Diamonds To Sit On/Chapter 4

 

CHAPTER IV

THE MUSE OF DISTANT JOURNEYS

AN hour before the arrival of the evening express Father Theodore, dressed in a short overcoat reaching just below his knees, and carrying a basket in his hand, stood in the queue at the ticket-office. He cast furtive glances towards the door, for he was terrified that his wife would not obey him and would run to the station to see him off. Then, of course, a friend of his who was sitting in the refreshment-room treating another man to beer would recognize him immediately.

It was the usual disorderly business trying to get into the train, where none of the seats could be reserved. The passengers, bent down under the weight of enormous bundles, ran hither and thither from one end of the train to the other, looking for seats. Father Theodore, like all the rest of them, was running about like a madman, and like all the rest he spoke to the guard politely and was afraid they'd given him the wrong ticket. It was only when he got into the train and sat down that he began to feel better and to cheer up again. Cares

The engine blew its whistle and the train began to move out, taking Father Theodore on a strange, mysterious mission which promised great things.

As soon as a man sets out on a journey he changes his life completely. He is immediately approached by porters in white overalls, who wear nickel labels overt their hearts and who obligingly seize his luggage. From that moment the traveller ceases to belong to himself. He is a passenger and he has to do what other passengers do.

A passenger eats a great deal. Ordinary people do not eat in the middle of the night, but a passenger always does. He eats a roast chicken which at other times he cannot afford. He eats hard-boiled eggs that are indigestible and bad for him. When the tram bumps, numerous kettles clatter about on the floor, and parcels get lost. But the passengers do not bother about this. They exchange anecdotes, and regularly every three minutes the whole carriage roars with laughter. A moment's silence and then somebody else begins another tale, and then again laughter.

The Muse of Distant Journeys lures a man. She has already made Father Theodore forsake his Quiet home, and now the former member of the nobility, Hippolyte Matveyevich Vorobianinov, has been moved by her call and has made heaven knows what kind of plans.

The day after the funeral, which was conducted by the undertaker Bezenchuk, Hippolyte went to work as usual and, fulfilling his duty, registered the death of his own mother-in-law. 'Clavdia Ivanovna Petukhov, aged fifty-nine, householder, non-party, domiciled in the provincial town N——, originating from the town of Stargorod.' After this he asked for a fortnight's leave, received forty-one roubles, and after saying good-bye to his colleagues went home. On his way he dropped in to see the chemist. The chemist, Leopold, was standing behind the counter surrounded by little bottles of poison, and was busy selling some Crême Angot to a relation of the captain of the fire brigade. As a matter of fact, she was asking him for Poudre Rachel, but as he had not any of this powder in stock he was trying to get rid of some Crême Angot. He succeeded in the end, but it took him half an hour to persuade the lady. At last he turned to Hippolyte.

'What can I do for you?'

'I want something for my hair.'

'To make it grow? To remove hair or to dye it?'

'To make it grow! What nonsense!' said Hippolyte. 'I want a good dye.'

'Oh! if you want to dye it, here's a wonderful preparation called "Titanic". I've just got it in from the customs' office; it's contraband. It won't come off either with hot or cold water, soap, or even petrol. It's deep black, and a bottle that will last you half a year costs only three roubles and twelve copecks. And as you're a good customer of mine, I don't mind telling you I can most strongly recommend it.'

Hippolyte turned the square bottle of 'Titanic' round in his hand, examined the label, sighed, and then put his money down on the counter.

At home he began to sprinkle his head and moustache with the dye. There was a most appalling stench.

After dinner the smell was not so bad, but his moustache was dry and glued together. It was with great difficulty that he combed it out. The black colour seemed to have a green sheen on it, but there was no time to dip his hair a second time.

He took a list of jewels out of his mother-in-law's box, which he had found the previous day. He then counted all his ready money, locked up the house, put the key in his pocket, and taking Express Number 7 set off for Stargorod.