Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 468 I'll see you off...

Major Smirnov wanted him to become an informant, a snitch!
Chekhov felt a surge of nausea and humiliation; they actually wanted him to betray his classmates, his friends, and his own soul!

Using his status as a student at Moscow State University to do such a despicable thing! This was even more unacceptable to him than hearing about being exiled to Siberia.

This is the most thorough insult to his character and his beliefs!
"No!" he blurted out, ready to loudly rebuke the Tsar's lackey before him.

At that moment, he thought of Mr. Sorel.

If he were here, he would look at the major with the utmost contempt and then use vicious words to mock him.

I cannot give in, absolutely not!

However, Major Smirnov seemed to have anticipated his reaction.

He didn't get angry, nor did he press further; instead, he sat there calmly.

Just as Chekhov's chest heaved, preparing to deliver a passionate speech, Major Smirnov slowly stood up.

He looked down at Chekhov, his light-colored eyes devoid of any emotion, as if Chekhov's anger were nothing more than a trivial farce.

His voice was flat and even: "Don't rush to answer, Anton. This is an important decision, one that concerns your entire life and your family."

The major straightened his uniform: "I'll give you half a day. You must think it over carefully!"
Think of the icy wasteland of Siberia, think of the despair in your parents' eyes, and think of the thirty rubles you receive steadily each month...

And of course, there's your clean and bright future.

After saying that, he didn't look at Chekhov again and turned to walk towards the door.

The heavy interrogation room door was opened, and bright light from the corridor windows poured in, but quickly disappeared as the door closed again.

Major Grigory Ivanovich Smirnov has left.

Chekhov was the only one left in the interrogation room.

A deathly silence descended once more, even more suffocating than before.

The glow of the kerosene lamp cast his lonely shadow on the ground, and the coldness invaded his body from all directions.

He slumped into the cold chair, as if all his strength had been drained away.

The courage I had just mustered seemed so fragile in the face of the other party's cold threats.

Rejection means the destruction of the individual and family; acceptance means the permanent stain on the soul.

The Siberian cold, the expectant eyes of family, the trusting faces of classmates, the hopeful gaze of Mr. Lionel Sorel…

All these images flashed wildly through his mind, almost tearing his brain apart.

"what should I do?"

The young Anton Pavlovich Chekhov huddled in the cold interrogation room of "Okrana," facing the most difficult choice of his life.

--------

After leaving the interrogation room, Major Grigory Ivanovich Smirnov returned to his office.

Although the rooms here are spacious and brightly lit, the atmosphere is equally cold and austere.

Several iron filing cabinets containing archives stood against the wall, and a portrait of Tsar Alexander III and the imperial double-headed eagle emblem hung on the wall.

Opposite his desk, in a hard-backed armchair, sat an obese man.

The man's face, usually fierce, was now filled with submissiveness and unease.

Upon hearing the door open, he immediately sprang to his feet and bowed respectfully: "Major Smirnov! You're back."

Major Smirnov walked slowly to the desk, sat down, placed the interrogation record book aside, and then looked up at the middle-aged man in front of him.

“Mr. Vladimir Petrovich Ivanov, I must say that since your cooperation, the recent operations have yielded considerable results.”

Ivanov lowered his head even further: "I dare not accept such praise! Everything depends on your mercy and wisdom, Major."

I was just... just doing my small part to make up for my negligence in newspaper management.

Major Smirnov's lips twitched slightly: "An oversight? You're too modest, Mr. Ivanov. Your plan is very 'creative,' low-cost, and highly efficient."

Raising the payment for articles by a few kopeks will make those hidden complaints jump to the front page of the newspaper on their own, saving us a lot of trouble in investigating.

Some say that people unleash their greatest wisdom when their lives are threatened, and it seems you are one of those people!

Ivanov quickly replied, "I was arrogant and ignorant in the past, and it is my honor to serve you now."

Immediately, Ivanov opened his briefcase, took out two bundles of rubles tied with kraft paper, and placed them on the table.

One stack was thinner, while the other was much thicker.

He carefully pushed the thin stack of rubles toward the major: "Major, this is the fine I am legally obligated to pay to 'Okrana'."

Then, he pushed the thicker stack of paper over: "This is just a small token of my appreciation to thank you for your continued protection."

Major Smirnov reached out, picked up the thick stack of papers, casually opened a drawer, and tossed it inside.

Then, he opened another drawer, took out a piece of paper, and threw it on the table in front of Ivanov. Major Smirnov said coldly, "Mr. Gabriel Marel, this is your departure permit, valid for three days. You may leave Russia."

The smile on the middle-aged man's face froze instantly, and the color drained from his face at a visible speed.

This time, cold sweat truly poured out, instantly soaking his shirt collar.

His Russian identity, "Vladimir Petrovich Ivanov," was bought at a high price and should be flawless!

His Russian was also flawless, because his grandmother was Russian and he grew up with her, speaking with a pure St. Petersburg accent.

Fear gripped Gabriel Marel's throat, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

What does it mean to lie to a high-ranking bureaucrat in "Okrana"?
He began to stammer incoherently: "Major...Major...I...I am loyal to the Empire...I...I didn't mean to lie to you..."

Major Smirnov, however, was unmoved by this insincere apology and interrupted him directly: "I have received your 'loyalty.' Alright, you can leave now."

Gabriel Marel immediately picked up the exit permit, not daring to look at the major again, and bowed deeply before scrambling out of the office.

He stumbled down the corridor and rushed down the stairs, almost running out of the "Okrana" office building.

His carriage was parked across the street. Gabriel flung open the door and jumped in, roaring, "Pierre! You idiot! What are you standing there for! Get moving!"

Pierre was startled: "Sir? Shall we...go home?"

Gabriel roared as if he had heard the most absurd thing: "Go home? Go home and wait for those black crows to come and catch me again?"

"To the station! Immediately! Right now! Get out of this hellhole today, no, right now! Get out of this damn Russia! Hurry!"

The carriage suddenly started moving and jolted into the streets of Moscow.

Inside the train carriage, Gabriel Marel clutched the departure permit tightly, his heart pounding, only one thought in his mind:
Run! As fast as possible! As far away as possible!
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Major Smirnov did not return to the interrogation room where Chekhov was being held until the afternoon.

The door opened, and in the dim light, the young medical student was still sitting in that hard wooden chair, pale-faced and ramrod straight.

Major Smirnov walked behind the table and sat down. He didn't speak immediately, but calmly scrutinized Chekhov with his light-colored eyes.

Finally, the major spoke: "What's your decision, Anton Pavlovich Chekhov?"

Chekhov raised his head. After a long period of agonizing thought, he made his decision.

He stared at Major Smirnov and said, word by word, "Major, I've made up my mind. I am Anton Pavlovich Chekhov—"

I am a doctor and a writer. The former heals the body, the latter heals the soul. Both require honesty.

You made me betray my classmates, betray my conscience, and use informing and surveillance to exchange for my own safety and a pitiful few rubles.

I cannot do that. I will not choose to become a ghost I despise, living in the shadows you have bestowed upon me.

At this point, Chekhov seemed to have a huge weight lifted off his shoulders: "Alright, you can send me to Siberia now."

Major Smirnov's expression remained unchanged; he simply stared at Chekhov silently for a good ten seconds.

Then, the corners of his mouth slowly turned up, revealing a smile without any real emotion, and he raised his hand and began to clap.

Snapped!
Snapped!
Snapped!
……

The monotonous applause sounded particularly eerie and jarring in the interrogation room.

“Well said, Anton, very well said. You’re practically a saint, ready to be martyred at any moment.”

I must say, for your age, this courage is admirable! It even moved me.

Chekhov was stunned and looked at him in bewilderment.

Major Smirnov stood up, walked around the table, and went to Chekhov: "Don't worry, I won't send you to Siberia."

Chekhov was completely stunned, wondering if he was hallucinating.

Major Smirnov offered no explanation.

He walked to the door of the interrogation room, opened it, and then turned to Chekhov, gesturing for him to enter.

"Come out, Anton Pavlovich."

Chekhov stood up blankly and hesitantly moved out of the room.

Major Smirnov said, “Look there.” He pointed to a window in the corridor that was sealed off with iron bars.

Chekhov leaned closer to the dirty glass and squinted to look outside.

Outside the window was the inner courtyard of the "Okrana" building, where several carriages were parked, with the imperial double-headed eagle emblem and the word "Okrana" painted on the side of the carriages.

Major Smirnov said softly, "I won't send you to Siberia, Anton. I'll send you back to Moscow University."

However, tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, I will personally take you to the school gate in the horse-drawn carriage you see in the courtyard.

Chekhov felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

(I heard that if I update early on Monday, I'll get plenty of monthly votes? First update)
(End of this chapter)