It happened in the spring at Nikolaev, at that time
a new town, to which Kuzma Vassilyevitch had been
sent on a government commission. (He was a lieutenant
in the navy.) He had, as a trustworthy and prudent
officer, been charged by the authorities with the task
of looking after the construction of ship-yards and
from time to time received considerable sums of money,
which for security he invariably carried in a leather
belt on his person. Kuzma Vassilyevitch certainly
was distinguished by his prudence and, in spite of
his youth, his behaviour was exemplary; he studiously
avoided every impropriety of conduct, did not touch
cards, did not drink and, even fought shy of society
so that of his comrades, the quiet ones called him
“a regular girl” and the rowdy ones called
him a muff and a noodle. Kuzma Vassilyevitch
had only one failing, he had a tender heart for the
fair sex; but even in that direction he succeeded
in restraining his impulses and did not allow himself
to indulge in any “foolishness.” He
got up and went to bed early, was conscientious in
performing his duties and his only recreation consisted
in rather long evening walks about the outskirts of
Nikolaev. He did not read as he thought it would
send the blood to his head; every spring he used to
drink a special decoction because he was afraid of
being too full-blooded. Putting on his uniform
and carefully brushing himself Kuzma Vassilyevitch
strolled with a sedate step alongside the fences of
orchards, often stopped, admired the beauties of nature,
gathered flowers as souvenirs and found a certain
pleasure in doing so; but he felt acute pleasure only
when he happened to meet “a charmer,” that
is, some pretty little workgirl with a shawl flung
over her shoulders, with a parcel in her ungloved
hand and a gay kerchief on her head. Being as
he himself expressed it of a susceptible but modest
temperament Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not address the
“charmer,” but smiled ingratiatingly at
her and looked long and attentively after her....
Then he would heave a deep sigh, go home with the same
sedate step, sit down at the window and dream for
half an hour, carefully smoking strong tobacco out
of a meerschaum pipe with an amber mouthpiece given
him by his godfather, a police superintendent of German
origin. So the days passed neither gaily nor drearily.
IV
Well, one day, as he was returning home along an empty
side-street at dusk Kuzma Vassilyevitch heard behind
him hurried footsteps and incoherent words mingled
with sobs. He looked round and saw a girl about
twenty with an extremely pleasing but distressed and
tear-stained face. She seemed to have been overtaken
by some great and unexpected grief. She was running
and stumbling as she ran, talking to herself, exclaiming,
gesticulating; her fair hair was in disorder and her
shawl (the burnous and the mantle were unknown in
those days) had slipped off her shoulders and was
kept on by one pin. The girl was dressed like
a young lady, not like a workgirl.
Copyrights
Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
