The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

I arrived at the governor’s—it was all lit up and there were many guests, but the governor himself, meeting me, whispered:

“The best part of the program fell through: the tableaux can’t take place.”

“What’s happened?”

“Shh … I don’t want to speak loudly and spoil the general impression. Ivan Petrovich is dead.”

“What? … Ivan Petrovich? … dead?!”

“Yes, yes, yes—he’s dead.”

“Merciful heavens—he was at my place three hours ago, as healthy as could be.”

“Well, so he came from your place, lay down on the sofa, and died … And you know … I must tell you, in case his mother … she’s so beside herself that she may come running to you … The unfortunate woman is convinced that you are guilty of her son’s death.”

“How so? Was he poisoned at my place, or what?”

“That she doesn’t say.”

“Then what does she say?”

“That you gave Ivan Petrovich the evil eye.”

“Excuse me …,” I say, “but that’s nonsense!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” replies the governor, “it’s all foolishness, of course, but then this is a provincial town—here foolishness is more readily believed than cleverness. Of course, it’s not worth paying attention to.”

Just then the governor’s wife invited me to play cards.

I sat down, but what I endured during that tormenting game I simply cannot tell you. First, I suffered from the consciousness that this nice young man, whom I had admired so, was now laid out on a table,¹² and, second, I kept imagining that everybody was whispering and pointing at me: “He gave him the evil eye,” I even heard those foolish words “evil eye, evil eye,” and, third, allow me to tell you the truth—I saw Ivan Petrovich himself everywhere! … As if I had acquired an eye for him—wherever I looked—there was Ivan Petrovich … Now he’s walking, strolling about the empty room, to which the doors are open; now two men stand talking—and he’s beside them, listening. Then he suddenly appears right next to me and looks into my cards … Here, naturally, I play whatever my hand falls on, and my vis-à-vis gets offended. Finally, the others began to notice it as well, and the governor whispered in my ear:

“It’s Ivan Petrovich spoiling it for you: he’s having his revenge.”

“Yes,” I say, “I’m indeed upset and feeling very unwell. I beg to be allowed to add up the score and excuse myself.”

This favor was granted me, and I went home at once. But I rode in the sleigh, and Ivan Petrovich was with me—now sitting beside me, now on the box with the driver, but with his face turned to me.

I think: maybe I’m coming down with a fever?

I came home—it was still worse. As soon as I lay down and put the light out—Ivan Petrovich is sitting on the edge of the bed, and he even says:

“You really did give me the evil eye, and I died, and there was no need for me to die so early. That’s the point! … Everybody loved me so, my mother, and Tanyusha—she hasn’t finished her studies yet. What terrible grief it is for them!”

I called for my man and, awkward as it was, told him to lie down and sleep on my rug, but Ivan Petrovich wasn’t afraid; wherever I turned, he stuck up in front of me, and basta!

I could hardly wait till morning, and first off sent one of my officials to the dead man’s mother, to bring three hundred roubles for the funeral and give them to her with all possible delicacy.

The man came back bringing the money with him: they wouldn’t take it, he says.

“What did they say?” I asked.

“They said, ‘No need: good people will bury him.’ ”

Which meant that I was counted among the wicked.

And as soon as I thought of him, Ivan Petrovich was right there.

In the evening I couldn’t keep calm: I took a cab and drove to have a look at Ivan Petrovich and to take leave of him. That is a customary thing, and I thought I wouldn’t disturb anyone. And I put all I could in my pocket—seven hundred roubles—to persuade them to accept it, at least for Tanya.

IX

I saw Ivan Petrovich: the “White Eagle” lies there as if shot down.

Tanya is walking around. A swarthy little thing indeed, about fifteen years old, in cheap cotton mourning, and she keeps putting things right. She smooths the dead man’s hair and kisses him.

What agony to see it!

I asked her if I could talk with Ivan Petrovich’s mother.

The girl replied, “Very well,” and went to the other room, and a moment later she opened the door and asked me to come in, but as soon as I entered the room where the old woman was sitting, she stood up and excused herself:

“No, forgive me—I was wrong to trust myself, I cannot see you,” and with that she left.

I was not offended or embarrassed, but simply dispirited, and I turned to Tanya:

“Well, you’re a young being, maybe you can be kinder to me. For, believe me, I did not and had no reason to wish Ivan Petrovich any misfortune, least of all death.”

“I believe you,” she let fall. “No one could wish him any ill, everybody loved him.”

“Believe me, in the two or three days that I saw him, I, too, came to love him.”