Anton Pavlovich Chekhov 



   A Defenceless Creature

    In spite of a  violent  attack  of  gout  in  the  night  and  the  nervous 
exhaustion left by it, Kistunov went in the morning to  his  office  and  began 
punctually seeing the clients of  the  bank  and  persons  who  had  come  with 
petitions. He looked languid and exhausted, and spoke in a faint  voice  hardly 
above a whisper, as though he were dying. 
    "What can I do for you?" he asked a lady in an antediluvian  mantle,  whose 
back view was extremely suggestive of a huge dung-beetle. 
    "You see, your Excellency," the  petitioner  in  question  began,  speaking 
rapidly, "my husband Shtchukin, a collegiate assessor, was ill for five months, 
and while he, if you will excuse my saying so, was laid up at home, he was  for 
no sort of reason dismissed, your Excellency; and when I went  for  his  salary 
they deducted, if you please, your Excellency, twenty-four  roubles  thirty-six 
kopecks from his salary. 'What for?' I asked. 'He borrowed from the club fund,' 
they told me, 'and the other clerks had stood security for him.' How was  that? 
How could he have  borrowed  it  without  my  consent?  It's  impossible,  your 
Excellency. What's the reason of it? I am a poor woman,  I  earn  my  bread  by 
taking in lodgers. I am a weak, defenceless woman... I  have  to  put  up  with 
ill-usage from everyone and never hear a kind word..." 
    The  petitioner  was  blinking,  and  dived  into  her   mantle   for   her 
handkerchief. Kistunov took her petition from her and began reading it. 
    "Excuse me, what's this?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.  "I  can  make 
nothing of it. Evidently you have come to the wrong place, madam. Your petition 
has nothing to do with us at all. You will have to apply to the  department  in 
which your husband was employed." 
    "Why, my dear sir, I have been to five places already, and they  would  not 
even take the petition anywhere," said Madame Shtchukin.  "I'd  quite  lost  my 
head, but,  thank  goodness - God  bless  him  for  it - my  son-in-law,  Boris 
Matveyitch, advised me to come to you. 'You go to Mr. Kistunov, mamma: he is an 
influential man, he can do anything for you...' Help me, your Excellency!" 
    "We can do nothing for you, Madame Shtchukin.  You  must  understand:  your 
husband served in  the  Army  Medical  Department,  and  our  establishment  is 
a purely private commercial undertaking, a bank.  Surely  you  must  understand 
that!" 
    Kistunov shrugged  his  shoulders  again  and  turned  to  a  gentleman  in 
a military uniform, with a swollen face. 
    "Your Excellency," piped Madame Shtchukin in a pitiful voice, "I  have  the 
doctor's certificate that my husband was ill! Here it is, if  you  will  kindly 
look at it." 
    "Very good, I believe you," Kistunov said irritably, "but I repeat  it  has 
nothing to do with us. It's queer and positively absurd!  Surely  your  husband 
must know where you are to apply?" 
    "He knows nothing, your Excellency. He keeps on: 'It's not  your  business! 
Get away!' - that's all I can get out of him... Whose  business  is  it,  then? 
It's I have to keep them all!" 
    Kistunov again turned to Madame Shtchukin and began explaining to  her  the 
difference between the Army Medical Department and a private bank. She listened 
attentively, nodded in token of assent, and said: 
    "Yes... yes... yes... I understand, sir. In  that  case,  your  Excellency, 
tell them to pay me fifteen roubles at least! I agree to take part on account!" 
    "Ough!" sighed Kistunov, letting his head drop  back.  "There's  no  making 
you see reason. Do understand that to apply  to  us  with  such  a petition  is 
as strange  as  to  send  in  a  petition  concerning  divorce,  for  instance, 
to a chemist's or to the Assaying Board. You have not been paid your  due,  but 
what have we to do with it?" 
    "Your Excellency, make me remember you in my prayers for  the  rest  of  my 
days, have pity on a lone, lorn woman," wailed Madame Shtchukin; "I am a  weak, 
defenceless woman... I am worried to death, I've to settle with the lodgers and 
see to my husband's affairs and fly round looking after the  house,  and  I  am 
going to church every day this week, and my  son-in-law  is  out  of  a  job... 
I might as well not eat or drink... I can scarcely keep on my feet... I haven't 
slept all night..." 
    Kistunov was conscious of the palpitation of his  heart.  With  a  face  of 
anguish, pressing his  hand  on  his  heart,  he  began  explaining  to  Madame 
Shtchukin again, but his voice failed him. 
    "No, excuse me, I cannot talk to you," he said with a wave of his hand. "My 
head's going round. You are hindering us and wasting your  time.  Ough!  Alexey 
Nikolaitch," he said, addressing one of his clerks, "please will you explain to 
Madame Shtchukin?" 
    Kistunov, passing by all the petitioners, went  to  his  private  room  and 
signed about a dozen papers while Alexey  Nikolaitch  was  still  engaged  with 
Madame Shtchukin. As he  sat  in  his  room  Kistunov  heard  two  voices:  the 
monotonous, restrained bass of Alexey Nikolaitch and the shrill, wailing  voice 
of Madame Shtchukin. 
    "I am a weak, defenceless woman, I am a woman  in  delicate  health,"  said 
Madame Shtchukin. "I look strong, but if you were to overhaul me there  is  not 
one healthy fibre in me. I can scarcely keep on my feet,  and  my  appetite  is 
gone... I drank my cup of coffee this morning without the slightest  relish..." 
    Alexey Nikolaitch explained to her the difference between  the  departments 
and the complicated system of sending in papers. He was soon exhausted, and his 
place was taken by the accountant. 
    "A wonderfully disagreeable  woman!"  said  Kistunov,  revolted,  nervously 
cracking his fingers and continually going to the  decanter  of  water.  "She's 
a perfect idiot! She's worn me out and she'll exhaust them, the nasty creature! 
Ough!.. my heart is throbbing." 
    Half an hour later he rang his bell. Alexey Nikolaitch made his appearance. 
    "How are things going?" Kistunov asked languidly. 
    "We can't make her see anything, Pyotr Alexandritch! We are simply done. We 
talk of one thing and she talks of something else." 
    "I... I can't stand the sound of her voice... I am ill... I can't bear it." 
    "Send for the porter, Pyotr Alexandritch, let him put her out." 
    "No, no," cried Kistunov in alarm. "She will set up a squeal, and there are 
lots of flats in this building, and goodness knows what  they  would  think  of 
us... Do try and explain to her, my dear fellow..." 
    A minute later the deep drone of  Alexey  Nikolaitch's  voice  was  audible 
again. A quarter of an hour passed, and instead  of  his  bass  there  was  the 
murmur of the accountant's powerful tenor." 
    "Re-mark-ably  nasty  woman,"  Kistunov  thought   indignantly,   nervously 
shrugging his shoulders. "No  more  brains  than  a  sheep.  I  believe  that's 
a twinge of the gout again... My migraine is coming back..." 
    In the next room Alexey Nikolaitch, at the end of his  resources,  at  last 
tapped his finger on the table and then on his own forehead. 
    "The fact of the matter is you haven't a head on your shoulders," he  said, 
"but this." 
    "Come, come," said the old lady, offended. "Talk  to  your  own  wife  like 
that... You screw!.. Don't be too free with your hands." 
    And looking at her with fury, with exasperation, as though he would  devour 
her, Alexey Nikolaitch said in a quiet, stifled voice: 
    "Clear out." 
    "Wha-at?"  squealed  Madame  Shtchukin.  "How  dare  you?  I  am  a   weak, 
defenceless woman; I won't endure it. My husband is a collegiate assessor.  You 
screw!.. I will go to Dmitri Karlitch, the lawyer, and there  will  be  nothing 
left of you! I've had the law of three lodgers, and I will make you  flop  down 
at my feet for your saucy words! I'll go to your general. Your Excellency, your 
Excellency!" 
    "Be off, you pest," hissed Alexey Nikolaitch. 
    Kistunov opened his door and looked into the office. 
    "What is it?" he asked in a tearful voice. 
    Madame Shtchukin, as red as a crab, was standing in the middle of the room, 
rolling her eyes and prodding the air with her fingers. The  bank  clerks  were 
standing round red in the face too, and, evidently harassed,  were  looking  at 
each other distractedly. 
    "Your Excellency," cried Madame Shtchukin, pouncing upon  Kistunov.  "Here, 
this man, he here... this man..." (she pointed to  Alexey  Nikolaitch)  "tapped 
himself on the forehead and then tapped the table... You told him to go into my 
case, and he's jeering at me! I am a weak, defenceless woman... My husband is a 
collegiate assessor, and I am a major's daughter myself! " 
    "Very good, madam," moaned Kistunov. "I will go  into  it...  I  will  take 
steps... Go away... later!" 
    "And when shall I get the money, your Excellency? I need it to-day!" 
    Kistunov passed his trembling hand over his forehead, heaved  a  sigh,  and 
began explaining again. 
    "Madam, I have told you already  this  is  a  bank,  a  private  commercial 
establishment... What do you want  of  us?  And  do  understand  that  you  are 
hindering us." 
    Madame Shtchukin listened to him and sighed. 
    "To be sure, to be sure," she assented. "Only, your Excellency, do  me  the 
kindness, make me pray for you for the rest of my life, be  a  father,  protect 
me! If a medical certificate is not enough I can produce an affidavit from  the 
police... Tell them to give me the money." 
    Everything began swimming before Kistunov's eyes. He breathed out  all  the 
air in his lungs in a prolonged sigh and sank helpless on a chair. 
    "How much do you want?" he asked in a weak voice. 
    "Twenty-four roubles and thirty-six kopecks." 
    Kistunov took his pocket-book out of his pocket,  extracted  a  twenty-five 
rouble note and gave it to Madame Shtchukin. 
    "Take it and... and go away!" 
    Madame Shtchukin wrapped the money up in her handkerchief, put it away, and 
pursing up her face into a sweet, mincing, even coquettish smile, asked: 
    "Your Excellency, and would it be possible for my husband  to  get  a  post 
again?" 
    "I am going... I am ill..."  said  Kistunov  in  a  weary  voice.  "I  have 
dreadful palpitations." 
    When he had driven home Alexey  Nikolaitch  sent  Nikita  for  some  laurel 
drops, and, after taking twenty drops each, all the clerks set to  work,  while 
Madame Shtchukin stayed another two hours in  the  vestibule,  talking  to  the 
porter and waiting for Kistunov to return... 
    She came again next day.

    1887

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   Notes
    Collegiate assessor: the 8th rank (of 14)  on  the  Russian  civil  service 
scale. 

    To a chemist's: to a pharmacy. 

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