Usually after tennis, even if she had done some serious practicing and her muscles were hurting, she had a surge of energy. That surge was not welcome towards the night, but it was slow to subside – she only relaxed completely after she had arrived home, made preparations for the next day, had a shower and drunk some green tea with milk which she had for supper. Then she could go to sleep.
This time, she had done no real practicing and yet, she was in a state of great excitement. It was understandable, though – the whole adventure of her playing with the director was totally out of the ordinary. Things like that did not happen to one every day. She had to think it over. As she was jolting in the underground car, Nina kept turning that remarkable experience in her mind, smiling anew at the amusing episodes. Now Samsonov was brandishing her racket in her little room in the bank. Now they were riding in his car, arriving at the club, getting out onto the court…
The scenes kept flashing in her mind as she entered her apartment, dumped her bag into the wardrobe, got undressed, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. The images were bright, they popped up before her mind’s eye as shots in a movie, but they would not add up to any meaningful total. Nina was in the habit of analyzing everything in her life, and she was proud of her analytical mind, but this time, her mind was being sluggish, dodging its responsibilities, and unwilling to produce any conclusions.
Nina made some green tea. Once again, she pictured herself on the court where Samsonov, in a tight tennis shirt with a price tag dangling from his collar, was jumping about and swinging his racket, sending the ball in the most unexpected directions. Now he stopped, they sat side by side on the bench and had some lemonade. Then she taught him some tennis techniques at the wall, and then… Then she fell, and he caught her. One of his powerful arms was under her shoulders and the other under her thighs draped in a white Lacoste skirt. His face was quite close…
“I like him,” she said aloud.
That was so unexpected that she dropped the milk carton. The milk spilled and made a pool on the table. The pool had the form of a head and seemed to her a likeness of Samsonov – she thought she recognized his high forehead, light hair and massive features.
Frightened, Nina snatched a cloth and wiped the table. But the words had been said, and there was no wiping them away.
The discovery that she had made staggered her so that for a good half hour, she sat motionless, with a cup of green tea in her hand and her eyes fixed on one spot.
Her whole self was burning with indignation. That was out of the question! He was her archenemy – one on whom she was going to take her vengeance. She could swear that she never – not for a second – had thought of him as a man. He was a stud, an unfeeling boor, not at all her type…
Nina named hectically the reasons she could not take a fancy to – or, in fact, any interest in – that man. Those reasons were numerous, and they were solid. They seemed to bear down on one of the scale dishes as a crushing weight. But the scales were in the hands of a woman. Nina had not felt the woman inside herself for such a long time that she believed her dead. As it turned out though, the woman was alive and well – appeared out of nowhere, took hold of the scales and tipped the other dish with her thin finger. All of Nina’s reasons lost their weight at once and soared up.
“You’re in love with him, you fool,” Nina said aloud.
That confession was only witnessed by the cup of tea that she had never drunk.
Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes. Falling in love with her enemy was a horrible, degrading thing. As they say, there is only one step from hate to love. Nina found out that it was true literally, and she had taken that step as she had fallen down on Samsonov’s arms on the court.
She went to bed, but she could not have a wink of sleep – she kept tossing and turning in fever. She was totally unable to understand anything or explain anything, but she felt that her whole being was filling – in fact, had filled already – with some new, alien substance which she could not hope to get rid of and had to live with from then on. She only dozed off towards morning, still undecided as to what to do about her old vengeance and her new love.
Contrary to the conventional wisdom, the morning was no wiser than the night. Nina was in a complete mess. She could not imagine how she was going to arrive at the bank, spend another day rummaging in the papers and, worst of all, see him in the afternoon. What was he going to think of her? Pumping herself with strongest coffee, Nina recalled the events of the previous day – especially his lifting her in his arms… Then an awful thought pierced her. What if he thought that she had stumbled on purpose – that it had been her female play?
That awful thought made her wince. Honest to God, she had not planned any of it. But how could she prove it? He was going to hold her for a cheap flirt. Besides… Nina was struck by another, even more terrible thought. Was she really all that innocent? What if it was the woman inside her, that traitress, that had contrived Nina’s fall?
Nina was so depressed that she was about to skip work – call in sick and stay at home. But what good would that be? Besides, Samsonov might interpret her absence in his own way. No, she had to go to the bank and pretend that nothing had happened. And really, nothing had happened – nothing in the world had changed for anyone but her. What business was it of anyone else’s?
In the bank, she barely made it to the end of the day. She only hoped to sit it out until Samsonov came and then pull through the meeting with him in the ordinary way, without giving herself away.
As was his habit, Samsonov came towards the end of the day. Instead of his usual “Hi”, he said, “Salute to champions!” – and smiled broadly. The rest of their meeting went just the usual way. He sat at the table, propped up his cheek with his fist and did his listening. Nina had done next to nothing that day but, thank heaven, she had a lot of material that she had not had a chance to report to Samsonov before.
She rattled it off hardly understanding what she was saying.
When she was finished, he said, “All right, carry on,” and left.
Once the door was closed after him, Nina buried her face in her hands and wept.
Chapter 2
One writer compared love to an assassin that springs up in an alley in front of a man and a woman, and stabs both with a knife. It was not that way with Nina. Love hit her alone, and rather than stabbing, it hooked her so that there was no getting off that hook.
There was nothing pleasant about that love. If anything, it was a persistent ache in her chest – now stronger, now weaker, it would not cease for whole days, and often whole nights, too.
Nina was unhappy. She tried to grasp her situation, but her thoughts were being wayward, unwilling to focus – they would fly asunder like butterflies every time love stirred in her breast, presenting to her mind’s eye his massive profile and grey eyes. Pavel Mikhailovich, Pasha, Pashen’ka…
Common sense suggested that she should leave Gradbank at once, under any pretext, so as never again to see that big, strong, rough man. The man she loved. That was certain to be hard – perhaps, very hard – but everything was going to pass finally, nobody was going to die as people did not die of love except in novels.
There was another option – she could open up to him. She could take a deep breath and blurt out, “I love you, Pavel Mikhailovich!” Picturing that scene, Nina got horrified. Her love was not a tactful man, to put it mildly. He was capable of mocking and offending her. Or… Was it possible that he loved her, too? Well, not loved, of course, but was ready to love, unaware of it himself, and when she confessed her feelings…