Forty Stories - Anton Chekhov [51]
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Of course you did! The whole mob of people heard you. You said: ‘Cases like this don’t come under the jurisdiction of the justices of the peace.…’ Your Honor, my blood boiled! I was stunned. ‘Say that again, you so-and-so,’ says I. ‘Just you repeat it.…’ And so I said to him: ‘How can you bring yourself to say those words about His Honor? You, a police officer, dare to set yourself in opposition to constituted authority? Do you realize,’ says I, ‘that for speaking in that fashion His Honor can have you brought up before the provincial gendarmerie on the grounds of gross misconduct? Do you realize,’ says I, ‘that for those political observations His Honor could have you summarily dismissed?’ And then the village elder interfered and said: ‘His Honor can’t settle anything outside his powers—only minor cases come within his jurisdiction.’ That’s what he said, and everybody heard him. ‘How dare you set the authorities at nought?’ says I. ‘Don’t go playing jokes on me, brother, or you’ll come to grief. Why, when I was at Warsaw and later when I was appointed doorkeeper at the junior high school for boys, as soon as I heard about anything that wasn’t quite proper, I’d take a look down the street and see whether there was a policeman in sight. ‘Come along here, Officer,’ I’d say, and I’d make a full report to him. But here in the village, who does one report to? So my blood was boiling. I was outraged by the way people nowadays assert their rights and commit acts of insubordination. So I belted him—oh, I didn’t use undue force, just a gentle tap, you understand, to remind him not to talk about Your Honor in that way. The officer jumped to the side of the village elder. So, of course, I belted him, too.… That’s how it all began. I was in a rage, Your Honor. It’s understandable. You have to belt people sometimes. If you don’t sometimes belt one of those mugwumps, why, you have a sin on your conscience. Especially when, as it happens, he deserves it, and there’s a disturbance of the public peace.”
“Wait a moment. There are some people charged with the duty of keeping public order. The officer, the patrolman, the village elder …”
“The officer can’t keep an eye on everything. The officer just doesn’t understand things as I do.”
“Does it occur to you that it is none of your business?”
“What’s that, sir? None of my business? Why, that’s a queer thing to say. People can go on a rampage, and it’s none of my business! Am I supposed to pat them on the head? They are complaining because I won’t let them sing songs.… What’s the good of songs? Instead of getting on with something useful, they sing songs. And recently they’ve been sitting up at night, keeping the lights burning. They should be in bed. Instead of that they’re sitting up and talking and joking. I made a report about that.”
“What did you say in the report?”
“They sit up and keep their lights burning.”
Prishibeyev removed a greasy scrap of paper from his pocket, put on his spectacles, and read:
“The following peasants were seen sitting up with the lights on—Ivan Prokhorov, Savva Mikiphorov, Pyotr Petrov. The soldier’s widow Shustrova lives in sin with Semyon Kisslov.