Without protest, she sat down and did as he asked. Blushing slightly, she struck some chords and in nervous anticipation stared straight at him.
“Where did you go, Alexander Fyodorych?” asked her mother as she returned to her seat.
“I wanted to speak to Nadezhda Alexandrovna about, er… literature,” he replied.
“Well, speak to her, speak to her; indeed, it’s a long time since you two have spoken.”
He lowered his voice. “Just give me a straight and honest answer to one question, and no further explanations will be necessary… Don’t you love me any more?”
“Quelle idée!”* she replied in her embarrassment. “You know how much maman and I have always valued your friendship, and how pleased we always were to…”
Aduyev looked at her and thought: “Is this really the capricious but sincere child that she was – that mischievous, frisky child? How quickly she learnt to dissemble! How quickly these feminine instincts developed in her. Were those endearing caprices really nothing but the seeds of hypocrisy and womanly wiles? And even without my uncle’s tutelage, how swiftly she turned into a woman! And she learnt it all at the Count’s school in a matter of a couple of months. Oh Uncle, how inexorably right you were!”
“Listen,” he said in a tone of voice which suddenly ripped the mask of pretence from her face, “and let’s leave your mother out of it – go back for a moment to the Nadenka you used to be when you loved me a little… and give me a straight answer; I need to know – and God knows I need to know!”
She kept silent, placed a different piece of music on her stand and concentrated on practising a difficult passage.
“Very well, I’ll change the question,” Aduyev continued. “Has someone – I won’t say who – taken my place in your heart?”
She spent a long time adjusting her lamp, without replying.
“Answer me, Nadezhda Alexandrovna: one word from you will relieve me of my torment, and you of the necessity of an awkward explanation.”
“For God’s sake, stop it! What do you want me to tell you? I have nothing to say,” she said, turning away from him.
Someone else might have been content with that reply and have realized that pursuing the matter further would have been a waste of time. He would have understood everything from that unspoken distress which was written on her face and revealed in her movements. But Aduyev was not content and continued sadistically to torment his victim, and was driven by a kind of savage, desperate need to drain his cup to the last drop.
“No,” he said, “end this torture today; doubts, each one darker than the last, have been preying on my mind and ripping my heart to shreds. I’m at the end of my tether, and my chest is ready to burst from the pressure… I have no way of confirming my suspicions; you have to settle the matter yourself; otherwise I will never have a moment’s peace of mind.”
He looked at her, waiting for an answer. She still did not speak.
“Have some pity!” he began. “Take a look at me; do I look like myself? I frighten everyone, they don’t recognize me… everyone pities me, you alone…”
He was right. There was a wild glitter in his eyes. He looked terrible, pale, his brow was beaded with sweat.
She cast a furtive glance at him, a look which contained a spark of something resembling regret. She even took his hand, but at once released it with a sigh and remained silent.
“Well?” he asked.
“Leave me in peace!” she said in anguish. “You’re torturing me with your questions…”
“I’m begging you, for the love of God!” he said. “End it all with one word… what good does it do to keep it to yourself? I’m still keeping a forlorn hope alive, and I won’t give up. I will come to you every single day, pale and distraught… I’ll importune you to tears. If you bar me from your house, I’ll prowl around under your windows, I’ll meet you at the theatre, in the street, everywhere like an apparition, like a memento mori. All this is foolish, even ridiculous, if anyone is in the mood for laughing, but I’m in pain! You don’t know what passion is, or what it can lead to! Pray God that you never find out! So what’s the use of resisting? Isn’t it much better for you to speak here and now?”
“So what exactly is it that you are asking me?” said Nadenka, leaning back in her chair. “I’m totally confused… my mind is befogged…”
Convulsively she pressed her hand to her head, and immediately withdrew it.
“I am asking you if anyone else has replaced me in your heart. All you need to say is yes or no, and that will settle it – it won’t take long!”
She wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to do so and, lowering her eyes, began to hit one key on the piano. Clearly she was in the throes of a fierce internal struggle. “Oh God!” she exclaimed in anguish. Aduyev mopped his brow with his handkerchief.
“Yes or no?” he repeated with bated breath.
Several seconds went by.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes!” Nadenka whispered barely audibly – and then, leaning right over the piano, started banging out some chords as if in a trance.
That “yes” was almost as soundless as a sigh, but it deafened Aduyev. It was as if his heart had been ripped out of him, and his legs gave way under him. He lowered himself onto a chair by the piano and sat in silence.
Nadenka glanced at him fearfully. He gave her a blank look.
“Alexander Fyodorych!” her mother cried out from her room. “Which ear is ringing?”
He didn’t answer.
“Maman is asking you something,” said Nadenka.
“What?”
“Which ear is ringing?” her mother cried out. “Tell me quick!”
“Both!” he replied bleakly.
“You’re not cooperating! It’s the left ear! I was trying to guess whether the Count would be coming today.”
“The Count!” exclaimed Aduyev.
“Forgive me!” pleaded Nadenka, rushing to his side. “I don’t understand myself either. It all just somehow happened in spite of myself… I don’t know how… I couldn’t deceive you…”
“I’ll keep my word, Nadezhda Alexandrovna,” he replied, “I won’t utter a word of recrimination. I thank you for your sincerity… What you’ve done today is truly great. Hard as it was for me to hear that ‘yes’, it was much harder for you to say it… Goodbye; you will never see me again; it’s the one thing I can offer you as a reward for your sincerity… but the Count, the Count!”
Tight-lipped, he made for the door.
“But,” he said, turning towards her, “where will all this lead you? The Count won’t marry you; do you know what his intentions are?”
“No, I don’t!” Nadenka replied, shaking her head sadly.
“My God, how blinded you have been!” said Alexander, horrified.
“He can’t possibly have bad intentions…” she replied in a weak voice.
“Take care of yourself, Nadezhda Alexandrovna!”
He took her hand, kissed it; his steps were faltering as he left the room. He was a sorry sight. Nadenka stood where she was without moving.
“Why aren’t you playing, Nadenka?” her mother asked after a few minutes.
Nadenka awoke as if from a troubled sleep and gave a sigh.
“I’m just going to, maman,” she replied and, turning her head pensively a little to one side, began to run her fingers tentatively over the keys. Her fingers were trembling. Clearly, her conscience was troubling her, and she was assailed by the doubts aroused by the words “Take care of yourself” that had been thrown at her.
When the Count arrived, she was taciturn and withdrawn; there was an element of constraint in her demeanour. On the pretext of a headache, she made an early exit and went to her room. That evening it seemed to her that life had turned bitter.
At
the bottom of the stairs, Aduyev’s strength suddenly failed him, and he sat down on the bottom step, covered his eyes with a handkerchief and started to sob noisily, but without tears. At that moment, the porter happened to be passing through the hall, and he stopped and listened.
“Marfa, oh Marfa!” he called, heading towards his grimy door. “Come here and listen, someone is howling like some animal. I thought it was our dog which had broken its chain, but no it wasn’t.”
“You’re right, it isn’t!” she agreed, listening intently. “What the hell can it be?”
“Run and fetch the lamp – it’s hanging behind the stove there!”
Marfa came back with the lamp.
“Still howling?” she asked.
“Yes! Is it some burglar who’s sneaked in?”
“Who’s there?” asked the porter.
No answer.
“Who’s there?” Marfa repeated.
The howling continued. They both burst in. Aduyev hurried out.
“Oh, it’s some gentleman!” said Marfa, watching him leave. “What on earth gave you the idea that it was a burglar howling in the hallway of someone’s house?”
“Yes, well he must have been drunk!”
“Oh, an even better idea!” Marfa retorted. “You think everyone is like you? Not everyone howls when they’re drunk, the way you do.”
“Oh, so you think he was just hungry, is that right?” retorted the porter in his annoyance.
“What!” said Marfa, looking at him and not knowing what to say. “How should I know? Maybe he dropped some money or something…”
They both bent down and, using the lamp, began to scan every inch of the floor.
“Dropped something!” grumbled the porter. “Nothing can have been dropped here. The staircase is clean, and it’s stone: you could even see a needle lying there… dropped indeed! We would have heard a noise if something had dropped. It would have made a tinkling sound if it had hit the stonework, and he would have picked it up. No way anything could have been dropped here. No, you can be sure a type like that would be more likely to put in his pocket. But drop something? We know those crooks. So he dropped something – but show me where?”
So they spent a long time crawling around the floor looking for money someone had lost.
Finally the porter sighed and said: “No, there’s nothing!” Then he snuffed out the candle and, after squeezing the wick between two fingers, wiped them on his coat.
Chapter 6
That same night at about midnight, when Pyotr Ivanych, carrying a book and a candle in one hand and the skirt of his dressing gown in the other, was on his way from his study to his bedroom to sleep, his valet announced that Alexander Fyodorych wanted to see him.
Pyotr Ivanych frowned, thought for a moment and said calmly, “Ask him to wait in the study; I’ll join him in a moment.”
“How are you, Alexander?” he greeted his nephew on entering. “Haven’t seen you for quite a while. There’s no chance of catching you during the day – and all of a sudden you turn up here at night! Why so late? And what’s wrong? You don’t look at all yourself.”
Alexander, without uttering a word, collapsed into an armchair in a state of total exhaustion. Pyotr Ivanych regarded him with curiosity.
Alexander sighed.
“Aren’t you well?” Pyotr Ivanych asked with concern.
“Yes, I am,” Alexander replied in a weak voice, “I move, I eat, I drink, so I must be well.”
“You shouldn’t joke about it: you should see a doctor.”
“You’re not the first to tell me that, but no doctor, and no opodeldoc is going to help me; my illness is not physical.”
“Then what’s the matter? Been wiped out gambling? Or lost some money another way?” Pyotr Ivanych enquired with keen interest.
“You can’t possibly imagine anyone having troubles unconnected with money,” replied Alexander, trying to smile.
“What troubles can there possibly be, if they don’t cost a brass farthing, like the troubles you sometimes have?”
“That’s precisely it; so now you know what’s troubling me.”
“You call that trouble? When everything is going well for you at home? I know this from the letters which your mother treats me to every month. And as for the office, that situation can’t have got worse than it was already; they’ve promoted one of your juniors over you – nothing could be worse than that! You say that you’re in good health, that you haven’t lost any money or gambled any away… that’s the important thing – any other troubles are easily dealt with; what I expect to hear next is about love and all that nonsense, I think…”
“Yes, it’s love; but wouldn’t you like to know what happened? Perhaps, when you hear it, you won’t make so light of it, but will be horrified…”
“Very well, tell me; it’s been a long time since I was last horrified,” said Pyotr Ivanych with a smile, and sat down. “In any case, it’s not difficult to guess what happened: no doubt you were duped…”
Alexander leapt up from his seat, thought of saying something but didn’t say it, and sat down again.
“So, it’s the truth then? You see, I told you so, but you wouldn’t have it; it was: ‘Oh no, that’s impossible’!”
“Could I have felt it coming?” said Alexander. “After everything…”
“It’s not a matter of feeling anything, but of foresight, or rather knowing – and, of course, acting accordingly.”
“How can you discuss it so rationally and calmly, Uncle, when I…” said Alexander.
“But what’s that to me?”
“Oh, I forgot, the whole city can be burnt to the ground – it’s all the same to you.”
“Are you kidding?! What about the factory?”
“You make a joke of it, but my suffering is no joke; I’m in a bad way – really sick.”
“Do you really think that you’ve got so thin because of love? Shame on you! No, you have been sick, and now you’re on the mend – and about time too! What is no joke is that this nonsense has been dragging on for a year and a half now. If it had gone on much longer I myself might have started believing in eternal and unswerving love.”
“Uncle!” said Alexander. “Have some pity: right now I’m going through hell.”
“Well, what of it?”
Alexander moved his chair closer to the desk, and his uncle began to move the inkwell, paperweight and everything else away from his nephew.
“He comes at midnight,” he thought, “‘going through hell’… He’s certain to smash something.”
“I won’t be getting any consolation from you, and I’m not asking for any,” Alexander began. “I’m just asking for your help as an uncle, a member of my family… I seem like a fool to you, am I right?”
“Yes – if you weren’t so pitiful.”
“Oh, so that’s where the pity comes in?”
“Very much so. You don’t think I’m made of wood, do you? A nice lad, intelligent, well bred, reduced to such a state over nothing, over some nonsense!”
“Then show me that you have some pity for me!”
“How? You tell me that you have no need for money.”
“Money again! Oh, if only my misfortune were a matter of a lack of money, I would bless my fate!”
“Don’t say that!” said Pyotr Ivanych in all seriousness. “You’re young, and here you are blessing your fate instead of cursing it. In the past, I have cursed my fate more than once – yes, me!”
“Please hear me out…”
“Are you going to be long, Alexander?” asked his uncle.
“Yes, I need your undivided attention, why do you ask?”
“Well, the thing is, I want some supper. I was about to go to bed without it, but now if we’re going to be sitting here for a long time, then let’s have som
e supper and a bottle of wine, and then you can tell me your story.”
“You mean you can eat supper?”
“Absolutely; and you mean you won’t?”
“Eat supper! You won’t be able to swallow a thing either, when you know that this is a matter of life and death.”
“Life and death?” his uncle repeated. “Yes, well that’s very important, of course, but why don’t we give it a try? Who knows, we may be able to swallow a few morsels.”
He rang the bell, and his valet entered. “Find out,” he told him, “what there is for supper, and bring a bottle of Lafite – the one with the green label.”
The valet left the room.
“Uncle! You’re in no mood to listen to my tale of woe,” said Alexander, picking up his hat, “I’d better come back tomorrow…”
“No, no, it’s no problem,” Pyotr Ivanych insisted, holding him back by the arm, “I’m always in the same mood. If you come back tomorrow, you’re just as likely to find me having breakfast – or even worse, busy with something. Better to settle the matter here and now. Supper won’t interfere with that. I’ll be more likely to give you the necessary attention and understand. Business doesn’t thrive on an empty belly.”
Supper was served.
“Now, Alexander, let’s have it!” said Pyotr Ivanych.
“I really don’t want anything to eat!” said Alexander impatiently, shrugging his shoulders and watching his uncle busy himself with the supper.
“Well, at least have a glass of wine; wine can’t hurt!”
Alexander shook his head.
“Well, take a cigar, and tell me all about it; I’ll be listening with both ears,” said Pyotr Ivanych, and started eating.
“Do you know Count Novinsky?” said Alexander after a short pause.
“Count Platon?”
The Same Old Story Page 17
