“Yes. So, it all happened, what I’m going to tell you now, beyond Krushitsy, at the other end of Siberia, beyond Cossack country, closer to the Chinese border. When we—our Red Army, that is—started approaching the main town of the Whites, this same Komarov the minister put mama and all their family on a special reserved train and had it take them away, because mama was forever frightened and didn’t dare take a step without him.
“And he didn’t even know about me, Komarov didn’t. Didn’t know there was anybody like me in the world. Mama produced me during a long absence and was scared to death that somebody might let it slip to him. He terribly disliked having children around, and shouted and stamped his feet that it was all just filth in the house and a big bother. I can’t stand it, he shouted.
“Well, so, as I was saying, when the Red Army was approaching, mama sent for the signalman’s wife, Marfa, at the Nagornaya junction, three stops away from that town. I’ll explain right away. First the Nizovaya station, then the Nagornaya junction, then the Samsonovsky crossing. I see now how mama got to know the signalman’s wife. I think Marfa came to town to sell vegetables and deliver milk. Yes.
“And I’ll say this. It’s obvious there’s something I don’t know here. I think they tricked mama, told her something else. Described God knows what, it was just temporary, a couple of days, till the turmoil calmed down. And not for me to be in strangers’ hands forever. To be brought up forever. My mama couldn’t have given away her own child like that.
“Well, you know how they do with children. ‘Go to auntie, auntie will give you gingerbread, auntie’s nice, don’t be afraid of auntie.’ And how I cried and thrashed afterwards, how my child’s little heart was wrung, it’s better not to speak of it. I wanted to hang myself, I nearly went out of my mind in childhood. Because I was still little. They must have given Auntie Marfusha money for my keep, a lot of money.
“The farmstead at the post was a rich one, a cow and a horse, well, and of course all sorts of fowl, and a plot for a kitchen garden as big as you like, and free lodgings, needless to say, a signalman’s house, right by the tracks. From our parts below, the train could barely go up, had trouble making the climb, but from your Russian parts it went at high speed, had to put on the brakes. In autumn, when the forest thinned out, you could see the Nagornaya station like on a plate.
“The man himself, Uncle Vassily, I called daddy, peasantlike. He was a jolly and kind man, only much too gullible, and when he was under the influence, he ran off at the mouth—like they say, the hog told the sow, and the sow the whole town. He’d blurt out his whole soul to the first comer.
“But I could never get my tongue to call his wife mother. Whether because I couldn’t forget my own mama, or for some other reason, only this Auntie Marfusha was so scary. Yes. So I called the signalman’s wife Auntie Marfusha.
“Well, time went by. Years passed. How many, I don’t remember. I’d already started to run out to the trains with a flag. To unharness a horse or bring home a cow was no mystery to me. Auntie Marfusha taught me to spin. To say nothing of the cottage. To sweep the floor, to tidy up, or to cook something, to mix the dough, was nothing to me, I could do it all. Ah, yes, I forgot to tell you, I was also nanny to Petenka. Our Petenka had withered legs, he was just three, he lay there and couldn’t walk, so I was nanny to Petenka. And now so many years have gone by and it still gives me shivers, how Auntie Marfusha used to look sideways at my healthy legs, as if to say, why weren’t mine withered, it would be better if mine were withered and not Petenka’s, as if it was my evil eye that had spoiled Petenka, just think, what malice and darkness there are in the world.
“Listen, now, that was all just flowers, as they say, what comes next will make you gasp.
“It was the NEP then, and a thousand rubles were worth a kopeck. Vassily Afanasievich went down with the cow, got two bags of money—kerenki, they were called, ah, no, sorry—lemons, they were called lemons—got drunk, and went sounding off about his riches all over Nagornaya.
“I remember, it was a windy autumn day, the wind tore at the roof and knocked you off your feet, the locomotives couldn’t make it uphill, the wind was so against them. I see an old woman, a wanderer, come down the hill, the wind tearing at her skirt and kerchief.
“The wanderer walks up, groaning, clutching her stomach, asking to come inside. We put her on the bench—ohh, I can’t, she yells, I can’t, it’s stomach cramps, it’s the death of me. And she begs us, take me to the hospital, for Christ’s sake, you’ll be paid, I won’t stint on money. Daddy hitched up Udaloy, put the old woman on the cart, and drove to the zemstvo hospital, ten miles from the railway line.
“After a time, maybe long, maybe short, Auntie Marfusha and I went to bed, we hear Udaloy neighing under the window and our own cart driving into the yard. It was a bit early for that. So. Auntie Marfusha lit a lamp, threw on a bed jacket, and, not waiting for daddy to knock, lifted the latch.
“She lifts the latch, and there’s no daddy on the doorstep, but a stranger, a dark and scary muzhik, and he says: ‘Show me,’ he says, ‘where the money for the cow is. I took care of your husband in the forest,’ he says, ‘but I’ll spare you, woman, if you tell me where the money is. And if you don’t tell, you know what’ll happen, don’t blame me. You’d better not dawdle. I’ve got no time to hang around.’
“Oh, saints alive, dear comrades, what a state we were in, put yourselves in our position! We tremble, more dead than alive, can’t speak from fright, such a horror! First of all, he’s murdered Vassily Afanasievich, he says so, cut him down with an axe. Secondly, we’re alone in the house with a robber, we’ve got a robber here, it’s clear he’s a robber.
“Here, obviously, Auntie Marfusha went right off her head, her heart broke for her husband. But we had to hold out, not show anything.
“Auntie Marfusha started by throwing herself at his feet. Have mercy, she says, don’t destroy us, I have no idea about this money, what are you talking about, it’s the first I hear of it. But the cursed fellow wasn’t so simple as to be handled just by talk. And suddenly the thought popped into her head how to outwit him. ‘Well, all right,’ she says, ‘have it your way. The cash,’ she says, ‘is down below. I’ll open the trapdoor, and you,’ she says, ‘can go down.’ But the devil sees through her cleverness. ‘No,’ he says, ‘it’s your house, you hunt it up. Go yourself,’ he says. ‘Whether it’s down below or on the roof, as long as I get the money. Only,’ he says, ‘remember, don’t try to cheat me, tricks go down bad with me.’
“And she to him: ‘Good heavens, don’t be so suspicious. I’d gladly go, but I’m too clumsy. Better,’ she says, ‘if I stand on the top step and hold the light for you. Don’t be afraid, for your assurance I’ll send my daughter down with you’—me, that is.
“Oh, saints alive, dear comrades, think for yourselves what I felt when I heard that! Well, I thought, that’s it. My eyes went dim, I felt I was falling, my legs gave way under me.
“But again the villain wouldn’t be played for a fool, he looked at the two of us out of the corner of his eye, squinted, twisted his whole mouth and bared his teeth, meaning, there’s no way you’re going to trick me. He saw she didn’t care about me, so I wasn’t her own blood, and he grabbed Petenka with one hand, and with the other opened the trapdoor—‘give me light,’ he says, and with Petenka he goes down the ladder into the cellar.
“And I think Auntie Marfusha was already balmy then, didn’t understand anything, was already touched in the head. As soon as the villain went down below with Petenka, she slammed the lid, that is, the trapdoor, back in place and locked it, and started moving a heavy trunk onto it, nodding to me, help, I can’t do it, it’s too heavy. She moved it, and sat herself down on the trunk, overjoyed, fool that she was. Just as she sat down on the trunk, the robber started shouting from inside, and there was a bang-bang under the floor, meaning you’d better let me out, or I’ll finish off your Petenka right now. We couldn’t make out the words throug
h the thick boards, but the sense wasn’t in the words. He roared worse than a beast of the forest, to put fear into us with his big voice. Yes, he shouts, now it’ll be the end of your Petenka. But she doesn’t understand a thing. She sits and laughs and winks at me. Shout away, every dog has his day, but I’m sitting on the trunk and the key’s clutched in my fist. I try to get at Auntie Marfusha this way and that. I shout in her ear, push her, want to dump her off the trunk. We must open the trapdoor and save Petenka. Too much for me! Could I do anything against her?
“So he beats on the floor, he beats, time goes by, and she sits on the trunk rolling her eyes and doesn’t listen.
“After a while—oh, saints alive, oh, dear saints alive, the things I’ve seen and suffered in my life, but I don’t remember any such horror, all my life long I’ll hear Petenka’s pitiful little voice—Petenka, that angelic little soul, crying and moaning from underground—he just bit him to death, the fiend.
“Well, what am I to do, what am I to do now, I think, what am I to do with the half-crazed old woman and this murderous robber? And time’s going by. I only just thought it when I heard Udaloy neighing outside the window, he was standing there hitched up all the while. Yes. Udaloy neighed as if he wanted to say, come on, Tanyusha, let’s gallop off quickly to some good people and ask for help. I look out, it’s already getting light. Have it your way, Udaloy, I think, thanks for the suggestion—you’re right, let’s run for it. And I only just thought it when, hah, I hear, it’s like somebody’s talking to me again from the forest: ‘Wait, Tanyusha, don’t rush, we’ll handle this matter differently.’ And again I’m not alone in the forest. Like a cock singing out something I knew, a familiar engine whistle called to me from below, I knew this engine by its whistle, it was always standing in Nagornaya under steam, it was called a pusher, to push freight trains up the hill, but this was a mixed train, it went by every night at that time—so I hear the familiar engine calling me from below. I hear it and my heart leaps. Can it be, I think, that I’m out of my mind like Auntie Marfusha, since a living creature and a speechless machine talk to me in clear Russian language?
“Well, why stand thinking, the train was already close, there was no time to think. I grabbed the lantern, because it still wasn’t very light, and rushed like mad to the tracks, swinging the lantern back and forth.
“Well, what more can I say? I stopped the train, thanks to its being slowed down by the wind, well, simply speaking, it was creeping along. I stopped the train, the engineer I knew, he stuck himself out the window of his cabin, asked something; I didn’t hear what he asked on account of the wind. I shout to the engineer, the railway post’s been attacked, there’s been murder and robbery, the robber’s in the house, do something, comrade uncle, we need urgent help. And as I was saying it, Red Army soldiers got out of the cars onto the tracks one after another, it was a military train, the soldiers came down the tracks, said: ‘What’s the matter?’—wondering what the story was, why the train had been stopped in the forest on a steep hill at night.
“They learned about it all, dragged the robber from the cellar, he squealed in a high voice, higher than Petenka’s, have mercy, good people, he said, don’t kill me, I won’t do it again. They dragged him to the tracks, tied his legs and arms to the rails, and ran the train over him alive—lynch law.
“I didn’t go to the house for my clothes, it was so scary. I begged—dear uncles, take me on the train. They took me with them on the train and drove off. Afterwards, it’s no lie, I went around half the world, foreign and our own, with homeless children, I’ve been everywhere. Such freedom, such happiness I got to know, after the woes of my childhood! But, true, there was all sorts of trouble and sin. That was all later, I’ll tell about it some other time. But then a railway worker from the train went to the signalman’s house to take charge of the government property and give orders about Auntie Marfusha, to arrange her life. They say she later died insane in the madhouse. But others say she got better and came out.”
Long after hearing all that, Gordon and Dudorov were silently pacing up and down on the grass. Then a truck arrived, turning awkwardly and cumbersomely from the road into the clearing. The boxes were loaded onto the truck. Gordon said:
“You realize who this linen girl Tanya is?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Evgraf will look after her.” Then, pausing briefly, he added: “It has already been so several times in history. What was conceived as ideal and lofty became coarse and material. So Greece turned into Rome, so the Russian enlightenment turned into the Russian revolution. Take Blok’s ‘We, the children of Russia’s terrible years,’4 and you’ll see the difference in epochs. When Blok said that, it was to be understood in a metaphorical sense, figuratively. The children were not children, but sons, offspring, the intelligentsia, and the terrors were not terrible, but providential, apocalyptic, and those are two different things. But now all that was metaphorical has become literal, and the children are children, and the terrors are terrifying—there lies the difference.”
5
Five or ten years went by, and one quiet summer evening they were sitting again, Gordon and Dudorov, somewhere high up by an open window over the boundless evening Moscow. They were leafing through the notebook of Yuri’s writings put together by Evgraf, which they had read many times and half of which they knew by heart. As they read, they exchanged observations and abandoned themselves to reflections. Midway through their reading it grew dark, they had difficulty making out the print and had to light the lamp.
And Moscow below and in the distance, the native city of the author and of half of what had befallen him, Moscow now seemed to them, not the place of these events, but the main heroine of a long story, which they had reached the end of that evening, with the notebook in their hands.
Though the brightening and liberation they had expected after the war did not come with victory, as had been thought, even so, the portents of freedom were in the air all through the postwar years, constituting their only historical content.
To the aging friends at the window it seemed that this freedom of the soul had come, that precisely on that evening the future had settled down tangibly in the streets below, that they themselves had entered into that future and henceforth found themselves in it. A happy, tender sense of peace about this holy city and about the whole earth, about the participants in this story who had lived till that evening and about their children, filled them and enveloped them in an inaudible music of happiness, which spread far around. And it was as if the book in their hands knew it all and lent their feelings support and confirmation.
Part Seventeen
THE POEMS OF YURI ZHIVAGO
1
Hamlet
The hum dies down. I step out on the stage.
Leaning against a doorpost,
I try to catch the echoes from far off
Of what my age is bringing.
The night’s darkness focuses on me
Thousands of opera glasses.
Abba Father, if only it can be,
Let this cup pass me by.
I love the stubbornness of your intent
And agree to play this role.
But now a different drama’s going on—
Spare me, then, this once.
But the order of the acts has been thought out,
And leads to just one end.
I’m alone, all drowns in pharisaism.
Life is no stroll through a field.
2
March
The sun heats up to the seventh sweat,
And the ravine, gone foolish, rages.
Like the work of a robust barnyard girl,
Spring’s affairs are in full swing.
The snow wastes away with anemia
In the branchwork of impotent blue veins,
But life is steaming in the cowshed,
And the pitchfork’s teeth are the picture of health.
Oh, these nights, these days a
nd nights!
The drumming of drops towards the middle of day,
The dwindling of icicles on the eaves,
The sleepless babbling of the brooks!
Everything wide open, stables and cowshed,
Pigeons peck up oats from the snow,
And the lifegiver and culprit of it all—
Dung—smells of fresh air.
3
Holy Week
Still the gloom of night around.
Still so early in the world,
The stars are countless in the sky,
And each of them as bright as day,
And if the earth were able to,
It would sleep its way through Easter
To the reading of the psalms.
Still the gloom of night around.
So early an hour in the world,
The square lies like eternity
From the crossroads to the corner,
And the light and warmth of dawn
Are still a millennium away.
The earth’s still bare as bare can be,
With nothing to put on at night
To go and swing the bells outside
And there back up the choristers.
And from Great and Holy Thursday
Right to Holy Saturday,
Water bores the riverbanks
Doctor Zhivago Page 63
