Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories eBook

Yegor’s son David, my cousin, was left on my father’s hands and lived with us.  He was only one year older than I; but I respected him and obeyed him as though he were quite grown up.  He was a sensible fellow with character; in appearance, thick-set and broad-shouldered with a square face covered with freckles, with red hair, small grey eyes, thick lips, a short nose, and short fingers—­a sturdy lad, in fact—­and strong for his age!  My aunt could not endure him; my father was positively afraid of him ... or perhaps he felt himself to blame towards him.  There was a rumour that, if my father had not given his brother away, David’s father would not have been sent to Siberia.  We were both at the high school and in the same class and both fairly high up in it; I was, indeed, a little better at my lessons than David.  I had a good memory but boys—­as we all know!—­do not think much of such superiority, and David remained my leader.

II

My name—­you know—­is Alexey.  I was born on the seventh of March and my name-day is the seventeenth.  In accordance with the old-fashioned custom, I was given the name of the saint whose festival fell on the tenth day after my birth.  My godfather was a certain Anastasy Anastasyevitch Putchkov, or more exactly Nastasey Nastasyeitch, for that was what everyone called him.  He was a terribly shifty, pettifogging knave and bribe-taker—­a thoroughly bad man; he had been turned out of the provincial treasury and had had to stand his trial on more than one occasion; he was often of use to my father....  They used to “do business” together.  In appearance he was a round, podgy figure; and his face was like a fox’s with a nose like an owl’s.  His eyes were brown, bright, also like a fox’s, and he was always moving them, those eyes, to right and to left, and he twitched his nose, too, as though he were sniffing the air.  He wore shoes without heels, and wore powder every day, which was looked upon as very exceptional in the provinces.  He used to declare that he could not go without powder as he had to associate with generals and their ladies.  Well, my name-day had come.  Nastasey Nastasyeitch came to the house and said: 

“I have never made you a present up to now, godson, but to make up for that, look what a fine thing I have brought you to-day.”

And he took out of his pocket a silver watch, a regular turnip, with a rose tree engraved on the face and a brass chain.  I was overwhelmed with delight, while my aunt, Pelageya Petrovna, shouted at the top of her voice: 

“Kiss his hand, kiss his hand, dirty brat!”

I proceeded to kiss my godfather’s hand, while my aunt went piping on: 

“Oh, Nastasey Nastasyeitch!  Why do you spoil him like this?  How can he take care of a watch?  He will be sure to drop it, break it, or spoil it.”

My father walked in, looked at the watch, thanked Nastasey Nastasyeitch—­somewhat carelessly, and invited him to his study.  And I heard my father say, as though to himself: