IV
Theodore, the friend who drove Father Vasily back, was a sociable, merry giant with red hair and a red beard. His son had just been taken as a recruit, and to celebrate the event, Theodore had had a drink, and was therefore in a particularly happy frame of mind.
“Mitri’s mare was tired out,” he said; “why not help a friend? Why not help a friend? We ought to be kind to one another, oughtn’t we? Now then, my beauty!” he shouted to the bay horse with its tightly plaited tail, and touched it with the whip.
“Gently, gently,” said Father Vasily, shaken as he was by the jolting.
“Well, we can go slower. Is she dead?”
“Yes, she is at rest,” said the priest.
The red-haired man wanted to express his sympathy, but he also wanted to have a joke.
“God’s taken one wife. He’ll send another,” he said, wishing to have a laugh.
“Oh, it is terribly sad for the poor fellow!” said the priest.
“Of course it is. He is poor and has no one to help him. He came to me and said, ‘Take the priest home, will you; my mare can’t do any more.’ We must help one another, mustn’t we?”
“You’ve been drinking, I see. It’s wrong of you, Theodore. It’s a working-day.”
“Do you think I drank at the expense of others? I drank at my own. I was seeing my son off. Forgive me, Father, for God’s sake.”
“It is not my business to forgave. I only say it is better not to drink.”
“Of course it is, but what am I to do? If I were just nobody—but, thank God, I am well off. I live openly. I am sorry for Mitri. Who could help being sorry for him? Why, only last year someone stole his horse. Oh, you have to keep a sharp eye on folk nowadays.”
Theodore began a long story about some horses that were stolen from a fair; how one was killed for the sake of its skin—but the thief was caught and was beaten black and blue, said Theodore, with evident satisfaction.
“They ought not to have beaten him.”
“Do you think they ought to have patted him on the back?”
While conversing in this manner they reached Father Vasily’s house.
Father Vasily wanted to go to his room and rest, but during his absence two letters had come—one from his son, one from the bishop. The bishop’s circular was of no importance, but the son’s letter gave rise to a stormy scene, which increased when his wife asked him for the half-rouble and found that he had given it away. Her anger grew, but the real cause was the boy’s letter and their inability to satisfy his demands—due entirely to her husband’s carelessness, she thought.