The Silent Man
By
Arcadie Avertchenko
From the Russian by Scotland Liddell
As a kindly satirist and portrayer of the lighter side of Russian nature, Arcadie Avertchenko stands alone today. His genial spirit wells entirely from within, because there is nothing in his circumstances to foster or produce it. He is one of the group of Russian refugees in Constantinople. He was the editor of a political weekly in Petrograd, “Satirikon,” which the Bolshevists tried time after time to suppress. Scotland Liddell, British war-correspondent and translator of this sketch, tells that when he visited Avertchenko in December of 1918 in Petrograd, he found him editing his newspaper with a revolver on his desk.
Before the Revolution the sales of Avertchenko’s books in Russia ran into thousands. Several have successfully been translated into German, but this is the first of his work to appear in English.
THERE were so many guests in the country-house that I did not even know the names of most of them. At two o’clock in the morning, after a very noisy day, we were all very tired and we began to talk of sleep. It was then found that eight of us were going to remain for the night, and that there were only four vacant rooms.
The hostess brought one little man to me.
“Maxim Semionovitch will share a room with you,” she said.
Naturally, I would have preferred to have had a room to myself, but after a glance at the little stranger I decided that if, under the circumstances, I had to choose one of seven evils, the best thing for me to do was to choose the least.
“Very well,” said I.
“You have no objection, have you?” Maxim Semionovitch asked timidly.
“Not the least. Why should I have?”
“Well, you see... I’m afraid I am rather a dull companion.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I am an elderly, non-talkative, mysterious man inclined to silence, whereas you are a youngster who probably likes to relieve your soul before falling asleep, and to chat about one thing and another.”
“On the contrary,” said I. “I like silence. I am not a talker either.”
“If that’s the case—splendid!” exclaimed Maxim Semionovitch, with an accent of relief. “We will suit each other very well.”
When we reached our room and started to undress, he said,
“By the way, do you know that there are some people who physically cannot stand silence? That’s the reason I questioned you just now. Many people dislike me on that account. ‘What is the matter with this fellow?’ they say. ‘He is as silent as a lamp-post.’”
I smiled.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that when you are with me.”
