A Defenseless Creature

Anton Chekhov

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

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

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.

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

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

A minute later the deep drone of Alexey Nikolaitch's voice was audible again. A quarter of

"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.

"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

and I will make you flop down at my feet for your saucy words! I'll go to your general. Your

"Be off, you pest," hissed Alexey Nikolaitch.

"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.

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

again.

Madame Shtchukin listened to him and sighed.

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."

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."

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.

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