Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [96]
‘Does anyone come to see you?’
‘Oh yes – Tarantyev, Alexeyev… the doctor looked in this morning. Penkin, too, Sudbinsky, Volkov – –’
‘I don’t see any books in your room,’ said Stolz.
‘Here’s one!’ Oblomov observed, pointing to a book that lay on the table.
‘What’s this?’ asked Stolz, glancing at the book. ‘A Journey to Africa. And the page you’ve stopped at has grown mouldy. Not a newspaper to be seen. Do you read the papers?’
‘No, the print’s too small – bad for the eyes, and there isn’t really any need for it: if anything new happens, it’s drummed into your ears all day long.’
‘Good heavens, Ilya!’ said Stolz, casting a surprised glance at Oblomov. ‘What do you do? You just roll up and lie about like a piece of dough.’
‘That’s true enough, Andrey,’ Oblomov answered sadly, ‘just like a piece of dough.’
‘But to be conscious of something does not excuse it, does it?’
‘No, but I merely answered your question; I’m not justifying myself,’ Oblomov replied with a sigh.
‘But you must rouse yourself from your sleep.’
‘I’ve tried, but failed, and now – what for? There is nothing to rouse me, my heart is at rest, my mind is peacefully asleep!’ he concluded with a touch of bitterness. ‘Don’t let us talk about it.… Better tell me where you have come from.’
‘Kiev. In another fortnight I’ll be going abroad. Come with me.’
‘Very well – perhaps I will,’ Oblomov decided.
‘Well then, sit down and write the application for your passport and to-morrow you can hand it in.’
‘To-morrow!’ Oblomov cried, startled. ‘You people are always in such a hurry, as though someone were driving you! We’ll think it over and discuss it and then we shall see. Perhaps it would be best to go to the estate first and abroad – afterwards.’
‘But why afterwards? Didn’t the doctor tell you to? First of all you must get rid of your fat, of your bodily heaviness, then your spirit won’t be sleepy, either. You need both physical and mental gymnastics.’
‘No, Andrey, all that is sure to tire me: my health is bad. No, you’d better leave me and go alone.’
Stolz looked at the recumbent Oblomov, and Oblomov looked at him. Stolz shook his head, and Oblomov sighed.
‘I suppose you’re too lazy to live,’ Stolz said.
‘Well, I suppose I am, Andrey.’
Andrey was trying hard to think how he could touch him to the quick, if indeed anything could affect him any more, and meanwhile he scrutinized him in silence and suddenly burst out laughing.
‘Why have you one woollen stocking and one cotton stocking on?’ he suddenly remarked, pointing to Oblomov’s feet. ‘And your shirt is inside out, too!’
Oblomov looked at his feet, then at his shirt.
‘So they are,’ he confessed, looking put out. ‘That Zakhar is the limit! You wouldn’t believe how he tires me out! He argues, he is rude, and he never attends to his business.’
‘Oh, Ilya, Ilya!’ said Stolz. ‘No, I can’t leave you like that. In another week you won’t know yourself. I’ll tell you what I am going to do with you and myself this evening, and now get dressed! You wait; I’ll shake you up! Zakhar!’ he shouted, ‘Mr Oblomov’s clothes!’
‘But where are we going – good Lord! Tarantyev and Alexeyev are coming to dine with me, and then we wanted to – –’
‘Zakhar,’ Stolz went on, without listening to him, ‘fetch the clothes.’
‘Yes, sir, but let me clean the boots, first,’ Zakhar said readily.
‘What? Don’t you clean the boots before five o’clock?’
‘They’re cleaned all right, sir. I’ve cleaned them last week, but Master hasn’t been out so they’ve lost their shine again.’
‘Never mind, fetch them as they are. Take my trunk into the drawing-room; I’ll stay here. I’m going to dress now and you, Ilya, get ready, too. We’ll have dinner somewhere on the way, and then we’ll call at two or three places and – –’
‘But, look here, don’t be in such a rush – wait a minute – let’s think it over first – I haven’t shaved – –’
‘There’s no need to think and scratch your head.