Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

He also had recognised that, illogical as it was, Yeliena seemed to be blaming him for her predicament. During dinner she had sat not in her usual place opposite him but in the seat beside him, thereby avoiding the need to look him directly. Her face had looked drawn and haggard, the dark rings under her eyes bearing witness to her lack of sleep. When questioned she had given monosyllabic answers and had been unreceptive to his offer to prescribe a tonic to help her regain her joie de vivre. More effective action was required.

The formulation of apologies did not come easily to the Doctor. As a medical man, he was untrained in either accepting the blame for errors of judgement or expressing regret for the unfortunate consequences of clinical mishaps and oversights. Despite the occasionally fatal consequences from his own misdiagnoses, he had maintained a strict adherence over the years to the code that the expression of regret and the voluntary acceptance of blame were damaging to the standing of his profession and therefore contrary to the interests of his patients. Nevertheless, he was genuinely sorry that the play was causing Yeliena so much distress and conceded that, in some small measure, he might have been unwittingly responsible for her unhappiness. A gentle expression of sympathy, presaged by an apology for having, inadvertently, put her in such an awkward position would, he felt, be the most appropriate solution. Women appreciated apologies as much as they liked receiving flowers.

Dr. Tortsov waited until Yeliena and he were alone after supper before he spoke to her. She had risen as soon as Katya had cleared away their dessert dishes and, pleading a headache, had asked to be excused but he had commanded her to stay and had guided her over to the settee. Sitting beside her, he reached over and took her hand in his.

“Lenochka,” he began, “it appears that I owe you an apology. I am sorry that you were so upset about being asked to act with Modest Tolkach.”

“The damage has been done,” she said tonelessly.

Dr. Tortsov looked down at the hand he was holding. It felt unfamiliar, cold and unresponsive.

“I have asked him, and he has agreed,” he went on, giving her fingers a squeeze of encouragement, “to change roles and play the central character in the second play. His part as the ‘Bear’ will be taken by Anton Ivanovich.”

Yeliena looked at him incredulously and laughed.

“That’s hardly an improvement,” she observed.

“Well, it is a solution,” he reasoned, adding, “you must understand that originally I never had any intention of casting Tolkach to play the ‘Bear’. Such a thing had never occurred to me. He was forced on me at the casting session.”

Yeliena frowned at him, her forehead creased in concentration.

“I must understand that, must I?”

“Well, yes…” he faltered, puzzled by her response.

“I see. So there is one rule for me and one rule for you!” she snapped.

“Lenochka, I don’t…” he began.

“It seems,” she interrupted, “that I have to understand what you have said but you don’t have to understand what I have said. Namely that I never wanted to be in your silly play in the first place, or have anything to do with it. I told you that quite clearly in this very room, yet you chose to ignore me.”

Withdrawing her hand, she stood up and crossed to the hearth. Bending down she picked up the poker and began prodding the fire, sending sparks flying upwards from the glowing half logs.

Dr. Tortsov frowned. Their conversation was not taking the path that he had expected.

“I didn’t think that you were serious,” he confessed.

“Obviously not!” she said hotly. “Obviously what I feel about this situation, or any other situation, is of no account to you. It doesn’t matter to you at all. You just don’t care.”

“That’s not fair, Yeliena,” he replied quietly. Remembering his assistant’s persuasive argument, he added, “I suppose that, as my wife, I naturally expected you to support me not only with my work but also with the play. It doesn’t seem that much to ask.”

“I’m not your property, Vasili, to do with as you wish. Serfdom has been abolished for over forty years.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous!” he muttered.

Slowly she straightened up and turned to face him, the poker held tight in her hand.

“Is that how I appear to you?” she demanded loudly. “I am ridiculous?”

Dr. Tortsov regarded his wife uneasily from the settee. The tone of her voice had become uncharacteristically shrill. He blamed himself for not noticing it sooner. Was she becoming hysteric or could it be something far more serious? As a physician he was unfamiliar with the warning signs of the onset of pathological mania but he recognised that, in his present sedentary position, he would appear weak and vulnerable to her. Casually uncrossing his legs he arose from the settee and walked over to join Yeliena beside the hearth.