William Gerhardie - The Polyglots

‘Why not lock the door of his bunk while he is out?’

‘There is no lock,’ she replied.

‘H’m.’

I spoke to him. Vladislav spoke to him. Uncle Lucy, too, spoke to him. We all spoke to him, and I got Captain Negodyaev to speak to him. But Stepàn would not budge from his bunk.

One day it seemed as if Stepàn had gone, and Vladislav, reporting the news, crossed himself with relief. But in the morning he informed us that Stepàn had come back in the night.

‘Send for the General,’ at last said Aunt Teresa.

The General arrived soon after three o’clock. ‘ I ’ll talk to him. I ’ll manage him, rest assured,’ he said when he had had his overcoat removed, and rubbing his hands, proceeded to the drawing-room, ‘ I ’ll tackle the skunk. Bring him in here.’

‘He won’t come here,’ said Aunt Teresa. ‘The trouble is that he won’t go anywhere. He won’t go away.’

‘ I ’ll go to him. I ’ll talk to him. I ’ll manage the skunk, never you fear.’

We followed the General into the stable, above which the coachman Stepàn had his abode. The General kicked open the door of Stepàn’s den without undue ceremony. An incredibly odious smell let loose on us, like a wild beast, so that for a moment we were, despite ourselves, forced back into the passage and the General pulled out his scented handkerchief and applied it to his nostrils. But Stepàn sat listless in his bunk, with a queer, peculiarly enervating look of complacent sullenness in his face, and never uttered a word. ‘The skunk!’ said the General, and at once began threatening the man. But Stepàn never uttered a word.

‘I give you three minutes in which to clear out, do you hear, you skunk?’ shouted the General. ‘I’ll this — I’ll that — and I’ll the other thing—’

But Stepàn never moved or uttered a word.

‘You skunk!’ shouted the General. ‘Ach, you bad subject! Why, I’ll take and hang you by the nose on the nearest fence, you bestia ! You grovelling reptile! You crocodile!’

But Stepàn never moved or uttered a word.

The General spared no pains. ‘Am I talking to you or am I talking to this wall, you incredible blackguard?’ he shouted again. And he cursed him, and he cursed him, and he cursed him, up and down, this way and that way, lengthwise and sidewise and crosswise and roundabout: ‘Ach, you son of this, and you son of that, and you son of the other thing.’

No good: Stepàn did not stir.

The General resumed with added zest, with renewed vigour, with incredible gusto. After a time he stopped, to take breath and to examine the effect which his threat had had on the man. It seemed as though it had had none.

‘Tough stuff, these people,’ the General said, and wiped his moist brow. ‘Ugh! I’ve even perspired. I once had a batman — Private Solovyov. I was talking to him, do you know, as though he were a human being like myself— talking , you understand. His look was a blank — less intelligent than a cow’s. Only when I began using strong adjectives, dragged in a few choice epithets bearing directly on his family tree, made mention of his mother, and so on, all in the recognized old way—“ Ach , you son of a—” and that sort of thing, don’t you know, well, then, and then only, his face began to light up as though after all there was a glimmering spark of reason lingering somewhere in that skull, and then, by shades, by grades, as I persisted with my adjectives, would you believe it, he almost became human; and actually said: “Quite so, your Excellency.” This is the material we’ve got to deal with. Yes … Here nothing is possible. Nothing can be done with this canaille . And how are you?’ he turned to Aunt Teresa. He looked at her tenderly. The sun played on his wrinkled brown eyes.

‘I’m — as always. But this coachman, really—’

‘Where does he come from?’ he asked.

‘Little Russia, I think.’

‘Nothing to be done. Nothing to be done with that race! And what have you been doing with yourself all this time?’

‘I suppose we’ll have to keep him?’ she sighed with dismay, her look betraying the suspicion that she no longer hoped great things from the General and thought that his bark was rather worse than his bite.

The General sighed and looked pensive. ‘He may take to heart what I told him and go. I’ll come again tomorrow, anyhow, and see.’

It was all of no avail. The coachman came back the same night. The General called the next day as he had promised. ‘Tough stuff, these people,’ he sighed when he heard the news from Aunt Teresa. ‘As I told you, I had a batman once, Private Solovyov — a hard case, but in the end I managed to knock a spark of reason out of that skull. But this—’ He sighed. ‘ Here … nothing is possible.’

Green grow the leaves on the old oak tree …

AS CHRISTMAS APPROACHED THE CHILDREN BEGAN to think of presents. The Russian Christmas was thirteen days later than ours, the reason being, according to Natàsha, that Father Christmas could not possibly be in two places at the same time. The children liked going to the big shop in the Kitaiskaya where, besides the splendid Christmas display, there was a man dressed up as old Father Christmas, who had to shake hands all day long with all the children who came to the shop in a long stream; and he seemed very angry and irritable, being more than fed up with his job. But the children revelled in him, such as he was. Berthe had bought a pair of scarlet felt slippers for Nora with scarlet pompons , and was knitting a little striped jumper to button her in, while Uncle Lucy was making three little chairs for the three little bears to sit on. Harry and Nora had no doubt in their mind as to what they wanted, and at night, before going to bed, spoke up the chimney: ‘A peddling-motor, please.’—‘A perambulator and a doll, please.’

‘What would you rather have: a little horse or a little doll?’ I asked Bubby.

‘A little horse and a little doll.’

‘And you, Nora?’

‘Sometime when you have a specially lot of money—’

‘Well?’

‘A r ittle house.’

‘A doll’s house?’

‘Yesh.’

‘And what is Father Christmas bringing you?’

‘A perambulator and a doll.’

‘Both at once?’

‘I ’hink so,’ she said.

On the afternoon of the 24th a parcel arrived, with a card from General Pshemòvich-Pshevìtski, addressed to Aunt Teresa and Sylvia, which, being opened, turned out to contain two sets of crêpe-de-Chine camisoles and knickers of Japanese make; Sylvia’s being pink with little Chinamen stitched out by hand all along the border.

‘Oh! how beauty! Oh! what a lovely!’ Natàsha exclaimed as Sylvia held them up for inspection. Aunt Teresa’s were green but without Chinamen. She was both confused and yet, I think, secretly flattered by the gift. It seemed too impudent for words — if the General had had any kind of … suggestion in mind. That he had coupled her with her daughter seemed reassuring. And yet, could he have had any thought of Sylvia’s wearing them? — that alone was too impudent — and she even felt jealous. How tactless the man was, to be sure — the tall man with the stiff black moustache and the closely-cropped hair turning grey. Much, of course, must be forgiven him, since he had risen from a plain policeman! And, after all, he had just been over to Japan, and anything in silk was a natural gift in the circumstances. That was the trend of the innuendoes that she had exchanged with Berthe. But the knickers were nice and reminded her of her youth — though in her youth they didn’t wear such knickers.