The Matiushin Case Read Online Free PDF Page B

drunkard, a degenerate, a deserter, a bastard … Let him rot, the lousy dog, he’ll never set foot in my house again!’
    â€˜But how can you, Grigorii… ’ the mother sobbed quietly. ‘Have pi-ity, forgi-i-ive him … Our little son …’
    â€˜It’s over. He’s finished. I’ll give the order to the commandant’s office, to the militia, let them catch him and put him in jail, the deserter. He’s no son of mine.’
    However, he couldn’t bring such shame on himself. He waited, realising that Yakov might come back, preparing himself for the meeting. Matiushin also waited, in torment, although he couldn’t understand what was happening. But Yakov didn’t come. The father stayed at home and wouldn’t let anyone leave, as if he were afraid. Yakov didn’t come the next day either, or the day after that, when the father stayed to stand guard over the home again.
    â€˜Yashenka’s run away from the army … His Liudka left him for someone else. She took Alyonushka away from us, took away my only granddaughter … Yashenka took to drinking … And your father drove Yashenka away … ’ the mother wailed. But she kept silent when the father was there.
    In a flash the two photographs on display in the china cabinet disappeared. Matiushin kept looking at his father, amazed at how calm he was. The only thing that mattered to the father now was to banish Yakov from his sight, to erase Yakov from his memory. And Matiushin had to forget everything too. On the third day, the father recovered. He felt even better than before, had a good sleep and ate his fill. He was so certain that Yashka was no longer in his life, or in Yelsk, that there was no more talk about him.
    The doorbell rang, the mother went to answer it and there was Yakov. Maybe catching the smell of food from the kitchen, he lumbered in as if he owned the place and sat down at the table, dressed just as he was. Matiushin fell silent with his plate in front of him. His brother reeked of drink and the stubble on his face made it look dirty, even repulsive, as if Yakov had sprouted fur. He was wearing civilian clothes. But the hat, coat and shoes aged him and made him look pitiful. He didn’t take the coat off, just sat there like that. His shirt collar stuck out like a dislocated wing. His tie dangled from his neck like a boa constrictor, orange and thick – a style that had been out of fashion for years.
    â€˜I see you’re still stuffing your face … ’ Yakov said tersely to his brother, and stared dismally into Matiushin’s half-emptied plate.
    Then the mother recovered her wits and said timidly:
    â€˜Why don’t I give you some, Yashenka? Will you have some borshch?’
    â€˜Serve it up, mother! I love your borshch: no one in the world makes borshch like our borshch, the real article! Where’s father, why isn’t he at home?’
    â€˜Why, he hasn’t come back yet.’
    â€˜Well, well, the old man’s still serving, he just can’t settle down. Give me the thick stuff now, good and thick. Don’t be mean: there’ll be enough for everyone. It’s three days since I ate last!’
    The mother didn’t say anything, and he went into a daze – and then he attacked the soup, gulping it down like a navvy digging, and after he’d dug a great hole in the plateful, he said:
    â€˜Come on, mother, serve me some more! Seconds!’
    She answered him without moving from her seat.
    â€˜I haven’t got any seconds, Yashenka. There’s only enough left for your father. Go away, or he’ll be here any minute now. Don’t get him roused. You know your father: he doesn’t want to see you.’
    â€˜What does that mean, he doesn’t want to? Aren’t I at home then? Am I sitting in some strangers’ house, eating strangers’ borshch?’
    â€˜You go back to your home, that’s