In Trouble

"In Trouble" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores the themes of moral ambiguity and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative follows a man named Oleg who, amid a troubling situation, grapples with guilt, obligation, and the consequences of his actions. As he navigates his feelings of responsibility towards others, Chekhov skillfully delves into the intricacies of personal dilemmas, exposing the often-conflicted nature of human motives. The story is characterized by Chekhov's signature realism, witty dialogue, and profound psychological insight.

								
PYOTR SEMYONITCH, the bank manager, together with the book-keeper, his
assistant, and two members of the board, were taken in the night to
prison. The day after the upheaval the merchant Avdeyev, who was one of
the committee of auditors, was sitting with his friends in the shop
saying:

"So it is God's will, it seems. There is no escaping your fate. Here to-
day we are eating caviare and to-morrow, for aught we know, it will be
prison, beggary, or maybe death. Anything may happen. Take Pyotr
Semyonitch, for instance. . . ."

He spoke, screwing up his drunken eyes, while his friends went on
drinking, eating caviare, and listening. Having described the disgrace
and helplessness of Pyotr Semyonitch, who only the day before had been
powerful and respected by all, Avdeyev went on with a sigh:

"The tears of the mouse come back to the cat. Serve them right, the
scoundrels! They could steal, the rooks, so let them answer for it!"

"You'd better look out, Ivan Danilitch, that you don't catch it too!"
one of his friends observed.

"What has it to do with me?"

"Why, they were stealing, and what were you auditors thinking about?
I'll be bound, you signed the audit."

"It's all very well to talk!" laughed Avdeyev: "Signed it, indeed! They
used to bring the accounts to my shop and I signed them. As though I
understood! Give me anything you like, I'll scrawl my name to it. If you
were to write that I murdered someone I'd sign my name to it. I haven't
time to go into it; besides, I can't see without my spectacles."

After discussing the failure of the bank and the fate of Pyotr
Semyonitch, Avdeyev and his friends went to eat pie at the house of a
friend whose wife was celebrating her name-day. At the name-day party
everyone was discussing the bank failure. Avdeyev was more excited than
anyone, and declared that he had long foreseen the crash and knew two
years before that things were not quite right at the bank. While they
were eating pie he described a dozen illegal operations which had come
to his knowledge.

"If you knew, why did you not give information?" asked an officer who
was present.

"I wasn't the only one: the whole town knew of it," laughed Avdeyev.
"Besides, I haven't the time to hang about the law courts, damn them!"

He had a nap after the pie and then had dinner, then had another nap,
then went to the evening service at the church of which he was a warden;
after the service he went back to the name-day party and played
preference till midnight. Everything seemed satisfactory.

But when Avdeyev hurried home after midnight the cook, who opened the
door to him, looked pale, and was trembling so violently that she could
not utter a word. His wife, Elizaveta Trofimovna, a flabby, overfed
woman, with her grey hair hanging loose, was sitting on the sofa in the
drawing-room quivering all over, and vacantly rolling her eyes as though
she were drunk. Her elder son, Vassily, a high-school boy, pale too, and
extremely agitated, was fussing round her with a glass of water.

"What's the matter?" asked Avdeyev, and looked angrily sideways at the
stove (his family was constantly being upset by the fumes from it).

"The examining magistrate has just been with the police," answered
Vassily; "they've made a search."

Avdeyev looked round him. The cupboards, the chests, the
tables--everything bore traces of the recent search. For a minute Avdeyev
stood motionless as though petrified, unable to understand; then his
whole inside quivered and seemed to grow heavy, his left leg went numb,
and, unable to endure his trembling, he lay down flat on the sofa. He
felt his inside heaving and his rebellious left leg tapping against the
back of the sofa.

In the course of two or three minutes he recalled the whole of his past,
but could not remember any crime deserving of the attention of the
police.

"It's all nonsense," he said, getting up. "They must have slandered me.
To-morrow I must lodge a complaint of their having dared to do such a
thing."

Next morning after a sleepless night Avdeyev, as usual, went to his
shop. His customers brought him the news that during the night the
public prosecutor had sent the deputy manager and the head-clerk to
prison as well. This news did not disturb Avdeyev. He was convinced that
he had been slandered, and that if he were to lodge a complaint to-day
the examining magistrate would get into trouble for the search of the
night before.

Between nine and ten o'clock he hurried to the town hall to see the
secretary, who was the only educated man in the town council.

"Vladimir Stepanitch, what's this new fashion?" he said, bending down to
the secretary's ear. "People have been stealing, but how do I come in?
What has it to do with me? My dear fellow," he whispered, "there has
been a search at my house last night! Upon my word! Have they gone
crazy? Why touch me?"

"Because one shouldn't be a sheep," the secretary answered calmly.
"Before you sign you ought to look."

"Look at what? But if I were to look at those accounts for a thousand
years I could not make head or tail of them! It's all Greek to me! I am
no book-keeper. They used to bring them to me and I signed them."

"Excuse me. Apart from that you and your committee are seriously
compromised. You borrowed nineteen thousand from the bank, giving no
security."

"Lord have mercy upon us!" cried Avdeyev in amazement. "I am not the
only one in debt to the bank! The whole town owes it money. I pay the
interest and I shall repay the debt. What next! And besides, to tell the
honest truth, it wasn't I myself borrowed the money. Pyotr Semyonitch
forced it upon me. 'Take it,' he said, 'take it. If you don't take it,'
he said, 'it means that you don't trust us and fight shy of us. You take
it,' he said, 'and build your father a mill.' So I took it."

"Well, you see, none but children or sheep can reason like that. In any
case, signor, you need not be anxious. You can't escape trial, of
course, but you are sure to be acquitted."

The secretary's indifference and calm tone restored Avdeyev's composure.
Going back to his shop and finding friends there, he again began
drinking, eating caviare, and airing his views. He almost forgot the
police search, and he was only troubled by one circumstance which he
could not help noticing: his left leg was strangely numb, and his
stomach for some reason refused to do its work.

That evening destiny dealt another overwhelming blow at Avdeyev: at an
extraordinary meeting of the town council all members who were on the
staff of the bank, Avdeyev among them, were asked to resign, on the
ground that they were charged with a criminal offence. In the morning he
received a request to give up immediately his duties as churchwarden.

After that Avdeyev lost count of the blows dealt him by fate, and

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