Waiting and waiting, the cabman Iona finally waited for his first customer:
"Driver, to the Vyborg District!" Iona heard a shout, "Driver!" Iona gave a sudden start, looked out through eyelashes stuck with snowflakes, and saw a military man in a greatcoat with a hood.
"To the Vyborg District!" the military man shouted again, "Are you asleep or what? To the Vyborg District!"
For some reason, despite the arrival of a customer, the cabman Iona seemed somewhat distracted, only stiffly shaking the reins, but seemingly not even clear on exactly where he should go.
"Where are you barging in, you devil!" Iona immediately heard shouts from the constantly flowing black shadows, "Where is the devil driving you? Keep to the right!"
"You don't even know how to drive! Keep to the right!" the military man said angrily.
So what happened? Why was he distracted?
Belinsky's confusion was immediately answered:
"Iona turned back to look at the passenger and moved his lips... he clearly wanted to speak, yet not a word came from his throat, only a hissing sound.
"What?" the military man asked.
Iona gave a wry smile, forced his throat, and finally spoke hoarsely:
"Sir, well, my son... died this week."
Such a sad event, it's no wonder the cabman Iona is like this now.
Faced with this seemingly uncontrollable sadness, would this military man comfort him?
"Oh!... What did he die of?"
Iona turned his whole body toward the passenger and said:
"Who knows! Most likely a fever... He lay in the hospital for three days and died... It was God's will."
"Turn the corner, you devil!" a shout came from the darkness, "Are you blind or what, you old dog! Use your eyes!"
"Drive on, drive on..." the passenger said, "At this rate, we won't get there even by tomorrow. Go faster!"
The subconscious question was just a polite formality; in reality, the military man had no interest in this matter at all.
Seeing this, Belinsky felt a faint anger and at the same time hurriedly looked further.
What would happen next?
To whom could this poor cabman tell such sadness?
After seeing off the officer, three young men soon arrived:
"Driver, to the Police Bridge!" the hunchback said in a cracked voice, "Three of us in all... twenty kopeks!"
Iona shook the reins and smacked his lips. Twenty kopeks was an unfair price, yet he didn't care to haggle... whether it was a ruble or five kopeks, it was all the same to him now, as long as there were passengers..."
Right now, this old man seemed not even to care about his livelihood, only wanting to find someone to talk to, to alleviate such terrible emotions in the process of interacting with people, but could this really work?
"My... well... my son died this week!"
"Everyone has to die..." The hunchback coughed for a while, wiped his lips, sighed and said, "Come on, drive on, drive on! Gentlemen, I can't stand this pace any longer! When will he get us there?"
"Then give him a little encouragement... give him a blow to the neck!"
"Old man, do you hear? Really, I'm going to hit you in the neck!... Being polite with your sort, it's better to just walk!... Do you hear, old dragon (a monstrous dragon, a curse word)? Or do you simply not take our words to heart?"
For a grieving old man, such a reply was already an insult, but how did the old man react?
"Iona heard rather than felt the smack on the back of his head.
"Hee-hee..." he laughed, "These merry gentlemen... God bless you!"
"Driver, do you have a wife?" the tall one asked.
"Me? Hee-hee... these merry gentlemen! My wife is now in the damp earth... ha-ha-ha!... in the grave!... Now my son is dead too, but I'm still alive... it's a strange thing, Death mistook the door... it should have come for me, but it went for my son..."
Iona turned around, wanting to tell how his son had died, but just then the hunchback gave a sigh of relief and announced that, thank God, they had finally arrived."
Faced with such an insult, why did the old man still react this way?
Was he so sad that he simply had no heart to care, or was this kind of thing so common that he had long since become numb, only wanting to talk to someone to vent his feelings?
And after this group left, the old man could no longer find anyone to talk to. In Misery and pain, he again chose to speak up, yet still received a similar result:
"Iona saw a yardman carrying a small rush bag and decided to strike up a conversation with him.
"Friend, what time is it now?" he asked.
"Past nine... What are you standing here for? Move your sleigh!"
At this point, the old man seemed to have finally given up.
Iona drove the sleigh a few steps away, hunched his back, and let Misery torment him... he felt it was useless to tell others... but before five minutes had passed, he straightened up and shook his head as if feeling a sharp pain; he pulled the reins... he couldn't stand it.
"Back to the yard," he thought, "back to the yard!"
But it seemed this pain still clung to him like a maggot on a bone; he finally couldn't help but look at the cabman beside him:
"Then drink to your heart's content... as for me, brother, my son is dead... have you heard? He died in the hospital this week... such a thing!"
Iona looked to see what effect his words had, but he saw none. The young man had already covered himself with his blanket, even over his head, and was asleep."
Now, with no one to talk to and nowhere to go, unable to vent even in such pain, the poor old man looked around once more and finally found the only object he could talk to.
And that object was:
"Are you eating hay?" Iona asked his horse, seeing its shining eyes, "Good, eat, eat... since we haven't earned money for oats, we'll just eat hay... yes... I'm too old to drive... my son should be the one driving, I'm no good... he was a real cabman... if only he were alive..."
Iona was silent for a while, then continued:
"That's how it is, my little mare... Kuzma Ionitch is gone... he's passed away... he died for no reason... for example, if you had a little colt, and you were that colt's own mother... suddenly, for example, that little colt passed away... wouldn't you be sad?"
The thin horse chewed its fodder, listened, and breathed on its master's hand.
Iona got carried away and told it everything that was in his heart..."
Who would have thought that in the end, it was a thin horse that gave this old man his final comfort?
Seeing this stunning ending, Belinsky didn't have time to look at the other side anymore; instead, he stood up excitedly, unable to stop pacing the room while shouting to Nekrasov beside him:
"Yes, Nikolai! They are people too, living human beings! Why won't anyone listen to them? Why is there never any sympathy or attention for them? Too many people would rather spend a lot of time on meaningless things than ever cast a single glance at their brothers!
And our writer has only recorded these things as they are, yet he is denounced by them for talking nonsense, fabricating history, and having ill intentions!
Are they blind?! Or have their hearts hardened so much that they only see their own present, only see what they want to see and what they themselves believe, completely no longer considering the millions of people in the past, present, and far away!
Nikolai, this author is a doctor, a surgeon! He is using a scalpel to dissect the whole of Russian society!"