The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

“A good guess, my half-esteemed fellow,” he replies. “I blew it, sir, I blew it.”

“And how much lighter is Your Honor now?” I ask.

He would tell me at once how many thousands he had lost, and I would shake my head and say:

“Your Serenity needs a good spanking, but there’s nobody to do it.”

He would laugh and say:

“That’s just it, there’s nobody.”

“Lie down here on my cot,” I say, “and I’ll put a clean little sack under your head and whip you myself.”

He, naturally, starts getting around me, so that I’ll lend him money for the revanche.

“No,” he says, “better not thrash me, but give me some of our spending money for a little revanche: I’ll go, win everything back, and beat them all.”

“Well, as to that,” I reply, “I humbly thank you, playing is one thing, winning back is another.”

“Hah, you thank me!” he begins by laughing, but then he gets angry: “Well, I’ll thank you not to forget yourself,” he says. “Stop playing the guardian over me and bring me the money.”

We asked Ivan Severyanych if he ever gave his prince money for the revanche.

“Never,” he said. “I either deceived him, saying I’d spent all the money on oats, or I simply quit the premises.”

“I suppose he got angry with you for that?”

“That he did, sir. He’d announce straight off: ‘It’s all over, sir. You no longer work for me, my half-esteemed fellow.’

“I’d reply:

“ ‘Well, that’s just fine. My passport, please.’

“ ‘Very well, sir,’ he says. ‘Kindly make your preparations: you’ll get your passport tomorrow.’

“Only there was never any more talk about that tomorrow between us. In no more than an hour or so, he’d come to me in a totally different state of mind and say:

“ ‘I thank you, my greatly insignificant fellow, that you stood firm and did not give me money for the revanche.’

“And he always had such feelings about these things that, if anything happened to me during my outings, he also made allowances for me like a brother.”

“And what happened to you?”

“I already explained to you that I used to have these outings.”

“And what do you mean by ‘outings’?”

“I’d go carousing, sir. Having learned about drinking vodka, I avoided drinking it every day and never just took it in moderation, but if I happened to be troubled, then I’d get a terrible zeal for drinking, and I’d immediately go on an outing for several days and disappear. And you’d never notice why it came over me. For instance, we’d let go of some horses, and it’s not that they’re brothers to you, but I’d miss them and start drinking. Especially if you send away a very handsome horse, then the scoundrel just keeps flashing in your eyes, so you hide from him like some sort of obsession and go on an outing.”

“Meaning you’d start drinking?”

“Yes, sir, I’d go and drink.”

“And for how long?”

“Mmm … they’re not all the same, sir, these outings: sometimes you drink until you’ve drunk up everything, and either somebody gives you a beating, or you give somebody a beating, but another time it turns out shorter, you just get taken to the police station or sleep it off in a ditch, and it’s enough, the mood goes away. On such occasions I went by the rules, and if I happened to feel I needed an outing, I’d go to the prince and say:

“ ‘Thus and so, Your Serenity, kindly take the money from me, and I’ll disappear.’

“He never argued, he’d just take the money, and sometimes ask:

“ ‘Does Your Honor contemplate being at it for a long time?’

“So I’d give him a reply depending on how zealous I felt, for a big outing or a short one.

“And I’d leave, and he’d run things by himself and wait until my outing was over, and it all went quite well; only I was terribly sick of this weakness of mine, and I resolved suddenly to get rid of it; and it was then that I went on such a last outing that even now it’s frightening to remember it.”

XI

We naturally insisted that Ivan Severyanych crown his amiability by telling us all about this new ill-fated episode in his life, and he, in his goodness, of course did not refuse us that, and of his “last outing” told the following: