Ivan Goncharov - Oblomov / Обломов. Книга для чтения на английском языке

«Oh Lord, oh Lord!» he murmured, overflowing with happiness, and came back to reality. He heard five people shouting their wares in the courtyard: «Potatoes! Who wants sand – sand? Coals! Coals! Spare a few coppers for building a temple of God, ladies and gentlemen!» And from the house that was being built next door came the sound of axes and the shouts of workmen.

«Oh dear!» Oblomov sighed mournfully aloud. «What a life! How horrible these town noises are! When will the heavenly life I long for come? When shall I return to my native woods and fields? Oh», he thought, «if only I were lying under a tree on the grass now, looking at the sun through the branches and counting the birds on them. Some rosy-cheeked maid-servant with soft, round bare arms and a sunburnt neck would bring me my lunch or dinner, lowering her eyes, the pretty rogue, and smiling… Oh, when will this time come at last?»

«And what about my plan, the bailiff, the flat?» he suddenly heard a voice inside him say.

«Yes, yes!» Oblomov said hurriedly. «At once! At once!»

He quickly rose and sat up on the sofa, then he lowered his feet to the floor, got into both his slippers at once, and sat like that for several minutes; then he got up and stood thinking for a minute or two.

«Zakhar! Zakhar!» he called loudly, looking at the table and the inkstand.

«Oh, what is it now?» Zakhar muttered as he jumped off the stove. «I wonder I’ve still strength left to drag my feet about», he added in a hoarse whisper.

«Zakhar!» Oblomov repeated thoughtfully, without taking his eyes off the table. «Look here, old fellow», he began, pointing to the inkstand, but sank into thought again, without finishing the sentence.

Then he raised his arms slowly, his knees gave way, as he began stretching himself and yawning.

«We’ve still got some cheese left», he said slowly, still stretching himself, «and – er – yes, bring me some Madeira; dinner won’t be for some time yet, so I think I’ll have a little lunch…»

«Where was it left, sir?» Zakhar said. «There was nothing left».

«What do you mean?» Oblomov interrupted him. «I remember very well – it was a piece as big as that».

«No, sir», Zakhar insisted stubbornly.

«There wasn’t any piece left at all».

«There was!» said Oblomov.

«There wasn’t», replied Zakhar.

«Well, go and buy some».

«Give me the money, please, sir».

«There’s some change on the table, take it».

«There’s only one rouble forty copecks, sir, and the cheese costs one rouble sixty copecks».

«There were some coppers there too».

«I never saw them, sir», said Zakhar, shifting from one foot to another. «There was some silver and it’s still there, but there were no coppers».

«There were – the pedlar gave them to me himself yesterday».

«Yes, sir, I saw him give you your change», said Zakhar, «but I never saw no coppers».

«I wonder if Tarantyev took it», Oblomov thought irresolutely. «But no, he would have taken all the change».

«What else is there left?» he asked.

«Nothing, sir. There may be some ham left over from yesterday», said Zakhar. «I’ll go and ask Anisya. Shall I bring it?»

«Bring what there is. But how is it there’s no cheese left?» «Well, there isn’t», said Zakhar, and went out.

Oblomov slowly and thoughtfully paced about the study.

«Yes», he said softly, «there’s plenty to do. Take the plan alone – lots of work still to be done on it! I’m sure there was some cheese left», he added thoughtfully. «It’s that Zakhar who’s eaten it and he’s just saying there wasn’t any. And where could the coppers have gone to?» he went on, rummaging on the table.

A quarter of an hour later Zakhar opened the door with the tray, which he carried in both hands. As he came into the room, he wanted to shut the door with his foot, but missed it and nearly fell over; a wine-glass, the stopper of the decanter, and a roll dropped to the floor.

«You can’t take a step without dropping something», said Oblomov. «Well, pick up what you’ve dropped! Look at him, standing there and admiring his handiwork!»

Zakhar, still holding the tray, bent down to pick up the roll, but as he squatted down, he realized that both his hands were still occupied and he could not possibly do so.

«Well, sir, pick it up!» Oblomov said sarcastically. «Why don’t you? What’s wrong?»

«Oh, damn you all!» Zakhar burst out furiously, addressing himself to the articles on the floor. «Who ever heard of having lunch before dinner?»

And, putting down the tray, he picked up the things from the floor; taking the roll, he blew on it and then put it on the table.

Oblomov began his lunch, and Zakhar remained standing at some distance from him, glancing at him sideways and evidently intending to say something. But Oblomov went on eating without taking the slightest notice of him. Zakhar coughed once or twice. Oblomov still paid no attention.

«The landlord’s agent, sir, has just called again», Zakhar at last began timidly. «The builder has been to see him and asked if he could have a look at our flat. It’s all about the conversion, sir…»

Oblomov went on eating without answering a word.

«Sir», Zakhar said after a pause, more quietly than ever.

Oblomov pretended not to hear.

«They say we must move next week, sir», Zakhar wheezed.

Oblomov drank a glass of wine and said nothing.

«What are we going to do, sir?» Zakhar asked almost in a whisper.

«I told you not to mention it to me again», Oblomov said sternly and, getting up, went up to Zakhar.

Zakhar drew back from him.

«What a venomous creature you are, Zakhar!» Oblomov added with feeling.

Zakhar was hurt.

«Me, sir?» he said. «Me venomous? I haven’t killed nobody».

«Why, of course you are venomous», Oblomov repeated. «You poison my life».

«No, sir», Zakhar insisted. «I’m not venomous, sir!»

«Why, then, do you pester me about the flat?»

«But what can I do, sir?»

«What can I do?»

«But you were going to write to the landlord, weren’t you, sir?»

«Well, of course, I will write. But you must have patience. One can’t do it all at once».

«You ought to write to him now, sir».

«Now, now! I have much more important business to attend to. You think it’s just like chopping wood? Bang – and it’s done? Look», Oblomov said, turning a dry pen in the inkwell, «there no ink in the inkwell, either. How can I write?»

«I’ll dilute it with kvas at once», said Zakhar, picking up the inkstand, and he walked quickly out of the room, while Oblomov began looking for note-paper.

«I don’t think we have any note-paper in the house», he said, rummaging in a drawer and running his fingers over the table. «No, there isn’t! Oh, that Zakhar – what a damn nuisance the fellow is!»

«Well», said Oblomov to Zakhar as he came back, «aren’t you a venomous creature? You never look after anything! Why isn’t there any note-paper in the house?»

«But really, sir, how can you say that? I am a Christian, I am. Why do you call me venomous? Venomous, indeed! I was born and grew up in the old master’s time. He’d call me a puppy, and box my ears, but I never heard him call me that! He’d never have thought of such a word, he wouldn’t! There is no telling what you might do next! Here’s the paper, sir».

He picked up half a sheet of grey note-paper from the bookcase and gave it to Oblomov.

«You don’t suppose I can write a letter on this, do you?» Oblomov asked, throwing down the paper. «I’ve been using it to cover my glass at night so that nothing – venomous might drop into it!»