The doctor was here and even gave us hopes." So lied Arina Petrovna.
"What splendid news!
Don't you worry, dear mother, he'll pull through yet.
Here we are eating our hearts away and grumbling at the Creator, and perhaps he is sitting quietly on his bed thanking the Lord for his recovery."
The idea delighted Yudushka so immensely that he even giggled softly to himself.
"Do you know, mother dear, that I have come to stay here a while?" he went on, for all the world as if he were giving his mother a pleasant surprise. "It's among good kinsmen, you know.
In case something happens—you understand, as a brother—I may console, advise, make arrangements. You will permit me, will you not?"
"What sort of permissions can I give when I am here myself only as a—guest?"
"Well, then, dearest, since this is Friday, just order them, if you please, to prepare a fish meal for me.
Some salt-fish, mushrooms, a little cabbage—you know, I don't need much.
And in the meantime, as a relative, I shall drag myself up to the entresol. Perhaps I shall still be in time to do some good, if not to his body, at least to his soul.
In his position, it seems to me, the soul is of much more consequence.
We can patch up the body, mother dear, with potions and poultices, but the soul needs a more potent remedy."
Arina Petrovna made no objection.
The thought of the inevitability of the "end" had taken such complete hold of her, that she observed everything and listened to everything about her dazedly.
She saw Yudushka rise from the sofa, stoop and shuffle his feet. He liked to appear invalided at times. He had an idea it added to his dignity. She knew the unexpected appearance of the Bloodsucker in the entresol would greatly excite the patient, might even hasten his end. But after the day of agitation, she was so exhausted that she felt as if in a dream.
Meanwhile Pavel Vladimirych was in an indescribable state of excitement.
Though quite alone, he was aware of an unusual stir in the house.
Every bang of a door, every hurried footstep in the hall awakened a mysterious alarm.
For a while he called with all his might; but, soon convinced his shouts were useless, he gathered all his strength, sat up in bed, and listened.
The sound of running feet and loud voices stopped and was followed by a dead silence.
Something unknown and fearful surrounded him.
Only a few, miserly rays of light sifted through the lowered shades and the dim light of the lamp burning before the ikon in the corner made the dusk filling the room seem all the darker and gloomier.
Pavel fixed his gaze upon that mysterious corner as if for the first time he found something surprising in it.
The ikon, in a gilt framework on which the rays from the lamp fell perpendicularly, stood out of the gloom with a sort of striking brightness, like something alive. A circle of light wavered upon the ceiling, flaring up or dying down in proportion to the strength or weakness of the lamplight.
Strange shadows filled the room, and the dressing-gown hanging on the wall was alive with vacillating stripes of light and shadow.
Pavel Vladimirych watched and watched, and he felt as if right there in that corner everything were suddenly beginning to move.
Solitude, helplessness, dead silence—and shadows, a host of shadows.
The shadows seemed to be coming, coming, coming. Gripped by an indescribable terror, he gazed into the mysterious corner, eyes and mouth agape, uttering no cries, but simply groaning—groaning in a stifled voice, in jerks, like the barking of a dog.
He heard neither the creak of the stairs nor the careful shuffling steps in the adjacent room. Suddenly, beside his bed, there loomed up the detestable figure of Yudushka, as if from that gloom which had just mysteriously hovered before his eyes, and as if there were more, more of shadows, shadows without end—coming, coming——
"What? Where did you come from? Who let you in?" he cried instinctively, dropping back on his pillow helplessly.
Yudushka stood at the bedside, scrutinizing the sick man and shaking his head sorrowfully.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, putting all the oiliness of which he was capable into his voice.
Pavel Vladimirych was silent, but stared at him stupidly, as if making every effort to understand him.
Meanwhile Yudushka approached the ikon, fell to his knees, bowed three times to the ground, arose and appeared again at the bedside.
"Well, brother, get up.
May God send you grace," he said, sitting down in an armchair, in a voice so jovial that he actually appeared to be carrying "grace" about with him in his pocket.
At last Pavel Vladimirych realized that this was no shadow but the Bloodsucker in flesh.
He seemed to coil up of a sudden as if in a cramp.
Yudushka's eyes were bright with affection, but the invalid very distinctly saw the "noose" lurking in those eyes ready any instant to dart out and tighten round his neck.
"Ah, brother, brother, you've become no better than an old woman," Yudushka continued jocosely.
"Come, brace up!
Get up and run a little race.
Come on, come on, give mother the joy of seeing what a strong fellow you are.
Come on now! Up with you!"
"Get out of here, Bloodsucker!" the invalid cried in desperation.
"Ah, brother, brother!
I come to you in kindness and sympathy, and you ... what do you say in return?
Oh, what a sin!
And how could your tongue say such a thing to your own brother!