If the reader permits, we will take a step away from the dinner between Kuznetsov and Adoratsky to look into the unfortunate past of Dmitry Matteovich, which will explain (at least in part) the horribly immoral acts he would do shortly. Adoratsky had not lied to the prince when he spoke of his humble upbringing in eastern Russia, but he had omitted a great many important details, especially those regarding his father. Adoratsky’s father, Matteo Adorno, was Italian, and fled from his home country in order to evade the debt he had worked up there. He knew only that Dmitry’s mother (whom he had been in fleeting contact with via a string of letters) lived in Russia when he made the rather forced decision to immigrate there. Changing his name from Adorno to Adoratsky, Matteo began a family there. Though Matteo Adoratsky left his debt in Italy, he did not leave his addiction there, and so his vice for cards inevitably followed him to the east, where he quickly racked up fresh debt. This was the cause of much turmoil between the spouses. It was around this time that Dmitry Matteovich was born. Their household was an unfortunate environment for a young, impressionable child to be brought into, and maybe that caused the oddity that was Dmitry Adoratsky’s character. After his father’s death, Dmitry inherited the large sum of money his father owed to the rest of Russia. Naturally, he sold everything his family owned and moved westward, in extreme poverty but having paid off most of the debt. He was desperate to pay back the owed money, it had become a fanatical obsession in his mind to pay it back, and there was nothing he wouldn’t sell, steal, or do to get closer to his goal. With this in mind, we may return to the moment at which we left off. Dmitry Adoratsky left dinner with the prince feeling as if he had caught the world finally in his hands, and everything would turn out perfectly well for him. If he were to play his cards right, for the use of an ironic metaphor, he could pay off everything, and gain a bit of profit for it. With profit, the snake supposed, came dignity, which was something he desired terribly but did not believe was yet in his reach. Such is the case for many scoundrels— they believe, with their whole heart, that should one thing be changed within them, they would be ready to achieve great and beautiful things. “I will tell the sick and the beggars what he can do,” the snake thought to himself, “and they will pay me— yes! They will pay me, because I promise them the work of God, not some expensive doctor… and who does not love God? At least, who does not wish to love God? Then it will all be sorted out, and I will make a name for myself at last.” It was perhaps at that moment when Adoratsky began to connect the image of his enigmatic Kuznetsov with the Christian’s beloved Messiah, an idea that would grow in his mind like a mold until he himself could not draw the line between the prince and his own fantasy. Dmitry wasted no time in going to the house of his debtor. In fact, he went straight from his dinner to his debtor’s house without even stopping to change his clothes or to think for a moment over his plan. His debtor was a pompous man who was filthy rich but lived like a beggar all the same. He wore rags and dragged himself about with a horrible, looming scowl, as if the world had wronged him greatly, though he had been bestowed many undeserved blessings. Dmitry felt great spite for the man and his web of institutions built to take advantage of people like Matteo Adoratsky, but at the same time he was envious of his power. The only thing in the world that the debtor-man cared about, aside from his own wealth, was the health of his ailing sister. Everyone spoke in whispers of her condition— consumption in the latest stage, dragged out over months as if some wretched curse prevented her death. It was this situation, Dmitry thought, would be his ticket to success. Dmitry rapped on the door. It was answered by the man himself, who kept no servant, though he could afford to keep one.
“Mr. Adoratsky,” rasped the man. “Good seeing you, sir,” Dmitry responded brightly. “How is your sister?” The debtor pursed his lips as if Dmitry had slapped him rather than spoken words. Dmitry was not dissuaded by this. Instead, he frowned deeply and gave him a most intimately concerned look. “Oh, I see… Not well, eh…?” “What do you want from me?” “Nothing but a minute of your time! I tell you, my good sir, I am a changed man— you knew me yesterday as an atheist, a nihilist, something of the sort, but I tell you, today I am a changed man!” “You don’t mean to say you are a Christian now!” The debtor cried incredulously. “Oh, but I do! I am a believer, I have been converted, and I will convert you, too— I tell you, sir, I have met God, I dined with him just five minutes ago. He will heal your sister, mark my words, should you ask him, he will heal your sister. Call it a prophecy! A promise! Whatever you wish to call it.” “You don’t mean that,” he muttered. His scowl had softened, however, into a more contemplative expression. Even the most stubborn of nonbelievers, on occasion, succumb to hope in some supernatural element that might aid their troubled soul. “I do. Truly, I do. In fact, I will bring him to you, and you can see what he is capable of with your own eyes.” “Would you?” “Yes, naturally! Don’t you think I want to see the world become a better place, or— well, you get the gist, eh? But I am a businessman myself, I am no naive soul… Yes, you seem to think I am the same as my father, but I am far more careful than he… I will bring this God to you, but you will pay me for it.” “Pay you! You scoundrel— I will pay you, and you will never bring me your God!” “Ah– ah! See, I thought you would say that, so I’ll cut you a deal. If I bring him to you and he cures your dear sister, then and only then will you pay me. Otherwise, not a kopeck!” “Deal!” cried the debtor-man. With that, the snake rushed off into the street once more to arrange for their meeting. It was nearly a week before Adoratsky managed to convince Kuznetsov to visit the debtor, which was a feat in itself. He had achieved this by a delicate blend of lies and truths, along with the promise of more time together, and the creation of somewhat of a bond between the two vastly different characters. Leonid Romanovich, however, did not make it to the debtor’s house before he was brutally attacked. Rumors, in their relatively small city, spread faster than the plague, and after a week’s passing everyone had heard of Adoratsky’s God and were doing everything in their power to meet him. Dmitry received many questions from this, so many that he began to viciously snap at them. It was because of the fervor of the town and the suspense that the serpent kept them in that when Adoratsky was seen in the street with the anomaly Kuznetsov, they immediately assumed that Leonid was the God mentioned, and they lunged at him with the ferocity of scavengers to a corpse, each one so desperate to be healed that their hope became violence. Dmitry Matteovich was not a terribly powerful man, but he was loud, and more stubborn than the harshest of dictators. While Kuznetsov was warding off the attackers, Dmitry Matteovich assisted him as best he could, shouting and throwing people to the mud of the street. There were too many of them, swarms and swarms— Leonid was quickly buried in the masses, both trying to help them and to escape them. The crowd only faded once Leonid had collapsed altogether into the mud, which covered his brilliant attire and smeared across his pallid, unconscious face. The only sound that remained now was the voice of the indignant Adoratsky as he swore furiously at the bystanders to go home. ---- > Chapter 3/8 > Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1215931270 > Notes - don't worry he's not dead, it'll all make sense soon
