He was then admitted to the ward in which I lay. Falling on his knees, he begged my forgiveness, repeating his oath to me and professing his love for me in the most affectionate terms. His entreaties were so moving that I finally consented to return home with him.
For a while Afanasi was truly a different man. In spite of his coarse habits, I was deeply touched by his efforts to be kind. However, that did not last long. We resumed our life of drudging toil. And vodka resumed its grip on him. Once drunk, he became just as brutal again.
Gradually life with Afanasi grew as insufferable as it had been before my escape. That summer I turned nineteen, and I saw ahead of me nothing but a long series of dreary years. Afanasi wanted me to take to drink. I resisted, and that infuriated him. He made it a habit to torment me daily. He would hold a bottle of vodka to my face, and scoffing at me for my efforts to lift myself above my condition, he would endeavour by blows and kicks to force the bitter drink down my throat. One day he even stood over me with a bottle of vodka for three whole hours, pinning me down to the ground so that I was unable to move a muscle. Still I refused to give in.
Winter came. I baked bread for a living. On Sundays I went to church to pray God to release me from my bondage. Again the thought of escaping took root in my mind. The first requisite was, of course, a passport, so I went secretly to a lawyer for advice, and he undertook to obtain one for me legally. But ill-luck attended me. When the police-constable called to deliver the passport to me, Afanasi was at home. My scheme was discovered and my hopes were dashed to the ground. Afanasi hurled himself at me and bound me hand and foot, deaf to my entreaties and cries. I thought my end had come. In silence he carried me out of the house and tied me to a post.
It was cold, very cold. He flogged me, drank, and flogged me again, cursing me in the vilest terms.
“That’s what you get for trying to escape,” he bawled, holding the bottle to my mouth. “You won’t escape any more. You will drink or you, will die!”
I was obdurate and implored him to leave me alone. He continued his flogging, however, keeping me for four hours tied to the post, till I finally broke down and drank the vodka. I became intoxicated, staggered out into the street, and fell on the pavement in front of the house. Afanasi ran after me, cursing and kicking me. We were quickly surrounded by a crowd. My neighbours, who knew of his cruelty to me, came to my help. Afanasi was roughly handled, so roughly, indeed, that he left me in peace for some time afterwards.
Christmas was drawing near. I had saved, little by little, fifty roubles (about £5 5s. 7d.). Every kopek of that money had been earned by extra toil during the night. It was all the earthly possession that I had, and I guarded it jealously. Somehow, Afanasi got wind of its hiding-place and stole it. He spent it all on drink.
I was mad with fury upon discovering the loss. What the money meant to me in the circumstances is difficult to describe. It was my blood, my sweat, a year of my youth. And he, the beast, squandered it in one orgy. The least I could do to my torturer was to kill him.
In a frenzy, I ran to my mother, who was struck by the expression of my face.