Without a Position

Perepelkin, a candidate of law, sat in his hotel room and wrote:

Dear Uncle Ivan Nikolayevich!... Devil take you and your letters of recommendation and your practical advice! It is a thousand times better, nobler, and more humane to sit idle and feed on hopes for a hazy future than to have to bathe in the cold, stinking mud into which you are pushing me with your letters and your advice. I am sick to the point of unbearability, as if I’d been poisoned by fish. It’s the vilest, most cerebral kind of nausea, the kind you can’t shake off with vodka, or sleep, or edifying reflections. Do you know, Uncle, old man that you are, you’re a great swine. Why didn’t you warn me that I’d have to live through such filth? Shame on you!

I’ll describe to you all my ordeals in order. Read and be tormented. First of all I went with your letter of recommendation to Babkov. I found him at the board of the N. Railway Company. He’s a small, entirely bald little old man with a sallow, gray face and a shaven, crooked mouth. His upper lip looks to the right, his lower to the left. He sits at a separate desk and reads a newspaper.

Around him, as around a Parnassian Apollo, on high commercial stools behind thick ledgers, sit ladies. These ladies are dressed smartly: bustles, fans, massive bracelets. How they manage to reconcile outward chic with a beggarly woman’s salary is hard to understand. Either they serve there out of idleness, out of sheer whim, through the patronage of papas and uncles, or else the bookkeeping there is only the predicate, while the real subject of the sentence is understood but unspoken. Later I learned that they don’t do a damn thing; their work falls onto the shoulders of various supernumerary clerks, voiceless men earning ten to fifteen roubles a month. I handed Babkov your letter. Without inviting me to sit, he slowly put on an antediluvian pince-nez, even more slowly unsealed the envelope, and began to read.

"Your uncle is asking for a position for you," he said, scratching his bald patch. "We have no vacancies, and it’s unlikely we’ll have any soon, but in any case I shall try, for your uncle’s sake... I’ll report to the director of our company. Perhaps we’ll find something."

I very nearly jumped for joy and was ready to dissolve into a shower of gratitude, when suddenly, brother mine, I hear this phrase:

"But, young man, were this position meant for your uncle personally, I would take nothing from him for it; but since it is for you, then, well... I am certain you will thank... me, as is proper... You understand?..."

You warned me that they would not give me a position for nothing, that I would have to pay, but you never said a word to me about the fact that this filthy buying and selling is carried on so loudly, so publicly, so shamelessly... in front of the ladies! Ah, Uncle, Uncle! Babkov’s last words so staggered me that I nearly died of nausea. I felt ashamed, as if I myself had taken the bribe. I turned red, mumbled some nonsense, and under the escort of twenty laughing female eyes backed my way toward the exit. In the anteroom some gloomy, worn-out figure caught up with me and whispered that one could find a position even without Babkov.

"Give me five roubles, and I’ll take you to Sakhar Medovich. They, though they don’t hold any post themselves, do find positions for people. And they don’t charge much for it: half your salary for the first year."

I ought to have spat and laughed in his face, but instead I thanked him, grew flustered, and, as if scalded, dashed down the stairs. From Babkov’s I went on to Shmakovich. He’s a soft, plump little fat man with a red, good-natured face and small oily eyes. His little eyes are oily to the point of being cloying, so that you feel they’ve been smeared with castor oil. Learning that I was your nephew, he was terribly delighted and even whinnied with pleasure. He dropped his work and set about plying me with tea. What a soul of a man! The whole time he stared into my face looking for a resemblance to you. He recalled you with tears in his eyes. When I reminded him of the purpose of my visit, he patted me on the shoulder and said:

"There’ll be time enough to bore ourselves talking business... Business is no bear, it won’t run off into the woods. Where do you dine? If it’s all the same to you where you dine, then let’s go to Palkin’s! We’ll talk there."

Enclosed with this letter I include the bill from Palkin’s. The 76 roubles you’ll see there were eaten and drunk by your friend Shmakovich, who turned out to be a great gourmand. I, of course, paid the bill. From Palkin’s Shmakovich dragged me off to the theater. I bought the tickets. What else? After the theater your scoundrel proposed we drive out of town, but I refused, since my money is nearly at an end. Saying goodbye to me, Shmakovich told me to give you his regards and to pass on that he could not secure me a position sooner than in five months.

"On purpose I won’t give you a position!" he joked, graciously slapping me on the stomach. "And why should you, a university man, want so badly to serve in our company? You ought, by God, to go into government service!" — "I know about government positions well enough without you. But give me one!"

With your third letter I set off to your kum Khalatov, to the board of the Zhivodyoro-Khamskaya Railway. There something happened so utterly loathsome that it outdid both Babkov and Shmakovich, the two of them put together. I repeat: to the devil with you! I am sick to the point of disgrace, and you are to blame for it... Your Khalatov I did not find in. I was received by some Odekolonov — a thin, sinewy figure with a pockmarked, jesuitical face. Learning that I was seeking a position, he sat me down and read me an entire lecture on the difficulties nowadays of obtaining a post. After the lecture he promised to report on my behalf, to intercede, to put in a word, and so forth. Remembering your commandment — to slip money in wherever possible — and seeing that the pockmarked face was not averse to a bribe, as I said goodbye I pressed into his hand... The taking hand squeezed my finger, the face broke into a smirk, and promises again came pouring out, but... Odekolonov glanced around and saw strangers standing behind him who could not have failed to notice the handshake. The Jesuit grew flustered and began to mutter:

"I promise you the position, but... I take no gratitude... No, no! Take it back! No, no! You offend me..."

And he unclenched his fist and gave me back the money, but not the twenty-five-rouble note I had slipped him — a three-rouble note instead. What a trick! These devils must have a whole system of springs and threads up their sleeves, for otherwise I cannot understand the transformation of my poor twenty-five-rouble note into a paltry three-rouble one.

Relatively clean and decent seemed to me the object of the fourth letter of recommendation — Gryzodubov.

He’s still a young man, handsome, with a noble bearing, dressed foppishly. He received me, though lazily and with visible reluctance, still courteously. From our conversation I learned that he had finished at the university and had also, in his time, struggled for his daily bread like a fish gasping on ice. He responded to my request with great sympathy, all the more so since educated clerks are his favorite dream... I’ve been to see him three times already, and all three times he told me nothing definite. He mumbles somehow, hems and haws, avoids direct answers, as if he were embarrassed or couldn’t bring himself to decide... I gave you my word not to grow sentimental. You assured me that all sharpers generally have noble bearings and the most knightly airs... Perhaps that’s true, but just try to separate the sharpers from the decent men. You’ll get so mired in it the sky will grow hot... Today I was at Gryzodubov’s for the fourth time... As before he mumbled and said nothing definite... I lost my temper... The devil prompted me to remember that I had given you my word of honor to bestow money on everyone without exception, and it was as if someone jogged my elbow... As one nerves oneself to plunge into cold water or climb some height, so I resolved to take the risk and slip it to him...

Ah, come what may! — I decided. — Once in a lifetime one may try it...

I resolved to take the risk not so much for the sake of the position as for the sake of the novelty of the sensation. If only once in my life to see, they say, how "gratitude" acts upon decent people! But my "sensation" went to the devil. I carried it out clumsily, awkwardly... I pulled a banknote from my pocket and, blushing, trembling all over, caught a moment when Gryzodubov wasn’t looking at me, and laid it on the desk... Fortunately, Gryzodubov at that same moment set some books down on the desk and covered the banknote with them... So it didn’t come off... Gryzodubov never saw the note... It will get lost among the papers, or the watchmen will steal it... And if he does see it, he will surely be offended... So it goes, mon oncle... uncle... (French). And the money is lost, and I feel ashamed... ashamed to the point of pain! And all because of you and your damned practical advice! You have corrupted me... I break off the letter, for someone is ringing... I’m going to open the door...

I have just received a letter from Gryzodubov. He writes that there is a vacancy in the freight-charges control office at 60 roubles a month. So he did see my banknote after all.