'It's a matter of disposition, dcar. If someone isn't disposed to plumpness—like me, say—no aniount of food makes any diffcrcnce. But your hat's sopping wct, dcar.'
'Never nind, it'll dry.'
Once again Nadezhda saw the white-clad, French-spcaking strollers on the promenade, and ag.iin felt happiness vaguely stirring within hcr as she dimly remcmbcred some huge ballroom where shc had once danced—or had she dreamt it? And something whispcrcd from thc depths of her being in blurred, muted toncs that shc was a pctty, vulgar, worthless, insignificamt woman.
Stopping by her gate, Mary Bityugov asked Nadezhda to come in and sit down.
'Come in, dear,' she pleaded, looking anxiously at Nadezhda—and expecting her to refuse, with any luck.
'I'd love to,' Nadezhda agrccd. 'You know I like visiting you.'
She went in, and Mary asked hcr to sit down. She gavc her coffec, fed her on milk rolls, then showcd her snapshots of her former charges— the Garatynsky girls, who were married now. She also displayed Katya's and Kostya's exaiination marks. They were excellent, but to make thent seem better still she sighed about how difficult school work was nowadays.
She made her guest welcome—yet pitied her, while worrying lest her presence have an adverse effect on Kostya's and Katya's morals. She was glad that her Nicodemus was not at home. All men fell in love with women of that typc, she thonght, and so Nadczhda might adversely affect Mr. Bityugov too.
While talking to her guest, Mary Bityugov kept remembering that they were going picnicking that evening, and that Von Koren had particularly asked her not to mention the fact to the 'baboons'—to Layevsky and Nadezhda, that is. But she accidentally let it out, and blushed to the roots of her hair.
'I do hope you'll come,' she said awkwardly.
VI
They had arranged to drive about five miles out of town on the road south and stop by the inn at the junction of two streams, Black Brook and Yellow Brook, where they would cook a fish stew. They left just after five o'clock, Samoylenko and Layevsky leading the way in a cabriolet followed by Mary Bityugov, Nadezhda, Katya and Kostya irt a carriage dra-wn by three horses—they had the picnic basket and crockery. Thc next vehicle bore Inspector Kirilin and young Ach- mianov—son of the shopkeeper to whom Nadezhda owed the three hundred roubles. On thc bench opposite thcm, his fect tucked under- neath him, cringcd Nicodcmus Bityugov, a dappcr little person with his hair brushed over the temples. Von Koren and the deacon brought up the rcar, and the deacon had a basket of fish at his feet.
'Drive on the r-r-right, can't you?' Samoylenko shouted at the top of his voice whencver they encountered a native cart or an Abkha.zian on his donkey.
'In two years, when I'vc got the resourccs and people togethcr, I'll set off on my expedition,' Von Koren told the deacon. Tll follow thc coast from Vladivostok to thc Bcring Straits, thcn go on w the mouth of the Yenisey. We'll make a map, study wild life, conduct detailed gcographic.al, anthropological and ethnographical investiga- tions. Whethcr you comc along or not is up to you.'
'I can't,' the deacon said.
'\Vhy not?'
'I'm not my o^ mastcr, I'm marricd.'
'Your wife will let you go—we'll see she's looked after. Or better still, why not persuade hcr to become a niin as a matter of social duty? Then you could be a monk and join the expedition in that capacity. I can fix it.'
The deacon did not answer.
'How's your theology? Pretty good?' asked the zoologist.
'Anvthing but.'
'H'm. I can't give you any wrinkles in that line myself, not being much vcrsed in the subject. You make out a list of the books you need, and I'll scnd thcm from St. Petersburg ne.xt winter. You'll also need to rcad missionaries' memoirs—thcy've thrown up quite a fcw good ethnologists and oricntal linguists. You'll find it easier to tackle thc job whcn you're familiar with thcir approach. Now, thcrc's no need to wastc time whilc you're waiting for the books. Come round to my pbce—wc'll srudy the compass, and do metcorology. It's all essential stutf.'
'Very well then,' muttcred the deacon and laughcd. 'I asked for a place in the midlands, and my unclc, who's a supefintcndcnt pricst, has promised to help me. If I go with you I'll have troubled him for nothing.'
'I can't undcrstand thi.s shilly-shallying. As an ordinary. dcacon, obliged to conduct scrvice only on Sundays and saints' days and to rest from his labours at other times, you'll be just the same in tcn ycars' time—plus whiskers and a beard, maybe—whereas the expedition will make another man of you ten years from now . . . one enriched by knowing that he's achieved a thing or two!'
From the ladies' carriage shrieks ofhorror and delight were heard. The vehicles were now on a road scoopcd out of a sheer cliff, and all had the sensation of careering along a shelf tacked to a high wall. The carriages seemed ready to fall into the gorge any moment. To their right spread the sea, on their left was a rough brown wall with black blotches, red veins and creeping roots. From above gazed frizzy conifers as if in fear and curiosity. A minute later they were shrieking and laughing again as they had to drive under a huge, over-hanging rock.
'I don't know what the hell I'm doing here,' said Layevsky. 'This is so stupid and trivial. I ought to go back north, break free, get away. But I'm taking part in this imbecile picnic instead, heaven knows why.'
'Now, just look at that view,' said Samoylenko when the carriages had made a left turn, to reveal Yellow Brook Valley where the brook itself flashed—yellow, muddied, demented.
'I see nothing good about it, Alexander,' answered Layevsky. 'To keep on gushing about scenery is only to reveal the poverty of your own imagination. Now, compared to the fruits of my imagination, all these ditches and rocks are no more than a load of trash.'
The carriages were already skirtiP.g the brook. Gradually the tower- ing banks converged, and the valley narrowed, looming canyon-like ahead of them. They were passing a great crag assembled by nature from huge rocks exerting on each other pressure so fantastic that the mere sight always drew a grunt from Samoylcnko. The superb, gloomy mountainside was criss-crossed by narrow crevasses and chines exhaling an air of damp and mystery on passers-by. Through clefts loomed other mountains, brown, pink and mauve, hazy or bathed in brilliance. Passing the gullies, they sometimes heard water cascading from a height and splashing on the rocks.
'Bloody mountains,' sighed Layevsky. 'What a bore.'
At the point where Black Brook fell into Yellow, where iiik-black water stained yellow and fought it, there stood, away from the road, Kerbalay's Tatar inn with a Russian flag aloft and chalked signboard: 'Good Inn'. Ncar by was a small garden with a wattle fence. It contained tables and benches, and from a wretched thorn thicket ascendcd a lone cypress, beautiful and dark.
K,erbalay, a small, agile Tatar, stood in the road, blue-shirted and white-aproncd. Hc clutched his stomach and made a dccp obeisance to the approaching carriages, flashing his white teeth in a brilliant grin.
'Hallo, Kerbalay, old man,' shoutcd Samoylenko. 'We're going on a bit farther. You bring a samovar and some chairs, will you ? And look slippy!'
Kerbalay nodded his shaven head and muttered. Only those in the last carriage could make out the words: 'There's trout today, General.'
'Then let's have 'em,' said Von Korcn.
The carriages stopped about ĥvc hundred yards past the inn. SamoyIenko picked a small meadow dotted with stones for sitting on. Felled by a storm, a tree lay there with matted roots exposed and dry yellow pine-needlcs. A rickety woodcn bridge crossed the brook, and on the far bank just opposite there stood a little shack on four low posts—a barn for drying maizc, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. A laddcr lcd downwn from the door.
What struck them fmst was that there seemcd no way out of the place. On all sides mountains loomcd glowering whcrever onc lookcd, and from thc inn and dark cypress evcning shadows swiftly advanced, making Black Brook's narrow, twisted gorgc seem narrower still and the mountains tower yet higher. The brook gurgled, cicadas kept up their ceaSelcss chatter.