The Case of Comrade Tulayev (New York Review Books Classics)

by Victor Serge

“No, really,” Romachkin said, “I can’t, it’s too expensive. Besides …” He had said that he was a hunter, a member of the official hunter’s association, and consequently had a permit … Akhim’s face changed, Akhim’s voice changed, he went for the singing tea-kettle, poured tea into their glasses, sat down opposite Romachkin on a low stool, and drank the amber beverage with relish; doubtless he was getting ready to say something important, perhaps his final price, nine hundred? Romachkin could no more get together nine hundred than twelve hundred. It was devastating. After a long silence he heard Akhim’s caressing voice mingling with the distant boom of an explosion: “If it is to kill somebody, I have something better …” “Better?” Romachkin asked, gasping for breath … On the table, between their glasses, lay a Colt revolver with a short barrel and a black cylinder — a forbidden weapon, the mere presence of which was a crime — a fine clean Colt, calling the hand, fortifying the will. “Four hundred, my friend.”