The utter truth of the matter is that Kovalyov had given up hope of ever having his nose occupy the flattened space between his eyes as before. Kovalyov had indeed tried, he scoured the entire country, searching for a doctor who could repair this predicament! But the last doctor he visited, the scoundrel, had insisted on buying the nose from Kovalyov. How someone so lowly ranked as a doctor could ever afford to purchase anything from Kovalyov, let alone something as valuable as a Major’s nose, was completely beyond him.
When Kovalyov returned to his apartment the next evening, he resolved to stay in his room and die an old man. Surely he had funds to last him a few more years, he thought. Kovalyov had no intention of living past the next five years without his nose. What utter despair, he cried, and shut his doors tightly. “Ivan!” Kovalyov yelled. “You crook! Get me a tinderbox!” Ivan came running with Kovalyov’s old tinderbox, opening it for him as he came to a stop beside his bed. Kovalyov carefully placed his nose, still wrapped in the same paper that Ivan Yakovlevich had used, just inside the heart of the tinderbox. He placed it beside his bed and screamed at Ivan to get out before adding: “And if I ever catch your filthy hands on this box Ivan, I swear to God…” And Kovalyov never did finish his sentence.
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