A Vengeful Longing

1

‘What is it now?’ muttered Yegor as he shuffled along the hallway of Colonel Setochkin’s apartment towards the relentless pounding that threatened the integrity of their door. It had been a morning of interruptions. That busybody from the department of whatever it was, with his constant comings and goings, had driven him almost to distraction. So the drains stank — didn’t the drains stink every summer? What did the fellow hope to achieve going in and out of people’s homes and sniffing the air? If this was him again, come to fill up more of his bottles with their water, the water Yegor himself had drawn from the Neva — if so, he’d get more than he bargained for this time.

‘All right! All right!’ Yegor shouted. ‘I’ve heard you. Give me a chance. I’m not as young as I used to be.’ This overlooked the fact that even in his youth Yegor had not been one to hurry in the fulfilment of his duties. In those days he had been Colonel Setochkin’s batman, when they had served together in the Izmailovsky regiment. What a fool the colonel had been to resign his commission. There wasn’t a day went by when Yegor didn’t have cause to bemoan the change in their fortunes. Look at them now, stuck in this stifling apartment over the summer when the cream of society had long since left for the country. But the invitations ceased to come soon after Setochkin left the regiment. At the time there had been some suggestion of the old dog having no choice in the matter, scandalous rumours about missing regimental funds, a gambling debt, and the major’s daughter. There was always somebody’s daughter — or even wife — mixed up in things. But the master had always managed to worm his way out of such predicaments in the past. Ah well, there was never a dull moment with Setochkin. He had to give the rascal that.

Yegor smiled in begrudging admiration as he threw back the bolts. No sooner had he turned the handle than the door was pushed back into his face.

‘Where is he? Where is that villain?’ A middle-aged man with a cane in one hand bustled past Yegor. His silvered whiskers gleamed against the pink flush of his complexion. His eyes stood out in indignation.

‘Be careful who you are calling a villain!’ For all his master’s foibles, Yegor felt instinctively drawn to his defence.

‘Let there be no mistake about it. It is Setochkin I am calling a villain. And I will do so to his face.’ By now the irate gentleman was some way down the corridor. He struck each door he passed with his cane as if to beat Setochkin out of cover. ‘Let him come out! Let the coward show himself!’

‘By God!’ cried Yegor. ‘You cannot come here buffeting our walls and calling out names. Who do you think you are?’

‘I will tell you who I am. I am Ruslan Vladimirovich Vakhramev.’

At this point one of the doors that Vakhramev had struck opened and a man of about forty-five, still in his dressing gown, appeared, blinking, bleary-eyed.

‘What the devil is this all about?’

‘This is Setochkin?’ cried Vakhramev incredulously. ‘My God, I had expected a golden Adonis, not this washed-up, bloated monk-fish of a man.’

Yegor couldn’t help smirking. There was some accuracy to the description; he had to admit his master had seen better days.

‘What on earth was Tatyana thinking?’ said Vakhramev.

‘Ah!’ said Colonel Setochkin, a look of shame-faced understanding descending on his features. ‘So that’s what this is all about. You are — ?’

‘I am Vakhramev!’

‘Tanya’s father?’

‘How dare you let my daughter’s name pass your lips?’

‘I fear that it will be very difficult to resolve this matter if I am not permitted to say her name. Perhaps, though, it would be better if you were to come with me into my study. I find it is preferable not to discuss these matters in front of one’s servants.’

‘I don’t give a damn about your servants.’

‘All the same, sir, if you will be so good as to accompany me, I believe we may settle the affair satisfactorily.’

‘You talk of satisfaction?’

‘No no no! You are mistaken. I didn’t mean that at all.’

‘It is for me to demand satisfaction, not you. Do you understand that?’

‘I was not — ’ Setochkin forced a smile. ‘Sir, I very much fear that we are getting off on the wrong foot.’

‘I cannot be held responsible for that.’

‘I was not suggesting that you should be.’

‘It was you who began to talk of satisfaction. You cannot pretend to be a man of honour with me.’

Setochkin’s expression darkened. ‘Be careful, sir. I am a reasonable man. Above all, I pride myself on that. Nevertheless — ’

‘There is no nevertheless, sir. You have forfeited all right to a nevertheless. You did so the day you seduced my daughter.’

Setochkin was about to say something, but an unfortunate coughing fit from Yegor just at that moment seemed to put him off his stride. Yegor felt his master’s attention on him and regretted his incontinence. ‘I must insist that we continue this discussion in my study, sir. If only for Tatyana’s sake.’

Now Yegor felt himself the object of Vakhramev’s disapproving scowl. ‘Very well. Perhaps it would be better, after all.’

Setochkin held out one arm, allowing Vakhramev to go first. The other man shook his head contemptuously as he walked past.

Yegor sought his master’s eye again but was refused it. The study door was closed to him. He heard the visitor’s voice rise immediately to a shout. Setochkin was compelled to raise his voice in response. In the resultant clamour, it was difficult to make out any details of the recriminations levelled against Setochkin, or of his rebuttals, however much Yegor strained to listen. But the general drift was clear enough from what he had been privy to already; so when he heard the clump of footsteps coming back towards the door, he relinquished the thrill of eavesdropping and hurried off towards the kitchen.

He found Dunya with her hands in a bowl of flour and butter. Yegor watched her naked elbows pump, fascinated by the deep T-SHAPED clefts in her bulbous upper arms, and was for the moment distracted from his purpose. Reflections on the weakness of human flesh imposed themselves upon him and an unexpected sympathy for his master’s predicament almost took the pleasure out of sharing what he knew. He blinked and looked away from those fascinating elbows.

‘He’s been up to his old tricks again,’ he said dourly.

Dunya grunted. It was neither encouragement nor forbiddance.

‘Some gentleman’s daughter,’ continued Yegor. ‘It will end badly, no question. They’re working themselves up to a duel.’

The wattle at her throat shook as a register of her contempt.

‘It’s a question of honour. That’s what it comes down to.’

Dunya clicked her tongue in disdain.

‘It’s that haughty-looking one. Tatyana. I knew she was trouble as soon as I clapped eyes on her. My, she’s a beauty though. You have to give her that.’

Dunya snorted, as if she would give her no such thing.

‘That’s all very well, Dunya, but you’re not a man. Not a man like the colonel.’

‘As he cooked the porridge, so must he eat it,’ said Dunya at last, with great deliberation.

Yegor nodded at the truth of this. He even opened his mouth to comment on it. But any words he might have produced were taken from him, as was his breath, by a sharp explosive crack in the air. Having once served in the Izmailovsky regiment, he was in doubt as to what it was. ‘Gunshot!’

Dunya lifted her hands from the bowl, causing the loose skin on her forearms to quiver. Cook and butler looked into each other’s faces, then all at once, Yegor turned towards the door. By the time he reached it, he was running.

He found Vakhramev with the pistol in his hand. Colonel Setochkin lay face up on the rug, into which he was seeping a dark and prodigal colour. The angles of his arms were like those of a running man, frozen mid-bound. His features were set in a frown of puzzlement.

‘You’d better get the police,’ said Vakhramev calmly.

‘You’ve killed him!’

‘You’d better get the police,’ repeated Vakhramev, rather less calmly. He looked sharply down at the weapon he was holding and mirrored the expression of the dead man, frowning as if at some gross impertinence.