A Sad Tail
Ivan Petin's wife up and left him-and my, how she did it! She ran off with an army officer just like in a novel.
Ivan came back from a long trip, parked the truck in the yard, unlocked the door to his house, walked in, and found a note on the table:
"Ivan, forgive me, but I can't live with a turd like you any more. Don't try to look for me. Ludmila."
Glancing neither right nor left, enormous Ivan collapsed onto a stool from shock as if someone had dealt him a blow square to the forehead. Somehow he knew at once that this was no joke-it was the absolute truth.
Despite his infinite capacity to survive anything, Ivan didn't think he could bear this: he felt terrible, and there was a sharp pain in his chest... He was seized by such melancholy and longing, it almost made him burst into tears. He tried to think but couldn't concentrate. There was only the awful pan that gnawed continuously at his heart.
One brief but clear fought flashed through his mind: "Lordy, what a mess!" And that was all.
At forty-three, Ivan was pretty bald, especially for a village man, and he looked considerably oilier than his years. His laconic nature and invariable gloominess didn't bother him in the least. The only bad thing was that these features were invariably noticed by others. However, it never occurred to him that a man should be judged by these qualities. No one could be happy day in and day out, and a body didn't necessarily have to have the gift of the gab. "Of course not!-" that same Ludmila had told him. These words made him love her even more... But still he remained silent. "It doesn't matter," he thought to himself. "I'm not a political instructor after all!" But now he knew she really had been grieved by his taciturn and unaffectionate ways.
Then Ivan found out how the whole thing had transpired.
A small army unit commanded by an officer had turned up in the village to help the collective farm assemble an electric power station. They finished putting it together in about a week and left. A week, and no morel But by then, the officer had managed to assemble a family for himself, so to speak.
For two days, Ivan just didn't know what to do. He tried getting drunk, but that made things even worse, so he stopped. On the third day, he sat down and wrote an account of his woes for the local newspaper. He had often read stories in read papers of totally innocent individuals who had been wronged in one way or another. He also wanted to ask everyone how his wife could have done such an awful thing to him!
A SAD TAIL
This is how it was: 4 come home to find a note on the label. I wont say what was in it, faut she called me a thing or two. III tet) you that much. Anyways I got sum idea what mite have posessd her to do such a thing. Everbody used to say she lookd like. some actress or other. I dont recollelft which one. But ignorent littet fool that she was, she didnt realize it didnt mater. No mater who she lookd like theres no excust for what she done. It dont take the brains of a flee to go makin a ass outa yersef. Whenever anybody was to say who she lookd like, why sheed git happyer then a junebug in May. She hersef admited afore God an everbody that wuz the reeson she begun goin to them nite daises at the villege skool. But if you wuz to tell sombody he lookd jus like Hitler, what wud he be supposd to do? Git MssBf a rifel an go shootn up everbody he seed? We'tad us a pore sol)er like that durin the War. The spittin image of Hitler. They finaly had to send him to the rear sornwhers, cuz we cuddir have nonna tiiat. But no, this un had to git to the big citey. IH bee faimuxther. Everbudy wil rekogniz me. The littel fooll Shoes no more feebelminded then the next one, tni enuff. But shes a littel stuk on her looks. Therz pleny purty wimmin aroun, but you dont see nonna them a runnin off from home) I no jus what he told her. He sed: "WeU if you dont look jus like sum actress I once seeni" An thats ill U took to git her up on her hi horse. The guverment dun spent lots a money ejukatin and ejukatin youall. An now you dun gone an becum a burdin to sosietyl An that when the guverment is losin money hand overfist.
Ivan put the pen with which he bad written those searing words, rose, and paced about the cottage. He liked what he had written so fur but didn't think there was any reason to bring the government into it, so he sat back down and crossed out that part. Then he continued:
Who do you think you are anyways? You probly think that jus becuz 1m a truck driver I dont no nothin. But I can see rite thru the likes of you. These hands of mine do the guvennent a lotta good. The very hands 1m ritin with. An iffn I wuz to see yw t cud knock you upside the head so hard yud be laid up for a week. Mind you this aint no thret an I dont want you thinkin it is. But iffn we wuz to maiRt Id show you a thing or two for sure. Becuz what you done werent rite rttether. Seen a hafway good lookin broud an had to make a pas at her rite off. I may be bald but lve had pleny of chanses to do the same thing. Thereas a tot hepens out on the road. But I never done it. Mite a been sumbodys wife. Them wimmin wuddn admit to havin a ol man at home. An jus what wud I be to that pore feller Ida done made a cukold outa? I dont wanna do nobuddy no harm.
Now jus look whats hapend. Shees done waggd her tale an gone runnin off God nos where. An shees left behin a brokin famly without no garantee the new onell work neether. Aint that so? Shee only new him a week. But me an her had lived togethr four long yeers. Dont that make her look plum stupid? An the guverment spent pleny on her ejukashin. But what good did it do? The guveonent never taut her to do bad. An I no her ma an pa too. They live in the next villege an they good folks. Her own brothers a army ofiser with the rank of firs lutenent but I never herd a bad word about him. So how did she ever git to be so emtyheded? I cant beleev it. i done everthing for her. She had already wun a place in my hart. Ever time I wuz headed home from a long trip I wuz happy becuz Id git to see her soon. But what did I git for all of that but a big pare of horns? I mite have understud her losin her head over a smooth telkin feller that cud have any broad he wanted in ten minits. I aid have born that sumhows. But why did she have to wn off for good? That I cant understan. It jus dont make no senoe. A lotta things hapen in life. An it hapens that a body jus cant resist terntashin. But whyd she have to go an mess up everthing jus like that? Its eezy enuf to tare surnthing down but its a lot harder to put in back togethr agin. An shees alredy thirty years ol hersef. I feel real toad now an thats why 1m ritin this tail. An come to menehin it I got three decorashins an four meduls. An I wudda bin the best modle communis truck driver anywhere in these parts sept for my one bad habbit. Whenever I git drunk I cuss like a sailer. I dont no what gits inta me. When 1m sober 1m a d'iffrent man entirly. But never once wuz I seen drunk drivin an thats surnthing 1m never gonna do. Never once did I cus in frona my wife Ludmila in all the four years we wuz marryed. She can tell you that. I never sed a ruf word to her. An here shees done gone an made a cukold outta me in front a God an everbody. Theres not a man alive wudnt take ofense at that. My harts not made outta stone neether.
Respecfuly yurs
Ivan Petin. Perfeshinal truck driver.
Ivan took his "sad tail" to the editorial office of the local newspaper which wasn't far away.
The fact that it was spring made him feel even worse: his heart was cold and bitter. He remembered how he and his wife had walked down this very street that led to the village club not so very long before. He would walk her home from her rehearsals, and sometimes he would walk her to them as well.
He hated the word "rehearsal" but never let on because his wife adored rehearsals, and he adored his wife. He liked walking down the street with her, for he was proud of her beauty. He liked spring as well-when it was only just beginning. But spring was already in full force - even the mornings were warmer. His heart was filled with a sweet longing. Spring was what he longed for, and it had already come-bare, muddy, and caressing-promising the earth that soon there would be warmth and sunlight. Spring had arrived, but he didn't feet anything but disgust.
Ivan carefully wiped his boots on the filthy mat of the newspaper office porch and went on. He had never been there before, tout he knew the editor. They bad met on a fishing trip.
"Is Ageyev hero?" he asked a woman he had frequently seen at his house-another one who, was forever running to the club for rehearsals. In any case, when he bad chanced to overhear a conversation she was having with Ludmila, it had been all about "rehearsals" and "sets". Anyway, Ivan didn't consider it necessary to say hello to her now. His heart still hurt him too badly.
The woman looked at him with an expression that was curious and, for some unknown reason, quite merry.
"He's here. Do you want to see him?"
"Yes,.. I've got some business with him," Ivan replied, looking the woman straight in the eye and linking: "I bet she's made a cuckold of her old man, and that's why she's looking so pleased with herself."
The woman stepped into the editor's office, came out, and said:
"You may go in now."
The editor was a short fellow-and just as jolly as his secretary... He was a bit heavier than he should have been for his height. Rolly-polly and bald like Ivan. He rose from behind his desk when the truck driver entered.
"Oh ho!" he exclaimed and pointed toward the window. 'Time is working in our favor just now! The fish will be running soon! Have you tried out your spinner yet?"
"No," replied Ivan, trying to indicate with his entire appearance that he couldn't care less about fishing just then.
"I want to try mine out on Saturday," continued the editor, still in a cheerful mood. "Or do you think it's too early? I just can't wait to get out on the river."
"I've brought you a tail," said Ivan.
"A tale?" asked the editor in surprise. "Did you write it yourself? What's it about?"
"It's all here," said Ivan, handing him the notebook.
The editor leafed through it and glanced at Ivan, who was staring at him gloomily and quite seriously.
"Do you want me to read it now?"
"That would be better..."
The editor sat down in his chair and began to read.
Ivan remained standing, staring continuously at the cheerful editor and thinking: "His wife probably goes to those rehearsals, too. And I bet he doesn't even care-let her do whatever she likes! He can talk about all those 'sets' as well anybody. He can talk about anything!"
The editor burst out laughing.
Ivan gritted his teeth.
"Listen, this is great!" exclaimed the editor, laughing so hard his resilient paunch shook like jelly.
"What's great?" asked Ivan.
The editor stopped laughing and even seemed a bit embarrassed.
"Excuse me, but did you write this about yourself?
Did this happen to you?"
"Yes."
"Hmmm... Pardon me. I didn't realize that."
"It doesn't matter. Just keep on reading."
The editor turned his attention back to the notebook. He didn't laugh any more, but it was obvious that he was surprised, and he still thought it was funny. To conceal his amusement, he knitted his brow and pursed his lips in an understanding manner as he read to the-end.
"Do you want us to print this?"
"Well, yes."
"But we can't print it. It isn't a story."
"Why not? I've read plenty of stuff like that."
"Why should you want this printed?" asked the editor, gazing seriously at Ivan with genuine sympathy. "What would you get out of it? Would it ease your pain?"
Ivan didn't answer at once.
"I want them to read it. There where they are."
"Anywhere are they?"
"I don't know for the time being."
"But this is just a local newspaper. It isn't distributed anywhere else. They'll never see it."
"I'll find them and send it to them."
"No, that's not the point at all!" exclaimed the editor, rising and pacing about his office. "That's not the point. What do you think it will accomplish? Will it make her come back to you?"
"At least it will make them realize the wrong they've done."
"No it won't!" the editor insisted. "For the love of God. I don't know how to... I feel terrible about what's happened to you, but it would be perfectly idiotic to publish this, even if I were to edit it."
"Maybe it will make her come back."
"No!" the editor replied loudly. "Oh, for the love of God," he continued, obviously filled with anxiety, "It would be better to write a letter. I could help you write it."
Ivan took the notebook and walked to the door.
"Wait a minute!" the editor called out after him.
"Let's do it together-in the third person..."
Ivan walked through the reception room without even glancing at the woman who knew so much about "sets" and "rehearsals"... The shameless little hussy!
He headed straight for the tea-room where he bought half a liter of vodka. He gulped it down neat, without eating a thing, and headed for home filled with hollow gloom. He walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing neither right nor left. The desired peace did not come. He wept silently as he went. The oncoming people looked at him in surprise... But he kept weeping and walking. He wasn't ashamed of his tears. He was tired.
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