I said that deliberately. In fact I used to lock her in because I didn’t trust her. I had a feeling she might give me the slip. For the time being I decided to err on the side of caution. Yelena was silent, and I locked her in this time too.
I knew a publisher who for the past two years or more had been compiling an anthology in several volumes. I often used to get work from him whenever I needed money urgently. He paid well and on the nail. I went to see him and managed to obtain an advance of twenty-five roubles on the understanding that I would deliver an article within a week. The idea was also to make some free time for work on my novel. I often did this when I was right up against it.
Having obtained the money, I set off for the market, where I soon found an old rag trader I knew. I gave her Yelena’s approximate measurements, and in no time at all she handed me a bright cotton frock in excellent condition, laundered hardly more than once and at bargain price. While I was about it I also picked out a neckerchief. As I was settling up, it occurred to me that Yelena would surely need some kind of a fur coat, a small cape or something similar. The weather was cold and she had nothing at all suitable. But I put this purchase off till another time. Yelena was so touchy and proud. God only knows how she would accept this frock, as hard as I tried to choose something as plain and unpretentious as possible – in fact the most ordinary-looking one available. However, I did also end up buying two pairs of cotton stockings and a pair of woollen ones. These I could give her under the pretext that she was ill and it was cold in the room. She also needed some underwear. But I left all that till I got to know her a little better. Instead, I bought a set of second-hand bed hangings – indispensable items, which Yelena was likely to appreciate greatly.
I returned home with all this at about one o’clock in the afternoon. My front-door lock opened almost without a sound, so that Yelena didn’t immediately hear me come in. I noticed that she was standing at my table, going though my books and papers. When she heard me, she quickly shut the book she was reading and moved away from the table, blushing all over. I glanced at the book – it was my first novel, published as a separate volume with my name on the cover.
“Somebody knocked while you were away,” she remarked in a mocking tone, as if to say, “What did you have to lock me in for?”
“I wonder if it was the doctor,” I said. “Did you answer, Yelena?”
“No.”
I left it at that, took the bundle, unpacked it and brought out the frock.
“Here you are, my dear Yelena,” I said, approaching her. “You can’t go around in rags like you’ve got on now. I bought you a frock for everyday wear, the cheapest one I could find, so you needn’t have any worries. It only cost one rouble twenty. I hope you like it.”
I put down the frock beside her. She flushed and for a time looked at me wide-eyed.
She was extremely surprised, and at the same time, it seemed, terribly embarrassed. But a tender and gentle glow appeared in her eyes. On seeing that she was not going to say anything, I turned away towards the table. She clearly couldn’t get over what I had done. But she made an effort to control herself and sat, eyes cast down.
My head was aching and spinning more than ever. The fresh air had not done me any good whatsoever. Meanwhile, it was high time to go to Natasha’s. My concern for her had not abated since the day before – on the contrary: it had intensified. Suddenly I thought I heard Yelena call out to me. I turned towards her.
“When you go out again, don’t lock me in,” she said, looking away and with one finger picking the beading of the sofa as if fully engrossed in her task. “I’m not going to run away from you.”
“I don’t mind, Yelena. But supposing some stranger comes? You never know who it might be!”
“So why don’t you leave me the key? I’ll simply lock myself in from inside. And if someone knocks, I’ll say, ‘He’s out.’” And she looked at me slyly as though to say, “You see how simple it all is!”
“Who does your laundry?” she asked suddenly, before I managed to reply.
“There’s a woman here in the house.”
“I can launder clothes. And where did you get the food from yesterday?”
“From an eating house.”
“I can cook too. I’ll do your meals.”
“That’ll do, Yelena! What can you cook? None of this is getting us anywhere…”
Yelena went silent and bowed her head. Evidently she was hurt by my remark. At least ten minutes went by; neither of us spoke.
“Soup,” she suddenly said, without raising her head.
“What are you talking about? What soup?” I asked in surprise.
“I can cook soup. I made soup for Mummy when she was ill. And I used to go to the market too.”
“You see, Yelena; you see how proud you are,” I said, approaching her and sitting down next to her on the settee. “I’m trying to be as understanding with you as possible. You’re alone now, without your family, destitute. I want to help you. You’d have helped me likewise if I’d been unwell. But you don’t want to see it that way, and it stops you accepting even the simplest present from me. All you can immediately think of is getting the money to pay me back, as though I were Bubnova or something and would hold it against you. If that’s so, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Yelena.”
She did not reply; her lips were quivering. It looked as if she was about to say something, but she took a grip on herself and said nothing. I stood up to go to Natasha’s. On this occasion I left Yelena the key, asking her, if someone came and knocked, to call out first to check who was there. I was convinced something untoward had happened to Natasha, and that she was keeping it back from me all this time, as she had already done on a number of previous occasions. At any rate, I decided to look in only for a minute, so as not to irritate her by my solicitude.
That is exactly what happened. She again greeted me with an unwelcoming, sharp expression on her face. I should have left straight away, but my legs were buckling under me.
“I dropped in just for a minute, Natasha,” I began, “to see if you could advise me what to do with my little house guest.” And I quickly told her everything about Yelena. Natasha listened in silence.
“I don’t know what to advise you, Vanya,” she replied. “It’s pretty evident that she’s a very odd creature indeed. Perhaps she’s been hurt and unnerved. At least give her time to recover. Do you want my parents to look after her?”
“She keeps saying she won’t leave me. Anyway, God only knows if she’ll be welcome there, so I really don’t know. Well, my dear, how are you? Yesterday you seemed a bit under the weather!” I added hesitantly.
“Yes… I’ve still got a headache today,” she replied absent-mindedly. “Have you seen either of my parents?”
“No. I’m going over tomorrow. You know it’s Saturday tomorrow…”
“So what?”
“The Prince is coming in the evening…”
“What of it? I haven’t forgotten.”
“I just thought I’d mention…”
She stopped directly in front of me and gave me a long hard look. Her gaze exuded a resolve and intransigence that were nevertheless feverish and frantic.
“You know what, Vanya?” she said, “Do me a favour, leave me now; you’re only making things worse for me…”
I got up and stared at her in utter bewilderment.
“My dear Natasha! What’s the matter with you? What’s happened?” I exclaimed in alarm.
“Nothing’s happened! You’ll find out everything tomorrow, everything, but now I want to be left alone. Do you hear me, Vanya? Just go. I can’t bear it, I just can’t bear to look at you, Vanya!”
“But at least tell me…”
“You’ll find out everything tomorrow, everything! Oh my God! Just go, will you!”
I went out. I was so shocke
d, I hardly knew what I was doing. Mavra rushed after me into the passage.
“Still angry, is she?” she asked. “I hardly dare go near her.”
“What’s come over her?”
“Small wonder, it’s been more than two days since lover boy has been anywhere near this place!”
“More than two days, you say?” I asked in astonishment. “But yesterday she said herself he’d been here in the morning and wanted to come back the same night…”
“A likely story! He never came in the morning either! I told you, he hasn’t shown up for over two days. Did she really tell you he was here in the morning?”
“She did indeed.”
“Well,” Mavra said thoughtfully, “she must have taken it really badly if she can’t admit even to you that he didn’t come. We’ve a right one there, I must say.”
“What’s going on?” I exclaimed.
“You may well ask. I certainly haven’t got the foggiest what to do with her,” Mavra continued, spreading out her arms. “She wanted me to go to him yesterday, and twice she called me back. Won’t even talk to me today. Couldn’t you go and see him? I really daren’t leave her now.”
I was beside myself as I rushed down the stairs.
“Will you be back by nightfall?” Mavra called out after me.
“We’ll see,” I replied on my way out. “I might just look in to ask you how things are. That’s if I’m still alive myself.”
I really felt as though the world was collapsing around my ears.
10
I headed straight for alyosha’s. He was living at his father’s place on Malaya Morskaya Street. The Prince had a fairly large apartment, despite the fact that he lived on his own. Alyosha occupied two splendid rooms in this apartment. I had rarely been to see him before – only once if I remember rightly. On the other hand, he used to look in at my place more often, especially at first, during the early stages of his relationship with Natasha.
He was out. I went straight to his rooms and wrote him the following note:
Alyosha, it seems you’ve gone mad. It was only last Tuesday night that your father personally asked Natasha to do you the honour of becoming your wife – a request you were happy to comply with, as witnessed by myself – and therefore you must surely agree your present behaviour is somewhat odd. Do you realize what you’re doing to Natasha? Be that as it may, my note will remind you that your attitude to your wife-to-be is extremely unworthy and inconsiderate. I fully realize that I’ve no right whatever to preach to you, but I couldn’t care less about that.
PS: She knows nothing of this letter, nor was it she who told me about you.
I sealed the note and left it on his table. When questioned, his servant replied that Alexei Petrovich was hardly ever in and that this time too he wasn’t expected till early the next day, before sunrise.
I just about managed to stagger home. My head was spinning, my legs were weak and shaking. The door to my room was not locked. In it I found Nikolai Sergeich Ikhmenev waiting for me. He was sitting at the table in silence and looking at Yelena with curiosity, who was staring back at him with no less curiosity and not uttering a word either. “Well, well,” I thought to myself, “she must strike him as rather odd.”
“There you are, my boy, I’ve been waiting a whole hour for you and, I must admit, I hadn’t expected… to find you like this,” he continued, looking around the room and winking furtively at Yelena. His eyes were filled with astonishment. But on looking at him closer, I noticed he was alarmed and dispirited. He was paler in the face than usual.
“Why don’t you sit down,” he continued with a preoccupied and flustered air, “there’s something I wanted to see you about urgently. But what’s the matter with you? You look awful.”
“I’m not well. I’ve been feeling dizzy since morning.”
“Well, take care, this is no laughing matter. Have you caught a cold?”
“No, it’s simply nerves. I get this sometimes. How about you, are you well?”
“Yes, as well as can be! It’s just that I’m a bit on edge. I want to talk to you. Why don’t you take a seat?”
I moved my chair closer and sat down at the table facing him. Ikhmenev leant across a little and began in a subdued tone, almost a whisper: “Try not to look at her and pretend we’re talking about something unimportant. Who’s the girl anyway?”
“I’ll explain everything later, Nikolai Sergeich. She’s a poor little girl, a complete orphan, granddaughter of that same Smith who used to live here and died in the coffee house.”
“Ah, so he had a granddaughter too! Well, my friend, she’s a funny one and no mistake! All she does is stare! I tell you – if you hadn’t come for another five minutes, I couldn’t have stood it any longer. It was a job to get her to open the door, and so far not a word out of her. She gives me the creeps – a bit weird, isn’t she? So how did she get here? Ah, I get it, probably came to see her granddad, not knowing he was dead.”
“Yes. She was very miserable. The old man remembered her before he died.”
“Hm! Like granddad, like granddaughter. You’ll have to tell me all about it later. Might even be able to help her somehow, in some little way, if she’s so destitute… As for now, my boy, couldn’t you tell her to leave us alone for a while, because I’ve a serious matter to discuss with you?”
“But she’s got nowhere else to go. She lives here.”
I explained the situation to Ikhmenev as best I could in a few words, adding that one could talk in front of her, as she was only a child.
“Well yes… of course, a child. Only, my dear chap, I’m absolutely flabbergasted. She lives with you, does she? God almighty!”
And Ikhmenev glanced at her once more in astonishment. Yelena, sensing that we were talking about her, sat silent, her head bowed, picking with her fingers at the edging of the settee. She had already put on her new frock which turned out to be just right for her. Her hair had been smoothed down with more care than usual, maybe because of the new frock. On the whole, had it not been for the strange wild-eyed obduracy of her gaze, she’d have looked a very comely girl.
“To put it in a nutshell, it’s like this, my boy,” Ikhmenev began again, “it’s a long and serious business…”
He sat, his head bowed, wearing a grave and astute expression on his face, and, in spite of his hurried manner and his “in a nutshell”, was unable to find the words to begin his speech. “What next?” I thought to myself.
“You see, Vanya, I’ve come to ask you for a very big favour. But before that… as I see it, I need to explain certain facts to you… and very tricky they are…”
He cleared his throat and glanced at me; his face flushed. Irritated at his inability to find the right words, he nevertheless pulled himself together. “Well, what’s the use beating about the bush! You know what I mean. The long and the short of it is I’m challenging the Prince to a duel and would ask you to see to the arrangements and be my second.”
I threw myself back in my chair and stared at him in utter bewilderment.
“Well, what are you staring at! I haven’t gone mad, you know.”
“But hang on, Nikolai Sergeich! On what grounds, to what end? And if you ask me, how can this possibly?…”
“Grounds! End!” the old man exclaimed. “A fine kettle of fish!…”
“All right, all right, I know what you’re going to say. But what would be the good of your extravaganza! How could a duel resolve anything? I have to admit, I don’t understand a thing.”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand anything. Listen, the lawsuit’s over. (That is, it will be in the next few days. All that remain are some petty formalities.) I’ve lost the case. I have to pay ten thousand roubles. That’s the judgement of the court. It’s all got to come out of Ikhmenevka. Consequently, the villain can count on getting his money, and I, by giving up
Ikhmenevka, will have paid my dues and shall be a free agent again. It’s at this point I can turn round and say proudly, ‘This is how things stand between us, my dear Prince, you’ve been insulting me for the last two years, you’ve dragged my name and my family’s reputation through the mud, and I had to grin and bear it! I couldn’t have challenged you to a duel then, or you’d have just said, “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? All you want is to kill me to avoid parting with the money that you expect the court will order you to pay me sooner or later! No, let’s first see how the trial goes, then you can go ahead and challenge me.” My dear Prince, the trial’s now over and your money’s safe; consequently there are no more obstacles, so would you mind choosing your weapon?’ That’s the long and the short of it. So, what do you say, am I not at long last entitled to avenge myself for the lot!”
His eyes were flashing. I looked at him in silence for a long time. I wanted to plumb his innermost thoughts.
“Listen, Nikolai Sergeich,” I replied at last, determined to get to the heart of the matter or we would never come to an understanding, “can you be perfectly frank with me?”
“I can,” he replied resolutely.
“So tell me honestly, is it just vengeance which motivates you to throw down the gauntlet, or have you got some other reasons at the back of your mind?”
“Vanya,” he replied, “you know there are certain issues I shan’t permit anyone to touch upon when talking to me, but on this occasion I’m going to make an exception, because you’ve been astute enough to realize at once that we can’t skirt round the matter. Yes, I do have another reason. And it is this – to save my fallen daughter and rescue her from the disaster into which she has been plunged by the latest circumstances.”
“But how will you save her with this duel? That’s the question.”
“By totally queering their pitch. Listen, don’t imagine I’m influenced by some kind of paternal affection or suchlike sloppy sentiments. It’s all utter nonsense! Nobody knows what goes on in my head, you included. My daughter has left me, she left my home to be with her lover, and I tore her out of my heart, tore her out once and for all, that very evening – do you remember? If you saw me shed tears over her portrait, it doesn’t follow that I wish to forgive her. I didn’t forgive her then either. I wept for lost happiness, for hope forlorn, but not for her, not the way she is now. Perhaps I cry and cry often. I’m not embarrassed to admit it, as I’m not embarrassed to admit that I once loved my child more than anything in the world. All this apparently cuts right across what I’m minded to do at present. You might say to me: if that’s so, if you’re indifferent to the fate of the girl whom you no longer regard as your daughter, why then do you meddle in what’s being plotted there? I reply: first, because I don’t want a low and treacherous person to triumph, and second, because of the most ordinary love for a fellow human being. Even if she’s no longer my daughter, she’s still a weak, vulnerable and deluded creature, who is continually being led astray, even to her final ruination. I cannot intervene in this matter directly – but indirectly, by way of a duel, that’s another matter. If I’m killed or my blood is spilt, is she really going to walk across our duelling ground, or perhaps over my dead body, to go to the altar with the son of my murderer – like the daughter of that king* (you remember the book we had that you learnt to read from), who drove her chariot over her father’s body? And finally, if it does come to a duel, our two princes won’t be so keen for the marriage to go ahead anyway. In a word, I don’t want this marriage and shall do everything in my power to prevent it. Do you follow me now?”
Humiliated and Insulted Page 20
