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OBLOMOV walked home feeling deliriously happy. His blood coursed exultantly in his veins and his eyes were shining. It seemed to him that even his hair was ablaze. It was thus that he entered his room – and suddenly the radiance disappeared, and his eyes became fixed with unpleasant surprise on one place: Tarantyev was sitting in his chair.
«Why do you keep people waiting for hours?» Tarantyev asked sternly, giving him his hirsute hand. «Where have you been gadding about? And that old devil of yours has got out of hand completely. I asked him for a bite to eat – there wasn’t anything; I asked for vodka, and he refused to give me any, either».
«I’ve been for a walk in the woods», Oblomov said casually, still unable to recover from the shock of Tarantyev’s visit, and at such a moment, too!
He had forgotten the gloomy surroundings in which he had lived for so many years and was no longer used to their stifling atmosphere. Tarantyev had in a twinkling brought him down, as it were, from heaven into a swamp. Oblomov kept asking himself painfully what Tarantyev had come for and how long he was going to stay. He suffered agonies at the thought that Tarantyev might stay to dinner and that he would be unable to go to the Ilyinskys’. He had to get rid of Tarantyev at any price – that was the only thing that mattered to him now. He waited gloomily and in silence for Tarantyev to speak.
«Why don’t you go and have a look at your flat, old man?» asked Tarantyev.
«I don’t need it any more», said Oblomov. «I–I am not going to move there».
«Wha-at? Not move there?» Tarantyev cried menacingly. «You’ve rented it and you’re not going to move? And what about the agreement?»
«What agreement?»
«You’ve forgotten, have you? You signed an agreement for a year. Come on, let us have eight hundred roubles, and then you can go where you like. Four people were after that flat and they were all turned away. One of them would have taken it for three years».
Oblomov only just remembered that on the very day of his moving to the country cottage Tarantyev brought him a paper which in his hurry he signed without reading. «Good Lord, what have I done?» he thought.
«But I don’t want the flat», said Oblomov. «I’m going abroad». «Abroad!» Tarantyev interrupted. «With that German? You’ll never do it, old man… You’ll never go!»
«Why not? I’ve already got my passport. I can show you if you like. Bought a trunk too».
«You won’t go!» Tarantyev repeated indifferently. «You’d better let me have the rent for six months in advance».
«I have no money».
«You can get it, can’t you? Ivan Matveyevich, the landlady’s brother, will stand no nonsense. He’ll take out a summons at once: you won’t be able to wriggle out of it then. Besides, I’ve paid him with my own money, so you’d better pay me».
«Where did you get so much money?» asked Oblomov.
«It’s none of your business. I’ve been repaid an old debt. Come on, let’s have the money. That’s what I’ve come for».
«All right. I’ll call one day this week and get a new tenant for the flat. I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry now».
He began buttoning his coat.
«And what sort of a flat do you want?» Tarantyev said. «You won’t find a better. You haven’t seen it, have you?»
«I don’t want to see it», replied Oblomov. «What do I want to move there for? It’s too far…»
«From what?» Tarantyev interrupted rudely.
But Oblomov did not say what it was far from.
«From the centre», he added later.
«What centre? What do you want it for? To lie about?»
«No, I don’t lie about any more».
«Oh?»
«I don’t. To-day – er – I…»
«What?» Tarantyev interrupted.
«I am not dining at home».
«Give me the money and then you can go to the devil!»
«What money?» Oblomov repeated impatiently. «I’ll call at the flat soon and talk it over with the landlady».
«What landlady? What does she know? She’s a woman! No, sir. You talk to her brother – then you’ll see!»
«All right, I’ll call and talk to him».
«Will you? I don’t think! Give me the money and go where you like».
«I haven’t any money. I shall have to borrow».
«Well, in that case you’d better pay for my cab fare», Tarantyev persisted. «Three roubles».
«Where is your cabby? And why so much as three roubles?»
«I’ve dismissed him. Why so much? Because he didn’t want to bring me here. Not over the sand, he said. And there’ll be another three roubles back!»
«You can go by bus from here for half a rouble», said Oblomov. «Here you are».
He gave him four roubles. Tarantyev put them in his pocket, and then asked:
«What about dinner money?»
«What dinner?»
«I shall be late for dinner in town and I shall have to call at a pub on the way. Everything’s terribly expensive here: they’re sure to charge me five roubles at least!»
Oblomov took out another rouble and threw it to Tarantyev in silence. He did not sit down because he was anxious that his visitor should go as soon as possible; but Tarantyev did not go.
«Tell them to give me something to eat», he said.
«But aren’t you going to have your dinner at a pub?» Oblomov observed.
«Dinner – yes! But it’s only just gone one».
Oblomov told Zakhar to give him something to eat.
«There’s nothing in the house, sir», Zakhar said dryly, looking sullenly at Tarantyev. «Nothing has been prepared. And when, sir», he addressed Tarantyev, «are you going to return the master’s shirt and waistcoat?»
«What shirt and waistcoat?» Tarantyev asked. «I returned them long ago».
«When was that?» asked Zakhar.
«Why, my good man, I handed the things to you when you were moving, didn’t I? You shoved them into some bundle, and now you ask for them».
Zakhar was dumbfounded.
«Good Lord, sir», he cried, addressing Oblomov, «that’s a scandal, that is!»
«Go on, tell me another», Tarantyev replied. «I suppose you sold them for drink and now you ask me for them».
«No, sir, I have never in my life sold my master’s things for drink», Zakhar wheezed. «Now you, sir…»
«Stop it, Zakhar!» Oblomov interrupted him sternly.
«Didn’t you take our broom and two of our cups?» Zakhar asked again.
«What broom?» Tarantyev thundered. «Oh, you old rascal! Come on, you’d better give me a bite of something!»
«Do you hear how he swears at me, sir?» said Zakhar. «There is no food in the house – not even any bread, and Anisya has gone out», he declared firmly and went out of the room.
«Where do you have dinner?» asked Tarantyev. «I must say it’s funny all right – Oblomov goes for walks in the wood, doesn’t dine at home – When are you going to move to your flat? It’ll be autumn soon. Come and have a look at it».
«All right, all right. I will soon…»
«And don’t forget to bring the money!»
«Yes, yes, yes!» Oblomov said impatiently.
«Well, do you want anything doing to your flat? They’ve stained the floors and painted the ceilings, doors, and windows – everything. It has cost more than a hundred roubles, old man».
«Yes, yes, all right… Oh», Oblomov suddenly remembered, «there’s one thing I was going to tell you. Could you, please, go to the courts for me – I have a deed of trust that has to be witnessed…»
«I am not your solicitor, am I?» Tarantyev said.
«I’ll give you more for your dinner», said Oblomov.
«The wear and tear of my boots will cost me more than you will give me».
«Take a cab, I’ll pay».
«I’m sorry, but I can’t go to the courts», Tarantyev said gloomily.
«Oh? Why not?»
«I have enemies who bear me malice and are doing their best to ruin me».
«Oh, very well, I’ll go myself», said Oblomov, picking up his cap.
«You see, when you move to the flat Ivan Matveyevich will do everything for you. He’s a fine fellow, I tell you, not at all like some German upstart! A real, hundred-per-cent Russian official, has sat for thirty years on the same chair, runs his office, has money too, but never takes a cab. His coat is no better than mine; would never hurt a fly, speaks in a very low voice, never goes roaming abroad like your…»
«Tarantyev», Oblomov shouted, banging his fist on the table, «don’t talk of something you don’t understand!»
Tarantyev opened his eyes wide at such unheard-of impudence on Oblomov’s part and even forgot to be offended at being put below Stolz.
«So that’s what you are like now, old man», he muttered, taking up his hat. «What energy!»
He stroked his hat with his sleeve, then looked at it and at Oblomov’s hat that lay on the bookstand.
«You don’t wear your hat», he said, taking Oblomov’s hat and trying it on. «I see you have a cap. Lend it to me for the summer, old man».
Oblomov, without uttering a word, removed his hat from Tarantyev’s head and put it back on the bookcase. He then crossed his arms on his chest and waited for Tarantyev to go.
«Oh, to hell with you!» said Tarantyev, pushing his way clumsily through the door. «You’re a little – er – queer, old man. Wait till you’ve had a talk with Ivan Matveyevich, and see what happens if you don’t bring the money».
HE went away, and Oblomov sat down in the arm-chair, feeling thoroughly upset. He could not shake off the unpleasant impression left by Tarantyev’s visit for a long time. At last he remembered his plans for the morning, and the hideous appearance of Tarantyev faded from his mind; a smile came back to his face. He stood before the looking-glass for some time, straightening his tie, smiling and looking to see if there was any trace of Olga’s ardent kiss on his cheek.
«Two nevers», he said softly, with joyful excitement, «and what a difference between them! One has already faded and the other has blossomed out so gorgeously».
Then he sank deeper and deeper into thought. He felt that the bright and cloudless festival of love had gone, that love was truly becoming a duty, that it was becoming intermingled with his whole life, forming an integral part of its ordinary functions and beginning to lose its rainbow colours. That morning, perhaps, he had caught sight of its last roseate ray, and in future it would no longer shine brightly, but warm his life invisibly; life would swallow it up, and it would be its powerful but hidden mainspring. And henceforth its manifestations would be so simple, so ordinary. The poetic period was over and stern reality was beginning: the courts, journey to Oblomovka, building the house, mortgaging the estate, constructing the road, never- ending business troubles with the peasants, getting the work on the estate organized – harvesting, threshing, casting up accounts, the agent’s worried face, the noblemen’s elections, court sessions… Only occasionally, at long intervals, would Olga’s eyes shine upon him, the strains of Casta diva reach him, and after snatching a hasty kiss, he would have to hurry off to the fields, to the town, and then again to the agent and the click of the abacus. The arrival of visitors would bring little comfort to him: they would talk about how much spirit they had distilled, how many yards of cloth they had delivered to the Government… Oh dear, that wasn’t what he had promised himself, was it? Was that life? And yet people lived as though this was all that life meant. Andrey, too, liked it!
But marriage – the wedding, why, that was, anyway, the poetry of life, that was a fully opened-up flower. He imagined how he would lead Olga to the altar: she would be wearing orange blossom on her head and a long veil. There would be whispers of wonderment in the crowd. She would give him her hand shyly, her bosom heaving gently, her head bowed with her usual graceful pride, and would not know how to look at the crowd. Now a smile would light up her face, now tears would appear in her eyes, or the crease over her eyebrow would stir thoughtfully. At home, after the guests had gone, she would throw herself on his chest, as she had to-day, still wearing her gorgeous wedding-dress…
«No», he thought, «I must run to Olga. I can’t think and feel by myself. I’ll tell everyone, the whole world – no, just her aunt, then the baron; I shall write to Stolz – he will be surprised! Then I’ll tell Zakhar: he will fall at my feet and howl with joy. I shall give him twenty-five roubles. Anisya will come and try to kiss my hand: I’ll give her ten roubles – then – then I shall shout for joy in a loud voice so that the whole world will hear and say: „Oblomov is happy, Oblomov is getting married!“ Now I’ll run to Olga – we shall sit and whisper together for hours, making our secret plans to merge our two lives into one!»
He ran off to Olga. She listened to his dreams with a smile, but as soon as he jumped up to run and tell her aunt, she knit her brows in a way that alarmed him.
«Not a word to anyone!» she said, putting a finger to her lips and begging him to speak lower so that her aunt should not hear in the next room. «The time hasn’t come yet!»
«Hasn’t the time come now that everything has been decided between US?» he asked impatiently. «What are we to do now? How are we to begin? We can’t just sit and do nothing. We must think of our duties – serious life is beginning».
«Yes, it is», she agreed, looking searchingly at him.
«Well, so I’d like to take the first step – go to your aunt and…»
«That’s the last step».
«Which is the first, then?»
«The first – to go to the courts: you have to write some document, haven’t you?»
«Yes – to-morrow…»
«Why not to-day?»
«To-day – to-day is a very special day, and I can’t leave you, Olga, can I?»
«Very well, to-morrow. And then?»
«Then tell your aunt, write to Stolz».
«No, then you must go to Oblomovka… Mr Stolz wrote to you what you had to do in the country, didn’t he? I don’t know what business you have there – building, is it?» she asked, looking into his face.
«Good Lord», said Oblomov, «if we are to listen to what Stolz says we’ll never get as far as telling your aunt! He says that I must begin building the house, then construct the road, then open schools!.. You won’t do that in a lifetime. Let’s go there together, Olga, and then…»
«But where shall we go to? Is there a house there?»
«No – the old house isn’t good enough; I expect the front steps must have collapsed by now».
«So where shall we go to?» she asked.
«We’ll have to find a flat here».
«For that you’ll also have to go to town», she observed. «That’s the second step».
«Then» – he began.
«I think you’d better take the two steps first and then…»
«What’s all this?» Oblomov thought mournfully. «No whispering for hours, no secret plans to merge our two lives into one! Everything has turned out differently somehow. What a strange girl Olga is! She never stands still, she never indulges in romantic dreams even for a moment, just as though she’d never dreamed in her life, just as though she never felt the need of giving herself up to day-dreaming! Go to the courts at once – look for a flat! Just like Andrey! They all seem to have conspired to be in a hurry to live!»
Next day he went to town, taking with him a piece of stamped paper to settle his business at the courts: he drove to town reluctantly, yawning and gazing about him. He did not know where exactly the courts were, and called first on Ivan Gerasimovich to ask in which department he had to witness the signature of the deed of trust. Ivan Gerasimovich was very glad to see Oblomov and would not let him go without lunch. Then he sent for a friend to find out from him how the business was to be done, for he himself had got out of touch with such things. The lunch and the consultation were over only by three o’clock. It was too late for the courts, and the following day was Saturday and the courts would be closed, so that it all had to be put off till Monday.
Oblomov went to his new flat in Vyborg. He spent a long time driving along narrow lanes with long wooden fences on either side. At last he found a policeman who told him that the house was in a different part of the suburb, and he pointed to a street where there were only fences and no houses, with grass growing in the road, which was full of ruts made of dried mud. Oblomov drove on, admiring the nettles by the fences and the rowan-berries peeping out from behind them. At last the policeman pointed to a little old house standing in a yard, adding: «That’s it, sir». «The house of the widow of the Collegiate Assessor Pshenitzyn», Oblomov read on the gate, and told the driver to drive into the yard.
The yard was the size of a room, so that the shaft of the carriage struck a corner and frightened a number of hens that scattered cackling in all directions, some even attempting to fly; a big black dog on a chain began to bark furiously, rushing to right and left and trying to reach the horses’ muzzles. Oblomov sat in the carriage on a level with the windows, finding it rather hard to get out. In the windows, crowded with pots of mignonette and marigolds, several heads could be seen looking out. Oblomov managed to get out of the carriage; the dog barked more fiercely than ever. He walked up the front steps and ran into a wrinkled old woman wearing a sarafan tucked up at the waist.
«Who do you want?» she asked.
«The landlady, Mrs Pshenitzyn».
The old woman bent her head in bewilderment.
«Are you sure it isn’t Ivan Matveyevich you would like to see?» she asked. «I’m afraid he isn’t at home. He hasn’t come back from the office yet».
«I want to see the landlady», said Oblomov.
Meanwhile the hubbub in the house continued. Heads kept peeping out of windows; the door behind the old woman kept opening and closing and different people looked out. Oblomov turned round: in the yard two children, a boy and a girl, stood regarding him with curiosity. A sleepy peasant in a sheepskin appeared from somewhere and, screening his eyes from the sun, gazed lazily at Oblomov and the carriage. The dog kept up a low and abrupt barking and every time Oblomov moved or a horse stamped, it began jumping about on its chain and barking continuously. On the right, over the fence, Oblomov saw an endless kitchen garden planted with cabbages, and on the left, over the fence, he could see several trees and a green wooden summerhouse.
«Do you want Agafya Matveyevna?» the old woman asked. «Why?»
«Tell the landlady that I want to see her», said Oblomov. «I have taken rooms here».
«So you are the new lodger, Mr Tarantyev’s friend, are you? Wait, I’ll tell her».
She opened the door, and several heads drew back hastily and rushed away into the inner rooms. He managed to catch sight of a white-skinned, rather plump woman, with a bare neck and elbows and no cap on, who smiled at having been seen by a stranger. She, too, rushed away from the door.
«Please come in, sir», said the old woman, coming back, and she led Oblomov through a small entrance hall into a fairly large room and asked him to wait. «The lady of the house will be here presently», she added.
«And the dog is still barking», thought Oblomov, examining the room.
Suddenly his eyes lighted on familiar objects: the whole room was littered with his belongings. Tables covered in dust; chairs heaped in a pile on the bed; mattresses, crockery, cupboards – all thrown together in confusion.
«What on earth? Haven’t they done anything about them – sorted them out, tidied them up?» he said. «How disgusting!»
Suddenly a door creaked behind him, and the woman he had seen with the bare neck and elbows came into the room. She was about thirty. Her complexion was so fair and her face so plump that it seemed that the colour could not force its way through her cheeks. She had practically no eyebrows, and in their place she had two seemingly slightly swollen shiny patches with scanty fair hair on them. Her eyes were grey and as good-humoured as the whole expression of her face; her hands were white but coarse, with knotted blue veins standing out. She wore a close-fitting dress, and it was quite obvious that she used no artifice, not even an extra petticoat, to increase the size of her hips and make her waist look smaller. That was why even when she was dressed, as long as she wore no shawl she would without any danger to her modesty serve a sculptor or a painter as a model of a fine, well-developed bosom. In comparison with her smart shawl and Sunday bonnet, her dress looked old and worn.
She had not been expecting visitors, and when Oblomov asked to see her, she threw on her Sunday shawl over her ordinary everyday dress and covered her head with a bonnet. She came in timidly and stopped, looking shyly at Oblomov.
He got up and bowed.
«I have the pleasure of meeting Mrs Pshenitzyn, have I not?» he asked.
«Yes, sir», she replied. «Would you perhaps like to speak to my brother?» she asked hesitantly. «I’m afraid he is at the office. He never comes home before five».
«No, it was you I wanted to see», Oblomov began when she had sat down on the sofa as far away from him as possible, looking at the ends of her shawl which covered her down to the ground like a horse-cloth. She hid her hands under the shawl too.
«I have rented rooms, but now, owing to certain circumstances, I have to find a flat in another part of the town, so I have come to discuss the matter with you».
She listened to him dully and fell into thought.
«I’m afraid my brother isn’t in», she said after a pause.
«But this house is yours, isn’t it?» Oblomov said.
«Yes», she replied briefly.
«Well, in that case you ought to be able to decide for yourself, oughtn’t you?»
«But my brother isn’t in, and he attends to everything», she said monotonously, looking straight at Oblomov for the first time and then lowering her eyes to the shawl again.
«She has an ordinary but pleasant face», Oblomov decided condescendingly. «Must be a good woman!»
At that moment a little girl’s head was thrust through the door. Agafya Matveyevna nodded to her sternly without being observed by Oblomov, and she disappeared.
«And in what Ministry does your brother work?»
«In some Government office.
„Which one?“
„Where peasants are registered. I’m afraid I don’t know what it’s called“.
She smiled good-naturedly, and almost at once her face assumed its normal expression.
„Do you live here alone with your brother?“ asked Oblomov.
„No, I have two children by my late husband, a boy aged eight and a girl aged six“, the landlady began talking readily enough and her face became more animated, „and we have also our grandmother living with US; she’s an invalid and can hardly walk, and she only goes to church; she used to go to the market with Akulina, but she has given it up since St Nicholas’ day: her legs have begun to swell. And even in church she has to sit on the steps most of the time. That is all. Sometimes my sister-in- law stays with us and Mr Tarantyev“.
„And does Mr Tarantyev stay with you often?“ Oblomov asked.
„He sometimes stays for a month. He is a great friend of my brother’s. They are always together“.
And she fell silent, having exhausted all her supply of ideas and words.
„How quiet it is here!“ said Oblomov. „If it were not for the dog barking, one might think there was not a living soul here“.
She smiled in reply.
„Do you often go out?“ asked Oblomov.
„Occasionally, in summer. The other day, on a Friday, we went to the Gunpowder Works“.
„Why, do many people go there?“ asked Oblomov, gazing through an opening in the shawl at her high bosom, firm as a sofa cushion and never agitated.
„No, there weren’t many this year. It rained in the morning, but it cleared up later. Usually there are lots of people there“.
„Where else do you go?“
„Hardly anywhere. My brother goes fishing with Mr Tarantyev and makes fish soup there, but we are always at home“.
Not always, surely?»
«Yes, indeed. Last year we went to Kolpino, and sometimes we go to the woods here. It’s my brother’s name-day on June 24th, and all his colleagues from the office come to dinner».
«Do you pay any visits?»
«My brother does, but the children and I only go on Easter Sunday and at Christmas to dinner with my husband’s relatives».
There was nothing else to talk about.
«I see you have flowers. Do you like them?» he asked.
She smiled. «No», she said; «I have no time for flowers. The children and Akulina have been to the count’s garden and the gardener has given them these. The geraniums and the aloe have been here a long time – when my husband was still alive».
At that moment Akulina suddenly burst into the room: a large cock was cackling and struggling desperately in her hands.
«Is this the cock I am to give to the shopkeeper, ma’am?» she asked.
«Really, Akulina, go away!» the landlady said, shamefacedly. «Can’t you see I have a visitor?»
«I only came to ask», Akulina said, holding the cock by its feet head downwards. «He offers seventy copecks for it».
«Go back to the kitchen», said Agafya Matveyevna. «The grey speckled one, not that one», she added hurriedly, and blushed with shame, hiding her hands under the shawl and looking down.
«Household cares!» said Oblomov.
«Yes. We have lots of hens and we sell eggs and chickens. The people from our street, in the summer cottages, and in the count’s house, buy them from US», she replied, looking at Oblomov much more boldly.
Her face assumed a business-like and thoughtful expression; even her vacant look disappeared when she talked about a subject she was familiar with. Any question that had nothing to do with what she was interested in, she answered with a smile and silence. «You ought to have sorted it out», Oblomov observed, pointing to the heap of his belongings.
«I wanted to, but my brother told me not to touch it», she interrupted quickly, looking at Oblomov very boldly this time. «Goodness knows what he has in his cupboards and tables», he said, «if anything should be lost, he’ll never leave us alone».
She stopped and smiled.
«What a careful man your brother is», Oblomov remarked.
She smiled faintly again and once more assumed her usual expression. Her smile was just a matter of form with her with which she disguised her ignorance of what to say or do in any given circumstance.
«I’m afraid I can’t wait for him», said Oblomov. «Will you be so good as to tell him that, owing to a change in my circumstances, I no longer need the flat and therefore ask you to let it to somebody else? And I, for my part, will also try to find a tenant for you».
She listened vacantly, blinking from time to time.
«Will you please tell him that so far as our agreement is concerned…»
«But he isn’t at home now», she repeated. «You’d better come again to-morrow: It’s Saturday, and he does not go to the office».
«I’m sorry, but I’m terribly busy – I haven’t a moment to spare», Oblomov excused himself. «Be so good as to tell him that as the deposit will be yours and I would find you a tenant…»
«My brother isn’t at home», she said monotonously. «I don’t know why he isn’t back yet». She looked out into the street. «He usually walks past the windows and one can see him as he comes along, but he isn’t here!»
«I’m afraid I must go», said Oblomov.
«And what am I to tell my brother when he comes? When are you moving in?» she asked, getting up from the sofa.
«Tell him what I have asked you», Oblomov said. «Owing to my changed circumstances…»
«You had better come to-morrow and talk to him yourself», she repeated.
«I’m sorry, I can’t come to-morrow».
«Well, the day after to-morrow, then, on Sunday. We usually have vodka and snacks after Mass. And Mr Tarantyev comes, too».
«Does he?»
«Yes, indeed, he does», she said.
«I’m afraid the day after to-morrow I can’t come either», Oblomov pleaded impatiently.
«Next week, then», she said. «And when are you going to move in?» she asked. «I’d have the floors scrubbed and the rooms dusted».
«I’m not going to move in», he said.
«You aren’t? But what shall we do with your things?»
«Will you kindly tell your brother», Oblomov began slowly, fixing his eyes straight on her bosom, «that owing to changed circumstances…»
«He’s very late to-day, I’m afraid, I can’t see him», she said monotonously, looking at the fence which divided the yard from the street. «I know his footsteps: I can recognize anyone walking along the wooden pavement. Not many people walk here. …»
«So you will tell him what I said, won’t you?» Oblomov said, bowing and walking to the door.
«I’m sure he’ll be here himself in half an hour», the landlady said with an agitation which was quite unusual for her, as though trying to detain Oblomov with her voice.
«I’m sorry, but I can’t wait any longer», he declared, opening the front door.
Seeing him on the steps, the dog began barking and trying to break its chain again. The driver, who had fallen asleep leaning on his elbow, began to back the horses; the hens again scattered in all directions in alarm; several heads peeped out of the windows.
«So I’ll tell my brother that you called», the landlady said anxiously when Oblomov had sat down in the carriage.
«Yes, and please tell him that because of changed circumstances I cannot keep the flat and that I’ll pass it on to somebody else or perhaps he might look for…»
«He usually comes home at this time», she said, listening absent-mindedly to him. «I’ll tell him that you intend to call again».
«Yes», said Oblomov, «I’ll call again in a few days».
The carriage drove out of the yard to the accompaniment of the desperate barking of the dog and went swaying over the dried-up mounds of mud in the unpaved street. A middle-aged man in a shabby overcoat appeared at the end of it, with a big paper parcel under his arm, a thick stick in his hands, and rubber shoes on his feet in spite of the dry, hot day. He walked quickly, looking from side to side and stepping as heavily as though he meant to break through the wooden pavement. Oblomov turned round to look at him, and saw that he turned in at the gate of Mrs Pshenitzyn’s house.
«That, I suppose, is her brother coming back», he concluded. «But to hell with him! I’d have had to spend an hour talking to him, and I’m hungry, and it’s so hot! Besides, Olga is waiting for me – another time».
«Go on, faster!» he said to the driver.
«And what about going in search of another flat?» he suddenly remembered, as he looked at the fences on either side of the road. «I must go back to Morskaya or Konyushennaya – another time!» he decided.
«Faster, driver, faster!»
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