Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [249]
‘Good evening, old man!’ Tarantyev said spitefully, without offering his hand to Oblomov.
‘Good evening,’ Oblomov replied coldly, looking out of the window.
‘Well, have you seen off your benefactor?’
‘I have. Why?’
‘Some benefactor!’ Tarantyev went on venomously.
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
‘No, I’d have strung him up!’ Tarantyev hissed with hatred.
‘Would you really?’
‘And you, too, on the same tree!’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Deal honestly with people: if you owe them money, pay up, and don’t try to wriggle out of it. What have you done now?’
‘Look here, Tarantyev; spare me your fairy-tales: I’ve listened to you long enough through laziness and carelessness. You see, I thought you had just a little bit of conscience, but you haven’t. You and that cunning old rascal wanted to cheat me. Which of you is the worse I don’t know, but you are both loathsome to me. A friend has saved me from that stupid affair…’
‘A nice friend!’ Tarantyev said. ‘I understand he has cheated you of your fiancée. A fine benefactor, I must say! Well, old man, you certainly are a fool!’
‘None of your endearments, please!’ Oblomov cut him short.
‘I’ll say what I like! You didn’t want to have anything to do with me – you’re ungrateful! I’ve found you a decent home here, I have found you a real treasure of a woman. Peace and comfort – it’s me you have to thank for it, for it’s me who got them for you, but you won’t have anything to do with me. Found a benefactor, have you? A German! Rents your estate, does he? You wait: he’ll skin you alive, make you buy shares. He’ll make a beggar of you, mark my words! A fool, I tell you, that’s what you are. More than a fool; you’re a brute, an ungrateful brute!’
‘Tarantyev!’ Oblomov cried menacingly.
‘What are you shouting for? I’ll shout at the top of my voice for the whole world to hear that you are a fool and a brute!’ Tarantyev shouted. ‘Ivan Matveyevich and I waited hand and foot on you, looked after you, served you just as though we were your serfs, walked on tiptoe, tried to anticipate your every wish, and you went and discredited him before his superiors. Now he has lost his job and can’t earn a living. That is a low-down trick! Now you must give him half your property. Let me have a bill of exchange in his name. You’re not drunk now, but in full possession of your faculties; let me have it, I tell you. I won’t go without it…’
‘What are you shouting like that for, Mr Tarantyev?’ the landlady and Anisya said, looking in at the door. “Two people in the street have stopped to listen.’
‘I’ll go on shouting,’ bawled Tarantyev. ‘I’ll bring shame and disgrace on this stupid blockhead! Let that rogue of a German cheat you now that he is working hand in glove with your mistress….’
A loud slap resounded in the room. Tarantyev, struck on the cheek by Oblomov, fell silent instantly, sank on to a chair and rolled his stunned eyes in amazement.
‘What’s this? What’s this – eh? What’s all this?’ he said, pale and breathless, holding his cheek. ‘Dishonour? You’ll pay for it! I’ll send in a complaint to the Governor-General at once. You saw it, didn’t you?’
‘We didn’t see anything!’ the two women cried in one voice.
‘Oh, so it’s a plot, is it? A thieves’ kitchen, is it? A gang of swindlers! Robbing, murdering….’
‘Get out, you blackguard!’ Oblomov cried, pale and trembling with rage. ‘Clear out this minute or I’ll kill you like a dog!’
He was looking round for a stick.
‘Murder! Help!’ shouted Tarantyev.
‘Zakhar, throw this scoundrel out and see that he doesn’t show his face here again!’ Oblomov cried.
‘Come along, sir,’ said Zakhar, pointing to the icon and the door; ‘here’s God and there’s the door.