The Lottery Ticket

by Anton Chekhov


The Lottery Ticket by Anton Chekhov

Ivan Dimitrich, a middle-class man who lived with his family on a salary of twelve hundred a year and was very happy with his life, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading the newspaper.

"I forgot to look at the newspaper today," his wife said to him as she cleaned the table. "Look and see if the list of lottery winners is there."

"What’s the number?"

"Series 9,499, number 26."

"All right ... I’ll look ... 9,499 and 26."

Ivan Dimitrich did not believe in lotteries and did not usually look at the lists of winning numbers. But now, because he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was in front of him, he moved his finger down the column of numbers. And immediately, in the second line from the top, was the number 9,499! He could not believe his eyes. He hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number of the ticket. He had a pleasant cool feeling in his stomach – terrible and sweet!

"Masha, 9,499 is there!" he said in a quiet voice.

His wife looked at his astonished face and realised that he was not joking.

"9,499?" she asked, turning white and dropping the tablecloth on the floor.

"Yes, yes ... it really is there!"

"And the number of the ticket?"

"Oh yes! There's the number of the ticket too. But ... wait! Anyway, the number of our series is there! Anyway, you understand..."

Looking at his wife, Ivan Dimitrich gave a stupid smile, like a baby when you show a bright toy to it. His wife smiled too. She was as pleased as him that he only mentioned the series and did not try to find out the number of the winning ticket. To wait, in the hope of a fortune, is so sweet, so exciting!

"It’s our series," said Ivan Dimitrich, after a long silence. "So there is a possibility that we have won. It's only a possibility, but there it is!"

"Well, now look!"

"Wait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It's on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five thousand. That's not just money, but that’s power too! And in a minute I’ll look at the list, and ... Eh? I say, what if we really win?"

The husband and wife began laughing and staring at one another in silence. The possibility of winning confused them. They didn’t know why they needed that seventy-five thousand, what they would buy, where they would go They thought only of the figures 9,499 and 75,000 and pictured them in their imagination. Somehow, they could not think of the happiness which was so possible.

Ivan Dimitrich, holding the paper in his hand, walked several times from corner to corner and, only when he had recovered from the first shock, began dreaming a little.

"And if we have won," he said – "it will be a new life! The ticket is yours, but if it were mine I would, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five thousand on property, ten thousand on new furniture ... travelling ... paying debts, and so on... The other forty thousand I’d put in the bank."

"Yes, property would be nice," said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands onto her knees.

And pictures crowded into his imagination, every one more sweet and lovely than the last. And in all these pictures he saw himself healthy, happy, warm, even hot! Here, after eating a summer soup, cold as ice, he lay on his back on the burning sand close to a stream or in the garden under a tree... It’s hot... His little boy and girl are crawling about near him, playing in the sand or catching ladybirds in the grass. He sleeps sweetly, thinking of nothing. He doesn’t need to go to the office today, tomorrow, or the day after.

Or, tired of lying still, he goes to the field or to the forest for mushrooms, or watches the farmers catching fish. When evening comes, he takes a towel and soap and walks to the river, where he undresses, slowly puts soap on his chest with his hands and goes into the water. And in the water, near the soapy circles, little fish swim around. After bathing, there is tea with cream and jam... In the evening, a walk with the neighbours.

"Yes, it would be nice to buy a property," said his wife, also dreaming, her eyes looking far away.

Ivan Dimitrich pictured to himself autumn with its rains and its cold evenings. At that season he would take longer walks around the garden and beside the river to get very cold, and then drink a big glass of vodka and eat salty mushrooms or cucumber, and then... drink another... The children would come running from the kitchen-garden, bringing a carrot smelling of fresh earth... And then, he would lie on the sofa, and lazily turn over the pages of a magazine, or, covering his face with it, fall asleep.

Autumn is followed by cloudy, gloomy weather. It rains day and night, the trees make terrible noises, the wind is damp and cold. The dogs, the horses, the chickens – everything is wet and sad. There is nowhere to walk; you can't go out for days; one has to walk up and down, up and down the room, looking miserably at the grey window.

Ivan Dimitrich stopped and looked at his wife.

"I would go abroad, you know, Masha," he said.

And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the South of France... to Italy... to India!

"I’ll certainly go abroad too," his wife said. "But look at the number of the ticket!"

"Wait, wait!..."

He walked around the room and went on thinking. What if his wife really went abroad? It’s nice to travel alone, or with light, careless women who live for today, and don’t think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children and worry about every penny they are spending.

Ivan Dimitrich imagined his wife in the train with hundreds of parcels, cases and bags; she would say that the train made her head ache, that she had spent so much money... At the stations he would always have to run for boiling water, bread and butter... She wouldn't have dinner because it was so expensive...

"She wouldn’t want to give me a penny," he thought, with a glance at his wife. "The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, why does she want to go abroad? What does she want there? She would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me go out... I know!"

And for the first time in his life, he thought that his wife was old and plain, and that she smelt of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and healthy, and could get married again.

"Of course, all that is nonsense," he thought; "but... why should she go abroad? What would she do there? But she would go, of course... I can imagine... In fact, it makes no difference to her if it’s Madrid or Amsterdam. She would only be in my way. I can see how, like every woman, she will lock the money up as soon as she gets it... She will look after her relatives and not want to give me a penny."

Ivan Dimitrich thought of her relatives. All those horrible brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles would come begging as soon as they heard of the winning ticket, with their oily smiles. Horrible people! If we give them anything, they will ask for more; but if we refuse, they will hate us and wish us bad luck.

Ivan Dimitrich remembered his own relatives and their faces. He had looked at them in the past without thinking but now they looked hateful.

"They are such snakes!" he thought.

And his wife's face, too, looked hateful. He felt angry about her and he thought unkindly:

"She knows nothing about money and, so, she is mean. If she wins it, she’ll give me a hundred roubles and lock the rest away for the children."

And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hate. She glanced at him too and also with hate and anger. She had her own daydreams, her own plans, her own ideas; she understood very well what her husband's dreams were. She knew he would be the first to try to steal her winnings.

"It's very nice daydreaming about other people's money!" is what her eyes said. "But you can forget it!"

Her husband understood her look. To make his wife angry, he glanced quickly at the fourth page of the newspaper and read out happily:

"Series 9,499, number 46! Not 26!"

Hate and hope both disappeared at once, and it began immediately to seem to Ivan Dimitrich and his wife that their rooms were dark and small, that the supper they’d eaten was not good, that the evenings were long and boring...

"Why is this place so dirty?" said Ivan Dimitrich, beginning to be annoyed. "There are bits of paper and food everywhere. The rooms are never clean! That’s why I always go out. This life is impossible. I’ll go and hang myself from the first tree!"