Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [203]
‘Let them,’ Tarantyev observed. ‘And there aren’t any real heirs, either: third cousins, some very distant relatives.’
‘It’s his marriage I’m afraid of!’ said Ivan Matveyevich.
‘Don’t be afraid, I tell you. Mark my words!’
‘No?’ Ivan Matveyevich retorted gaily. ‘You know,’ he added in a whisper, ‘he’s casting sheep’s eyes at my sister.’
‘Not really?’ Tarantyev said in astonishment.
‘Mum’s the word! I tell you I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Well, old man,’ Tarantyev said, hardly able to recover from his surprise, ‘I’d never have dreamed of it! And what about her?’
‘What about her? You know her, don’t you?’ he said, banging his fist on the table. ‘She can’t be expected to look after her interests, can she? A cow – that’s what she is, a blamed cow: hit her or hug her, she goes on grinning like a horse at a nose-bagful of oats. Another woman in her place would – oh, well! But I’ll keep an eye on them, I promise you – you realize what it may mean, don’t you?’
11
‘FOUR months! Another four months of constraint, secret meetings, suspicious faces, smiles!’ thought Oblomov as he mounted the stairs to the Ilyinskys’ flat. ‘Good Lord, when will it end? And I’m sure Olga will hurry me: to-day, to-morrow. She is so insistent, so inexorable! It’s difficult to convince her….’
Oblomov reached Olga’s room without meeting anybody. Olga was sitting in her small sitting-room, next to her bedroom, absorbed in reading a book. He appeared before her so suddenly that she gave a start, then held out her hand affectionately and with a smile, but her eyes seemed to be still reading the book; she looked absent-minded.
‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Auntie has gone to Tsarskoye Selo. She wanted me to go with her. We shall be almost alone at dinner. Only Maria Semyonovna is coming; otherwise I should not have been able to receive you. You can’t talk to Auntie to-day. What an awful bore it is! But to-morrow – –’ she added and smiled. ‘And what if I had gone to Tsarskoye Selo to-day?’ she asked, jestingly.
He made no answer.
‘Are you worried?’ she asked.
‘I had a letter from the country,’ he said dully.
‘Where is it? Have you got it on you?’
He gave her the letter.
‘I can’t read the writing,’ she said, glancing at it.
He took the letter from her and read it aloud. She became thoughtful.
‘What now?’ she said after a pause.
‘I consulted my landlady’s brother,’ Oblomov replied, ‘and he recommended me as my agent a certain Isay Fomich Zatyorty: I’ll give him the necessary instructions to settle everything.’
‘A perfect stranger!’ Olga objected in surprise. ‘To collect the taxes, to look into the affairs of the peasants, to see to the sale of the corn….’
‘He tells me Zatyorty is the soul of honour, he has been working in the same office with him for twelve years…. The only thing is he stammers a little….’
‘And what is your landlady’s brother like? Do you know him?’
‘No, but he seems to be such a practical, business-like man. Besides, I’m living in his house – he would be ashamed to cheat me!’
Olga said nothing and sat with her eyes fixed on the ground.
‘You see, I should have to go there myself otherwise,’ said Oblomov, ‘and I must say I should not like to do that. I’ve lost the habit of travelling, especially in winter – in fact, I have never done it.’
She was still looking down, tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe.
‘Even if I did go,’ Oblomov went on, ‘nothing would come of it, for I shan’t get what I want. The peasants will cheat me, the bailiff will say what he pleases and I shall have to believe him, and he would give as much money as he liked. Oh, if only Andrey had been here: he’d have settled everything!’ he added sadly.
Olga smiled, that is, she smiled only with her lips and not with her heart: there was bitterness in her heart. She began looking out of the window, screwing up one eye slightly and watching every carriage that passed.
‘It seems Zatyorty managed a big estate once,’ he went on,