hunter notes

Chapter 25 Office (1)
That's autumn.I've been wandering the fields for hours with a gun on my back.My three-car set was waiting for me at the hotel on Kursk Boulevard.The cold drizzle had clung to me like a spinster since early morning and relentlessly, until at last I was compelled to seek a shelter at hand, if only temporarily; I'm afraid I won't be able to get back to the hotel before evening.I was thinking about which direction to go, when suddenly a low grass shed next to the pea field came into my eyes.I approached the hut, looked under the eaves, and saw a frail old man, which reminded me of the dying goat that Robinson Robinson found in a cave on his isolated island.The old man was squatting on the ground, squinting his dim little eyes, chewing the dry and hard peas as nervously and cautiously as a rabbit (the poor man had lost all his teeth), and kept putting them in his mouth. Toss and turn.He was so absorbed in the work that he didn't notice my coming.

"Old man! Hey, old man!" I greeted.He stopped chewing, raised his eyebrows high, and opened his eyes vigorously. "What?" he said in a hoarse voice. "Is there any village around here?" I asked.

The old man chewed again, he couldn't hear me clearly, so I asked again louder.

"Is it the village?... What's your business?" "I'm going to take shelter from the rain."

"what?"

"Take shelter from the rain."

"Oh! (he scratches the back of his tanned head.) Here, you, here, this way," he said suddenly, waving his hands wildly, "here...here, along the woods, Walk and walk, there will be a road over there; don’t go on this road, keep going to the right, keep going, keep going, keep going... Well, there is a village of Anagnevo over there Well. It can also lead to the village of Sitovka."

I had a hard time listening to the old man.His beard got in the way of his speech, and his tongue didn't work very well.

"Where are you from?" I asked him. "What?" "Where are you from?" "Anagnivo village." "What are you doing here?" "What?" "What are you doing here?" "Here guarding." "What are you guarding?" ah?"

"Keeping Peas." I couldn't help laughing. "Come on, how old are you?" "I don't know." "Maybe your eyesight is bad?" "What?"

"Is your eyesight bad?" "No, you often can't see anything." "Then how can you guard? God knows!" "I'll have to ask the people above."

"The people above!" I thought, looking at the poor old man with pity.He groped for a while, then took out a piece of hard bread from his arms, and started to chew like a child, trying to retract into his already collapsed cheeks.

I walked in the direction of the forest, turned right, followed the old man's instructions, kept walking, kept walking, and finally came to a large village, where there was a new style stone chapel with a colonnade.There was also a large landowner's house, also with a colonnade.Through the dense drizzle, a house with two chimneys and a slab roof could be seen from a long distance away. It was higher than the other houses. It must have been the residence of the village headman. I walked towards that house, Hope to find samovar, tea, sugar and not very sour whipped cream with him.I took my dog, which had been shivering all afternoon, up the steps, walked into the front room, opened the door and saw that instead of the furnishings of ordinary people’s homes, I saw only a few tables piled with documents, two red Cabinets, inkwells splattered with ink, very heavy pewter absorbent sandboxes, long quills, etc.At one of the tables sat a young man in his twenties, with a swollen and sickly face, extremely small eyes, a fat forehead, and bushy mane.He was neatly dressed in a gray homespun coat, the collar and lapel of which were shiny.

"What do you want?" he asked me, looking up like a horse suddenly pulled by the nose.

"Is this the housekeeper's quarters... or..." "This is the landlord's head office," he interrupted me, "I'm on duty here... Don't you see the sign? We put up a sign."

"Is there a place to dry clothes here? Does anyone in this village have a samovar?"

"Why don't you have a samovar," replied the boy in the gray coat triumphantly, "you can go to Father Zimofer's, or to the servant's, or to Nassar Tarasage, or to see the poultry to Agrafena."

"Who are you talking to, you idiot? Keeping me awake, idiot!" someone said in the next room.

"A gentleman came in and asked where I could dry my clothes?" "Which gentleman?" "I don't know him, with a dog and a gun."

The bed creaked in the adjacent room, and the door opened, and a man in his fifties came out. He was short and fat, with a neck like a bull, bulging eyes, round cheeks, and a shiny face.

"What's your business?" he asked me. "I want to dry my clothes." "This is not the place to dry my clothes."

"I didn't know it was an office; but I'll pay..."

"Well, maybe here too," said the fat man. "Come here, please. (He took me into another room, but not the one he came out of.) Do you like it here?"

"Okay... can I have some tea and whipped cream?" "Yes, I'll come right away. You can take off your clothes and rest for a while, and the tea will be ready in a while." "Whose territory is this?"

"Mistress Yelena Nikolayevna Losnekova." He went out.I looked around: by the wall between my room and the office, there was a large leather couch, two chairs with high backs, also leather, on the only one facing the street. On both sides of the window.Three large oil paintings hung on the wall covered with dark wallpaper with pink patterns.One picture shows a hunting dog with a blue collar and the words "This is my joy"; at the dog's feet there is a river, and on the other side of the river, under a pine tree, sits a dog that is too big. rabbit with one ear pricked up.In another painting, two old men are eating watermelons. Behind the watermelons there is a Greek-style colonnade in the distance, with the words "Ruyi Temple" written on it.The third was a reclining half-naked woman in foreshortened form, with red knees and fat heels.My dog ​​immediately scrambled under the couch with unusual force, but evidently picked up a lot of dust there, and sneezed profusely.I went to the window and saw that the road from the landlord's house to the office was paved with wooden boards.This is a very useful design, because our area is black soil, and with the drizzle, it is very muddy around.This landowner's manor is back from the street, and the situation around this manor is the same as that around the general landowner's manor.Girls in faded calico dresses ran back and forth; footmen trudged through the mud, sometimes standing still and scratching their backs thoughtfully; Tails, head high to gnaw on the fence; hens cooing; consumptive turkeys shouting to each other.On the little steps of a dilapidated, dark room (probably a bathhouse) sat a strong young man with a banjo in his hand, singing with some passion a famous love song:

Hey——I left the bustling world and went to the desolate land...

The fat man came into the room where I was. "Here's your tea," he said to me with a pleasant smile.The boy in the gray coat, the office clerk, put the samovar, teapot, teacups on broken saucers, a pot of whipped cream, and a bunch of rock-hard Polhoff rolls on an old card table superior.Fatty went out.

"Who is this person?" I asked the watchman, "Is it the butler?" "No, he used to be the accounting director, but now he has been promoted to the director of the firm."

"Don't you have a steward?" "No, we have a steward, Mikhail Vikulov, but no steward."

"Is there a deacon, then?" "Of course there is, a German, Carlo Karlach Lindamandal, but he's not in charge." "And who is in charge here?" "The mistress herself. "

"So that's how it is!...Then how many people are there in your office?"

The boy thought about it. "There are 6 people."

"Which 6 people?" I asked.

"There are these: above all, Vasily Nikolaitch, the chief accountant; then Peter, the clerk, and Ivan, Peter's brother, the clerk, and another Ivan, the clerk; Konstantin Narkhi Zeqi is still a clerk, and I—not all of them.”

"Your mistress should have many servants, right?"

"No, not a lot..." "How many people?" "About 150 people in total." Both of us were silent for a while.

"So, you should be good at writing, right?" I asked again.The young man smiled, nodded, and went to the office to get a piece of paper full of words. "I wrote this," he said with a persistent smile.

I looked: on a piece of gray quarto paper was written in beautiful bold handwriting the following words:

command
The head office of the lord's mansion of Ananevo Village ordered Mikhaila Vikulov.No. 209.

Order the manager to quickly find out after receiving the order: who was drunk last night in the English garden singing obscene ditties, disturbing the sleep of the French governess Mrs. Anruney!What is the night watchman doing, and who is watching the night in the garden, so that such riots occur?Write down everything above, order the manager to investigate in detail, and report to our firm as soon as possible.

Director of the Firm Nikolai Hervrstorf
This order is stamped with a large stamp: "The seal of the head office of the lord's mansion in Ananevo Village", and there is an instruction below: "Exactly implement it. Yelena Losnekova." "This is the mistress Did you write it yourself?" I asked. "Of course it is. She approves it. She always approves it herself. Otherwise, the order will not take effect." "Then, are you going to send this order to the steward?"

"No, he'll read it himself. No, we'll read it to him because he can't read. (The watchman is silent for another moment.) What do you think," he went on, smiling happily, " Is it well written?"

"Very good." "But I didn't start the draft. Constantine is the best at this." "What?...you wrote the order first?" "Isn't it? It's not good to write directly." " How much do you get paid?" I asked.

"31 rubles, plus 5 rubles for boots." "Are you satisfied?"

"Of course I'm satisfied. Not everyone here can enter the office. To be honest, I have a background: my uncle was a footman."

"How are you doing well?" "Very well, but to tell you the truth," he went on, with a sigh, "people like us are better off, say, at a merchant's. The merchant is more at ease. Last night a merchant came to us from Vigneves, and that's what his servant told me . . .

"Why, do merchants pay more?"

"Come on! If you ask him for wages, he will grab you by the neck and drive you out. No, you have to be honest and responsible when you work with a businessman. He will feed you, drink you, and give you money." Wear, give you everything. If you like him, he will give you more... What do you want wages for! Not at all... Besides, the life of a merchant is simple, Russian, just like us. You go with him When you go out, he drinks tea, and you drink tea; what he eats, you eat too. A businessman... How can you compare, a businessman is different from a landlord. The businessman is straightforward, he gets angry, and he beats you and it's over. No To make things difficult for you, not to scold you... You will suffer if you are with the landlord! You don't like anything, this is not good, that is not right. You give him a glass of water or some food, 'Oh, the water stinks! Oh, the food stinks!' You take it out, stand outside the door for a while, and then bring it in again. 'Well, it's all right now, well, it doesn't stink now.' Speaking of the hostesses, let me tell you , those hostesses are even more difficult to deal with! ... and Miss! ..."

"Feyushka!" Fatty's voice came from the office.The attendant walked out quickly.I drained my cup of tea and fell asleep on the couch.I slept for about two hours.I woke up, wanted to get up, but couldn't be bothered to move.I closed my eyes, but did not sleep again.There was whispered conversation in the next office.I can't help but listen to it.

"Yes, yes, Nikolai Yeremitch," said a voice, "yes. It must be considered, it must be considered, indeed... ahem!"

(The speaker coughs.)
"Believe me, Gavrila Antonitch," replied the fat man's voice, "what do you think, I don't know the rules here."

"Who else knows but you, Nikolai Yeremych, you're number one here. So what's the matter?" continued the unfamiliar voice. "How do we decide?" What, Nikolai Yeremitch? I want to hear from you."

"How to decide, Gavrila Antonitch? The matter is entirely up to you, and you don't seem to like it."

"Come on, Nikolay Eremych, what are you talking about? Our business is business, business; we're here to buy. That's what we do, Nikolay Eremy strange."

"Eight rubles," said the fat man word for word.There was a sigh. "Nikolai Yeremitch, your asking price is too high."

"Gavrila Antonitch, nothing less. By God, nothing less."

There was a silence.I quietly raised my body and looked through the cracks in the planks.Fatty sat with his back to me.Opposite him sat a businessman in his forties, thin and pale, as if his face was pale.He stroked his beard constantly, blinked his eyes with great agility, and moved his lips.

"This year's seedlings are excellent," he began again. "I've been admiring them all the way. From Voronezh onwards they're all excellent seedlings. They're first class." They are growing well indeed," replied the head of the office, "but you know, Gavrila Antonitch, that in autumn they grow well, but in spring they don't necessarily have a good harvest."

"That's right, Nikolai Yeremitch, it's God's will; you're absolutely right. . . . Perhaps your guest has woken up."

The fat man turned around and listened... "Didn't wake up, fell asleep. But it's also possible, this..." He walked to the door. "Not awake, but asleep." He repeated, returning to his original position.

"Then what is to be done, Nikolai Yeremitch?" continued the merchant. "This little business must be settled... so, Nikolai Yeremitch, so," he continued, blinking constantly, "two gray and one white for You, over there (he pointed his head at the landowner's house), six and a half rubles. A high five, how about it?"

"Four gray ones." The director of the office replied. "Then, let's have three!"

"Four gray ones, not white ones."

"Three, Nikolai Yeremitch."

"Three and a half sheets, not a penny less."

"Three, Nikolai Yeremitch."

"Stop talking, Gavrila Antonitch."

"You don't have a lot of words," muttered the merchant, "so I might as well talk to the mistress myself."

"Go ahead," replied the fat man, "it should have been so long ago, so why are you making trouble? . . . How nice it is!"

"Oh, come on, come on, Nikolai Yeremitch. You're so hot! That's all I'm saying."

"No, what happened..."

"Forget it, I'm telling you... are you just kidding? Well, you can just take three and a half cards. There's really nothing you can do about it."

"It's right to take four cards, but I'm a fool, I'm too impatient."

(End of this chapter)