Chekhov - Ward
6
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XII After this Andrey Yefimitch began to notice a mysterious air in
all around him. The attendants, the nurses, and the patients
looked at him inquisitively when they met him, and then
whispered together. The superintendent's little daughter Masha,
whom he liked to meet in the hospital garden, for some reason
ran away from him now when he went up with a smile to stroke her
on the head. The postmaster no longer said, "Perfectly true," as
he listened to him, but in unaccountable confusion muttered,
"Yes, yes, yes . . ." and looked at him with a grieved and
thoughtful expression; for some reason he took to advising his
friend to give up vodka and beer, but as a man of delicate
feeling he did not say this directly, but hinted it, telling him
first about the commanding officer of his battalion, an
excellent man, and then about the priest of the regiment, a
capital fellow, both of whom drank and fell ill, but on giving
up drinking completely regained their health. On two or three
occasions Andrey Yefimitch was visited by his colleague Hobotov,
who also advised him to give up spirituous liquors, and for no
apparent reason recommended him to take bromide.
In August Andrey Yefimitch got a letter from the mayor of the
town asking him to come on very important business. On arriving
at the town hall at the time fixed, Andrey Yefimitch found there
the military commander, the superintendent of the district
school, a member of the town council, Hobotov, and a plump, fair
gentleman who was introduced to him as a doctor. This doctor,
with a Polish surname difficult to pronounce, lived at a
pedigree stud-farm twenty miles away, and was now on a visit to
the town.
"There's something that concerns you," said the member of the
town council, addressing Andrey Yefimitch after they had all
greeted one another and sat down to the table. "Here Yevgeny
Fyodoritch says that there is not room for the dispensary in the
main building, and that it ought to be transferred to one of the
lodges. That's of no consequence -- of course it can be
transferred, but the point is that the lodge wants doing up."
"Yes, it would have to be done up," said Andrey Yefimitch after
a moment's thought. "If the corner lodge, for instance, were
fitted up as a dispensary, I imagine it would cost at least five
hundred roubles. An unproductive expenditure!"
Everyone was silent for a space.
"I had the honour of submitting to you ten years ago," Andrey
Yefimitch went on in a low voice, "that the hospital in its
present form is a luxury for the town beyond its means. It was
built in the forties, but things were different then. The town
spends too much on unnecessary buildings and superfluous staff.
I believe with a different system two model hospitals might be
maintained for the same money."
"Well, let us have a different system, then!" the member of the
town council said briskly.
"I have already had the honour of submitting to you that the
medical department should be transferred to the supervision of
the Zemstvo."
"Yes, transfer the money to the Zemstvo and they will steal it,"
laughed the fair-haired doctor.
"That's what it always comes to," the member of the council
assented, and he also laughed.
Andrey Yefimitch looked with apathetic, lustreless eyes at the
fair-haired doctor and said: "One should be just."
Again there was silence. Tea was brought in. The military
commander, for some reason much embarrassed, touched Andrey
Yefimitch's hand across the table and said: "You have quite
forgotten us, doctor. But of course you are a hermit: you don't
play cards and don't like women. You would be dull with fellows
like us."
They all began saying how boring it was for a decent person to
live in such a town. No theatre, no music, and at the last dance
at the club there had been about twenty ladies and only two
gentlemen. The young men did not dance, but spent all the time
crowding round the refreshment bar or playing cards.
Not looking at anyone and speaking slowly in a low voice, Andrey
Yefimitch began saying what a pity, what a terrible pity it was
that the townspeople should waste their vital energy, their
hearts, and their minds on cards and gossip, and should have
neither the power nor the inclination to spend their time in
interesting conversation and reading, and should refuse to take
advantage of the enjoyments of the mind. The mind alone was
interesting and worthy of attention, all the rest was low and
petty. Hobotov listened to his colleague attentively and
suddenly asked:
"Andrey Yefimitch, what day of the month is it?"
Having received an answer, the fair-haired doctor and he, in the
tone of examiners conscious of their lack of skill, began asking
Andrey Yefimitch what was the day of the week, how many days
there were in the year, and whether it was true that there was a
remarkable prophet living in Ward No. 6.
In response to the last question Andrey Yefimitch turned rather
red and said: "Yes, he is mentally deranged, but he is an
interesting young man."
They asked him no other questions.
When he was putting on his overcoat in the entry, the military
commander laid a hand on his shoulder and said with a sigh:
"It's time for us old fellows to rest!"
As he came out of the hall, Andrey Yefimitch understood that it
had been a committee appointed to enquire into his mental
condition. He recalled the questions that had been asked him,
flushed crimson, and for some reason, for the first time in his
life, felt bitterly grieved for medical science.
"My God. . ." he thought, remembering how these doctors had just
examined him; "why, they have only lately been hearing lectures
on mental pathology; they had passed an examination -- what's
the explanation of this crass ignorance? They have not a
conception of mental pathology!"
And for the first time in his life he felt insulted and moved to
anger.
In the evening of the same day Mihail Averyanitch came to see
him. The postmaster went up to him without waiting to greet him,
took him by both hands, and said in an agitated voice:
"My dear fellow, my dear friend, show me that you believe in my
genuine affection and look on me as your friend!" And preventing
Andrey Yefimitch from speaking, he went on, growing excited: "I
love you for your culture and nobility of soul. Listen to me, my
dear fellow. The rules of their profession compel the doctors to
conceal the truth from you, but I blurt out the plain truth like
a soldier. You are not well! Excuse me, my dear fellow, but it
is the truth; everyone about you has been noticing it for a long
time. Dr. Yevgeny Fyodoritch has just told me that it is
essential for you to rest and distract your mind for the sake of
your health. Perfectly true! Excellent! In a day or two I am
taking a holiday and am going away for a sniff of a different
atmosphere. Show that you are a friend to me, let us go
together! Let us go for a jaunt as in the good old days."
"I feel perfectly well," said Andrey Yefimitch after a moment's
thought. "I can't go away. Allow me to show you my friendship in
some other way."
To go off with no object, without his books, without his
Daryushka, without his beer, to break abruptly through the
routine of life, established for twenty years -- the idea for
the first minute struck him as wild and fantastic, but he
remembered the conversation at the Zemstvo committee and the
depressing feelings with which he had returned home, and the
thought of a brief absence from the town in which stupid people
looked on him as a madman was pleasant to him.
"And where precisely do you intend to go?" he asked.
"To Moscow, to Petersburg, to Warsaw. . . . I spent the five
happiest years of my life in Warsaw. What a marvellous town! Let
us go, my dear fellow!"
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