The Daughter of a Captain: Selected Short Stories by Pushkin

Author: (Russian) Pushkin
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-01-01
Features: We were stationed in a certain small town. The life of an officer was well-known. In the morning, we would go on drills and practice horseback riding. Lunch was either at the commander's or in a Jewish tavern, and in the evening, we would drink punch and play cards. There was no household in the town that regularly entertained guests, nor was there a single unmarried girl. We always gathered at the residence of a colleague, where, apart from those in uniform, no one else was seen. The only person we interacted with who was not a military man was one who was nearly thirty-five years old, so we considered him an old man. He was worldly-wise and seemed more astute and capable than us in every way. He was always melancholic, irritable, and sharp-tongued, which greatly influenced us young men. His life was filled with mysterious elements. He seemed Russian, yet he had an exotic name. He had once been a dragoon and lived a carefree life. No one knew why he resigned his commission or why he chose to live in this impoverished small town. Here, he lived in modest conditions but spent money extravagantly: he always wore an old black frock coat, walked everywhere, yet often hosted officers from our regiment for meals. True, his meals consisted of only two or three dishes, prepared by a former soldier, but champagne flowed like water. No one knew what assets he had or how much income he earned, yet no one dared to ask him about these matters. He had many books, mostly military books and novels. He was happy to lend them to others but never expected them back, yet he never returned any of the books he lent. His main activity was practicing pistol shooting. The walls of his room were riddled with bullet holes, like a beehive. He collected many pistols, which was the only luxury in his humble dwelling. His shooting skills were incredible; if he proposed to place an apple on someone's hat and shoot it off with a bullet, none of the officers in our regiment would hesitate to hold their heads out. We often discussed duels, but Silvio (as I called him) never joined in these conversations. Sometimes we asked him if he had ever been in a duel, and he would coldly reply that he had, but never discuss the details. It was clear that he disliked being asked about such matters. We suspected that some unfortunate event haunted his conscience, that someone had died under his terrifying marksmanship. However, we never suspected him of being a coward. There was a certain type of person who didn't need such suspicion. But an unexpected incident shocked us all. One day, about a dozen officers were dining at Silvio's. As usual, we drank a lot of wine. After the meal, we invited the host to be the dealer in a card game. He hesitated for a long time, as he rarely played cards, but finally agreed to have the cards brought and threw fifty gold coins on the table, ready to deal. We sat around him as the game began. Silvio had a habit of remaining completely silent while playing cards, never arguing or explaining. If a gambler miscalculated, he would immediately pay the outstanding amount or record any overpayment. We all knew his temperament, so we always let him handle things his way. But among us was an officer who had recently transferred here and had also come to play cards.