A.P. Chekhov
The retired Major-General Buldeev had a bad toothache one day. So he washed his mouth by vodka and brandy. He put tobacco, opium, turpentine and kerosene on his tooth and oiled his cheek with iodine. He also had cotton wools in his ears, but it didn’t help him or caused qualm. The doctor came. He picked the patient’s tooth, prescribed quinine, but it didn’t do any good. But Buldeev also withdrew the offer to pull out his tooth. The rest people in the house – his wife, children, servants and even a small cook Peter offered their own methods of treatment. By the way, Buldeev’s clerk Ivan Yevseich came to see him and advised him to treat by charms.
“Here, in our district, Your Excellency, there was an exciseman whose name was Jacob Vasilich. He’s been serving here for 10 years,” he said. “He cast spells on teeth very successfully. There was a time when he turned to the window, whispered some words and everything became all right. That was the power he was given…”
“And where is he now?.”
“He was fired. Now he lives in Saratov with his mother-in-law. He makes his living on treating teeth. If somebody has a toothache, he’ll go to see him and Jacob helps him… He consults his countrymen at home, others have to telegraph for him. Please, send him a telegram, Your Excellency. Tell him about the problem and send him your money by mail.”
“Nonsense! Pettifoggery!”
“Make an attempt, Your Excellency. He’s an alcoholic, grumbler and he doesn’t live with his wife. He lives with a German. But, in general, he’s a very interesting person.”
“Please, telegraph, Alyosha,” general’s wife added. “I see you don’t believe in charms but I tried it myself. Why not? Nothing bad will happen.”
“Ok,” Buldeev said. “It hurts so strong that there’s no difference if I send a telegram to an exciseman or to a devil… Oh! I can’t stand no more! Where does he live? How can we message him?”
The general sat at the table and took a feather.
“Every dog in Saratov knows him,” the clerk said. “Write, Your Excellency: dear Jacob Vasilich… Vasilich…”
“Go on.”
“Vasilich… Jacob Vasilich… I’ve forgotten his surname! Hell! I remembered it while I was coming here.”
Ivan Yevseich closed his eyes and began to move his lips. Buldeev and his wife waited impatiently.
“What about it? Think faster.”
“I’m trying… Vasilich… Jacob Vasilich… I’ve forgotten. It’s a very simple surname… it’s like a horse surname… Mares? No, not Mareov. Wait…Coltov? No, not Coltov. I remember that it’s a horse surname, but it has gone out of my head…”
“Stallionov?”
“No. Wait… Horsevich… Maresfield… Mongrelov…
“It’s a dog surname, not a horse one. Foalov?”
“No, not Foalov… Horseman… Horsey…Hackney… That’s not it!”
“How will I be able to send him a telegram then? Think harder!...”
“All right. Gangersfield… Carter… Maresden…”
“Maresly?” general’s wife questioned.
“Certainly not. Horsebury… No, that’s not it! I’ve forgotten!”
“Then, what for did you give me your advises, if you couldn’t remember his name?” the general said angrily. “Get out of here!”
Ivan Yevseich went away slowly. The general took himself by his cheek and went to and fro.
“Oh, my gracious!” he yelled. “Oh, my dear! Oh, it hurts me!”
The clerk went to the garden and began to remember the wizard’s name.
“Groomovich… Stablemanov… Ostlersfield… No, that’s not right. Horsevinskiy… Gallopeev… Manesfield… Hoofenko…”
A little later he was invited to the general’s room.
“Did you remember?” the general inquired.
“No, Your Excellency.”
“Maybe, Steedov? Coltsford? No?”
And everyone in the house started to contrive new surnames permanently interrupting each other. They remembered all ages, sexes, breeds of horses and even manes, hooves and harnesses. The people in the house, in the kitchen and in the servants’ room walked up and down, scratched their heads trying to help Ivan to remember the sorcerer’s name. So the clerk always had to come to the house.
“Flockov?” they asked him.
“Hooffin? Marenko?”
“No, sir,” Ivan Yevseich answered and began to think aloud casting up his eyes. “Gallopenko… Groomenko… Stallioneev… Mareev…”
“Daddy!” the children shouted. “Troikin! Bridlers!”
The whole farm was excited. The impatient and exhausted general promised five rubles reward for the wizard’s surname. That’s why Ivan Yevseich started to be chased by a great many crowds of people…
“Baykov!” they cried out. “Trotov! Chestnutovich!”
When the night came, the surname hadn’t still been found. So everybody went to bed without sending a telegram. The general couldn’t fall asleep, went to and fro and moaned… At 3 o’clock in the morning he went out and knocked at Ivan’s door.
“Maybe, Geldingevich?” he asked in a low voice.
“No, not Geldingevich, Your Excellency,” Ivan Yevseich replied guiltily. “Maybe the surname we’re searching for isn’t a horse one?”
“Upon my life, it’s a horse surname, Your Excellency… I remember it pretty well.”
“What a forgetful man you are! Now this family name is dearer to me than everything in the world. I am so exhausted!”
In the morning the general sent for the doctor again.
“Let him pull it out!” he decided. “I’m bored to death…” The doctor came and extracted the bad tooth. The pain abated at once and the general calmed down. After finishing his work and getting money for it the doctor sat in his coach and left. While passing the gates he met Ivan Yevseich… The clerk was standing near the edge of the road and was thinking of something. He was looking at his feet. Judging by the wrinkles on his forehead and by the expression on his face his thoughts were anxious and strained.
“Gearov… Saddlevich…” he mumbled. “Horsenskiy… Horseclothin…”
“Ivan Yevseich,” the doctor applied. “Could you sell me some oats, my friend? The matter is that our men sell me bad oats…”
Ivan Yevseich had a vacant look at the doctor, smiled wildly and ran straightly to the farm without saying a word. It seemed that he was bitten by a dog which had hydrophobia.