Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [31]
‘Leave the dead alone! How is his father to blame?’
‘They are both to blame: father and son,’ Tarantyev said gloomily with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s not for nothing my father warned me to beware of the Germans – and he knew all sorts of people in his time!’
‘But what have you against his father, pray?’ asked Oblomov.
‘What I have against him is that he came to our province in September with nothing but the clothes he had on and then left a fortune to his son – what does that mean?’
‘He only left his son some forty thousand roubles. Some of it was his wife’s dowry and he made the rest by giving lessons and managing an estate: he received a good salary. You must admit the father didn’t do anything wrong. Now what about the son? What wrong has he done?’
‘A nice fellow! All of a sudden he makes three hundred thousand out of his father’s forty and then becomes a Court Councillor, a man of learning – and now he is away travelling! The rogue has a finger in every pie! Would a good Russian, a real Russian, do all that? A Russian would choose one thing, and that, too, without rush or hurry, in his own good time, and carry on somehow or other – but this one – Good Lord! If he’d become a Government contractor, then at least one could understand how he had grown rich, but he did nothing of the kind – just got rich by some knavery! There’s certainly something wrong there! I’d prosecute a fellow like that! And now he’s knocking about goodness knows where!’ Tarantyev went on. ‘What does he go knocking about in foreign parts for?’
‘He wants to study, to see everything, to know!’
‘To study! Hasn’t he been taught enough? What does he want to learn? He’s telling you lies, don’t believe him: he deceives you to your face like a small child. Do grown-up people study anything? Hear what he says! Would a Court Councillor want to study? You studied at school, but are you studying now? And does he,’ Tarantyev pointed to Alexeyev, ‘study? Does that relative of his study? Can you think of any decent man who is studying? Do you imagine he is sitting in a German school and doing his lessons? Rubbish! I’ve heard he’s gone to look at some machine and order one like it: I suppose it is a press for printing Russian money! I’d put him in jail. Some sort of shares –– Oh, these shares – they make me sick!’
Oblomov burst out laughing.
‘What are you laughing at?’ said Tarantyev. ‘Isn’t it true what I say?’
‘Let’s drop the subject,’ Oblomov interrupted him. ‘You’d better go about your business, and I’ll write the letters with Alexeyev and try to put down my plan on paper as quickly as possible – may as well do it all at once.’
Tarantyev went out, but came back immediately.
‘I’ve quite forgotten!’ he began, not at all as brusquely as before. ‘I came to you on business this morning. I am invited to a wedding to-morrow: Rokotov is getting married. Lend me your frock-coat, old man. Mine, you can see, is rather shabby.’
‘But,’ said Oblomov, frowning at this new demand, ‘how can I? My coat won’t fit you.’
‘It will, of course it will!’ Tarantyev interrupted. ‘You remember I tried it on once: it might have been made for me! Zakhar! Zakhar! Come here, you old brute!’
Zakhar growled like a bear, but did not come.
‘Call him, old man,’ Tarantyev pleaded. ‘What a funny chap he is!’
‘Zakhar!’ Oblomov called.
‘Oh, the devil take you!’ Zakhar could be heard saying from his room as he jumped off the stove.
‘Well, what do you want?’ he asked, addressing Tarantyev.
‘Fetch my black frock-coat,’ Oblomov ordered. ‘Mr Tarantyev wants to see if it fits him: he has to go to a wedding tomorrow.’
‘I won’t bring the coat, sir,’ Zakhar said firmly.
‘How dare you, when your master orders you to?’ Tarantyev shouted. ‘Why don’t you send him to the house of correction, old man?’
‘That would be a nice thing to do: send an old man to the house of correction!’ said Oblomov. ‘Don’t be obstinate,