The Double

Reasoning and lamenting in this way, Mr. Goliadkin ran on without noticing the way and almost without knowing where. He came to himself on Nevsky Prospect and only because he happened to run into some passerby so adroitly and heartily that the sparks flew. Mr. Goliadkin mumbled an apology without raising his head, and only when the passerby, having growled something none too flattering, had gone on for a considerable distance, did he raise his nose and look to see where he was and how. Looking around and noticing that he was precisely by the restaurant where he had whiled away the time in preparation for the dinner party at Olsufy Ivanovich’s, our hero suddenly felt a pinching and tweaking in the stomach, remembered that he had had no dinner, nor was there any prospect of a dinner party, and therefore, not to lose precious time, he ran up the steps to the restaurant, to snatch something quickly and hurry on if possible without lingering. And though the restaurant was a bit expensive, that small circumstance did not deter Mr. Goliadkin this time; nor was there any question now of being deterred by such trifles. In the brightly lit room, near the counter, on which lay a miscellaneous heap of all that decent people use for snacks, stood a rather dense crowd of guests. The counterman barely had time to pour, serve, take and give back money. Mr. Goliadkin waited his turn and, having waited, modestly reached out for a little fish pie. Having gone into a corner, turned his back on those present and eaten it with appetite, he returned to the counterman, put the plate down, and, knowing the price, took out a silver ten-kopeck piece and placed the coin on the counter, trying to catch the counterman’s eye so as to point out to him that, say, “there’s this coin lying here; one little fish pie” and so on.

“That’ll be one rouble and ten kopecks,” the counterman said through his teeth.

Mr. Goliadkin was properly astounded.

“Are you speaking to me?…I…it seems I took one little pie.”

“You took eleven,” the counterman objected with assurance.

“You…as it seems to me…you seem to be mistaken…Truly, it seems I took one little pie.”

“I was counting; you took eleven. When you take, you have to pay; we don’t give anything for free.”

Mr. Goliadkin was dumbstruck. “What is this, is some kind of witchcraft being worked on me?” he thought. Meanwhile the counterman was waiting for Mr. Goliadkin’s decision; Mr. Goliadkin was surrounded; Mr. Goliadkin had already gone to his pocket to take out a silver rouble, to pay immediately, to be out of harm’s way. “Well, if it’s eleven, it’s eleven,” he thought, turning red as a lobster, “well, what of it if eleven little pies got eaten? Well, a man’s hungry, so he eats eleven little pies; well, let him eat and enjoy it; well, there’s nothing to wonder at and nothing to laugh at…” Suddenly something as if pricked Mr. Goliadkin; he raised his eyes and—at once understood the riddle, understood all the witchcraft; at once all the difficulties were resolved…In the doorway to the next room, almost directly behind the counterman’s back and facing Mr. Goliadkin, in the doorway which, incidentally, till then our hero had taken for a mirror, stood a little fellow—stood he, stood Mr. Goliadkin himself—not the old Mr. Goliadkin, not the hero of our story, but the other Mr. Goliadkin, the new Mr. Goliadkin. The other Mr. Goliadkin was evidently in excellent spirits. He smiled at Mr. Goliadkin-the-first, nodded his head to him, winked his eye, minced slightly with his feet, and looked as if he was all set to efface himself, slip into the next room, and then, perhaps, out the back door, and that would be it…all pursuit would be in vain. In his hand was the last piece of the tenth little pie, which he, right in front of Mr. Goliadkin’s eyes, sent into his mouth, smacking with pleasure. “Supplanted me, the scoundrel!” thought Mr. Goliadkin, flaring up like fire with shame. “He’s not ashamed in public! Can’t they see him? Nobody seems to notice…” Mr. Goliadkin flung down the silver rouble as if it burned his fingers, and, not noticing the significantly impudent smile of the counterman, a smile of triumph and calm strength, tore himself from the crowd, and rushed away without looking back. “Thanks at least that he didn’t compromise a man utterly!” thought Mr. Goliadkin Sr. “Thanks to the brigand, to him and to fate, that it still got settled so well. Only the counterman was rude. But then he was within his rights! He was owed a rouble and ten kopecks, so he was within his rights. Meaning, we don’t give to anyone without money! Though he could have been more polite, the lout!…”