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Updated: August 29, 2024
Pyetushkov flushed red. 'No, Onisim, I don't wish it. It is all nonsense. Yesterday, I ... It's a disgrace. You are right. One must cut it all short, once for all, as they say. Isn't that true? 'It's the gospel truth your honour speaks, Ivan Afanasiitch. Pyetushkov sank again into reverie. He wondered at himself, he did not seem to know himself. He sat without stirring and stared at the floor.
He began to get thin and pale, eat unwillingly and hurriedly, and did not smoke at all. Onisim could only shake his head, as he looked at him. 'You're not well, Ivan Afanasiitch, he said to him more than once. 'No, I'm all right, replied Pyetushkov. Onisim was not at home.
'Oh, you'd better go back to her, then! ... 'Stupid! Do you suppose that's why I say so? Understand me ... 'Oh! I understand you, Onisim answered with a heavy sigh. Another week passed by. Pyetushkov had positively given up talking with his Onisim, and had given up going out. From morning till night he lay on the sofa, his hands behind his head.
Ivan Afanasiitch got up, paced up and down the room, stood still before the window, and without turning his head, with some hesitation he articulated: 'Onisim! 'What say? 'Won't it be, you know, a little awkward for me with the old woman, eh? 'Oh, that's as you like. 'Oh, well, I only thought it might, perhaps. My comrades might notice it; it's a little ... But I'll think it over.
The whole morning he had been sitting in his little room, deliberating with himself, grumbling and swearing between his teeth, and, at last, he sallied off to Vassilissa. He found her in the shop. Praskovia Ivanovna was asleep on the stove, rhythmically and soothingly snoring. 'Ah, how d'ye do, Onisim Sergeitch, began Vassilissa, with a smile; 'why haven't we seen anything of you for so long?
'You couldn't get any rolls, he said to his Onisim; 'but here, I've got one, do you see? Onisim gave a bitter laugh. The same day, in the evening, as Ivan Afanasiitch was undressing, he asked his servant, 'Tell me, please, my lad, what's the girl like at the baker's, hey? Onisim looked away rather gloomily, and responded, 'What do you want to know for?
Intently and mournfully Onisim kept watch on his master. Pyetushkov lifted his head. 'Tell me, Onisim, he began, 'is it true, are there really such witches' spells? 'There are, to be sure there are, answered Onisim, as he thrust one foot forward. 'Does your honour know the non-commissioned officer, Krupovaty? ... His brother was ruined by witchcraft.
'You won't ... Well, as you will! God be with you. In that case, good-bye! Good-bye, Vassilissa. I wish you all happiness and prosperity ... but I ... but I ... And Pyetushkov sobbed violently. Onisim with all his might held him up from behind ... first his face worked, then he burst out crying. And Vassilissa cried too.
At first Pyetushkov bore up in an extraordinary way. He went out, and visited his comrades, with the exception, of course, of Bublitsyn; but in spite of the exaggerated approbation of Onisim, he almost went out of his mind at last from wretchedness, jealousy, and ennui. Conversations with Onisim about Vassilissa were the only thing that afforded him some consolation.
'Are you unwell, Ivan Afanasiitch? he asked Pyetushkov. Pyetushkov made no answer. 'Shall I go for the doctor? Onisim continued, after a brief pause. 'I'm quite well.... Go away, Ivan Afanasiitch articulated huskily. 'Well? ... no, you're not well, Ivan Afanasiitch.... Is this what you call being well? Pyetushkov did not speak. 'Just look at yourself.
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