'Dearest Volodya,' she mutters, trembling with joy. 'What brings you here?'
'I want to settle down here for good,' he tells her. 'I've resigned and I want to try my luck as a civilian—want to put down some roots.
Bcsides, it's time my son wcnt to school, he's a big boy now. I've made it up with my wife, you know.'
Olga asked where she was.
'She's at a hotel with thc boy while I look for somewhere to live.'
'Goodness me, then why not take my house, dear? It would be ideal for you! Oh, for heaven's sake, I wouldn't charge you anything.'
Overcome by emotion, Olga burst out crying again. 'You can live here and I'll manage in the cottage. Goodness, how marvellous!'
Next day they were already painting the roof and wrutew:ishing the walls, while Olga strode up and down the yard, arms akimbo, seeing to everything. Hcr old smile shone on her face, but she was like a new woman—she seemed as fresh as if she had woken up after a long sleep. The vct's wife arrived—a thin, plain woman with short hair and a petulant expression—bringing little Sasha. He was small for his age (nine), he was chubby, he had bright blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. And no sooner had that boy sct foot in the yard than he was off chasing the cat. His cheerful, merry laughter rang out.
'Is that your cat, Aunty ?' he asked Olga. 'When it has babies, may we have one, please? Mummy's so scared of mice.'
Olga talked to him and gave him tea. She suddenly fclt warm inside, and a delicious faintncss came over her, just as if he was her own son. When he sat in the dining-room of an evening doing his homework she would gaze at him with loving pity.
'My darling, my little beauty, my child,' she would whisper. 'What a clever little, pale little fcllow you are.'
'An island,' he read out, 'is a piecc of land entirely surrounded by water.'
'An island is a piece of land—' she repeated. This, after so many years' silence and empty-headedness, was her first confidently expressed opmion.
Yes, she now had opinions of her own. At supper she would tell Sasha's parents how hard schoolchildren had to work these days. Better, even so, to have a classical than a modern education because the classical curriculum opens all doors. Doctor, engineer . .. you can take your pick.
After Sasha had started going to school his mother went to her sister's in Kharkov and did not return. His father was off every day inspecting cattle, and there wcre times when he was away from home for three days on cnd. They werc completely neglccting Sasha, Olga felt—he wasn't wantcd in the house, he was dying of starvation. So
she moved him to her cottage and fixed him up with his little room.
Now Sasha has been living in the cottage for six months. Every mo^^g Olga goes to his room and finds him sound asleep with his hand beneath his cheek—not breathing, apparently. It seems a pity to wake him up.
'Get up, Sasha darling,' she says sadly. 'Time for school.'
He gets up, dresses,'says his prayers, sits down to breakfast. He drinks three glasses of tea, he eats two large rolls, half a French loafand butter. He is still not quite awake, and so is in rather a bad mood.
'That fable, Sasha—' says Olga. 'You didn't learn it properly.' She looks at him as though she is seeing him off on a long jo^ney. 'Oh, you are such a handful! You m«ĵf try and learn, dear, you must do what teacher says.'
'Oh, don't bother me, please!' replies Sasha.
Then he starts off down the street to schooclass="underline" a small boy in a large cap, satchel on back.. Olga follows him silently.
'Sasha, dear,' she calls.
He looks round and she puts a date or caramel in his hand. When they turn off into the school road he feels ashamed of being followed by a tall, stout woman. He looks rotmd.
'Go home, AWlty,' says he. 'I'll make my o"wn way now.'
She stands and watches without taking her eyes off him Witil he disappears up the school drive. How she loves him! None ofher earlier attac^nents has been so profound, never before has her innermost being surrendered as wholeheartedly, as ^welfishly, as joyfully as it does now that her maternal feelings are increasingly welling up inside her. For this boy—no relative at all—for his dimpled cheeks, for his cap she would give her whole life, give it gladly, with tears ofecstasy. Why? Who knows?
After taking Sasha to school she goes home quietly—contented, at peace, overflowing with love. Her face glows—she has been looking yotmger these last six months—and she smiles. It is a pleasure to see her.
'Hallo, Olga, angel,' people say when they meet her. 'How are you. angel?'
'They do work schoolchildren so hard these days,' she says in the market. 'No, seriously—the First Form had to learn a whole fable by heart yesterday. And do a Latin translation. S^ra too. It's too much for a little lad.'
What she says about teachers, lessons and textbooks ... it's all pure Sasha!
At about half past two they lunch together, and in the evening they do Sasha's homework together, weeping. Putting him to bed, she makes the sign of the cross over him at great length, whispering a prayer. Then she goes to bed herself, and she dreams of that future— vague, far distant—when Sasha will take his degree and become a doctor or engineer . .. when he will own his own big house, his horses and carriage, when he will marry and have children.
Still thinking these same thoughts, she falls asleep. From her closed eyes tears course down her cheeks, and the black cat lies purring by her side.
Then, suddenly, there is a loud knock on the garden gate and Olga wakes up, too scared to breathe, her heart pounding. Half a minute passes, there is a second knock.
'A telegram from Kharkov,' thinks she, trembling all over. 'Sasha's mother wants him in Kharkov. Oh, goodness me!'
She is in despair. Her head, hands and feet are cold, and she feels as if shc's the most ^^appy person in the world. But another minute passes, voices are heard. It's the vet coming back from his club.
'Oh, thank God,' she thinks.
Her anxiety gradually subsides and she can relax again. She lies down and thinks ofSasha: deep in slumber in the next room, and occasionally talking in his sleep.
'You watch out!' he says. 'You go away! Don't you pick quarrels with me!'
THE RUSSIAN MASTER
I
With a cIatter of hooves on the woodcn floor three fine, expensive horses werc brought out of the stable: Count Nulin, the black, and then the grey, Giant, with his sister Mayka. WhiIe saddling Giant oId Shelestov spoke to his daughter Masha.
'Come on, Marie Godefroi, up you get and off with you!'
Masha SheIestov was the youngest in the famiIy. She was eightecn, but they stiIl thought of her as a chiId, calling her by the pet names Manya and Manyusya. And when the circus had come to town she had enjoyed it so mdch that they had nicknamed her Maric Godefroi .ifter the famous equestrienne.
'Off we go !' she shouted, mounting Giant.
Her sister Varya got on Mayka, Nikitin on Count Nulin, the officers mounted their own horses, and the long, picturesque cavalcade amblcd out of the yard in singIe file with a gIeam of officers' white tunics and ladies' black riding habits.
As they mounted and rode into the strcet Nikitin noticed that Masha had eyes for him aIone, looking anxiousIy at him and Count Nulin.
'HoId him tight, Mr. Nikitin. Don't let him shy, he's onIy playing
Whether by accident or because her Giant was a great friend of his Count Nulin, she rode beside Nikitin all the time, as she had the day before and the day before that, while he looked at her smalI, graceful form as she sat the proud grey, at her fine profile and the wholIy unbecoming chimney-pot hat which seemed to age her. Enchanted, enthralled, enraptured, he looked and Iistened without taking much in.