The Double

Noise was heard…Mr. Goliadkin shrank and jumped behind the stove. Someone came down the stairs and went outside. “Who could be leaving like that now?” our hero thought to himself. A moment later someone’s footsteps were heard again…Here Mr. Goliadkin could not help himself and stuck the smallest tip of his nose out from behind his breast-work—stuck it out and pulled it back at once, as though someone had pricked his nose with a needle. This time you know who was going by—that is, the rogue, the intriguer and debaucher—walking as usual with his mean, rapid little step, mincing and prancing on his feet as if he was about to kick somebody. “The scoundrel!” our hero said to himself. However, Mr. Goliadkin could not fail to notice that under the scoundrel’s arm was an enormous green portfolio belonging to his excellency. “He’s on a special mission again,” thought Mr. Goliadkin, turning red and shrinking still more from vexation. No sooner did Mr. Goliadkin Jr. flash past Mr. Goliadkin Sr., without noticing him at all, than for a third time someone’s footsteps were heard, and this time Mr. Goliadkin guessed that the steps were the scrivener’s. Indeed, the slicked-down little figure of a scrivener peeked behind the stove; the little figure, however, was not Ostafyev but another scrivener named Scriverenko. This amazed Mr. Goliadkin. “Why is he mixing others into the secret?” thought our hero. “What barbarians! Nothing’s sacred to them!”

“Well, so, my friend?” he said, addressing Scriverenko. “Who are you coming from, my friend?…”

“It’s this, sir, on your little affair, sir. So far there’s no news from anyone, sir. But if there is, we’ll let you know, sir.”

“And Ostafyev?…”

“He really couldn’t come, Your Honor. His excellency has already made the rounds of the department twice, and I’ve got no time now.”

“Thank you, my dear, thank you…Only tell me…”

“By God, I’ve got no time, sir…We’re asked for every moment, sir…But you please go on standing here, sir, so that if there’s anything concerning your little affair, sir, we’ll let you know, sir…”

“No, my friend, you tell me…”

“Excuse me, sir; I’ve got no time, sir,” Scriverenko said, trying to tear free of Mr. Goliadkin, who had seized his coat skirt, “really, it’s impossible, sir. You kindly go on standing here, and we’ll let you know.”

“One moment, one moment, my friend! one moment, my dear friend! Here’s what now: here’s a letter, my friend; and I’ll thank you well, my dear.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try to hand it to Mr. Goliadkin, my dear.”

“To Goliadkin?”

“Yes, my friend, to Mr. Goliadkin.”

“Very well, sir; once I’ve finished up, I’ll take it, sir. And you stand here meanwhile. Nobody’ll see you here…”

“No, my friend, don’t go thinking I…I’m not standing here so that people won’t see me. I’ll no longer be here, my friend…I’ll bein the lane. There’sa coffeehouse; I’ll be waiting there, and if anything happens, you inform me about it all, understand?”

“Very well, sir. Only let me go; I understand…”

“And I’ll thank you well, my dear!” Mr. Goliadkin called after the finally freed Scriverenko…“The rogue seems to have grown ruder towards the end,” thought our hero, stealthily coming out from behind the stove. “There’s another hitch here. That’s clear…First it was both this and that…However, he really was in a hurry; maybe there was a lot to do there. And his excellency made the rounds of the office twice…What might be the reason for that?…Oof! well, it’s nothing! maybe it’s nothing, however, but now we’re going to see…”

Here Mr. Goliadkin opened the door and was about to step out, when suddenly, at that same instant, his excellency’s carriage rumbled up to the porch. Before Mr. Goliadkin managed to recover, the door of the carriage opened from inside and the gentleman sitting in it jumped out onto the porch. The newcomer was none other than the same Mr. Goliadkin Jr., who had absented himself ten minutes earlier. Mr. Goliadkin Sr. remembered that the director’s apartment was two steps away. “He’s on a special mission,” our hero thought to himself. Meanwhile Mr. Goliadkin Jr., taking a fat green portfolio and some other papers from the carriage, and, finally, giving some order to the coachman, opened the door, almost shoving Mr. Goliadkin Sr. with it, and, deliberately ignoring him, and therefore acting this way in order to spite him, started at a trot up the department stairs. “Bad!” thought Mr. Goliadkin. “Eh, our little affair is doing poorly! Look at him, Lord God!” Our hero stood motionless for half a minute; finally, he made up his mind. Not thinking long, though feeling a strong fluttering in his heart and a trembling in all his limbs, he ran after his friend up the stairs. “Ah! let come what may; what is it to me? I have nothing to do with it,” he thought, taking off his hat, overcoat, and galoshes in the hall.