Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

It is true, she thought. This is not love. I do not love Anton, but, oh, the feel of him when he takes me in his arms, the smell of his hair, the hunger in his eyes, his lips his hands… that I do love. It drives me to do mad things, like tonight when we were onstage and I wanted to use my tongue, put it in his mouth and give myself to him in front of everybody. I know that I have become obsessed. I am obsessed by him, by his youth and by the feelings that he has awoken in me, knowing that Vasili will not, cannot, do the same. This is the way I can feel alive and I both hate it and want it at the same time. Of course I must give up Anton, of course I must, but I know also that this will be the last chance for me to feel the joy of living, to be held in arms other than my own and to be taken.

Then why haven’t you given yourself to him already? she asked herself as she began applying her skin crème. Isn’t it because you are too scared to do so? You claim that it’s because you want to keep your “honour”, that you won’t take the final step and betray Vasili by committing adultery, but haven’t you betrayed him already by seducing his assistant? No, what you are afraid of is losing Vasili’s income and his pension and your home and your respectable name and all the things that you disparage. You have turned your bed into a shallow grave and all that can happen now is that years will pass and Vasili will become older and eventually infirm and you will become older too and your bed-grave will become deeper until you are well and truly buried. And then you will understand the true cost of your dishonesty because you will know you did not have the courage to take the very last opportunity life offered you to feel alive and whole and fulfilled.

“I mustn’t think like that!” said Yeliena out loud.

Picking up her hairbrush, she began savagely to brush out her hair.