The Spy

"There you are!" Yevsey exclaimed mentally, vexed and heated. "Begins the minute he comes in! Oh, Lord!"

He felt a painful ache in his chest, as if something inside him had been torn. Without thinking of what his question would lead to, he quickly asked the joiner:

"Are there any revolutionists in the factory?"

As if touched to the quick, Zimin quickly turned to him, and looked into his eyes. The cook frowned, and said in a voice dissatisfied but not loud:

"They say revolutionists are everywhere nowadays."

"From smartness or stupidity?" asked Liza.

Unable to withstand the hard searching look of the joiner, Klimkov slowly bowed his head, though he followed the workingman with a sidelong glance.

"Why does that interest you?" Zimin inquired politely but sternly.

"I have no interest in it," Yevsey answered lazily.

"Ah! Then why do you ask?"

"Just so," said Yevsey; and in a few seconds added, "Out of politeness."

The joiner smiled.

It seemed to Yevsey that three pairs of eyes were looking at him suspiciously and severely. He felt awkward, and something bitter nipped his throat. Masha came out of the cook's room, smiling guiltily. When she looked at the others' faces, the smile disappeared.

"What's the matter?"

"It's the wine," flashed through Yevsey's mind. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and said. "Don't think I asked for no reason at all. I asked because I wanted to tell her long ago – your sister – about you."

Zimin also rose. His face gathered in wrinkles, and turned yellow.

"What can you tell her about me?" he asked with calm dignity.

Masha's quiet whisper reached Yevsey's ear. "What's up between them?"

"Wait," said Anfisa.

"I know," said Yevsey. He had the sensation that he was being swung from the floor into the air light as a feather. He seemed to see everything, observe everything with marvellous plainness. "I know you're being followed – followed by the agents of the Department of Safety, I know you're a revolutionist."

The cook shook in her chair, crying out in astonishment and fright:

"Matvey, what does this mean?"

"Excuse me," said Zimin, passing his hand reassuringly before her face. "This is a serious matter." Then he said to Yevsey in a decided stern tone, "Young man, put your overcoat on. You must go home. And I, too, must go. Put your overcoat on."

Yevsey smiled. He still felt empty and light. It was a pleasant sensation, but his eyes were dim, and the caustic tickling taste in his mouth came back again. He scarcely realized how he walked away, but he did not forget that all were silent, and no one said good-by to him.

In the street Zimin nudged his shoulder, and said not aloud but emphatically:

"I beg you not to come to my sister any more."

"Why? Did I offend you?" asked Yevsey.

"No, not in the least."

"Why, then?"

"Who are you?"

"A peddler."

"Then how do you know what I am, and that I am being followed?"

"An acquaintance told me."

"A spy?"

"Yes."

"So? And you are a spy, too?"

"No," said Yevsey. But looking into Zimin's lean, pale face, he remembered the calm and dull sound of his voice, and without an effort corrected himself. "Yes, I, too."

They walked a few steps in silence.

"Well, go," said Zimin, suddenly halting. His voice sounded subdued and sorrowful. He shook his head strangely. "Go away."

Yevsey leaned his back against the enclosure, and gazed at the man, blinking his eyes. Zimin, too, looked at Yevsey, shaking his right hand.

"Why?" said Yevsey, in perplexity. "Didn't I tell you the truth? That you are being tracked?"

"Well?"

"And you are angry?"

Zimin bent toward him, and poured a wave of hissing words upon Klimkov.

"Yes, go to the devil! I know without you that they are tracking me. What's the matter? Is business going badly among you? Did you think you'd buy me? And betray people behind my back? Or did you want to throw a sop to your conscience? Go to hell! I say, go, or else I'll give you a black eye."

Yevsey started from his leaning posture, and walked off.

"Vermin!" he heard breathed behind him contemptuously.

Klimkov stopped, turned around, and for the first time swore at anybody with the whole power of his voice:

"Vermin yourself! You – cur!"

Zimin did not rejoin. His steps were inaudible. Somewhere Yevsey heard the snow crunching under the runners of a cab and the grinding of iron on stone.