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Chapter 3
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Chapter 3 They said little during the journey, and then only when Nikolay Afanasievich attempted to start a conversation. He was trying to distract and entertain the archpriest, who sat in silence with his hands, in old suede gloves, folded in his lap. The dwarf introduced one topic after another , but Tuberozov remained silent or made the briefest of replies. He recounted how Tuberozov’s parish missed him and shed tears over him, how the postmaster’s wife, intending to thrash her husband, had thrashed Prepotensky instead, how the teacher had fled the town, driven away by Mrs. Bizyukina—but the old man still said nothing. Nikolay Afanasievich began to talk about Tuberozov’s little house, how it was falling to pieces and needed repair. The archpriest sighed and said: “Henceforth all that is now ashes and dust for me, and I abhor the thought that I was once attached to it.” The dwarf changed the subject to Achilles, who was always looking for ways to console himself; missing the archpriest terribly, he discovered a little blind puppy under a cliff, took it home, and was having fun with it. “Good for him. Let him play with it,” the archpriest whispered. Nikolay Afanasievich perked up. “Yes, sir,” he began, “let me tell you, Father, so many truly amazing things have happened to him on account of that little dog and his own nature. He trained the dog to laugh, just like he trained earlier ones. He’ll say, ‘Laugh, doggy,’ and it will bare its little teeth. But then he ran into the problem of what to name it.” “Well, does it really matter to the dog what its name is?” the archpriest responded reluctantly. The dwarf noticed that his traveling companion listened to tales about Achilles with somewhat less indifference and went on. “Yes, sir. Why, just fancy that! But with the father deacon’s nature, you see, it does matter: once he gets an idea into his head, he has to act on it then and there. ‘I brought this dog home,’ he said, ‘when I was all upset over a certain event, and I want to commemorate that event by giving him a special name, one that no other dog has.’” The archpriest smiled. CHAPTER 3 301 “Well, sir, with this in mind Father Achilles rides over to Plodomasovo to see me, and he reins in his horse in front of our windows—my sister’s and mine—and yells in a loud voice, ‘Nikolasha! Hey, Nikolasha !’ I think, Good Lord, what’s this? I lean out the little ventilation window and say, ‘Father Deacon, has something even worse happened to Father Savely?’ ‘No,’ he says, ‘that’s not it. I need to see you about another matter, Nikolasha. I’ve come to get your advice.’ “‘Then please come inside,’ I say. ‘We’re not a couple of Cossacks on sentry duty where one of us hollers from a horse while the other one hollers from a watchtower.’ But wouldn’t you know it—he didn’t want to come in! ‘I don’t have time,’ he says, ‘and besides, I’m not alone.’ “‘So what’s going on then?’ I shout. ‘Tell me quickly, sir, or I’ll get cold leaning out the window—I’m sensitive to cold.’ ‘You’ve lived in manor houses ever since you were a boy,’ he says, ‘so you must know every dog name there is.’ ‘How could I know all of them?’ I say. ‘There must be a million names for dogs.’ ‘Well,’ he shouts, ‘hurry up and run through them!’ So I list them for him, telling him that names are most often given according to breed: Russian wolfhounds are all usually Milord , while the better looking dogs of our plainer breeds are Barbos; English breeds are Fanny; dogs from Courland are Charlotte; French breeds are called Joujou or Bijou; Spanish ones are Carlo or Catania or something similar; German breeds are Spitz— But at that point the father deacon interrupts me: ‘No,’ he says, ‘give me a name that no dog has ever had. You must know one!’ he insists. How, I’m wondering, can I mollify him?” “Well, how did you mollify him?” Tuberozov asked with curiosity. “Well, Father, by that time I was simply freezing at the open window and in order to get rid of him faster, I say, ‘I do know one more name, sir, only I’m afraid to tell you.’ ‘No...