There was one man only whom he was fond of; he, too, gave him no peace; he liked the latest news, and society, and learning, and life as a whole, but, somehow, more deeply and sincerely and though Oblomov was kind to everyone, he loved only him and trusted him alone, perhaps because they were brought up, educated, and had lived together. This man was Andrey Karlovich Stolz. He was away, but Oblomov was expecting him back any moment.
4
«Morning, old man», said Tarantyev abruptly, holding out a hirsute hand to Oblomov. «Why are you lying like a log at this hour?»
«Dont come near, dont come near, youre straight from the cold street», said Oblomov, covering himself up with a blanket.
«Good Lord, from the cold street!» Tarantyev roared. «There, take my hand, if I give it to you! Itll soon be twelve oclock and hes still lounging about!»
He was going to drag Oblomov from the bed, but Oblomov forestalled him by putting his feet quickly on the floor and getting into both his slippers at once.
«I was just about to get up myself», he said, yawning.
«I know how you get up! Youd have lain there till dinner. Hey, there, Zakhar! Where are you, you old fool? Help your master to dress and be quick about it!»
«Youd better get a Zakhar of your own first, sir, and then start calling him names!» said Zakhar, coming into the room and looking spitefully at Tarantyev. «Look at the mess youve made on the floor just like a hawker», he added.
«No backchat from you, my lad», said Tarantyev, lifting his foot to kick Zakhar as he walked past him; but Zakhar stopped, turned round, and scowled.
«Just try to touch me», he wheezed furiously. «What do you think youre doing? Ill go back», he said, walking back to the door.
«Good heavens, Tarantyev, what a cantankerous fellow you are! Why cant you leave him alone?» said Oblomov. «Give me my clothes, Zakhar».
Zakhar came back and, looking askance at Tarantyev, darted past him.
Leaning on Zakhar, Oblomov reluctantly rose from his bed like a man who was very tired and as reluctantly walked to an arm-chair, sank into it, and sat still. Zakhar took the pomatum, a comb and brushes from a small table, greased Oblomovs hair, parted it, and then brushed it.
«Will you wash now, sir?» he asked.
«Ill wait a little», Oblomov replied. «You can go now».
«Oh, youre here too, are you?» Tarantyev said suddenly to Alexeyev while Zakhar was brushing Oblomovs hair. «I never saw you. Why are you here? What a swine that relative of yours is! Ive been meaning to tell you»
«What relative? I have no relative», Alexeyev said timidly, staring in surprise at Tarantyev.
«Why, that fellow what do you call him? The fellow whos in the Civil Service Afanasyev. You dont mean to say hes no relative of yours? Of course he is!»
«But Im not Afanasyev Im Alexeyev», said Alexeyev. «I have no relatives».
«What do you mean no relative? Why, hes just as poor a specimen as you are and his names also Vassily Nikolayevich».
«I swear hes no relation of mine. My name is Ivan Alexeyich».
«Makes no difference. He looks like you. But hes a swine. You tell him so when you see him».
«I dont know him», said Alexeyev, opening his snuff-box. «Never seen him».
«Lets have a pinch of your snuff», said Tarantyev. «Why, yours is ordinary snuff, not French! Yes, so it is», he said, taking a pinch. «Why isnt it French?» he added sternly. «Ive never met a swine like that relative of yours», he went on. «I borrowed fifty roubles from him about two years ago. Fifty roubles not such a big sum, is it? You might have expected him to forget it. But not at all he remembered. A month later he began pestering me, asking me every time he met me: What about that loan? I got sick and tired of the sight of him. And as if that wasnt enough, he barged into my office yesterday. I expect, he said, youve got your salary to-day and can repay me now. My salary, indeed! I told him off properly in front of everybody and he was glad to get out, I can tell you. Im a poor man, he said, I need the money! As if I didnt need it! Who does he take me for? A rich man, to give him fifty roubles every time he asks for it? Lets have a cigar, old man!»
«Youll find the cigars in the box there», replied Oblomov, pointing to a bookcase.
He was sitting pensively in the arm-chair in his customary picturesquely lazy pose, not noticing what was happening round him or listening to what was being said. He was examining his small white hands and stroking them lovingly.
«I say, theyre still the same!» Tarantyev observed sternly, taking out a cigar and looking at Oblomov.
«Yes, theyre the same», Oblomov replied absent-mindedly.
«But didnt I tell you to buy the others foreign ones? So thats how you remember what is said to you! Mind you get some by next Saturday or you wont see me here for a long time. Good Lord, what horrible stuff!» he went on, lighting a cigar, and letting out one cloud of smoke into the room, he inhaled another. «Cant smoke it».
«Youve come early to-day, Tarantyev», said Oblomov, yawning.
«Why? Youre not getting tired of me, are you?»
«No, I just mentioned it. You usually come in time for dinner, and now its only just gone twelve».
«Ive come earlier on purpose to find out what there is for dinner. Your food is so awful as a rule that I thought Id better find out what youve ordered for to-day».
«Youd better ask in the kitchen», said Oblomov.
Tarantyev went out.
«Good heavens!» he said, returning. «Beef and veal! The trouble with you, old man, is that you dont know how to live a landowner, forsooth! What sort of a gentleman are you? You look like a shopkeeper youve no idea how to treat a friend! Have you bought any Madeira at least?»
«Dont know, youd better ask Zakhar», said Oblomov, hardly listening to him. «I expect they must have some wine there».
«You mean the same wine as before from the German? Really, my dear fellow, you ought to buy some in the English shop».
«Oh, itll have to do», said Oblomov. «Dont want to send out for it».
«But look here, give me the money and Ill fetch it. I have to go past the shop anyway. Ive still to make another call».
Oblomov rummaged in the drawer and produced a red ten-rouble note.
«Madeira costs seven roubles, and this is ten», said Oblomov.
«Lets have it all. Dont be afraid theyll give me the change at the shop».
He snatched the note from Oblomovs hand and quickly hid it in his pocket.
«Well», said Tarantyev, putting on his hat. «Ill be back by five oclock. I have a call to make: Ive been promised a job in a spirits depot and they asked me to look in. By the way, my dear fellow, wont you hire a carriage to go to Yekaterinhof to-day? You might take me with you».
Oblomov shook his head.
«Why not? Are you too lazy, or do you grudge the money? Oh, you sluggard!» he said. «Well, good-bye for the present».
«Wait, Tarantyev», Oblomov interrupted him. «I want to ask your advice».
«What is it? Come on, out with it! Im in a hurry».
«Well, two misfortunes have befallen me, all at once. I have to move»
«Serves you right. Why dont you pay your rent?» said Tarantyev, turning to go.
«Good Lord, no! I always pay in advance. No, theyre going to convert this flat. Wait a moment. Where are you off to? Tell me what I am to do. They rush me. They want me to move within a week».