Captain Ribnikov Page #8

"Captain Ribnikov" is a novel by Russian author Aleksandr Kuprin, published in 1913. The story revolves around the experiences of Captain Ribnikov, a dedicated and principled officer in the Russian Navy, as he confronts moral dilemmas and the harsh realities of life at sea. The narrative explores themes of duty, honor, and the complexities of human relationships, set against the backdrop of naval life. Kuprin's vivid storytelling captures the struggles of individuals grappling with their ideals and the often brutal world around them, making it a poignant reflection on the nature of loyalty and sacrifice.

• Novel

								

proverb says. Where the world goes there go we. Eh, what? “If we’re
going, let’s go,” as the parrot said. What? Ha, ha, ha!’

Schavinsky had introduced him to the young men, and they had all
had supper in the café chantant, listened to the Roumanian singers,
drinking champagne and liqueurs. At one time they found it amusing to
call Ribnikov by the names of different Japanese generals, particularly
because the captain’s good nature was evidently unlimited. Schavinsky
it was who began this rude, familiar game. True he felt at times that
he was behaving in an ugly, perhaps even treacherous, way to Ribnikov,
but he calmed his conscience by the fact that he had not breathed a
word of his suspicions, which never entered his friends’ heads at all.

At the beginning of the evening he was watching Ribnikov. The captain
was noisier and more talkative than anybody: he was incessantly
drinking healths, jumping up, sitting down, pouring the wine over
the tablecloth, lighting his cigarette the wrong end. Nevertheless,
Schavinsky noticed that he was drinking very little.

Ribnikov had to sit next the journalist again in the cab. Schavinsky
was almost sober. He was generally distinguished for a hard head in
a spree, but it was light and noisy now, as though the foam of the
champagne was bubbling in it. He gave the captain a side-glance. In the
uncertain, drowsy light of the white night Ribnikov’s face wore a dark,
earthy complexion. All the hollows were sharp and black, the little
wrinkles on his forehead and the lines round his nose and mouth were
deepened. The captain himself sat with a weary stoop, his hands tucked
into the sleeves of his uniform, breathing heavily through his open
mouth. Altogether it gave him a worn, suffering look. Schavinsky could
even smell his breath, and thought that gamblers after several nights
at cards have just the same stale, sour breath as men tired out with
insomnia or the strain of long brain work. A wave of kindly emotion and
pity welled up in Schavinsky’s heart. The captain suddenly appeared to
him very small, utterly worn out, affecting and pitiable. He embraced
Ribnikov, drew him close, and said affably: ‘Very well, Captain, I
surrender. I can’t do anything with you, and I apologise if I’ve given
you some uncomfortable minutes. Give me your hand.’

He unfastened the rose he wore in his coat which a girl in the garden
had made him buy, and fixed it in the buttonhole of the captain’s
great-coat.

‘This is my peace-offering, Captain. We won’t tease each other any
more.’

The cab drew up at a two-storied stone house standing apart in a
pleasant approach. All the windows were shuttered. The others had gone
in advance and were waiting for them. A square grille, a handsbreadth
wide, set in the heavy door, was opened from inside, and a pair of
cold, searching grey eyes appeared in it for a few seconds. Then the
door was opened.

This establishment was something between an expensive brothel and a
luxurious club. There was an elegant entrance, a stuffed bear in the
hall, carpets, silk curtains and lustre-chandeliers, and lackeys in
evening dress and white gloves. Men came here to finish the night after
the restaurants were shut. Cards were played, expensive wines kept,
and there was always a generous supply of fresh, pretty women who were
often changed.

They had to go up to the first floor, where was a wide landing adorned
by palms in tubs and separated from the stairs by a balustrade.
Schavinsky went upstairs arm-in-arm with Ribnikov. Though he had
promised himself that he would not tease him any more, he could not
restrain himself: ‘Let’s mount the scaffold, Captain!’

‘I’m not afraid,’ said he lazily. ‘I walk up to death every day of my
life.’

Ribnikov waved his hand feebly and smiled with constraint. The smile
made his face suddenly weary, grey and old.

Schavinsky gave him a look of silent surprise. He was ashamed of his
importunity. But Ribnikov passed it off immediately.

‘Yes, to death.... A soldier’s always ready for it. There’s nothing
to be done. Death is the trifling inconvenience attached to our
profession.’

Schavinsky and Karyukov the art-patron were assiduous guests and
honoured habitués of the house. They were greeted with pleasant
smiles and low bows.

A big, warm cabinet was given them, in red and gold with a thick,
bright green carpet on the floor, with sconces in the corners and
on the table. They were brought champagne, fruit and bonbons. Women
came--three at first, then two more--then they were passing in and
out continually. Without exception they were pretty, well provided
with bare, white arms, neck, bosom, in bright, expensive, glittering
dresses. Some wore ballet skirts; one was in a schoolgirl’s brown
uniform, another in tight riding-breeches and a jockey’s cap. A
stout elderly lady in black also came, rather like a landlady or a
housekeeper. Her appearance was decent; her face flabby and yellow.
She laughed continually the pleasant laugh of an elderly woman,
coughed continually and smoked incessantly. She behaved to Schavinsky,
the actor, and the art-patron with the unconstrained coquetterie
of a lady old enough to be their mother, flicking their hands with
her handkerchief, and she called Strahlmann, who was evidently her
favourite, Sashka.

‘General Kuroki, let’s drink to the success of the grand Manchurian
army. You’ll be getting mildewy, sitting in your corner,’ said Karyukov.

Schavinsky interrupted him with a yawn: ‘Steady, gentlemen. I think you
ought to be bored with it by now. You’re just abusing the captain’s
good nature.’

‘I’m not offended,’ replied Ribnikov. ‘Gentlemen! Let us drink the
health of our charming ladies.’

‘Sing us something, Lirsky!’ Schavinsky asked.

The actor cheerfully sat down to the piano and began a gipsy song. It
was more recitation than singing. He never moved the cigar from his
lips, stared at the ceiling, with a parade of swinging to and fro on
his chair. The women joined in, loud and out of tune. Each one tried
to race the others with the words. Then Sashka Strahlmann gave an
admirable imitation of a gramophone, impersonated an Italian opera,
and mimicked animals. Karyukov danced a fandango and called for bottle
after bottle.

He was the first to disappear from the room, with a red-haired Polish
girl. After him followed Strahlmann and the actor. Only Schavinsky
remained, with a swarthy, white-toothed Hungarian girl on his knees,
and Ribnikov, by the side of a tall blonde in a blue satin blouse, cut
square and open half-way down her breast.

‘Well, Captain, let’s say good-bye for a little while,’ said
Schavinsky, getting up and stretching himself. ‘It’s late--we’d better
say early. Come and have breakfast with me at one o’clock, Captain.
Put the wine down to Karyukov, Madame. If he loves sacred art, then
he can pay for the honour of having supper with its priests. Mes
compliments!’

The blonde put her bare arm round the captain’s neck and kissed him,
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes