Forty Stories

Joy

IT WAS twelve o’clock at night when a young man called Mitya Kuldarov, disheveled and blazing with excitement, burst into his parents’ apartment and ran wildly through all the rooms. His mother and father were already in bed. His sister, too, was in bed, finishing the last pages of a novel. His younger brothers, the schoolboys, were fast asleep.

“What happened?” his parents asked, surprised out of their wits. “What on earth is the matter?”

“Oh, don’t ask me! I never thought it would happen! Never expected it! It’s … it’s absolutely beyond belief!”

Mitya exploded with laughter and fell into a chair, because so much joy had weakened his legs.

“It’s beyond belief!” he went on. “You simply couldn’t imagine it! Just look!”

His sister jumped out of bed and, pulling a blanket round her shoulders, went in to see her brother. The schoolboy brothers also woke up.

“What on earth is the matter with you? You look as though you had gone completely out of your mind!”

“It’s because I am so happy, Mama. Today, all over Russia, people know me! Everyone! Until today you were the only ones who knew such a person as Dmitry Kuldarov, collegiate registrar, existed. Now everyone knows! Oh, Mama! Oh, Lord!”

Mitya jumped up and once more ran through all the rooms, and then he fell into a chair.

“Well, tell us what happened! Please get some sense into your head!”

“You—you live like wild animals! You don’t read the newspapers, and popular fame has no meaning for you! Very remarkable things are recorded in newspapers! Whenever anything important happens, everyone knows about it: nothing is left out. I’m so happy. Oh, Lord! You know newspapers only print things about celebrities! Well, they’ve printed something about me!”

“How? Where?”

Papa turned pale. Mama glanced at the icon, and crossed herself. The brothers jumped out of bed and ran to their elder brother as they were, in their attenuated nightshirts.

“Yes, indeed! They have printed something about me! Now all of Russia knows about me! Mama, please keep this number as a souvenir! You can look at it from time to time. Just look!”

Mitya pulled a newspaper from his pocket and handed it to his father. He pointed to a place marked with a blue pencil.

“Read that!”

His father put on his spectacles.

“Go on! Read it!”

Mama gazed at the icon and crossed herself. Papa cleared his throat and began to read:

“December 29, at eleven o’clock in the evening, the collegiate registrar Dmitry Kuldarov …”

“See? See? Go on!”

“… the collegiate registrar Dmitry Kuldarov, coming out of the tavern situated at the Kozikhin house on Little Armorer Street, being in an intoxicated condition …”

“That’s right! I was with Semyon Petrovich.… It’s absolutely correct! Go on! Read the next line! Listen, all of you!”

“… being in an intoxicated condition, slipped and fell under a horse belonging to the cabman Ivan Drotov, a peasant from the village of Durikina in the Yuknovsky district. The terrified horse jumped over Kuldarov, dragging the sleigh after it: in which sleigh sat Stepan Lukov, merchant in the Second Guild of Moscow Merchants. The horse galloped down the street until brought to a halt by house porters. Kuldarov, after being unconscious for some moments, was removed to a police station for examination by the appropriate medical officers. A blow sustained by him at the back of the neck …”

“That was from the shaft, Papa. Go on! Read further down!”

“… A blow sustained by him at the back of the neck was pronounced to be slight. The victim was given medical assistance.”

“They put bandages soaked in cold water round my neck. Read it! There you are! All of Russia knows about it! Give me the newspaper!”

Mitya took the newspaper, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket.

“I’ll have to run to the Makarovs and show it to them.… And then the Ivanitskys. Natalia Ivanovna and Anisim Vasilich must see it, too.… I must run now! Good-by!”

Then Mitya crammed the cap with the cockade on his head, and ran joyously, triumphantly, down the street.

January 1883