The ridiculous dream

That's when I found out the truth. I found out last November, the third of November, to be exact. I remember every moment after that. It happened on a dark, dark night, perhaps the only night so dark. It was after ten o 'clock and I was on my way home. Yeah, I was thinking there's no darker time, even physically. It poured down all day, and it was the coldest, gloomiest, even terrible rain. The rain, I remember, was even openly hostile to men. But at ten o 'clock it suddenly stopped, and gave off a terrible damp, wetter and colder than when it rained. Every stone slab in the street, every alley, was full of mist. If you look down the alley from the street, it's foggy. It occurred to me that it would be more pleasant if the street lights were all out, for it illuminated everything and made it sad. I barely ate all day and arrived early in the evening at the home of an engineer with two of his friends. I kept silent and seemed to annoy them. They talk about attractive things and even get angry suddenly. But it seemed to me that they did not care; their excitement was only for show. I suddenly expressed this idea to them: "Gentlemen, I say you didn't care." They were not angry, but laughed at me. This is because my words are not reproachful, but I just feel that none of them matter. They were happy to see that I didn't care.

When I walk down the street and think about the streetlights, I look up at the sky from time to time. The sky was dreadfully black, but the torn clouds could be clearly distinguished, with bottomless black spots between them. In a dark spot, I suddenly noticed a small star, so I looked at it carefully. This is because the little star told me: I decided to kill myself tonight. I had made up my mind two months before, and though I was very poor, I had bought a beautiful pistol, and had it loaded that very day. But two months had passed and the pistol was still in the drawer. But I am indifferent to finally find a less indifferent time, why, I do not know. So for the last two months, I've been going home every night thinking about killing myself. I've been waiting for that chance. And now this little star reminds me, I decided to kill myself tonight. Why did the little star cue me? I don't understand.

I was looking up at the night sky when a little girl grabbed me by the sleeve. The streets were empty and almost empty. In the distance a coachman was sleeping in his buggy. The little girl, about eight years old, was covered in a headscarf and a tunic, dripping wet. But what I particularly remember, and still remember, are her wet, torn shoes. Her shoes stood out to me. She suddenly took hold of my sleeve and shouted. She did not cry, but seemed to be Shouting something in fits and starts, which she could not articulate because she was trembling with cold. She was frightened by something, and cried out in despair, "Good mother! Good mother!" I turned to her, but said nothing and walked on, but she ran up and caught me. There was in her voice the desperation of a frightened child. I know the sound. Though she did not finish her words, I understood that either her mother was dying somewhere, or that something had happened to them there, so she ran out for someone to find something to help her mother. But instead of following her, I had a sudden impulse to drive her away. At first I told her to go to the police, but she let go, whimpering and panting, and kept running beside me, refusing to leave. So I stomped at her and roared. She only cried: "Agha Sahib! Master! ..." Suddenly she left me, and sped across the street: a passer-by appeared on the other side. It seemed that she had stopped following me and was looking for the traveller.

I went up to my place on the fifth floor. I don't live with my master. I have my own room. My room was small and humble, with a semicircular window of the sort usually found in attics. There was a patent-leather sofa, a table with books on it, two chairs, and a comfortable easy chair, though very old, with a high back and a deep Voltaire. I sat down, lit a candle, and began to think. There was a lot of noise in the next room, as there had been for the last three days. There lived a retired captain, who had a large party of guests -- five or six fair-weather friends -- drinking and playing cards. They had a fight last night, I know. Two of them grabbed each other's hair for a long time. The landlady wanted to scold them, but was afraid of the captain. We had another lodger, a slight lady of the colonel with three small children. All the children fell ill after they moved in. The lady and the children were so frightened of the captain that they fainted and shivered and crossed themselves all night, and her young son went into epilepsy. I know for certain that the captain sometimes stops the way in the Rue Neva to beg. He didn't find a job, but oddly enough (as I was about to say) he didn't give me any trouble for the whole month he was here. Naturally, I avoided his acquaintance from the very beginning, and he was not interested in me from the very beginning. But they were on the other side of the wall, and no matter how much they shouted or how many they were -- I never cared. I sat up all night and really didn't hear them quarreling or fighting -- I even forgot about them. I've been up all night for a year now. I sat all night in my easy chair at the table doing nothing but reading during the day. I sat there thinking nothing, and if any thought came into my head, I let it be. Light a candle every night. I sat down quietly at the table and took my pistol out in front of me. As I put the pistol down, I remember asking myself, "Is that so?" Then he answered himself firmly, "Yes." Which is suicide. I know I'll kill myself tonight, and how long I'll sit at this table -- I don't know. If it hadn't been for that little girl, I would have killed myself.