Short Stories
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
by Anto n Chek ho v
It is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-
bout when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepa-
nitch Zhilin wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind.
He looks sour, rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression
of displeasure on his grey face, as though he were offended or
disgusted by something. He dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water
deliberately, and begins walking about the rooms.
"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does
not shut the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-
gown about him and spitting loudly. "Take away that paper!
Why is it lying about here? We keep twenty servants, and the
place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who was that ringing?
Who the devil is that?"
"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the
world," answers his wife.
"Always hanging about . . . these cadging toadies!"
"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked
her yourself, and now you scold."
"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something
to do, my dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap
trying to pick a quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my
comprehension! Beyond my comprehension! How can they
waste whole days doing nothing? A man works like an ox, like a
b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, sits like a pretty
doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an opportunity to quar-
rel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time to drop these
schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not a you-
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