A Night in the Cemetery

IGNORAMUS

A young man, blond and broad-faced, in a torn sheepskin and big, black felt boots, waited until the local doctor, having completed his appointments, left the hospital to go home, and approached him hesitatingly.

“My dear sir,” he began.

“What do you want?”

The young man passed the palm of his hand upward along his nose, looked at the sky, and then answered:

“To your grace…. You’ve got my brother Basil, the blacksmith from Varvarino, in the ward of convicts here, your lordship.”

“Yes, so what?”

“Well, I mean to say, I’m Basil’s brother…. Our father has the two of us: he is Basil, and I am Kirila. And three sisters apart from us, and Basil’s a married man with a child now…. A big family, and no one to work…. See, we haven’t heated the fire in the forge for two years now. I’m at the cotton factory, I’m no blacksmith, and father—there isn’t any use for him as a worker, I should say, when he can’t get his spoon to his mouth right.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“Do me a favor, sir, let Basil go!”

The doctor looked at Kirila with surprise, and, without saying a word, walked on. The young man ran in front of him and fell down at his feet.

“Doctor, gracious master!” he implored, blinking and passing the palm of his hand along his nose again. “Reveal heavenly grace, let Basil go home! You’ll make me pray to God for you forever! Your lordship, do let him go! The family is dying of hunger! Mother’s wailing all day long, Basil’s wife’s wailing, it’s terrible! I wouldn’t see the light of day, if I could. Do me a favor, gracious master, let him go!”

“Are you a fool or are you out of your mind?” asked the doctor, looking angrily at him. “How possibly can I let him go? He is a convict.”

Kirila started to cry. “Let him go!”

“Oh dear, what an odd man you are! What right do I have to do it? I’m not a jailer, am I? They brought him to the hospital for me to treat him, but I have no more right to let him go than to put you in prison, you silly man!”

“But they put him in prison for nothing! He spent a whole year there before trial, and why should he stay there now, is all I’m asking. It would’ve been a different thing if he’d murdered someone, or, say, stole horses; but it’s just for nothing at all.”

“I still don’t see what I can do about it.”

“They sent him to prison for no reason. He was drunk, your lordship, he didn’t remember anything, and he even stroked father on the ear, he cut his own cheek through on a branch, and two of our villagers—see, they wanted some Turkish tobacco—told him to break into the Armenian man’s shop at night to get tobacco. And drunk as he was, he agreed, the fool. They broke the lock, you know, got in, and made a complete mess. Everything upside down, windows broken, flour all over the floor. They were drunk, in short! Well, the constable turned up … this and that, and they took him to the investigator. They’ve been in prison the whole year, and a week ago, it was Wednesday, they were tried in town, all three of them. A soldier with a gun stood behind them … people swore an oath. Basil is less guilty than anyone, and so the gentlemen decided that he was the mastermind behind the whole thing. The two fellows went to prison, and Basil to a convict battalion for three years. And what for? Judge it yourself as it should be!”

“I’ve nothing to do with it, I tell you. You’d better go to the authorities.”

“I’ve been there already! I was in court, I wanted to submit a petition—they wouldn’t take it. I went to the sheriff, and I saw the investigator, and everyone I spoke to just said, ‘It’s not my business!’ Whose business is it, then? And in the hospital, there’s no one above you. You do whatever you like, your lordship.”

“What a fool you are,” sighed the doctor. “If the jury found him guilty, neither the governor, nor even the minister is in any position to change anything, let alone the sheriff. There’s no use in your bustling about!”

“And who judged him, then?”

“Gentlemen of the jury …”

“There’s no way they’re gentlemen, they were folks from our village. Andrew Guryev was there, and Alexander Huk.”

“Well, I am getting cold standing around and talking to you….”

The doctor waved his hand and walked quickly to his door. Kirila wanted to follow him, but, seeing the door slam, he stopped.

For about ten minutes he stood motionless in the middle of the hospital yard, and standing without his cap on, stared at the doctor’s flat, then he took a deep breath, scratched himself slowly, and went to the gate.

“Who shall I go to?” he muttered as he went out on the road. “One says it’s not his business, another says it’s not his business. Whose business is it, then? Yeah, that’s true, you won’t get nothing till you grease their palms. When the doctor talked to me, he kept looking at my fist all the time, as if I’d give him a five. Well, brother, I’ll go to the governor himself, if I have to.”

Shifting from one foot to the other and looking around him every now and then without any purpose, he dragged himself lazily along the road, apparently making up his mind about where to go…. It was not cold and the snow crunched faintly under his feet. Not more than half a mile away, the small town lay on a hill in front of him, where his brother had been tried not long ago. The dark spot of the town prison under the red roof with sentry boxes at the corners was on his right; on his left was the central park, now covered with hoarfrost. It was quiet, there was just an old man walking ahead, wearing a lady’s jacket and a huge cap. He coughed and yelled at a cow that he was driving into town.

“Hello, grandfather,” said Kirila, overtaking him.

“Hello …”

“Will you sell it in town?”

“No, it’s just here with me,” the old man answered lazily.

“Are you from town?”

They got to talking. Kirila told him what he had been to the hospital for and what he had talked about with the doctor.

“Sure, the doctor doesn’t know these things,” the old man was telling him as they came into town. “He’s a gentleman, that’s right, but all he knows is how to cure things with drugs. But to get real advice, or, say, write a statement for you—he has no understanding of it. For this, there are special authorities. You’ve seen the magistrate and the sheriff—they are of no help to you in this affair.”

“Where should I go, then?”

“The most important man who is placed to settle all the peasants’ affairs is a permanent member of the council. You should go to him, Mr. Sineokov.”

“Is he in Zolotovo?”

“Yes, in Zolotovo. He is the most powerful man. If it’s something to do with you peasants’ affairs, even the sheriff has no full right against him.”

“It’s a long way to go, old fellow…. About twelve miles or even more, I’d say.”

“When you need something badly, you’d go a hundred.”

“True…. Shall I give a petition to him, or what?”

“You’ll find out there. If it’s a petition, the clerk will easily write it for you. The permanent member has a clerk.”

Having parted from the old man, Kirila stood in the middle of the square, thought it over and went away from the town. He decided to go to Zolotovo.

Five days later, as the doctor was walking home after seeing his patients, he saw Kirila in his yard again. This time he was not alone but with a thin and very pale old man who kept nodding his head like a pendulum, and mumbled with his lips.

“Your lordship, I’ve come to see you,” Kirila started. “This is my father; please do us a favor, let Basil go! The permanent member didn’t want to talk to me. He said: ‘Go away!’”

“Your lordship,” the old man hissed with his throat, raising his trembling brows. “Be gracious! We’re poor people, we cannot thank your honor properly, but if you so wish, Kiriushka here or Basil can work for you. Let them work.”

“We’ll work for you,” said Kirila, and raised his hand as if wishing to take an oath. “Let him go! They’re dying with hunger, crying their eyes out, your lordship!”

The young man glanced quickly at his father, pulled him by the sleeve, and both of them, as if on command, fell down at the doctor’s feet. The latter waved his hand hopelessly, and, without looking back, walked quickly to his door.