“You mean, I’m supposed to come here every day, no matter what?”
“Yes, no matter what!”
“But why?”
“Why! Why!” She looked at him mournfully, repeating the words “Why! Why!”
He looked at her. What was all this? Tears, consternation, joy and reproaches? She was pale, a little thinner, her eyes reddened.
“So that’s it! And so soon!” thought Alexander. “I didn’t expect it so soon!” Then he laughed out loud.
“Why? You ask. Listen!” she said. “Tomorrow I must talk to you; I can’t today.” Her eyes flashed with a kind of determination. Apparently she was preparing to say something important, but at that moment her father came up to them.
“Until tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow, I must talk to you; my heart is too full right now… You will come tomorrow? Do you hear? You won’t forget us? You won’t drop us?…” And she ran off without waiting for an answer.
Her father gave Aduyev, and then his daughter, a searching look and shook his head. Alexander watched her departing figure. What he felt was a kind of mixture of regret and anger with himself for inadvertently putting her in such a position; the blood rushed not to his heart, but to his head.
“She loves me,” he said to himself on his way home. “My God! How tiresome! How absurd! Now I can’t even go there – and it’s the place with the best fishing… so annoying!”
Meanwhile, deep down, it seemed, he wasn’t really as dissatisfied as all that with the situation, and he cheered up and chatted with Kostyakov all the way home.
His imagination obligingly, and as if deliberately, painted for him a full-length portrait of Liza with her generous shoulders and her slim waist – not to mention her small foot. A strange sensation stirred within him, a shudder once again ran through his body, but fizzled out before reaching his heart. He analysed the sensation through and through.
“You have to be an animal,” he muttered to himself, “for a thought like that to enter your mind… Oh! those bare shoulders, that bust, that… small foot… to take advantage of her trust, her inexperience… to betray that trust, yes, to betray, and then what? The same boredom, not to mention pangs of conscience – and what for? No, no, I won’t let myself, I won’t do it to her… I’m strong enough! I feel I have enough strength of character, enough honour within me… I will not fall so low… I will not seduce her.”
Liza waited for him all day with a thrill of pleasurable anticipation, but after a while her heart fell, her confidence ebbed: she felt miserable, without understanding the reason, and almost stopped hoping that Alexander would come. But when Alexander had not arrived by the time they had arranged to meet, her impatience gave way to a feeling of unbearable despair, and with the last ray of sunshine, all hope disappeared. She burst into tears, sobbing bitterly.
The next day, she came to herself, and was cheerful the whole morning, but towards evening her heart began to ache even more, torn between hope and fear. Again no one came.
It was the same on the third and fourth days. But hope still drew her to the riverbank. It took only a boat to appear in the distance or for a couple of human shadows to dart briefly along the riverbank for her to be stirred into a state of joyous anticipation, only to end up depleted by the burden of tension. But when she saw that it was not them in the boat, and that the shadows were not theirs, her head would fall in bitter disappointment onto her breast, and the weight of her despair would grow even heavier. But only a minute later, a sneaking hope would whisper to her a specious but comforting excuse for their delay, and once again her heart would start beating with anticipation. But Alexander was taking his time, deliberately so, it seemed.
Finally, at a certain moment when, sitting under a tree and sick with anxiety, she had totally given up hope, she suddenly heard a rustling sound; she turned round and, shivering with fearful joy, found Alexander standing before her with his arms folded.
Her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she stretched out her hands helplessly towards him. He took her hand and, also in the grip of strong emotion, devoured her face greedily with his eyes.
“You’ve grown thinner!” he said quietly. “Are you ill?”
She shuddered.
“You’ve been away for so long,” she said.
“Have you been waiting for me?”
“Have I?” she said with renewed vigour. “If only you knew!” And tightened her grip on his hands.
“I came to say goodbye to you!” he said, and stood there, watching to see how she would react.
She looked at him in fear and disbelief.
“It can’t be true,” she said.
“It’s true!” he replied.
“Listen to me!” she began suddenly, looking nervously around her. “Don’t leave, for the love of God, don’t leave! I’m going to tell you a secret… Daddy can see us here from the windows – come with me to our summer house in the garden… it faces the fields, I’ll take you there.”
They started walking. Alexander could not take his eyes off her shoulders and her slim waist, and began to feel that feverish shiver again.
“What can be so important?” he wondered as he followed her. “After all, I was just… Anyway, I might just as well take a look and see what it’s like there – that summer house… her father did invite me, so I could have gone quite legitimately and openly… But I’m no seducer, I swear, anything but, and I’ll prove it. After all, I came here precisely to tell her that I was going… although I’m not actually going anywhere! Get thee behind me, Satan!” It was just as if the imp from Krylov’s fable had suddenly appeared from behind the stove* and whispered to him, “But why did you have to come here to tell her that? There was absolutely no need. You could just as well have stayed at home, and in a couple of weeks she would have forgotten all about you…”
But to Alexander it seemed that he was acting nobly by appearing on the actual scene of his heroic act of self-abnegation to fight with temptation face to face.
His first trophy from this victory of his better self was the kiss he stole from Liza, and then putting his arms around her waist and saying that he would never leave her, and that he had just made that up in order to test her, and to find out if she had any feeling for him. Finally, to complete his victory, he promised to return the next day to meet her at the same time in the summer house. On his way home, he started thinking about what he had done, and turned hot and cold by turns. He was horrified and could hardly believe himself, and made up his mind not to return the next day – and turned up earlier than had been agreed.
That was in August. It was already getting dark. Alexander had promised to be there at nine o’clock, but arrived at eight, alone and without his fishing rod. He made his way furtively, like a thief, glancing around nervously, and then breaking into a sprint. But someone had beaten him to it and was sitting on the divan in a dark corner, out of breath from hurrying. Alexander had been ambushed. He opened the door quietly, with his heart in his mouth, and tiptoed his way to the divan, and silently reached for the hand – of Liza’s father. Startled, he jumped up and made for the door, but the old man grabbed him by the hem of his coat, and pulled him down onto the divan beside him.
“What are you doing here, young fellow?” he asked.
“I was… er… going fishing,” Alexander mumbled, hardly able to move his lips. His teeth were chattering. There was nothing at all fearsome about the old man, but Alexander, like any thief caught red-handed, was shivering feverishly.
“Fishing!” the old man repeated derisively. “Do you know what ‘fishing in troubled waters’ means? I’ve been watching you for some time now, and have finally got to know you for what you are; Liza, of course, I’ve known since she was in her cradle, a good girl and trusting, while you are nothing but a dangerous rogue…”
Alexander attempted to stand up, but the old man held him by the arm.
&n
bsp; “Now, young fellow, no need to get angry! You pretended you were unhappy and made a pretence of avoiding Liza, but you led her on, made her trust you just in order to take advantage of her… are you proud of that? What would you call that kind of behaviour?”
“I swear on my honour that I did not foresee the consequences,” said Alexander in a tone of deep conviction. “I had no intention of…”
The old man was silent for a few moments.
“Well, maybe that’s what it was!” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t out of love, but just for your own amusement that you befuddled the poor girl, without even knowing what would come of it yourself; if it worked, fine! If not, nothing lost! There are a lot of these young bloods in St Petersburg. Do you know how they are dealt with?”
Alexander sat with his head bowed. He didn’t have it in him to defend himself.
“At first, I thought better of you, but I was mistaken, sorely mistaken. My word! How meek and mild you pretended to be! Thank God I found you out in time!… Now listen! There is no time to lose; before you know it, the foolish girl will be here to meet you. I was watching you yesterday. I don’t want her to see us here together; you must leave and, of course, never come back. She will think that you’ve let her down, and that will be a lesson to her. You must make a point of never coming here again, so find another place to go fishing. Otherwise… Now clear out while the going’s good… Think yourself lucky that Liza can still look me in the eye; I’ve been keeping a close watch on her the whole day, otherwise you would not be leaving by the same route… Goodbye!”
Alexander tried to say something, but the old man opened the door and practically shoved him out.
Alexander left, but in what state of mind I’ll let the reader judge for himself – that is if you’re not too squeamish about putting yourself in Alexander’s place for a minute.
My hero’s eyes were brimming with tears – tears of shame, tears of rage against himself, tears of despair…
“Why am I alive?” he asked aloud. “My life is disgusting, deadly! I’ll… I’ll… But no! If I wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation… I will have the courage to put an end to this useless, shameful existence…”
He strode quickly to the river. It was black. Long, fantastic ugly shapes were skimming its waves. At the bank where Alexander was standing, the water was shallow. “This is not the place to do away with myself,” he said contemptuously, and headed for the bridge about a hundred yards away. Alexander leant over the railings in the middle of the bridge and looked at the water. He mentally bade farewell to life, sent his sighs to his mother and his blessing to his aunt, and even his forgiveness to Nadenka. Tears were streaming down his cheeks from the powerful emotions gripping him… He covered his face with his hands… There’s no telling what he might have done if the bridge hadn’t suddenly started to sway under his feet. He looked around. “My God!” He was on the brink of an abyss. His grave yawned beneath him; half of the bridge had broken off, and was drifting away… barges were passing by; one more minute – and it was goodbye! Mustering all his strength, he made a desperate leap… onto the other side. He landed, gasping for breath, and clutched at his heart.
“Got a fright, did you, sir?” the watchman asked him.
“What do you mean? Didn’t you see? I nearly fell right into the water,” Alexander replied, his voice trembling.
“God help us! You never know what may happen next,” said the watchman, yawning. “Why, only the other summer, a young gentleman did fall in.”
Alexander made his way home, still clutching his heart. From time to time, he stopped to look at the river and the now divided bridge, and then quickly turned away with a shudder and walked on all the faster.
Meanwhile Liza, dressed as attractively as possible and accompanied by neither father nor nanny, went to sit under the tree every evening until late at night.
As the days went by, night fell earlier and earlier, but she continued her waiting; there was never a sign of the two friends.
Autumn came. The riverbank was strewn with yellowing leaves shed by the trees. The green of the foliage had faded; the river had turned the colour of lead, and the sky was always grey. A cold wind blew, accompanied by constant drizzle. The river and its banks were deserted. The sound of lively singing, laughter and animated conversation was no longer to be heard. Boats and barges no longer journeyed back and forth. Not a single insect was left to rustle in the grass or a single bird to chirp in the trees. Jackdaws and crows heightened the sense of desolation with their cries, and fish had stopped biting.
Liza continued to wait; she still needed to talk to Alexander to tell him her secret. She still sat on the bench under the tree in her wadded jacket. She had grown thin, and her eyes were sunken; she wore a scarf wrapped around her face, and that is how her father found her one day.
“Let’s go home; no more sitting here!” he said, frowning and shivering with cold. “Look at you – your hands have turned blue; you’re frozen stiff. Liza, do you hear me? Let’s go!”
“Where to?”
“Home; we’re moving to the city today.”
“Why?” she asked in surprise.
“What do you mean, ‘why’? It’s autumn; and we’re the only ones left here in our dacha.”
“But, really,” she said, “it will be so nice here in the winter; do let’s stay!”
“What on earth has got into you? That’s enough! Let’s go!”
“Wait!” she begged him. “The good days will come back again.”
“Listen!” her father replied, patting her cheek and pointing to the spot where the two friends had come to fish. “They’re not coming back…”
“Not… coming back?” she repeated. She was crestfallen, but from the way she said it, it could have been taken as a question. She offered her hand to her father, and quietly, her head bowed, set off home, looking back from time to time.
Aduyev and Kostyakov had long since resumed fishing, but somewhere on the other side of the river.
Chapter 5
Little by little Alexander succeeded in forgetting Liza, as well as that unpleasant encounter with her father. He had recovered his peace of mind and was in good spirits, and often laughed at Kostyakov’s feeble jokes. He was amused by his companion’s view of life. They had even made plans to build a cabin on the river, a little farther out, where the fishing was better, and live out the rest of their days there. Alexander was once again spiritually mired in the mud of narrow horizons and the banalities of everyday life. But fate had remained vigilant, and prevented him from being sucked under.
In the autumn he received a letter from his aunt with an urgent plea to escort her to a concert, since his uncle was unwell. There was to be a performance by an outstanding artist of European renown.
“What? A concert,” said Alexander, seriously alarmed. “A concert – with that same old crowd and all that glitter, trumpery, dissembling and pretence… No, I won’t go.”
“I bet that’s going to cost you five roubles into the bargain,” said Kostyakov, who happened to be with him at the time.
“The tickets cost fifteen roubles, as a matter of fact,” said Alexander, “but I would willingly pay fifty roubles to get out of it.”
“Fifteen!” Kostyakov exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What crooks! May they rot in hell! They come here to fleece us, to rob us blind. Damned scroungers! Don’t go, Alexander Fyodorych! Forget it! Now, if it were something worth having, something you could put on the table, something to eat, that would be another thing, but just to sit and listen – and for fifteen roubles! Why, you could buy a foal for that money!”
“Sometimes, people pay even more just to spend a pleasant evening,” Alexander remarked.
“Spend a pleasant evening! Well, if that’s the case, why don’t we go to the bathhouse? We’ll have a great time! Whenever I don’t know what to do with mys
elf, that’s where I go – it’s terrific! You go at six o’clock and leave at twelve; in between you warm yourself up, have a scrub down. Sometimes, you get to meet interesting people: a clergyman, a merchant, an officer; you get to talk about trade, or maybe the last trump… and you wish you didn’t have to leave. Some people simply don’t know the right place to go in the evening for a good time!”
But Alexander went anyway. With a sigh, he dragged out last year’s tailcoat and pulled on white gloves.
“Five roubles for the gloves – that makes twenty, doesn’t it?” Kostyakov calculated, who was helping Aduyev to dress. “Twenty roubles, just like that, thrown away on a single evening – just to listen to something, for God’s sake!”
Alexander had got out of the habit of dressing formally. In the morning, he went to the office in his comfortable civil-service uniform. In the evening, he changed into his old frock coat or his overcoat. He was not comfortable in a tailcoat. In one place it was too tight, in another place it wasn’t tight enough, and his neck was too hot in the satin stock.
His aunt was very pleased to see him, and felt grateful that he had taken the trouble to emerge for once from his seclusion, but not a word was uttered about what kind of life he was leading or what he was doing.
Having found a seat for Lizaveta in the auditorium, Aduyev was leaning against a column behind some broad-shouldered music lover, and started to feel bored. He discreetly covered up his yawn behind his hand, but had hardly closed his mouth before a thunderous burst of applause greeted the appearance of the artist. Alexander didn’t even bother to look at him.
The orchestra began to play.. After a few minutes, the sound of the music began to die away. The last few notes were joined by some other barely audible sounds, lively and playful to start with, and suggestive of children at play; the only voices which could be heard were those of children playing some noisy game. Then the voices grew more harmonious and mature, suggesting a spirit of carefree youth, bold and full of life and energy. Next, the voices slowed their tempo, became softer, as if conveying the tender outpouring of love, an intimate conversation, and as they died away, gradually faded into a passionate whisper and dwindled into silence…
The Same Old Story Page 33
