Romashov followed slowly after.
He had no fear, but he felt at once utterly lonely, abandoned, and shut off from the entire world.
When he reached the steps he gazed for some time, calm and astonished, at the sky, the trees, a cow grazing on the other side of the fence, the sparrows burrowing in the high road, and thought,
“So everything lives, struggles, and worries about its existence, except myself. I require nothing and I have no interests.
I am doomed; I am alone, and dead already to this world.”
With a feeling of sickness and disgust he went to find Biek-Agamalov and Viatkin, whom he had chosen for his seconds.
Both granted his request; Biek-Agamalov with a gloomy, solemn countenance, Viatkin with many hearty handshakes.
It was impossible for Romashov to return home. Never had the thought of his uncomfortable abode seemed so repulsive to him as at the present moment.
In these gloomy hours of spiritual depression, abandonment, and weariness of life, he needed a trusty, intelligent, and sympathetic friend—a man with brains and heart.
Then he thought of Nasanski.
XXI
NASANSKI was, as always, at home.
He had only just awakened from a heavy sleep following intoxication, and was lying on his back with only his underclothing on and his hands under his head.
In his troubled eyes might be read sickness of life and physical weariness.
His face had not yet lost its sleepy and lifeless expression when Romashov, stooping over his friend, said in a troubled and uncertain voice—
“Good-day, Vasili Nilich. Perhaps I have come at an inconvenient time?”
“Good-day,” replied Nasanski, in a hoarse and weak voice.
“Any news?
Sit down.”
He offered Romashov his hot, clammy hand, but looked at him, not as at a dear and ever-welcome friend, but as it were a troublous dream-picture that still lingered after his drunken sleep.
“Aren’t you well?” asked Romashov shyly, as he threw himself down on the corner of the bed.
“In that case I’ll go at once, I won’t disturb you.”
Nasanski lifted his head a couple of inches from the pillow, and by an effort he peered, with deeply puckered forehead, at Romashov.
“No—wait.
Oh, how my head aches!
Listen, Georgi Alexievich. I see that something unusual has happened.
If I could only collect my thoughts!
What is it?”
Romashov looked at him with silent pity.
Nasanski’s whole appearance had undergone a terrible change since the two friends had last seen each other.
His eyes were sunken and surrounded by black rings; his temples had a yellow hue; the rough, wrinkled skin over his cheek-bones hung limply down, and was partly concealed by the sticky, wet tufts of hair that drooped.
“Nothing particular. I only wanted to see you.
To-morrow I am to fight a duel with Nikolaiev, and I was loath to go home.
But nothing matters now.
Au revoir.
You see—I had nobody else to talk to and my heart is heavy.”
Nasanski closed his eyes, and his features made a still more painful impression.
It was evident that he had, by a really abnormal effort of will, tried to recover consciousness, and now, when he opened his eyes, a spark of keen understanding was at last visible in his glance.
“Well, well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do——” Nasanski turned on his side by an effort and raised himself on his elbow.
“But first give me—out of the cupboard, you know—— No, let the apples be—there should be a few peppermint drops—thanks, my friend.
I’ll tell you what we’ll do—— Faugh, how disgusting!
Take me out into the fresh air. Here it’s intolerable. Always the same hideous hallucinations.
Come with me; we’ll get a boat, then we can chat.
Will you?”
With a stern face, and an expression of utter loathing on his countenance, he drained glass after glass. Romashov observed Nasanski’s ashy complexion gradually assume a deeper hue, and his beautiful blue eyes regain life and brilliancy.
When they reached the street they took a fly and drove to the river flowing past the very outskirts of the town, which there swells out to a dam, on one side of which stood a mill driven by turbines, an enormous red building belonging to a Jew. On the other shore stood a few bathing-houses, and there, too, boats might be hired.
Romashov sat by the oars, and Nasanski assumed a half-recumbent position in the stern.
The river was very broad here, the stream weak, the banks low and overgrown with long, juicy grass that hung down over the water, and out of it rose tall green reeds and masses of big, white water-lilies.
Romashov related the particulars of his fight with Nikolaiev.
Nasanski listened abstractedly and gazed down at the river, which in lazy, sluggish eddies flowed away like molten glass in the wake of the boat.