing virulent, mocking, coarse poured down upon him when for the third or fourth time he had been gaping and had slowed up the passing: two watermelons, not thrown in time, had smashed against the pavement with a succulent crunch, while the completely lost Platonov dropped the one which he was holding in his hands as well.
My human dignity cannot reconcile itself to this. But guilty in all that has happened, and therefore in my death as well, am I alone; for that I, obeying a momentary bestial inclination, took a woman without love, for money. For that reason have I earned the punishment which I myself lay upon me..." "I am sorry for him..." added Platonov quietly. Jennka dilated her nostrils.
"Shall I speak on?" continued Platonov undecidedly. "Are you bored?" "No, no, I beg of you, speak on." "They also lie, and lie especially innocently, to those who preen themselves before them on political hobby horses. Here they agree with anything you want. I shall tell her to-day: Away with the modern bourgeois order!
Platonov got up in silence and went toward the door. "It's not worth while, Sergei Ivanich. Drop it..." Jennie stopped him. "Oh no, why not?" objected the reporter. "I shall do a very simple and innocent thing, take Pasha here, and if need be pay for her, even. Let her lie down here for a while on the divan and rest, even though a little ... Niura, run for a pillow quick!"
He heard me out with great attention, and this is what he said, literally: 'Don't get offended, Platonov, if I tell you that there's almost not a single person of those I have met during my life, who wouldn't thrust themes for novels and stories upon me, or teach me as to what ought to be written up.
He rapidly and haughtily walked to the door. It was necessary for him to pass almost right up against Platonov, who, out of the corner of his eye, animal-like, was watching his every movement. For a moment in the mind of the student flashed a desire to strike Platonov unexpectedly, from the side, and jump away the comrades would surely part them and not allow a fight.
"Ah, that's very nice," smiled Yarchenko charmingly, and for some reason once more pressed Platonov's hand vigorously. "I read your report afterwards: very exactly, circumstantially and skillfully put together ... Won't you favor me? ... To your health!" "Then allow me, too," said Platonov. "Onuphriy Zakharich, pour out for us again ... one ... two, three, four ... nine glasses of cognac..."
This life has eaten out everything within me save malice. And I am flabby, and my malice is flabby ... I'll see some little boy again, will have pity on him, will be punishing myself again ... No, it's better ... better so! ..." She became silent. And Platonov did not know what to say. It became oppressive and awkward for both.
And it is not as difficult to catch a watermelon as to be able to throw it. Platonov remembered well his first experiences of last year.
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