Fifty-Two Stories

“And both of them, husband and wife, tried to make me eat and drink more. From certain small details, for instance, from the way the two of them made coffee together, and the way they understood each other at half a word, I was able to conclude that they lived peacefully, happily, and were glad of their guest. After dinner they played piano four hands, then it grew dark and I went home. It was the beginning of spring. After that I spent the whole summer without leaving Sofyino, and had no time even to think about town, but the memory of the slender blond woman stayed with me all those days. I didn’t think about her, but it was as if her light shadow lay on my soul.

“In late autumn there was a charity performance in town. I went into the governor’s box (where I had been invited during the intermission), I look—there next to the governor’s wife is Anna Alexeevna, and again the same irresistible, striking impression of beauty and sweet, tender eyes, and the same feeling of closeness.

“We sat next to each other, then walked in the foyer.

“ ‘You’ve grown thinner,’ she said. ‘Have you been ill?’

“ ‘Yes. I caught a chill in my shoulder, and I sleep poorly in rainy weather.’

“ ‘You have a listless look. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, livelier. You were animated then and talked a lot, you were very interesting, and, I confess, I was even a bit taken with you. For some reason you’ve often come back to my memory over the summer, and today, as I was getting ready for the theater, I had a feeling I would see you.’

“And she laughed.

“ ‘But today you have a listless look,’ she repeated. ‘That ages you.’

“The next day I had lunch at the Luganoviches’; after lunch they went to their dacha to make arrangements for the winter, and I went with them. I also came back to town with them, and at midnight had tea with them in a quiet, family atmosphere, with the fireplace burning and the young mother frequently going to see if her little girl was asleep. And after that, each time I came to town, I never failed to visit the Luganoviches. They got used to me, and I got used to them. I usually came in without being announced, like one of the family.

“ ‘Who’s there?’ the drawn-out voice I found so beautiful would reach me from the inner rooms.

“ ‘It’s Pavel Konstantinych,’ the maid or nanny would reply.

“Anna Alexeevna would come out to me with a preoccupied look and ask each time:

“ ‘Why haven’t you come for so long? Has anything happened?’

“Her gaze, the graceful, refined hand she held out to me, her everyday dress, hairdo, voice, steps, made the impression on me each time of something new, unusual in my life, and important. We would talk for a long time, and be silent for a long time, each thinking our own thoughts, or else she would play the piano for me. If there was no one home, I stayed and waited, talked with the nanny, played with the child, or lay down on the Turkish divan in the study and read the newspaper, and when Anna Alexeevna came back, I met her in the front hall, took all her purchases from her, and, for some reason, I carried those purchases each time with such love, such triumph, like a little boy.

“There’s a proverb: a peasant woman had no troubles, so she bought a pig. The Luganoviches had no troubles, so they befriended me. If I did not come to town for a long time, it meant I was sick or something had happened to me, and they both worried greatly. They worried that I, an educated man, with a knowledge of languages, instead of occupying myself with studies or literary work, lived in a village, ran around like a squirrel on a wheel, worked so much, and was always left without a kopeck. It seemed to them that I suffered, and if I talked, laughed, ate, it was only so as to hide my suffering, and even in cheerful moments, when all was well with me, I sensed their searching eyes on me. They were especially touching when things actually became hard for me, when I was pursued by some creditor, or had no money for an urgent payment; the two of them, husband and wife, would whisper by the window, then he would come to me and say with an earnest look:

“ ‘If you’re in need of money right now, Pavel Konstantinovich, my wife and I beg you not to be embarrassed and to take it from us.’

“And his ears would turn red from nervousness. It also happened that, having whispered by the window in the same way, he would come to me with red ears and say:

“ ‘My wife and I insist that you accept this gift from us.’

“And he would give me cuff links, a cigarette case, or a lamp, and in exchange I would send them game, butter, and flowers from the village. Incidentally, they were both well-to-do people. In the beginning I often borrowed money and was none too discriminating, I took wherever I could, but no power could force me to borrow from the Luganoviches. Though why talk about that!