Alexander fell silent for a moment, totally absorbed in his reverie about Nadenka, and then resumed.
“The moment she raises her eyes, you can see that they are the windows to a passionate and tender heart! And her voice, her voice is pure melody, pure bliss! But when that voice rings with recognition… there is no greater bliss on earth! Uncle, life is so beautiful, and I am happy!”
His eyes brimmed with tears, and he rushed to embrace his uncle with outstretched arms.
“Alexander!” Pyotr Ivanych cried, springing up from his seat. “Turn off your safety valve at once, all the steam is escaping! You’ve taken leave of your senses! Just look what you’ve done. You’ve committed two idiocies in just one second, you’ve mussed up my hair and smudged the letter. I thought you had entirely given up your old habits. It’s a long time since I’ve seen you like this. For God’s sake, go and take a look at yourself in the mirror; have you ever seen a more idiotic face in your life? And yet, you’re no idiot!”
Alexander burst out laughing. “I’m happy, Uncle.”
“Obviously.”
“Don’t you find that my eyes shine with pride? I know they do. I look on everyone around me as only a hero, a poet or a man in love can, delirious with loving and being loved…”
“Yes, just the way madmen do – or even worse… Now, what am I going to do with that letter?”
“Let me scrape it off – it won’t leave a mark,” said Alexander.
He rushed to the table and, with the same febrile energy, proceeded to scrub, wipe and rub the letter until he had made a hole in it. The table was tottering from the assault and knocked against the bookcase on which an Italian alabaster bust of Sophocles or Aeschylus had been standing. The revered tragedian began to sway back and forth on its unstable base from the shaking, and finally toppled from its shelf onto the floor and was smashed to smithereens.
“Idiocy number three, Alexander!” said Pyotr Ivanych, picking up the pieces. “That was worth 500 roubles!”
“I’ll pay for it, Uncle, I really will pay for it; don’t get upset with me for my outburst: it was sincerely meant and with the purest of motives; it’s just that I’m happy, truly happy! My God, life is so great!”
His uncle frowned and shook his head. “When will you learn sense, Alexander? What nonsense comes out of his mouth!” he said, looking mournfully at the shattered bust. ‘I’ll pay, I’ll pay,’” he said, quoting Alexander. “That will be your fourth idiocy. I can see that you are anxious to tell me all about your happiness. Well, there’s no help for it. If uncles are doomed to react every time their nephews come out with nonsense, so be it. I’ll give you a quarter of an hour. Just sit quietly, and try not to talk yourself into a new, fifth idiocy – and after you’ve done that, you must leave, I don’t have the time. All right, so you’re happy… and then what? Hurry up and tell me!”
“Well, if that’s the way it is, Uncle, those things can’t simply be told,” Alexander remarked with a modest smile.
“I was hoping I’d said enough to forestall you, but I see that you are still bent on the usual preamble, and that is going to take a whole hour. I don’t have time for that, the post isn’t going to wait. So instead, why don’t I tell you?”
“You tell me? That’s pretty funny!”
“Well, hear this then: it’s funny indeed! Yesterday you saw your beauty and were alone with her…”
“How come you know about that?” Alexander began heatedly. “You’re having someone keep watch on me?”
“You really think I’m paying people to spy on you? Where did you get the idea that I’m that concerned about you? What’s it to me?” These words were accompanied by an icy look.
“In that case how do you know?” Alexander asked, moving closer to his uncle.
“Sit down, sit down, for God’s sake, and don’t go near the table: you’re sure to break something. Your face is an open book, and I’ll read it. So, declarations were made,” Pyotr Ivanych said.
Alexander said nothing. Clearly his uncle had put his finger right on it once again.
“Both of you were behaving like fools – it’s only to be expected.”
His nephew responded with a gesture of impatience.
“It all started over some trifle or other when you were left alone, probably some pattern she was using,” Pyotr Ivanych continued, “and you asked her whom she was doing the embroidery for, and she replied ‘For Mummy or Auntie’, or something like that, and you both started trembling feverishly…”
“Well, Uncle, you guessed wrong; it wasn’t a pattern, we were in the garden…” said Alexander, breaking off.
“All right, then it started with a flower,” said Pyotr Ivanych, “perhaps even one of those yellow flowers, but no matter – whatever your eye happens to light on – anything just to get the conversation going: in those circumstances the tongue tends to dry up. So you asked her whether she liked the flower – she said yes. Then you asked her why, and she said: ‘I just like it.’ Then you just ran out of conversation because you both really wanted to say something different. Then you looked at each other, smiled and blushed.”
“Oh come on, Uncle, don’t talk like that!…” Alexander blurted out in his embarrassment.
“Then,” his uncle continued inexorably, “you managed to slip in some remark about how a new world had opened up before you, and she glanced at you as if she were hearing some unexpected news, and I imagine you were stumped and thrown off track, and then just managed to recover and find something to say that made sense, like it was only now that you had understood what life had to offer, and that you had seen – what’s-her-name – Maria or whatever, somewhere before.”
“It’s Nadenka.”
“And it was as if you had seen her in a dream and had a premonition that you would meet her one day, that you were kindred souls. Then you said that from now on you would be dedicating all your writings, prose and verse… And I bet you were flinging your arms in all directions, and that you must have knocked something over and broken it.”
Alexander was beside himself and burst out: “Uncle, you were eavesdropping!”
“Yes, of course, I was sitting behind a bush – as if the only thing I had to do was to run after you so as to hear all your foolishness!”
“Then how come you know all this?” Alexander asked in bewilderment.
“It stands to reason: it’s been the same old story since Adam and Eve – with slight variations. Once you know the character of the dramatis personae you can predict the variations. And that surprises you – and you’re a writer no less? And now you’ll be making a big song and dance for the next couple of days and buttonholing everyone you meet, but please leave me out of it, for God’s sake! My advice to you is to lock yourself in your room for the next few days and let off all your steam while you’re there, and take out all your nonsense on Yevsei out of everyone’s sight. Then you’ll come to your senses a little, and take things a little further – maybe a kiss…”
“A kiss from Nadenka – oh what a sublime, heavenly reward!” Alexander was almost shouting.
“Heavenly!”
“So the way you see it, it’s purely matter-of-fact, down to earth?”
“Unquestionably, it’s purely the effect of electricity: two lovers like two Leyden jars, both fully charged, discharge the stored-up energy through kisses, and when fully discharged, it’s goodbye to love, and everything cools off afterwards…”
“Uncle…”
“Yes, and what did you think?”
“What a way to look at things!”
“Oh yes, I forgot: you will still be interpreting everything in terms of ‘material manifestations’, and you’re bringing even more rubbish, and analysing and speculating while business goes by the board.”
Alexander clutched at his pocket.
“What else have you got there? Y
ou’ll be doing what people have been doing since the world began.”
“That is to say, exactly what you did, Uncle.”
“Yes, only a little more foolish.”
“More foolish! In other words, what you’re calling foolish is the fact that I will be loving more deeply, more strongly than you, and not mocking that feeling, and I won’t be making light of it and toying with it cold-bloodedly like you… and not trying to poke holes in the most sacred secrets…”
“And you, my boy, will be loving just like everyone else, no more deeply and no more strongly, and you’ll also be poking holes in secrets… the only difference being that you will continue to believe that love is eternal and immutable, and that alone will fill your thoughts – and that’s precisely where the foolishness comes in – you will be storing up vastly more pain for yourself than is necessary.”
“Oh Uncle, what you’re saying is terrible, terrible! How many times I have sworn to myself never to reveal to you what I have in my heart.”
“Then why didn’t you do just that – instead of coming here and bothering me?…”
“As you must know, it’s because you are the person closest to me, the only one to whom I can unburden myself when my heart is full, but it is you who so pitilessly plunge your surgical scalpel into the innermost recesses of my heart.”
“It’s not something I do for my own pleasure: it’s you who asked me for my advice. Think of all the folly I’ve saved you from!”
“No, Uncle, I would rather remain forever stupid in your eyes than live with such ideas about life and people. It’s too painful, too distressing! What would be the point of living like that? And I refuse to live like that – you hear me? I will not!”
“Yes, I hear you; so what am I to do? I can’t take your life from you.”
“Right,” said Alexander. “In spite of all your predictions, I’m going to be happy, and go on loving once and for all.”
“Oh no! I have the feeling that you’ll be breaking a lot of my things before you’re finished. Love’s all very well, and no one is stopping you, but at your age love should not be your major preoccupation, at least not to the point where your work is thrown aside; yes, love is all very well, but it’s work that matters…”
“Well, I’m doing these extracts from those German—”
“Enough! You’re doing nothing of the kind: you’re just immersing yourself in that ‘sublime bliss’ of yours, and the editor will drop you…”
“Let him! I don’t need him. How can I be thinking of filthy lucre when—”
“Oh, ‘filthy lucre’, is it? Despicable, is it? You’d be better off building a shack in the hills and living on bread and water, and singing:
“A squalid shack and you,
That’s my idea of heaven…
“But when you run out of ‘filthy lucre’, don’t come running to me; I won’t be giving you any…”
“I don’t think I’ve troubled you much on that score.”
“So far, thank God, you haven’t, but it might happen if you give up working. Love too takes money – those fancy clothes, and all those other expenses… Oh yes, that’s love for you, when you’re twenty! Now that’s what I call despicable – so despicable, absolutely no use!”
“So when is it useful, Uncle? When you’re forty?”
“I don’t know what love is like at forty, but at thirty-nine…”
“Like your own love?”
“Yes, if you like, like mine.”
“That is to say, none at all…”
“How would you know?”
“Are you suggesting you’re capable of loving?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a man, aren’t I? And am I eighty years old? It’s just that if I love, I love sensibly: I don’t forget myself, and don’t flail my arms or knock things over.”
“Sensible love! Some love that! – which doesn’t forget itself for an instant, and keeps itself in check—” Alexander remarked derisively.
“Wild, animal love,” Pyotr Ivanych broke in, “is unbridled, but sensible love knows how to keep itself in check, otherwise it’s not love…”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s an abomination – as you would put it.”
“You – love!” Alexander retorted in disbelief. “You make me laugh.”
Pyotr Ivanych went on writing in silence.
“Then who is she, Uncle?” asked Alexander.
“You would like to know?”
“Yes, I would.”
“My fiancée.”
“Your fi… fiancée!” Alexander could hardly get the word out of his mouth, as he leapt up and approached his uncle.
“Don’t come any closer, Alexander, and turn off that tap!” Pyotr Ivanych snapped, seeing his nephew’s eyes widening, and swiftly moved various objects closer to himself for protection – busts, figurines, timepieces and an inkstand.
“You mean you’re getting married?” Alexander asked, no less amazed.
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“But you’re so calm! There you are, writing letters to Moscow, talking about everything else, going to your factory, and even lecturing me with diabolical frigidity about love itself!”
“‘Diabolical frigidity’ – that’s a new one. Where the Devil lives it’s actually pretty hot, so I’m told. And why are you looking at me with that weird expression?”
“You – getting married?”
“What’s so surprising about that?” asked Pyotr Ivanych, putting down his pen.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s so surprising’? You’re getting married – and not a word to me!”
“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask your permission.”
“It’s not a matter of asking permission, but I ought to have known. My own uncle is getting married, and I know nothing about it – you didn’t even tell me.”
“Well, I’ve just told you.”
“Only because the subject happened to come up.”
“I do my best to be relevant at all times.”
“No, the point is that I should have been the first to hear your good news; you know that I love you and want to share your joy…”
“I’m totally averse to sharing – especially when it comes to marriage.”
“Well, you know what, Uncle?” Alexander said eagerly. “Perhaps… No, I can’t hide it from you… I’m not like you, I’ll tell you everything…”
“No, Alexander, I don’t have time now. If you’ve got a new story, why not save it for tomorrow.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I may be… close to the same happiness…”
“What’s that?” said Pyotr Ivanych, his interest piqued. “Now you’ve made me curious…”
“Ah, so you’re curious? In that case, I’ll keep you guessing. I won’t tell you.”
Pyotr Ivanych, quite unmoved, calmly proceeded to pick up the package, put the letter in it and began to seal it.
“I too may be getting married!” Alexander spoke straight into his uncle’s ear.
Pyotr Ivanych stopped sealing his letter and gave him an unusually stern look.
“Turn the tap off, Alexander!” he said.
“Joke away as much as you like, Uncle, but I’m not joking. I’m going to ask Mummy’s permission.”
“You… get married!”
“What about it?”
“At your age!”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“And you think that’s the right time? Only peasants get married at that age, and that’s only when they need someone to do the housework.”
“So, as you see it, just because I’m in love with a young woman, and it’s possible for us to marry, it doesn’t mean that I should…”
“I’m advising you not to marry a woman you’re in love with un
der any circumstances.”
“Well, Uncle, that’s quite a new one, I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“There’s quite a lot of things you haven’t heard!”
“I’ve always thought that people should never get married without love.”
“Marriage is one thing, and love is quite another matter,” said Pyotr Ivanych.
“So what should marriage be based on, some kind of cost accounting?”
“No, not cost accounting: more like taking account of – and it’s not just money that you should take account of. A man is meant to live in the company of women; even you will find yourself figuring things out when it comes to marriage: searching, making choices from among the women you meet…”
“Searching, choosing!” Alexander repeated in amazement.
“Yes, choosing; and it’s for that very reason that I’m advising you not to marry when you’re in love. Love passes: it’s a well-worn, banal truth.”
“It’s an outrageous lie, a vile calumny!”
“Right now there’s no convincing you, but you’ll see when you’re older; for now just remember what I’m telling you. I can only repeat, love will pass, and that woman who once appeared to you ideal and perfection itself may turn out to be far from perfect, and there will be nothing you can do. Love blinds you to the lack of those qualities a woman should possess. When the time comes and you find yourself choosing – yes, you will be coldly calculating whether the woman in question possesses those qualities you want in a wife, and that’s where the crucial ‘accounting’ comes in. And if you succeed in finding a woman like this, you will always be pleased with her because she possesses precisely the qualities you wanted. In this way, you will grow closer and closer, and eventually the relationship will become—”
“Love?” asked Alexander.
“Yes… you become accustomed to each other.”
“But to marry dispassionately, without the poetry of love, without ardour, just weighing the pros and cons, what’s the point?”
The Same Old Story Page 10
