A Night in the Cemetery

IVAN THE CABMAN

It was almost two o’clock in the morning.

Commerce Councilor Ivan Vasilievich Kotlov left the restaurant “Slavic Bazaar” and walked along Nikolsky Street toward the Kremlin. It was a beautiful, starry night. The stars peeked from behind small clouds as they merrily twinkled, as if it were a pleasant task to gaze upon the earth. The air was clear, and all was quiet.

“The taxi drivers near the restaurant district are so expensive,” Kotlov thought, “I have to keep on walking until they become cheaper. Besides, I could use the walk, as I did overeat and I am drunk.”

Near the Kremlin, he hailed the night cab driver, “Ivan.” This is the nickname given to any Moscow taxi driver.

“Take me to Yakimovka Street!” he told the cab driver.

This particular Ivan, a young man about twenty-five years old, smacked his lips and lazily drew his reins. The short horse left its resting spot as it moved slowly until it reached a slow, steady trot. Kotlov saw that he had a real, typical Ivan-the-cabman. It was enough to catch a glimpse of his sleepy, rough face, covered with pimples, and one could tell that he was a cabman.

They headed through the Kremlin.

“What time is it now?” asked Ivan.

“Two o’clock,” answered the Commerce Councilor.

“Yes, it is becoming warmer. It was cold for a few days, and now it is warming up again. Hey you, lame one! What kind of a lazy horse are you?”

The groom stood up in his seat and whipped his horse on its back.

“I don’t like winter,” he continued, sitting more comfortably and turning back toward his customer. “It is too cold for me during the winter. When I stay in the frost, I freeze and start shaking all over. As soon as the temperature drops, my face explodes and swells. I am not accustomed to the cold!”

“You must get used to it. You are in a profession that requires it, so you must.”

“A man can get used to anything, which is true, yes sir!

“But before you get used to it, you’ll most likely freeze at least twenty times. I am a tender and spoiled man, your honor. I was spoiled by my parents. They did not think I would end up being a groom. They treated me with such tenderness, God bless them. They put me as a baby next to the warm oven in our country house, and I slept there until I was ten. I stayed there eating pies like a stupid pig. I was their beloved son. They dressed me in the best clothes, taught me how to read and to write for my future happy life. When I wanted to run barefoot, they warned me: ‘You will get a cold, boy,’ as if I were not a peasant but a landlord or man of prominence.

“When my father beat me, my mother cried. When my mother yelled at me, my father took my side. Every time I went to the forest to accompany my father to collect firewood, my mother put three fur coats on me, as if I were off to Moscow or something.”

“Were you rich as far as farming goes?”

“We were neither rich, nor poor, just like all farmers. We thanked God for every day. We were not rich, but we did not starve or feel hunger, thank God. We lived as family, sir, that is, like a family. My grandfather was still alive then, and his two sons lived with him. One son, that is my father, was married; the second son was single. I was the only child. And so they spoiled me, even my grandfather. You know, he was very good at making money, and he thought that I was too smart for a farmer.

“I will buy you a general store, Petruska, when you grow up,” he said. So I was raised well and spoiled, until something terrible happened that changed everything.

“My uncle stole the old man’s money, about twenty thousand rubles. After he stole the money, we became bankrupt. We had to sell our horses and cows, and my father and grandfather had to become hired workers. You know how we peasants live. As for me—I became a hired shepherd.”

“And what happened to your uncle?”

“Nothing. Everything happened for him just like he wanted. He rented a pub along the major road and did quite well. About five years later, he married a rich woman from the town of Serpukov. She had around eight thousand rubles for her dowry. Soon after they married, the pub burned down. Why shouldn’t it burn down, as it was insured? After the fire, they moved to Moscow, and rented a hardware store there. People say that he became so rich that you could not approach him. Some men from my village saw him then and passed all this information on about him. I have not seen him since he ran off with the money. His name is Kotlov; his first name is Ivan Vasilievich. Have you heard of him?”

“No, but please, go on.”

“We were abused terribly by Ivan Vasilievich, very much so. He forced us into poverty, for we even lost our house. If it were not for him, do you think I would be out here in the freezing cold with my complexion and weakness? Huh! No. I would stay in my hometown.”

“Oh, these are the chimes of morning vespers! That reminds me. I want to pray to God that my uncle will pay for what he has done to us. No, let God forgive him! I will endure this!”

“To the side entrance.”

“Yes, as you say. We have arrived. And for my story you can pay five kopecks.”

Kotlov took a coin from his pocket and gave it to Ivan.

“Can you spare more?”

“No, that’s enough.”

The Commerce Councilor rang the bell and after a moment disappeared behind the thick carved wooden door into the building.

The cabman jumped back into place and slowly turned his carriage. A cold wind blew. Ivan wrinkled his face, tucking his cold hands into his worn-out sleeves. The cabdriver had not gotten used to the weather conditions, nor was he likely to, as he had been too spoiled as a child.