Fifty-Two Stories

And again they fell silent for a long time. Marya Vassilyevna was thinking about her school, about how there would soon be an examination and she would present four boys and one girl. And just as she was thinking about the examination, the landowner Khanov overtook her in a coach and four, the same man who had conducted examinations at her school the previous year. Drawing even with her, he recognized her and bowed.

“Greetings!” he said. “Might you be going home?”

This Khanov, a man of about forty, with a worn face and listless expression, was already beginning to age noticeably, but was still handsome and pleasing to women. He lived alone on his big estate, did not work anywhere, and it was said of him that at home he did nothing, but only paced up and down whistling, or played chess with his old valet. It was also said that he drank a lot. In fact, at the last year’s examination, even the papers he brought with him smelled of scent and drink. He was wearing all new clothes then, and Marya Vassilyevna liked him very much, and, sitting beside him, she felt quite embarrassed. She was used to having examiners who were cold, sober-minded, but this one did not remember a single prayer, did not know what questions to ask, was polite and tactful, and gave only the highest marks.

“I’m on my way to see Bakvist,” he went on, addressing Marya Vassilyevna, “but they say he’s not home.”

From the highway they turned off onto a dirt road: Khanov went ahead, Semyon followed him. The team of four drove along the road, slowly, straining to pull the heavy coach through the mud. Semyon, avoiding the road, maneuvered now over a hummock, now across a meadow, often jumping off the cart and helping the horse. Marya Vassilyevna kept thinking about school, about whether the math problem at the examination would be difficult or simple. She was also upset with the zemstvo office,¹ where she had not found anyone yesterday. What disorder! It was already two years that she had been asking them to fire the caretaker, who did nothing, was rude to her, and beat the pupils, but no one listened to her. The chairman was hard to catch in his office, and if you did, he said with tears in his eyes that he had no time; the inspector visited the school once in three years and had no idea what he was doing, because he had formerly worked in an excise office and got the job of inspector through connections; the school board met very rarely and no one ever knew where it would meet; the custodian was a barely literate peasant, the owner of a tannery, unintelligent, rude, and great friends with the caretaker—so God only knew who she could turn to with complaints or for information…

“He really is handsome,” she thought, glancing at Khanov.

But the road was getting worse and worse…They rode into the forest. Here there was no way to turn off. The ruts were deep, and water flowed and gurgled in them. And prickly branches kept hitting her in the face.

“Some road, eh?” Khanov asked and laughed.

The teacher looked at him and could not understand: Why does this odd fellow live here? What good can his money, his imposing appearance, his refined politeness do him in this backwoods, with its mud and boredom? He gets no advantages from life, and, just like Semyon, drives slowly over the execrable road, and suffers the same inconveniences. Why live here, if it’s possible to live in Petersburg or abroad? And it would seem worth his while, rich man as he is, to make a good road out of this bad one, so as not to suffer and not to see the despair written on the faces of his coachman and Semyon; but he just laughs, and it seems to make no difference to him, and he needs no better life. He’s kind, gentle, naïve, he doesn’t understand this coarse life, he doesn’t know it, just as he didn’t know the prayers at the examination. He only donates globes to the school, and sincerely considers himself a useful person and a prominent activist in the people’s education. And who here needs his globes!

“Hold tight, Vassilyevna!” said Semyon.

The cart tilted sharply and nearly overturned; something heavy landed on Marya Vassilyevna’s feet—it was her purchases. They climbed steeply uphill, on clay; there noisy streams flowed through meandering ditches, the water seemed to gnaw away at the road—how could you even drive there! The horses snorted. Khanov got out of the carriage and walked along the edge of the road in his long coat. He felt hot.

“Some road, eh?” he said again and laughed. “Bad enough to break the carriage.”

“Who told you to drive in such weather!” Semyon said sternly. “Better to stay home.”

“Home is boring, grandpa. I don’t like staying home.”