Overdoing it Page #2

"Overdoing It" is a humorous short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of human folly and the absurdities of social interactions. The narrative revolves around a character who becomes overly enthusiastic and committed to a seemingly trivial task, leading to exaggerated consequences. Chekhov's keen observation of human behavior and relationships shines through as he deftly critiques the tendency to overindulge in pursuits that ultimately lead to ridiculous outcomes. The story captures the delicate balance between ambition and absurdity, showcasing Chekhov's trademark wit and insight into the human condition.

								


The surveyor made a pretence of feeling in his pockets and at that
moment something happened which he could not have expected with all his
cowardice. Klim suddenly rolled off the cart and ran as fast as he could
go into the forest.

"Help!" he roared. "Help! Take the horse and the cart, you devil, only
don't take my life. Help!"

There was the sound of footsteps hurriedly retreating, of twigs
snapping--and all was still. . . . The surveyor had not expected such a
dénouement. He first stopped the horse and then settled himself more
comfortably in the cart and fell to thinking.

"He has run off . . . he was scared, the fool. Well, what's to be done
now? I can't go on alone because I don't know the way; besides they may
think I have stolen his horse. . . . What's to be done?"

"Klim! Klim," he cried.

"Klim," answered the echo.

At the thought that he would have to sit through the whole night in the
cold and dark forest and hear nothing but the wolves, the echo, and the
snorting of the scraggy mare, the surveyor began to have twinges down
his spine as though it were being rasped with a cold file.

"Klimushka," he shouted. "Dear fellow! Where are you, Klimushka?"

For two hours the surveyor shouted, and it was only after he was quite
husky and had resigned himself to spending the night in the forest that
a faint breeze wafted the sound of a moan to him.

"Klim, is it you, dear fellow? Let us go on."

"You'll mu-ur-der me!"

"But I was joking, my dear man! I swear to God I was joking! As though I
had revolvers! I told a lie because I was frightened. For goodness sake
let us go on, I am freezing!"

Klim, probably reflecting that a real robber would have vanished long
ago with the horse and cart, came out of the forest and went
hesitatingly up to his passenger.

"Well, what were you frightened of, stupid? I . . . I was joking and you
were frightened. Get in!"

"God be with you, sir," Klim muttered as he clambered into the cart, "if
I had known I wouldn't have taken you for a hundred roubles. I almost
died of fright. . . ."

Klim lashed at the little mare. The cart swayed. Klim lashed once more
and the cart gave a lurch. After the fourth stroke of the whip when the
cart moved forward, the surveyor hid his ears in his collar and sank
into thought.

The road and Klim no longer seemed dangerous to him.
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