V
“Mílenki, I am going with thee.”
“But you have not your things ready.”
“Mílenki mine, then I will go with you tomorrow, if you do not want to take me today.”
“Think it over; consider it. Wait for my letter; it will reach you tomorrow.”
Here she returns home. How did she feel when she went home with Masha? How did she feel and think all the long way from the Moscow railway station to the Middle Prospekt? She herself does not know, so shocked was she by the abrupt turn in the affair. Twenty-four hours have not passed—no, in two hours it will be a full day—since he found her letter in his room, and now he is already gone. How quick! how sudden! At two o’clock she had not anticipated anything of the sort. He waited until she, wearied by the excitement of the morning, could not longer resist the power of sleep, came in, said a few words, and in these few words there was an almost incomprehensible preface to what he meant; and in what brief words he said what he meant! He said: “I have not seen my old folks for a long time. I am going to see them, and they will be glad to have me come.” That was all, and he left immediately; and she hastened after him, though, when he came in, he asked her to promise not to do it. She hastened after him; but where was he? “Masha, where is he? where is he?”
Masha, who was still putting away the things after the departure of the guests, says, “Dmitri Sergéitch has gone out. He said, after he came out from your room, ‘I am going to take a walk.’ ” And she had to go to bed; and how could she go to sleep? But she did not know that this was going to take place on the very morning which was now beginning to dawn. He said that they would have abundant time to talk everything over. And she had barely time to open her eyes before it was time to go to the railway station. Yes, all this had flashed by her eyes, as though nothing of the sort had happened to her, as though someone had told her of something that happened to someone else. Only now, while returning home from the railway station, she came to herself, and began to think, “What is the matter with me, and what is going to happen to me?”
Yes, she is going to Riazan. She is going; it is impossible not to go. But this letter; what will be in that letter? No; why wait for the letter before deciding? She knows what it will contain: still she must postpone her decision till the letter comes. Why postpone it? She will go; yes, she will go! She thinks about it one hour; she thinks two; she thinks three, four hours. But Masha was getting hungry, and for the third time has summoned her to dinner; and this time she commands her, rather than summons her. Well, this is another recollection. “Poor Masha! how I compelled her to get hungry!”
“Why did you wait for me, Masha! Why did not you have your dinner long ago, without waiting for me?”
“How could I, Viéra Pavlovna?”
And she thinks again for one hour, two hours. “I am going; yes, I am going tomorrow. I shall only wait for the letter because he asked me to. But whatever may be written in it—and I know what will be in it—it does not make any difference what it says, I shall go.”
On this she thinks an hour, two hours. Yes, she deliberates over it an hour; but does she deliberate over it two hours? No, though she thinks about it; but she thinks five little words more, “He does not wish it.” And more and more she deliberates over these five little words. And here the sun is already setting; but she still thinks the same thoughts, and, above all, the five little words; and suddenly, just at the very instant that the indefatigable Masha was demanding that Viéra Pavlovna should come out to tea, at that very moment, out from those five little words arise six little words, “I do not wish it either.” How well the indefatigable Masha acted in coming in! She drove away these six new little words. But even the beneficent Masha did not long succeed in driving away these six little words. At first they did not dare to appear by themselves; they sent in their place a refutation of themselves, “But I must go.” And they sent them for the sake of returning themselves, under the cover of this refutation. At one instant appeared with them their carrier, “He does not wish it”; and at that very instant these five little words changed into the six little words, “I do not wish it either.”
And she goes over these thoughts for half an hour; and in half an hour these five little words, the six little words, begin to work over, according to their own will, even the former words, the most important words of all. And from the three words, most important of all, “I shall go,” grow four words, not the same as before, though they are the same, “But shall I go?” Thus it is that words grow, and transform themselves. But here comes Masha again. “I gave him a silver ruble, Viéra Pavlovna; here it is written, ‘If he brings it at nine o’clock, give him a silver ruble; but if later, give him half a ruble.’ The conductor brought it, Viéra Pavlovna. He came down on the evening train. He said, ‘I did as I promised; to make it quicker, I took an izvoshchik.’ ”
The letter is from him! Yes, she knows what is in the letter; “Don’t go.” But still she means to go. She does not want to listen to this letter—to him; she intends to go; she is going. No, there is something different in the letter; here is something to which it is impossible not to listen: “I am going to Riazan, but not directly to Riazan. I have a great deal to do for the factory on the way. Besides Moscow, where I shall have to stay a week, I shall have to stop at two towns this side of Moscow, and three on the other side before I reach Riazan. How long I shall stay at my various halting-points I cannot tell you, for the very reason, that among other things, I shall have to receive money from our mercantile correspondents, and you know, my dear friend”—yes; it was in the letter. “My dear friend was used several times in the letter that I might see that he felt towards me as before; that he had no ill towards me,” thinks Viéra Pavlovna. “At that time I kissed those words my dear friend; yes, it was so: ‘My dear friend, you know that, when it is necessary to receive money, you are often compelled to stay several days, when you intended to stay only a few hours; and so I really do not know when I shall be able to reach Riazan; by all probability, not very soon.’ ”
She remembers this letter almost word for word. What does it mean? Yes, he has entirely deprived her of the possibility of clinging to him, so as to preserve her relations to him. What is left for her to do? And her former words, “I must go to him,” change into the words, “No, I must not see him,” and this him, does not refer to the one of whom she was just thinking. These words change all her former words, and she thinks one hour; she thinks two, “I must not see him”; and how and when did they succeed in changing? but they have already changed into the words: “Shall I really ever want to see him again? No!” and when she falls asleep these words have changed into other words, “Shall I really ever see him?” and where is the answer? Where is he gone? And these again change, yes, they grew into the words, “Shall I never see him again?” And when she falls asleep at daybreak she falls asleep with these same words, “Shall I really never see him again?”
And when she wakes late in the morning already, instead of all other words, only five words are wrestling with two, “I shall not see him; I shall see him”; and thus passes the whole morning. Everything is forgotten; everything is forgotten in this struggle, and the more powerful word no tries to conquer the little word yes; it tackles it; it clutches it. “I shall not see him”; and the little word glances aside and vanishes, glances aside and vanishes. “Yes, I shall see him.” Everything is forgotten; everything is forgotten in the effort of the stronger word no to conquer the smaller one yes. Yes, and it does conquer, and it calls to its aid other little words, so that the former little word may have no refuge. “No, I shall not see him; no, I shall not see him!” Yes, now the stronger words hold firmly in their grasp the little word yes, which has no refuge from them; they press it between them: “No, I shall not see—no, I shall see him—no, I shall not see him!” But what is she doing now? Her bonnet was already on her head; instinctively she looked at the mirror to see if her hair is in order; yes, in the mirror she saw that her bonnet is on straight, and from these words, which have grown together so firmly, one remained, and to this a new one was added, “No return! no return!”
“Masha, don’t expect me back to dinner! I shall not dine at home today.”
“Aleksandr Matvéitch has not returned yet from the hospital,” calmly replied Stepan; and how could he help speaking calmly with a phlegmatic lady? In her appearance there is nothing out of the ordinary; not very long ago she used to be here.
“I did not think he was; it’s all right; I will wait; you need not tell him that I am here.”
She unfolds some newspaper or other—yes, she can read; she sees that she can read; yes, as long as there is “no return”; as long as the decision is made, she feels herself quite calm. Of course she can read little; she scarcely read at all; she looked at the room; she began to put it in order, as though she were its khozyáïka. Of course she did not arrange it much, scarcely at all: but how calm she feels, and she can read, and she can occupy herself with something. She noticed that the ashes had not been emptied from the ashtray, and that the tablecloth needed adjustment, and that the chair was out of its place. She is sitting and thinking: “There is no return—no choice! A new life is beginning.” She thinks an hour, two hours: “A new life is beginning. How surprised he will be! how happy he will be! A new life is beginning! how happy we are!”
A tinkling bell! she flushed a little, and smiled; steps—the door opens!
“Viéra Pavlovna!”
“My love [drūg moï], I could not live without thee. How long thou didst love me, and said not a word. How noble thou art! How noble he is, Sasha!”
“Tell me, Viérotchka, how it happened.”
“I told him that I could not live without thee: on the very next evening he had already gone; I wanted to follow him; I talked all day yesterday about following him, but now thou seest that I have been here a long time.”
“But how thin thou hast grown these past two weeks, Viérotchka! How pale thy hands are!”
He kisses her hands.
“Yes, my dear, this has been a hard struggle. Now I can appreciate how much you suffered, so as not to disturb my peace. How could you be so self-possessed as to hide it from me? How thou must have suffered!”
“No, Viérotchka; it was not an easy task.”
He still kisses her hands, looking at them, and suddenly she burst into laughter.
“Akh! how inattentive I am to you. You are tired, Sasha; you must be hungry.”
She frees herself from him, and runs away.
“Where are you going, Viérotchka?”
But she answers never a word, but goes to the kitchen, and hurriedly, gayly, says to Stepan: “Hurry up; let us have dinner for two! hurry up—where are the plates and things! Let me have them; I will set the table myself, and you bring the victuals. Aleksandr is so tired from his hospital that we must give him something to eat.”
She comes back with the plates, and the knives, forks, and spoons rattle on the plates.
Stepan puts the soup on the table. At dinner she relates how it all happened. Stepan comes in with the last dish.
“Stepan, seems to me that we shall not leave you any dinner.”
“Yes, Viéra Pavlovna; I shall have to buy something for myself in the little grocery store.”
“That’s all right, Stepan; henceforth you must know that you must prepare for two besides yourself.”
And after she remembers all this, Viéra Pavlovna smiles and “now how prosaic our story is!”
Tea was not over when we heard a terrible ringing of the bell, and in came a couple of students, and in their excitement they did not even notice her.
“Aleksandr Matvéitch, there is an interesting subject,” say they, all out of breath; “it was brought just now—a very rare complication; it’s very interesting, Aleksandr Matvéitch, and immediate help is wanted. Every moment is precious; we even took an izvoshchik to come here.”
“Make haste, my dear,” she says; and here for the first time the students notice her. They bow to her, and at that very moment they hurry away their professor with them. His preparations did not take very long; he was still in his army coat, and she hurried him away. “Will you come right to me afterwards?” she asked, as she said goodbye.
“Yes.”
Long she waits for him through the evening; here it is ten o’clock, and he hasn’t come yet; now it is eleven; now there is no use waiting; still what can be the reason? She, of course, did not worry at all. Nothing could have happened to him; but it shows how long he was detained by the interesting subject, and is the poor interesting subject alive now, and does Sasha succeed in saving him? Yes, Sasha was detained very long. He came in the next morning at ten o’clock. He stayed till four at the hospital.
“It was a very hard and interesting case, Viérotchka.”
“Did you save him?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get up so early?”
“I didn’t go to bed at all.”
“You didn’t go to bed? So as not to be late coming to see me? You didn’t sleep all night? You impious fellow! Please go right home and sleep clear till dinnertime without fail; so that I shall find you sleeping when I come.”
In two minutes he was already sent off.
Those were our two first interviews. But this second dinner goes with proper dignity. They tell each other their stories sensibly; they laugh, they think, and they pity each other. To each of them it seems that the other has suffered the more. In a week and a half a little dacha on the Kamennoï Ostrof is rented, and they move there.