The Man Who Was Afraid

He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout arms were swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he was shaking, were bending under him, scraping against the floor. His gold watch fell out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his round paunch. Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation of the sedate man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, trembling with the happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and in a dull voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a great feeling – the feeling of emancipation from the wearisome burden which had long oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing his toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark, heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they tore him away and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma:

“You mustn’t beat me! You mustn’t! I have an…

“Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.

“Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, O – O – O! You may expect a duel!”

And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma’s ear:

“Come, my dear boy, for God’s sake!”

“Wait, I’ll give him a kick in the face,” begged Foma. But he was dragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile:

“I gave him a sound drubbing, didn’t I?”

“Listen!” exclaimed the gay secretary, indignantly. “You must pardon me but that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessed such a thing before!”

“My dear man!” said Foma, friendly, “did he not deserve the drubbing? Is he not a scoundrel? How can he speak like that behind a person’s back? No! Let him go to her and tell it plainly to her alone.”

“Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn’t for her alone that you gave him the drubbing?”

“That is, what do you mea, – not for her alone? For whom then?” asked Foma, amazed.

“For whom? I don’t know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! Oh Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!”

“He – that man – who is he?” asked Foma, and suddenly burst out laughing. “How he roared, the fool!”

Ookhtishchev looked fixedly into his face and asked:

“Tell me, is it true, that you don’t know whom you’ve thrashed? And is it really only for Sophya Pavlovna?”

“It is, by God!” avowed Foma.

“So, the devil knows what the result may be!” He stopped short, shrugged his shoulders perplexedly, waved his hand, and again began to pace the sidewalk, looking at Foma askance. “You’ll pay for this, Foma Ignatyevich.”

“Will he take me to court?”

“Would to God he does. He is the Vice-Governor’s son-in-law.”

“Is that so?” said Foma, slowly, and made a long face.

“Yes. To tell the truth, he is a scoundrel and a rascal. According to this fact I must admit, that he deserves a drubbing. But taking into consideration the fact that the lady you defended is also – ”

“Sir!” said Foma, firmly, placing his hand on Ookhtishchev’s shoulder, “I have always liked you, and you are now walking with me. I understand it and can appreciate it. But do not speak ill of her in my presence. Whatever she may be in your opinion, in my opinion, she is dear to me. To me she is the best woman. So I am telling you frankly. Since you are going with me, do not touch her. I consider her good, therefore she is good.”

There was great emotion in Foma’s voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him and said thoughtfully:

“You are a queer man, I must confess.”

“I am a simple man – a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now I feel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will.’

“I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know – to be frank, in return for your frankness – I also like you, although – Mm! It is rather dangerous to be with you. Such a knightly temper may come over you and one may get a thrashing at your hands.”

“How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat people every day, am I?” said Foma, confused. His companion began to laugh.

“What a monster you are! Listen to me – it is savage to fight – you must excuse me, but it is abominable. Yet, I must tell you, in this case you made a happy selection. You have thrashed a rake, a cynic, a parasite – a man who robbed his nephews with impunity.”

“Well, thank God for that!” said Foma with satisfaction. “Now I have punished him a little.”

“A little? Very well, let us suppose it was a little. But listen to me, my child, permit me to give you advice. I am a man of the law. He, that Kayazev, is a rascal! True! But you must not thrash even a rascal, for he is a social being, under the paternal custody of the law. You cannot touch him until he transgresses the limits of the penal code. But even then, not you, but we, the judges, will give him his due. While you must have patience.”

“And will he soon fall into your hands?” inquired Foma, naively.

“It is hard to tell. Being far from stupid, he will probably never be caught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in the same degree of equality before the law. Oh God, what I am telling you!” said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh.

“Betraying secrets?” grinned Foma.

“It isn’t secrets; but I ought not to be frivolous. De-e-evil! But then, this affair enlivened me. Indeed, Nemesis is even then true to herself when she simply kicks like a horse.”

Foma stopped suddenly, as though he had met an obstacle on his way.

“Nemesis – the goddess of Justice,” babbled Ookhtishchev. “What’s the matter with you?”

“And it all came about,” said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice, “because you said that she was going away.”

“Who?

“Sophya Pavlovna.”

“Yes, she is going away. Well?”

He stood opposite Foma and stared at him, with a smile in his eyes. Gordyeeff was silent, with lowered head, tapping the stone of the sidewalk with his cane.

“Come,” said Ookhtishchev.

Foma started, saying indifferently:

“Well, let her go. And I am alone.” Ookhtishchev, waving his cane, began to whistle, looking at his companion.

“Sha’n’t I be able to get along without her?” asked Foma, looking somewhere in front of him and then, after a pause, he answered himself softly and irresolutely:

“Of course, I shall.”

“Listen to me!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev. “I’ll give you some good advice. A man must be himself. While you, you are an epic man, so to say, and the lyrical is not becoming to you. It isn’t your genre.”

“Speak to me more simply, sir,” said Foma, having listened attentively to his words.

“More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this little lady. She is poisonous food for you.”