A Present.
By Leonid Andreyev.
(Translated for "The Russian Review").
I.
"So you'll come, won't you?" Senista repeated this for the third time, and for the third time Sazonka answered hastily:
"Sure I'll come, sure I'll come. Why shouldn't I? Sure I'll come."
And again they were silent. Senista was lying on his back, covered up to the chin with a gray hospital blanket, and was looking steadily at Sazonka. He did not want Sazonka to go away, wanted him to say again that he would come to see him, and not leave him a prey to loneliness, disease, and fear. Sazonka, on the other hand, was anxious to get away, but he did not know how to do it without giving offense to the boy. He would blow his nose every little while, slide off the chair, and then sit straight and firmly again, as though resolved to remain there for all time. He would have stayed longer if there were anything to talk about. But there was no subject he could converse upon and the thoughts that came to his head were so foolish, that he felt ashamed of himself. He wanted all the time to call Senista by his full name, Semyon Erofeyevich, which, of course, would have been preposterous. Senista was only a boy, a mere apprentice, while he was a full master in his trade and a drunkard into the bargain. Everybody called him Sazonka merely through force of habit. Only two weeks ago, he had given Senista his last box on the ear, which, of course, was very bad of him; but he could not talk about that in the hospital.
Sazonka began to slide off his chair determinedly, but before getting off half-way he suddenly slid back again, and said half-reproachfully, half-sympathetically:
"So that's the way it goes. Hurts, don't it?"
Senista nodded and answered quietly:
"Well, I guess it's time for you to go. You'll get it, if you don't."
"That's so, too," answered Sazonka cheerfully, glad to have found a good excuse. "As it is, he told me to get back as soon as I could. Take it over,' said he, 'and get back the same moment. And see that you don't touch whiskey on the way.' The devil!"
But, together with the realization that he could leave any moment, Sazonka began to feel a great pity for the large-headed Senista. The whole environment predisposed him to pity. The room was filled with beds placed close to each other, on which lay pale, gloomy men. The air was spoiled to the last ounce with the nauseating odors of medicines and human perspiration. Everything reminded him of his own health and strength. No longer trying to avoid Senista's questioning glance, Sazonka bent over him and said:
