Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [162]
‘Why not? I’ve already got my passport. I can show you if you like. Bought a trunk too.’
‘You won’t go!’ Tarantyev repeated indifferently. ‘You’d better let me have the rent for six months in advance.’
‘I have no money.’
‘You can get it, can’t you? Ivan Matveyevich, the landlady’s brother, will stand no nonsense. He’ll take out a summons at once: you won’t be able to wriggle out of it then. Besides, I’ve paid him with my own money, so you’d better pay me.’
‘Where did you get so much money?’ asked Oblomov.
‘It’s none of your business. I’ve been repaid an old debt. Come on, let’s have the money. That’s what I’ve come for.’
‘All right. I’ll call one day this week and get a new tenant for the flat. I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry now.’
He began buttoning his coat.
‘And what sort of a flat do you want?’ Tarantyev said. ‘You won’t find a better. You haven’t seen it, have you?’
‘I don’t want to see it,’ replied Oblomov. ‘What do I want to move there for? It’s too far – –’
‘From what?’ Tarantyev interrupted rudely.
But Oblomov did not say what it was far from.
‘From the centre,’ he added later.
‘What centre? What do you want it for? To lie about?’
‘No, I don’t lie about any more.’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t. To-day – er – I – –’
‘What?’ Tarantyev interrupted.
‘I am not dining at home.’
‘Give me the money and then you can go to the devil!’
‘What money?’ Oblomov repeated impatiently. ‘I’ll call at the flat soon and talk it over with the landlady.’
‘What landlady? What does she know? She’s a woman! No, sir. You talk to her brother – then you’ll see!’
‘All right, I’ll call and talk to him.’
‘Will you? I don’t think! Give me the money and go where you like.’
‘I haven’t any money. I shall have to borrow.’
‘Well, in that case you’d better pay for my cab fare,’ Tarantyev persisted. ‘Three roubles.’
‘Where is your cabby? And why so much as three roubles?’
‘I’ve dismissed him. Why so much? Because he didn’t want to bring me here. Not over the sand, he said. And there’ll be another three roubles back!’
‘You can go by bus from here for half a rouble,’ said Oblomov. ‘Here you are.’
He gave him four roubles. Tarantyev put them in his pocket, and then asked:
‘What about dinner money?’
‘What dinner?’
‘I shall be late for dinner in town and I shall have to call at a pub on the way. Everything’s terribly expensive here: they’re sure to charge me five roubles at least!’
Oblomov took out another rouble and threw it to Tarantyev in silence. He did not sit down because he was anxious that his visitor should go as soon as possible; but Tarantyev did not go.
‘Tell them to give me something to eat,’ he said.
‘But aren’t you going to have your dinner at a pub?’ Oblomov observed.
‘Dinner – yes! But it’s only just gone one.’
Oblomov told Zakhar to give him something to eat.
‘There’s nothing in the house, sir,’ Zakhar said dryly, looking sullenly at Tarantyev. ‘Nothing has been prepared. And when, sir,’ he addressed Tarantyev, ‘are you going to return the master’s shirt and waistcoat?’
‘What shirt and waistcoat?’ Tarantyev asked. ‘I returned them long ago.’
‘When was that?’ asked Zakhar.
‘Why, my good man, I handed the things to you when you were moving, didn’t I? You shoved them into some bundle, and now you ask for them.’
Zakhar was dumbfounded.
‘Good Lord, sir,’ he cried, addressing Oblomov, ‘that’s a scandal, that is!’
‘Go on, tell me another,’ Tarantyev replied. ‘I suppose you sold them for drink and now you ask me for them.’
‘No, sir, I have never in my life sold my master’s things for drink,’ Zakhar wheezed. ‘Now you, sir – –’
‘Stop it, Zakhar!’ Oblomov interrupted him sternly.
‘Didn’t you take our broom and two of our cups?’ Zakhar asked again.
‘What broom?’ Tarantyev thundered. ‘Oh, you old rascal! Come on, you’d better give me a bite of something!’
‘Do you hear how he swears at me, sir?’ said Zakhar. ‘There is no food in the house – not even any bread, and Anisya has gone out,’ he declared firmly and went out