I made some sort of reply, sat her down opposite me and began to contemplate her beauty. For a minute we looked at each other in silence.
‘You’re very pretty, Olga,’ I sighed. ‘It’s even a pity and rather insulting that you’re so pretty!’
‘Why is it a pity?’
‘Because the devil only knows who’s got you in his clutches.’
‘But what more do you want? Aren’t I yours? I’m here, aren’t I?… Now listen, Seryozha. Will you tell me the truth if I ask you?’
‘Of course I’ll tell you the truth.’
‘Would you have married me if I hadn’t married Pyotr Yegorych?’
‘Probably not’ was what I wanted to say, but why pick at a wound which was painful enough and which was tormenting poor Olga’s heart?
‘Of course I would,’ I said in the tone of one speaking the truth. Olya sighed and looked down.
‘What a mistake I made, what a terrible mistake! And what’s worst of all, it can’t be rectified! I can’t divorce him, can I?’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘I don’t understand why I was in such a hurry! We girls are so stupid and empty-headed. There’s no one around to give us a good thrashing! But there’s no going back now and there’s no point in arguing. Neither arguments nor tears will help. Yesterday I cried all night long, Seryozha. There he was… lying next to me… but I was thinking of you and I couldn’t sleep. I even wanted to run away that night – even into the forest and back to Father. Better to live with an insane father than with this… what’s his name?’
‘Having second thoughts about it won’t help, Olya. You should have thought about it then, when you drove with me from Tenevo and were so delighted to be marrying a rich man. But it’s too late now to be practising eloquence…’
‘Too late… then there’s nothing I can do about it!’ Olya said, decisively waving her arm. ‘As long as it gets no worse I can go on living. Goodbye… I must go now.’
I drew Olya to me and showered her face with kisses, as if trying to reward myself for those three lost days. She snuggled up to me like a lamb, warming my face with her hot breath. There was silence.
‘A husband murdered his wife,’ screeched my parrot.
Olya shuddered, freed herself from my embrace and looked at me questioningly.
‘It’s only the parrot, darling,’ I said. ‘Now relax…’
‘A husband murdered his wife!’ Ivan Demyanych repeated.
Olya stood up, silently put on her hat and gave me her hand. Fear was written all over her face.
‘And what if Urbenin finds out?’ she asked, looking at me with wide-open eyes. ‘He’ll kill me!’
‘Rubbish!’ I laughed. ‘I’d be a fine person if I let him kill you! But he’s hardly capable of such an unusual act as murder. You’re leaving? Well, goodbye my child… I shall wait… Tomorrow I’ll be in the forest, near the cottage where you used to live. We’ll meet there.’
After I had seen Olya out and returned to my study I found Polikarp there. He was standing in the middle of the room sternly eyeing me and contemptuously shaking his head.
‘Mind that doesn’t happen here again, Sergey Petrovich,’ he said in the tone of a strict parent. ‘I won’t stand for it!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just what I say. Do you think I didn’t see? I saw everything. She’d better not dare come here! I don’t want any carryings-on here! There’s other places for that.’
I was in the most splendid mood and therefore Polikarp’s spying, his didactic tone, didn’t make me angry. I laughed and dispatched him to the kitchen.
Barely giving me time to collect myself after Olya’s visit, a new visitor arrived. A carriage rattled up to the door of my flat and Polikarp – spitting to each side and muttering oaths – announced the arrival of ‘that damned fellow… may he go to hell!’ – that is, the Count, whom he hated from the bottom of his heart. The Count entered, eyed me tearfully and shook his head.
‘You keep turning your back on me, you don’t want to talk.’
‘I don’t keep turning my back,’ I replied.
‘I was so fond of you, Seryozha, and you… just for some trifle… Why do you have to insult me? Why?’
The Count sat down, sighed and shook his head.
‘Come on, stop playing the fool!’ I said. ‘It’s all right.’
My influence over that weak, frail little man was strong – as strong as my contempt for him. My contemptuous tone didn’t offend him – on the contrary. On hearing my ‘It’s all right’, he leapt up and began embracing me.
‘I’ve brought him with me… he’s waiting in the carriage… do you want him to apologize in person?’
‘Do you know what he’s done wrong?’
‘No.’
‘That’s fine. He can forget the apology, but you must warn him that if anything of the sort happens once again I shan’t merely get mad – I shall take steps!’
‘So, it’s peace then, Seryozha? Excellent! You should have done this ages ago – the devil only knows what you were quarrelling about! Just like two schoolgirls! Oh, by the way, dear chap, I wonder if you’ve… half a glass of vodka? I’m absolutely parched.’
I ordered some vodka. The Count drank two glasses, sprawled out on the sofa and chattered away.
‘I just bumped into Olga, dear chap. Splendid girl! I must tell you – I’m beginning to detest that Urbenin. Which means I’m beginning to fancy Olya. Devilishly pretty! I’m thinking of having a little flirtation with her.’
‘You should keep away from married women!’ I sighed.
‘Come off it, he’s an old man! There’s no harm in pinching Pyotr Yegorych’s wife. She’s too good for him. He’s just like a dog – can’t guzzle himself, so he stops everyone else. Today I shall start my assault and go about it systematically. Such a sweetie! What style, old man! Simply makes you smack your lips!’
The Count drank a third glass and continued:
‘Do you know who else I fancy here? Nadenka, that idiot Kalinin’s daughter. A fiery brunette, pale complexion, with gorgeous eyes – you know the type! I must also cast my line there… I’m giving a party at Whitsun – a musical-vocal-literary party – just so that I can invite her. So, my friend, life’s not too bad here – quite jolly in fact! There’s the social life, women… and… mind if I have a little nap… just a few minutes?’
‘You may. But what about Pshekhotsky in the carriage?’
‘He can wait, damn him! I myself don’t care for him, dear chap.’ The Count raised himself on his elbow and said in a mysterious voice: ‘I’m keeping him only out of necessity… I need him… Well, to hell with him!’
The Count’s elbow gave way and his head flopped onto the cushion. A minute later I could hear snoring.
After the Count left that evening a third visitor arrived – Dr Pavel Ivanovich. He had come to tell me that Nadezhda Nikolayevna wasn’t very well and that she had finally refused him. The poor devil was miserable and resembled a wet hen.
XIV
The poetic month of May went by… lilacs and tulips finished flowering – and with them fate had ordained that the joys of love should also shed their blossoms (despite its sinfulness and pain, love still occasionally afforded sweet minutes that can never be erased from the memory). But there are moments for which one would sacrifice months and years.
One evening in June, after the sun had set but when its broad trail – a crimson and golden strip – still glowed in the distant west, heralding a calm, bright day, I rode Zorka up to the outbuilding where Urbenin lived. That evening a musical soirée was to be held at the Count’s. The guests had already started arriving, but the Count wasn’t at home: he had gone for a ride and had promised to be back very soon. Shortly afterwards, holding my horse by the bridle, I stood at the porch and chatted with Sasha, Urbenin’s little daughter. Urbenin himself was sitting on the steps with his head propped on his fists, peering at the distant prospect through the gates. He was gloomy and answered my questions reluctantly. I left him in peace and turned to Sasha.