4

«Morning, old man», said Tarantyev abruptly, holding out a hirsute hand to Oblomov. «Why are you lying like a log at this hour?»

«Don’t come near, don’t come near, you’re straight from the cold street», said Oblomov, covering himself up with a blanket.

«Good Lord, from the cold street!» Tarantyev roared. «There, take my hand, if I give it to you! It’ll soon be twelve o’clock and he’s still lounging about!»

He was going to drag Oblomov from the bed, but Oblomov forestalled him by putting his feet quickly on the floor and getting into both his slippers at once.

«I was just about to get up myself», he said, yawning.

«I know how you get up! You’d have lain there till dinner. Hey, there, Zakhar! Where are you, you old fool? Help your master to dress and be quick about it!»

«You’d better get a Zakhar of your own first, sir, and then start calling him names!» said Zakhar, coming into the room and looking spitefully at Tarantyev. «Look at the mess you’ve made on the floor – just like a hawker», he added.

«No backchat from you, my lad», said Tarantyev, lifting his foot to kick Zakhar as he walked past him; but Zakhar stopped, turned round, and scowled.

«Just try to touch me», he wheezed furiously. «What do you think you’re doing? I’ll go back», he said, walking back to the door.

«Good heavens, Tarantyev, what a cantankerous fellow you are! Why can’t you leave him alone?» said Oblomov. «Give me my clothes, Zakhar».

Zakhar came back and, looking askance at Tarantyev, darted past him.

Leaning on Zakhar, Oblomov reluctantly rose from his bed like a man who was very tired and as reluctantly walked to an arm-chair, sank into it, and sat still. Zakhar took the pomatum, a comb and brushes from a small table, greased Oblomov’s hair, parted it, and then brushed it.

«Will you wash now, sir?» he asked.

«I’ll wait a little», Oblomov replied. «You can go now».

«Oh, you’re here too, are you?» Tarantyev said suddenly to Alexeyev while Zakhar was brushing Oblomov’s hair. «I never saw you. Why are you here? What a swine that relative of yours is! I’ve been meaning to tell you…»

«What relative? I have no relative», Alexeyev said timidly, staring in surprise at Tarantyev.

«Why, that fellow – what do you call him? The fellow who’s in the Civil Service – Afanasyev. You don’t mean to say he’s no relative of yours? Of course he is!»

«But I’m not Afanasyev – I’m Alexeyev», said Alexeyev. «I have no relatives».

«What do you mean – no relative? Why, he’s just as poor a specimen as you are – and his name’s also Vassily Nikolayevich».

«I swear he’s no relation of mine. My name is Ivan Alexeyich».

«Makes no difference. He looks like you. But he’s a swine. You tell him so when you see him».

«I don’t know him», said Alexeyev, opening his snuff-box. «Never seen him».

«Let’s have a pinch of your snuff», said Tarantyev. «Why, yours is ordinary snuff, not French! Yes, so it is», he said, taking a pinch. «Why isn’t it French?» he added sternly. «I’ve never met a swine like that relative of yours», he went on. «I borrowed fifty roubles from him about two years ago. Fifty roubles – not such a big sum, is it? You might have expected him to forget it. But not at all – he remembered. A month later he began pestering me, asking me every time he met me: „What about that loan?“ I got sick and tired of the sight of him. And as if that wasn’t enough, he barged into my office yesterday. „I expect,“ he said, „you’ve got your salary to-day and can repay me now.“ My salary, indeed! I told him off properly in front of everybody and he was glad to get out, I can tell you. „I’m a poor man,“ he said, „I need the money!“ As if I didn’t need it! Who does he take me for? A rich man, to give him fifty roubles every time he asks for it? Let’s have a cigar, old man!»

«You’ll find the cigars in the box there», replied Oblomov, pointing to a bookcase.

He was sitting pensively in the arm-chair in his customary picturesquely lazy pose, not noticing what was happening round him or listening to what was being said. He was examining his small white hands and stroking them lovingly.

«I say, they’re still the same!» Tarantyev observed sternly, taking out a cigar and looking at Oblomov.

«Yes, they’re the same», Oblomov replied absent-mindedly.

«But didn’t I tell you to buy the others – foreign ones? So that’s how you remember what is said to you! Mind you get some by next Saturday or you won’t see me here for a long time. Good Lord, what horrible stuff!» he went on, lighting a cigar, and letting out one cloud of smoke into the room, he inhaled another. «Can’t smoke it».

«You’ve come early to-day, Tarantyev», said Oblomov, yawning.

«Why? You’re not getting tired of me, are you?»

«No, I just mentioned it. You usually come in time for dinner, and now it’s only just gone twelve».

«I’ve come earlier on purpose to find out what there is for dinner. Your food is so awful as a rule that I thought I’d better find out what you’ve ordered for to-day».

«You’d better ask in the kitchen», said Oblomov.

Tarantyev went out.

«Good heavens!» he said, returning. «Beef and veal! The trouble with you, old man, is that you don’t know how to live – a landowner, forsooth! What sort of a gentleman are you? You look like a shopkeeper – you’ve no idea how to treat a friend! Have you bought any Madeira at least?»

«Don’t know, you’d better ask Zakhar», said Oblomov, hardly listening to him. «I expect they must have some wine there».

«You mean the same wine as before – from the German? Really, my dear fellow, you ought to buy some in the English shop».

«Oh, it’ll have to do», said Oblomov. «Don’t want to send out for it».

«But look here, give me the money and I’ll fetch it. I have to go past the shop anyway. I’ve still to make another call».

Oblomov rummaged in the drawer and produced a red ten-rouble note.

«Madeira costs seven roubles, and this is ten», said Oblomov.

«Let’s have it all. Don’t be afraid – they’ll give me the change at the shop».

He snatched the note from Oblomov’s hand and quickly hid it in his pocket.

«Well», said Tarantyev, putting on his hat. «I’ll be back by five o’clock. I have a call to make: I’ve been promised a job in a spirits depot and they asked me to look in. By the way, my dear fellow, won’t you hire a carriage to go to Yekaterinhof to-day? You might take me with you».

Oblomov shook his head.

«Why not? Are you too lazy, or do you grudge the money? Oh, you sluggard!» he said. «Well, good-bye for the present».

«Wait, Tarantyev», Oblomov interrupted him. «I want to ask your advice».

«What is it? Come on, out with it! I’m in a hurry».

«Well, two misfortunes have befallen me, all at once. I have to move…»

«Serves you right. Why don’t you pay your rent?» said Tarantyev, turning to go.

«Good Lord, no! I always pay in advance. No, they’re going to convert this flat. Wait a moment. Where are you off to? Tell me what I am to do. They rush me. They want me to move within a week».

«What sort of advice do you expect me to give you? You needn’t imagine…»

«I don’t imagine anything», said Oblomov. «Don’t shout. Better think what I am to do. You’re a practical man…»

But Tarantyev was no longer listening to him. He was thinking of something.

«Well», he said, taking off his hat and sitting down. «All right, you may thank me and order champagne for dinner. Your business is settled».

«What do you mean?» asked Oblomov.

«Will there be champagne?»

«Perhaps, if your advice is worth it».

«Aye, but you’re not worth the advice. You don’t imagine I’ll give you advice for nothing, do you? There, you can ask him», he added, pointing to Alexeyev, «or his relative».

«All right, all right, tell me», Oblomov begged.

«Now, listen: you must move to-morrow».

«Good Lord, what an idea! I knew that myself».

«Wait, don’t interrupt», Tarantyev shouted. «To-morrow you will move to the flat of a good friend of mine in Vyborg».

«What nonsense is that! Vyborg! Why, they say wolves roam the streets there in winter!»

«Oh, well, they do come there sometimes from the islands, but what has that got to do with you?»

«But it’s such a dull place – a wilderness, no one lives there».

«Nonsense! A good friend of mine lives there. She has a house of her own with big kitchen gardens. She is a gentlewoman, a widow with two children. Her unmarried brother lives with her. He’s a clever fellow, not like that chap in the corner there», he said, pointing to Alexeyev. «He’s a damn sight more intelligent than you or I».

«What has that got to do with me?» Oblomov said impatiently. «I’m not going to move there».

«We shall see about that. No, sir, if you ask for my advice, you have to do as I tell you».

«I’m not going there», Oblomov said firmly.

«To hell with you, then», replied Tarantyev, and, pulling his hat over his eyes, walked to the door.

«You funny fellow», Tarantyev said, coming back. «Do you find it so pleasant here?»

«Pleasant? Why it’s so near to everything», Oblomov said. «To the shops, the theatre, my friends – it’s the centre of the city, everything…»

«Wha-at?» Tarantyev interrupted him. «And how long is it since you went out? Tell me that. How long is it since you went to a theatre? Who are the friends you visit? Why the hell do you want to live in the centre of the city, pray?»

«What do you mean, why? For lots of reasons».

«You see, you don’t know yourself. But there – why, think of it: you’ll live in the house of a gentlewoman, a good friend of mine, in peace and quiet. No one to disturb you – no noise, clean and tidy. Why, you live here just as at an inn – you, a gentleman, a landowner! But there everything is clean and quiet, and there’s always someone to talk to if you’re bored. Except me, no one will come to visit you there. Two children – play about with them to your heart’s content. What more do you want? And think what you will save! What do you pay here?»

«Fifteen hundred».

«Well, there you’d pay a thousand for almost a whole house! And such lovely bright rooms! She’s long been wanting a quiet, tidy lodger – so there you are!»

Oblomov shook his head absent-mindedly.

«Nonsense, you’ll move all right!» said Tarantyev. «Just consider: it’ll cost you half of what you’re spending here: you’ll save five hundred in rent alone. Your food will be twice as good and as clean; your cook and Zakhar won’t be able to steal…»

A growl was heard from the entrance hall.

«– and there’ll be more order too», Tarantyev went on. «Why, it’s dreadful to sit down to dinner at your place now. You want the pepper – it isn’t there; vinegar – they’ve forgotten to buy any, the knives have not been cleaned; you say you keep losing your linen – dust everywhere – it’s disgusting! And there a woman will be keeping house – neither you, nor that fool Zakhar…»

The growling in the entrance hall grew louder.

«– that old dog won’t have to bother about anything», Tarantyev went on. «You will be provided with board and lodgings. Why hesitate? Move – and that’s the end of it».

«But how could I – for no rhyme or reason – suddenly move to Vyborg?»

«What’s the use of talking to you?» Tarantyev said, wiping the perspiration from his face. «It’s summer time now: why, it’s as good as living in a country house. Why rot here in Gorokhovaya Street? There you would have the Bezbarodkin Gardens, Okhta is next door, the Neva within a few yards, your own kitchen garden – no dust, no stuffiness! Why waste time thinking? I’ll nip over to her now before dinner – you’ll let me have the cab fares – and to-morrow you can move…»

«What a man!» said Oblomov. «Suddenly he gets a crazy idea into his head and I have to move to Vyborg. I mean, it’s not difficult to think of such a plan. No, sir, you’d better think of something that would make it possible for me to stay here. I’ve lived here for eight years and I don’t want to change».

«It’s settled: you’re going to move. I’ll go and see my friend at once and call about my job another time».

He was about to go, but Oblomov stopped him.

«Wait, wait! Where are you off to? I’ve a much more important business to settle. Have a look at the letter I’ve received from my bailiff and tell me what to do about it».

«Dear me, you are a queer fish and no mistake», Tarantyev replied. «You can’t do anything by yourself. It’s always I who have to do things for you. Of what use is a man like you? But, then, you’re not a man: you’re just a stuffed dummy».

«Where’s that letter? Zakhar, Zakhar! He’s put it away somewhere again!» Oblomov said.

«Here’s the bailiff’s letter», said Alexeyev, picking up the crumpled letter.

«Yes, here it is», Oblomov repeated and began to read it aloud. «What do you say?» he asked when he had finished reading the letter. «What am I to do? Droughts, arrears…»

«You’re hopeless – hopeless!» said Tarantyev.

«But why am I hopeless?»

«Why, aren’t you hopeless?»

«Well, if I am, tell me what to do».

«And what will I get out of it?»

«I’ve promised you champagne – what more do you want?»

«Champagne was for finding you a flat. Why, I’ve done you a favour, and you don’t appreciate it – you argue about it – you’re ungrateful. Well, try and find a flat by yourself! And what a flat! The main thing is you’ll have absolute peace, just as if you were living at your own sister’s. Two children, an unmarried brother, I shall be calling every day…»

«All right, all right», Oblomov interrupted. «You’d better tell me now what I am to do about the bailiff».

«No, sir, not unless you add beer for dinner. I’ll tell you then».

«He wants beer now! Haven’t you had enough».

«Good-bye, then», said Tarantyev, again putting on his hat.

«Good heavens! here the bailiff writes that my income will be two thousand less, and he wants beer, too! All right, buy some beer».

«Let’s have some more money», said Tarantyev.

«But what about the change from the ten-rouble note?»

«And what about the cab fares to Vyborg?»

Oblomov took out another rouble and thrust it into his hand crossly.