Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“It’s lucky that I saw you, Doctor,” said Goat’s Foot, falling in step beside him. “I wanted to thank you once again for coming to see the wife and to make sure you got home safely, what with the blizzard and all.”

“It’s my duty,” Chevanin said haughtily. “Think nothing of it.”

Unabashed, the peasant warmed to his theme.

“We had a fine old talk, you and I, didn’t we? What with one thing and another.”

“Did we?”

“Mmm. I should say!”

“And,” Chevanin demanded, “did our conversation include the possibility of your paying your bill, by any chance?”

“My bill, Doctor?”

“Yes. The sixty copecks visitation fee. Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten, because Doctor Tortsov hasn’t.”

Goat’s Foot stopped in his tracks and caught the young man by the arm.

“But sir,” he protested, “we’ve already paid our bill!”

“Oh? When?”

“Why, as you were going,” the peasant told him in injured tones. “Don’t you remember? You were a little unsteady, what with the drink and all, so I dropped the money into your gloves. I told you at the time it was there, and you just nodded.”

His expression did not waver under Chevanin’s scrutiny.

“All right, Pyatkonov,” the Doctor’s assistant said at last and resumed his journey along Hospital Street.

Still protesting, Goat’s Foot hurried along beside him.

“As God is my witness, sir! A poor man like myself can’t afford to make mistakes about things like that, especially not with a medical man like yourself. You understand?”

“Oh, I understand all too well,” replied Chevanin with some feeling.

“Only, you and I had a few drinks and I thought, ‘Well, I’d better pay up now rather than tomorrow, what with things being as they are…’”

“I said all right!” said the young doctor testily.

Trying to distance himself from the creature that was dogging his footsteps, Chevanin quickened his pace as he crossed the street in front of the hospital, but Goat’s Foot was ready for this and stuck to him like glue. Resigned to the peasant’s company the Doctor’s assistant turned abruptly to his right and began striking towards the intersection with Tower Street.

“I was also thinking about your problem with the play,” announced Goat’s Foot.

Chevanin’s face coloured slightly.

“My problem?” he echoed.

“Yes. I think I’ve got the solution. Just what the Doctor ordered, you might say.”

“And what is the solution?”

Goat’s Foot tapped the side of his nose.

“Ah, now, that’s another thing.”

The meaning of the gesture was not lost on Chevanin. Reaching the end of the street where he lived, he stopped and, digging his hand into his pocket, produced a fifty copeck coin. Goat’s Foot looked at the coin and frowned.

“Well, sir,” he said, “considering it involves the honour of a lady, the answer’s bound to cost a bit more than that, isn’t it? What with my wife still being tender and needing special foods and all.”

“How much more?”

The peasant rubbed his chin judiciously.

“Well now. It must be worth at least a rouble, I’d say.”

“A rouble!” exclaimed Chevanin.

Nevertheless, he dug his hand into his pocket again and produced a second fifty copeck piece.

“This had better be worth it,” warned Chevanin.

“It is,” Goat’s Foot promised him, holding out his palm.

Chevanin hesitated.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“That’s the chance you’ve got to take,” the peasant informed him, adding confidently, “but it will.”

Reluctantly, Chevanin dropped the coins into his outstretched palm. As he pocketed them, Goat’s Foot grinned conspiratorially.

“First things first,” he said. “The Doctor didn’t want to give our friend the part at all, only the Mayor forced him to. The way I hear it, Pobednyev boxed him into a corner and he had no choice. But that’s by the way. The thing now is, what are we going to do about it?”

Edging nearer, the peasant lowered his voice.

“As I see it,” he went on, “there are two plays, right?”

Chevanin nodded disdainfully, his nostrils wrinkling at the peasant’s proximity.

“Well, what of it?” he demanded.

“Simply that you get your man Tolkach to act in the other play. From what I’ve heard, your librarian Maslov doesn’t want to do it at all. And Svortsov was pushed into it by his old woman, just because Kuzma Gvordyen did it last year. The Doctor tells Tolkach that the part he’s got now isn’t important enough for him. It doesn’t do him justice. See?”

“But how do I persuade Dr. Tortsov to move him to the other play? He’s in charge of the production, not me.”

“That’s easy,” Goat’s Foot told him. “You tell the Doctor that your man Tolkach is after his missus.”

The enormity of the idea made Chevanin gasp aloud.

“It’ll never work!” said Chevanin with a shake of his head, dazed by the peasant’s suggestion.

“Oh, it’ll work,” Goat’s Foot assured him, adding with a leer, “I’m sure the lady concerned will be ever so grateful.”

“But… but I couldn’t!”

“Yes you can, if you try,” advised the peasant. “Try really hard.”