Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [219]
Oblomov blushed.
‘When you needed it, the ideas and the language in which to express them came of themselves. Good enough for any novel! But when you don’t need it, then you don’t know how to do it, and your eyes do not see and your hands are too weak! You lost your ability for doing things in your childhood, in Oblomovka among your aunts and nannies. It all began with your inability to put on your socks and ended by your inability to live.’
‘All this may be true, Andrey, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped – what’s done is done!’ Oblomov said with a sigh, decisively.
‘What do you mean – it’s done!’ Stolz retorted angrily. ‘What nonsense! Listen to me and do what I tell you and it won’t be done!’
But Stolz left for the country alone, and Oblomov stayed behind, promising to go there in the autumn.
‘What shall I tell Olga?’ Stolz asked Oblomov before he left.
Oblomov bowed his head and looked sad; then he sighed.
‘Don’t mention me to her,’ he said at last, looking embarrassed. ‘Tell her you’ve not seen or heard of me.’
‘She won’t believe it.’
‘Well, tell her I’m done for, dead, lost….’
‘She will cry and won’t be comforted for a long time: why upset her?’
Oblomov pondered, greatly moved. His eyes were moist.
‘Very well, then,’ Stolz concluded, ‘I’ll tell her a lie and say that you are living on your memories of her and are looking for some serious aim in life. Note, please, that life itself and work constitute the aim of life – not woman; that was the mistake you both made. How pleased she will be!’
They said good-bye.
3
THE day after St Elijah’s Day, Tarantyev and Ivan Matveyevich met again at the tavern in the evening.
‘Tea!’ Ivan Matveyevich gave his order gloomily, and when the waiter had brought tea and a bottle of rum he thrust the bottle back vexatiously. ‘This isn’t rum, it’s more like old nails,’ he said, and taking out his own bottle from the pocket of his overcoat, he uncorked it and let the waiter sniff at it. ‘Don’t you offer me any of your rum again,’ he observed.
‘Well, old man,’ he said after the waiter had gone. ‘Things don’t look very bright, do they?’
‘No,’ Tarantyev replied furiously; ‘the devil must have brought him! What a rogue that German is! Destroyed the deed of trust and got the estate on a lease! It’s unheard of! He’ll fleece the poor little sheep, I warrant you.’
‘If he knows his business, old man, then I’m afraid there may be trouble. When he finds out that the taxes have been collected and it was we who received the money, he may take criminal proceedings against us.’
‘Criminal proceedings, indeed! You’re becoming scared, old man! It isn’t the first time Zatyorty has put his paw in a landowner’s pocket. He knows how to steer clear of the law. You don’t suppose he gives receipts to the peasants, do you? You can be sure there are no strangers about when he takes the money. The German will get into a temper and shout, and that will be the end of it. Criminal proceedings, my foot!’
‘Do you think so?’ Ivan Matveyevich said, brightening up. ‘Well, in that case let’s have a drink!’
He poured out some more rum for himself and Tarantyev.
‘Well,’ he said comfortingly, ‘things are not as bad as they sometimes seem, especially after a drink.’
‘In the meantime, old man,’ Tarantyev went on, ‘you’d better do this: make out some bills – any you like – for fuel or cabbage or whatever you please, since Oblomov has transferred the management of his household to your sister, and show it to him. And when Zatyorty arrives we shall say that all the taxes he collected went to meet the expenses.’
‘But what if he should take the bills and show them to the German? The German will tot them up and then he might – –’
‘Rubbish! He’ll put them away somewhere, and the devil himself won’t find them. By the time the German comes back, the whole thing will be forgotten.’
‘Do you think so? Let’s have a drink, old man,’ said Ivan Matveyevich, pouring out a glass. ‘It’s a pity to dilute such fine stuff with tea. Have a sniff: