Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [47]
Oblomov paused and read what he had written.
‘It’s awkward,’ he said. ‘There are two whichs at the beginning and two thats at the end.’
He read it through in a whisper and transposed the words: which now seemed to refer to the floor – again awkward. He corrected it somehow and began thinking how he could avoid using that twice. He crossed out a word and then put it in again. He transposed that three times, but it either made nonsense or was too near the other that.
‘Can’t get rid of the second that!’ he said impatiently. ‘Oh, to hell with the letter! Rack my brains over such trifles! I’ve lost the knack of writing business letters. Good Lord, it’s almost three o’clock!’
‘Well, Zakhar, here you are!’
He tore the letter into four and threw it on the floor.
‘Did you see that?’ he asked.
‘I saw it,’ replied Zakhar, picking up the bits of paper.
‘So don’t pester me any more about the flat, there’s a good fellow. And what have you got there?’
‘The bills, sir.’
‘Oh, good heavens, you’ll be the death of me! Well, how much is it? Tell me quickly?’
‘Eighty-six roubles and fifty-four copecks – to the butcher, sir.’
Oblomov threw up his hands in dismay.
‘Have you gone mad? Such a lot of money for the butcher only?’
‘If you don’t pay for three months, sir, it’s liable to mount up. It’s all written down here. No one has stolen it!’
‘And you still say you’re not venomous, do you?’ said Oblomov. ‘Spent a million on beef! And what good does it do you? None at all as far as I can see.’
‘I didn’t eat it,’ Zakhar muttered angrily.
‘You didn’t, didn’t you?’
‘So you begrudge me my food now, do you, sir? Here, have a look at it yourself!’ And he shoved the bills to Oblomov.
‘Well, who else is there?’ said Oblomov, pushing away the greasy little books with vexation.
‘There’s another one hundred and twenty-one roubles and eighteen copecks owing to the baker and greengrocer.’
‘This is sheer ruin! It’s just madness!’ Oblomov said, losing his temper. ‘Are you a cow that you have munched so much greenstuff?’
‘No, sir, I’m a venomous creature!’ Zakhar observed bitterly, turning almost entirely away from his master. ‘If you didn’t let Mr Tarantyev come, you wouldn’t have to pay so much,’ he added.
‘Well, how much does it come to altogether? Count!’ said Oblomov and began counting himself.
Zakhar was calculating on his fingers.
‘Goodness only knows how much it comes to: every time it’s different,’ said Oblomov. ‘Well, what do you make it? Two hundred, isn’t it?’
‘Half a minute, sir! Give me time!’ said Zakhar, screwing up his eyes and muttering. ‘Eight tens and ten tens – eighteen and two more tens – –’
‘Oh, you’ll never finish it,’ said Oblomov. ‘You’d better go back to your room and let me have the bills to-morrow, and see about the paper and ink too.… What a lot of money! I told you to pay a little at a time, but no! he prefers to pay all at once – what people!’
‘Two hundred and five roubles and seventy-two copecks,’ said Zakhar, having added it up. ‘Won’t you give me the money, sir?’
‘You want it at once, do you? I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer. I’ll check it to-morrow.’
‘Just as you like, sir, only they’re asking for it – –’
‘All right, all right! Leave me alone, will you? I said tomorrow, and to-morrow you will have it. You go back to your room, and I’ll do a bit of work. I’ve something more important to worry about.’
Oblomov settled in his chair and tucked his feet under him, but before he had time to start thinking, the doorbell rang.
A shortish man with a small paunch, a fair complexion, red cheeks, and a bald head, covered at the back by a thick fringe of black hair, came into the room. The bald patch on his head was round, clean, and so shiny that it seemed to have been carved out of ivory.