War And Peace

‘It’s Pe . . . Petya . . . Gug-gug-go on in . . . She’s c-calling . . .’ And sobbing like a child, he tottered over to a chair on his feeble legs, and all but collapsed on to it, burying his face in his hands.

This acted like a sudden electric shock running right through Natasha’s body. Her heart lurched with a terrible searing pain. She was struck by a feeling of terrible anguish; something seemed to give way inside her, leaving her for dead. But the pain was immediately followed by a feeling of release from the repressive forces that had taken over her life. One look at her father, one ghastly, raucous scream from her mother heard through the door, and she instantly forgot herself and her own sorrows.

She ran over to her father, but with a feeble hand he motioned her towards her mother’s door. Princess Marya came out, ashen-faced, jaw trembling, and said something as she took Natasha by the hand. Natasha saw nothing and heard nothing. She hurried through the doorway, stopped for a moment as if she was fighting something down and then ran over to her mother.

The countess was sprawling stiffly and awkwardly across a low chair, beating her head against the wall. Sonya and some of the maids were holding her by the arms.

‘Natasha, Natasha!’ the countess was screaming. ‘It’s not true, not true . . . it’s all lies . . . Natasha!’ she screamed, pushing the maids away. ‘Go away, the lot of you. It’s not true! Dead? . . . ha, ha, ha! . . . It’s not true! . . .’

Natasha knelt down in front of the chair, bent over her mother, gave her a hug, lifted her up with a remarkable display of strength, turned her face up, and held her close.

‘Mamma! . . . Sweetheart! . . . I’m here, darling Mamma . . .’ she whispered on and on, without stopping.

She wouldn’t let her mother go. Gently she struggled with her, asked for a cushion and a drink of water, unfastening her mother’s dress and tearing it looser. ‘Listen, my sweet darling . . . my dear, lovely mamma . . .’ she whispered on and on, kissing her head, her hands, her face. She could feel floods of helpless tears streaming down her face, tickling her nose and cheeks.

The countess squeezed her daughter’s hand, closed her eyes, and calmed down for a moment. Then suddenly she sat up in one rapid, unnatural movement, stared round blankly, caught sight of Natasha and hugged her head with all the strength she could muster. Natasha’s face winced with pain as her mother turned it towards her, and gave her a long, searching look.

‘Natasha, you do love me, don’t you?’ she said confidingly in a gentle whisper. ‘Natasha, you won’t let me down, will you? You’ll tell me the truth?’

Natasha was looking at her with tears in her eyes, and the expression on her face was a simple plea for forgiveness and love.

‘My dear lovely mamma . . .’ she repeated over and over again, concentrating all the strength of her love to find some way to relieve her mother of some of the grief that was crushing her.

And once again her mother, caught up in a hopeless struggle with reality, refused to believe that she could still be alive while her beloved little boy had been killed just as he was blossoming into life, ran away from reality and took refuge in irrationality.

Natasha would never remember how she spent that day and night, and the following day and the following night. She never went to sleep or left her mother’s side. Natasha’s love, patient and persistent as it was, brought no explanation or consolation, but as it enfolded the countess on all sides, with every passing second it lured her back to the land of the living.

On the third night the countess calmed down a little, and Natasha closed her eyes, propping her head up on the arm of the chair. The bed creaked. Natasha opened her eyes. The countess was sitting up in bed, talking softly.

‘I’m so glad you’ve come back. You must be tired. Would you like some tea?’ Natasha went over to her. ‘You’re a handsome boy now, quite the young man,’ the countess went on, taking her daughter’s hand.

‘Mamma, what are you talking about?’

‘Natasha, he’s gone. He’s not coming back.’

And now, hugging her daughter, the countess at last gave way to tears.

CHAPTER 3

Princess Marya delayed her departure. Sonya and the count tried to take over from Natasha, but it was beyond them. They could see that she was the only person who could keep her mother from maniacal despair. For three weeks Natasha never left her mother’s side. She stayed in her room and slept in a chair, saw that she ate and drank, and talked to her continually. She kept on talking because her tender, loving voice was the only thing that could soothe the countess.