Oblomov / Обломов. Книга для чтения на английском языке

«Me write your letters? I haven’t written anything at the office for the last two days: the moment I sit down, my left eye begins to run. Must have caught a chill in it, and my head, too, begins to swim if I bend down. You’re lazy, my dear fellow, lazy. Hopeless, hopeless…»

«Oh, if only Andrey would hurry up and come!» said Oblomov. «He’d put everything straight!»

«Some good Samaritan you’ve found, I must say!» Tarantyev interrupted. «A damned German – a crafty rascal!»

Tarantyev had a sort of instinctive aversion to foreigners.

To him a Frenchman, a German, or an Englishman were synonymous with swindler, impostor, rogue, or bandit. He made no distinction between nations: they were all alike in his eyes.

«Look here, Tarantyev», Oblomov said sternly, «I’d be glad if you would control your language, especially when speaking of an intimate friend of mine…»

«An intimate friend!» Tarantyev replied with hatred. «What sort of connexion is he of yours? A German – we all know what that is».

«He’s closer than any relation. I was brought up with him and we were educated together, and I shan’t allow any impertinence…»

Tarantyev turned purple with rage.

«Well», he said, «if you prefer the German to me, I shan’t set foot in your house again».

He put on his hat and walked to the door. Oblomov at once felt sorry.

«You ought to respect him as my friend and speak more carefully about him – that is all I ask», he said. «It isn’t much of a favour, is it?»

В«To respect a German?В» Tarantyev said with the utmost contempt.

В«Why should I?В»

«But I’ve just told you – if for nothing else then because we grew up and went to the same school together».

В«What does that matter? We all go to school with someone or other!В»

«Well, if he’d been here», said Oblomov, «he’d long ago have solved my problems without asking for beer or champagne».

«Ah, so you blame me, do you? Well, to hell with you and with your beer and champagne I Here, take back your money! Where did I put it? Can’t remember what I did with the damned note!»

He pulled out a greasy scrap of paper covered with writing.

«No, that’s not it!» he said. «Where did I put it?»

He rummaged in his pockets.

«Don’t bother to look for it», said Oblomov. «I’m not blaming you, but merely ask you to speak with more respect of a man who is a close friend of mine and who has done so much for me».