Gusev Page #2

"Gusev" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, centered around the character of Gusev, a Russian soldier who is aboard a ship taking him back to his homeland after the Russo-Japanese War. The narrative explores themes of mortality, the futility of war, and the human condition as Gusev reflects on his life, desires, and the nature of existence while grappling with his impending death. Through rich characterizations and introspective dialogue, Chekhov delves into the complexities of human emotions and the search for meaning in a chaotic world.

								

gasping:

"Those are the people who ought to be plucked in the newspapers till the
feathers fly in all directions."

The two sick soldiers and the sailor were awake and already playing
cards. The sailor was half reclining in his hammock, the soldiers were
sitting near him on the floor in the most uncomfortable attitudes. One
of the soldiers had his right arm in a sling, and the hand was swathed
up in a regular bundle so that he held his cards under his right arm or
in the crook of his elbow while he played with the left. The ship was
rolling heavily. They could not stand up, nor drink tea, nor take their
medicines.

"Were you an officer's servant?" Pavel Ivanitch asked Gusev.

"Yes, an officer's servant."

"My God, my God!" said Pavel Ivanitch, and he shook his head mournfully.
"To tear a man out of his home, drag him twelve thousand miles away,
then to drive him into consumption and... and what is it all for, one
wonders? To turn him into a servant for some Captain Kopeikin or
midshipman Dirka! How logical!"

"It's not hard work, Pavel Ivanitch. You get up in the morning and clean
the boots, get the samovar, sweep the rooms, and then you have nothing
more to do. The lieutenant is all the day drawing plans, and if you like
you can say your prayers, if you like you can read a book or go out into
the street. God grant everyone such a life."

"Yes, very nice, the lieutenant draws plans all the day and you sit in
the kitchen and pine for home.... Plans indeed!... It is not plans that
matter, but a human life. Life is not given twice, it must be treated
mercifully."

"Of course, Pavel Ivanitch, a bad man gets no mercy anywhere, neither at
home nor in the army, but if you live as you ought and obey orders, who
has any need to insult you? The officers are educated gentlemen, they
understand.... In five years I was never once in prison, and I was never
struck a blow, so help me God, but once."

"What for?"

"For fighting. I have a heavy hand, Pavel Ivanitch. Four Chinamen came
into our yard; they were bringing firewood or something, I don't
remember. Well, I was bored and I knocked them about a bit, one's nose
began bleeding, damn the fellow.... The lieutenant saw it through the
little window, he was angry and gave me a box on the ear."

"Foolish, pitiful man..." whispered Pavel Ivanitch. "You don't
understand anything."

He was utterly exhausted by the tossing of the ship and closed his eyes;
his head alternately fell back and dropped forward on his breast.
Several times he tried to lie down but nothing came of it; his
difficulty in breathing prevented it.

"And what did you hit the four Chinamen for?" he asked a little while
afterwards.

"Oh, nothing. They came into the yard and I hit them."

And a stillness followed.... The card-players had been playing for two
hours with enthusiasm and loud abuse of one another, but the motion of
the ship overcame them, too; they threw aside the cards and lay down.
Again Gusev saw the big pond, the brick building, the village.... Again
the sledge was coming along, again Vanka was laughing and Akulka, silly
little thing, threw open her fur coat and stuck her feet out, as much as
to say: "Look, good people, my snowboots are not like Vanka's, they are
new ones."

"Five years old, and she has no sense yet," Gusev muttered in delirium.
"Instead of kicking your legs you had better come and get your soldier
uncle a drink. I will give you something nice."

Then Andron with a flintlock gun on his shoulder was carrying a hare he
had killed, and he was followed by the decrepit old Jew Isaitchik, who
offers to barter the hare for a piece of soap; then the black calf in
the shed, then Domna sewing at a shirt and crying about something, and
then again the bull's head without eyes, black smoke....

Overhead someone gave a loud shout, several sailors ran by, they seemed
to be dragging something bulky over the deck, something fell with a
crash. Again they ran by.... Had something gone wrong? Gusev raised his
head, listened, and saw that the two soldiers and the sailor were
playing cards again; Pavel Ivanitch was sitting up moving his lips. It
was stifling, one hadn't strength to breathe, one was thirsty, the water
was warm, disgusting. The ship heaved as much as ever.

Suddenly something strange happened to one of the soldiers playing
cards.... He called hearts diamonds, got muddled in his score, and
dropped his cards, then with a frightened, foolish smile looked round at
all of them.

"I shan't be a minute, mates, I'll..." he said, and lay down on the
floor.

Everybody was amazed. They called to him, he did not answer.

"Stephan, maybe you are feeling bad, eh?" the soldier with his arm in a
sling asked him. "Perhaps we had better bring the priest, eh?"

"Have a drink of water, Stepan..." said the sailor. "Here, lad, drink."

"Why are you knocking the jug against his teeth?" said Gusev angrily.
"Don't you see, turnip head?"

"What?"

"What?" Gusev repeated, mimicking him. "There is no breath in him, he is
dead! That's what! What nonsensical people, Lord have mercy on us...!"

III

The ship was not rocking and Pavel Ivanitch was more cheerful. He was no
longer ill-humoured. His face had a boastful, defiant, mocking
expression. He looked as though he wanted to say: "Yes, in a minute I
will tell you something that will make you split your sides with
laughing." The little round window was open and a soft breeze was
blowing on Pavel Ivanitch. There was a sound of voices, of the plash of
oars in the water.... Just under the little window someone began droning
in a high, unpleasant voice: no doubt it was a Chinaman singing.

"Here we are in the harbour," said Pavel Ivanitch, smiling ironically.
"Only another month and we shall be in Russia. Well, worthy gentlemen
and warriors! I shall arrive at Odessa and from there go straight to
Harkov. In Harkov I have a friend, a literary man. I shall go to him and
say, 'Come, old man, put aside your horrid subjects, ladies' amours and
the beauties of nature, and show up human depravity.'"

For a minute he pondered, then said:

"Gusev, do you know how I took them in?"

"Took in whom, Pavel Ivanitch?"

"Why, these fellows.... You know that on this steamer there is only a
first-class and a third-class, and they only allow peasants--that is the
rift-raft--to go in the third. If you have got on a reefer jacket and
have the faintest resemblance to a gentleman or a bourgeois you must go
first-class, if you please. You must fork out five hundred roubles if
you die for it. Why, I ask, have you made such a rule? Do you want to
raise the prestige of educated Russians thereby? Not a bit of it. We
don't let you go third-class simply because a decent person can't go
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