'It's the priest's sons and the schoolmaster,' she said.
The three voices once more sang in unison. Matthew Savvich sighed.
'Well, that's the way of it, old man,' he went on. 'Two years later we get a letter from Vasya in Warsaw. He's being invalided out of the army, he writes—he isn't well. Dy this time I've banished all that nonsense from my head, and arrangements are undcr way to marry me to a decent young woman, but what I don't know is how to be rid of this wretched love affair. I make up my mind to speak to Mashenka every day, but I don't know how I ^ do it without a lot of female squawking. The letter frees my hands. Mashenka and I read it together, and she turns white as a sheet.
' "Thank God," says I. "This means you can be an honest woman again."
' "I won't live with him," she tells me.
"'He's your husband, ain't he?" says I.
'"It ain't so simple. I never loved him—I married him against my will because Mother made me."
'"Now don't try and wriggle out of it, you little fool," I say. "Just tell me this—were you married in church or weren't you?"
' "Yes I was," says she. "But it's you I love, and I'll live with you till my dying day. People may laugh at me, but I don't care."
'"You're a God-fearing woman," say I. "You've read what the Scripture says, haven't you?"'
'If she's married, she should cleave to her husband,' said Dyudya.
'Yes, husband and wife arc one flesh.
'"You and I have sinned," I tell her, "and we must stop. We must repent and fear God. Let's beg Vasya's pardon," say I. "He's a quiet, mild fellow—he won't kill us. And it's better," I say, "to suffer agonies from a lawful husband in this world than gnash your teeth on the Day ofJudgement."
'The woman won't listen, she's set on having her o^ way, and takes no notice.
'"I love you,'' says she, and that was that.
'Vasya arrives home on the Saturday before Trinity Sunday, early in the morning—I can see everything through the fence. He runs into the house, and comes out a minute later with Kuzka in his arms, laugh- ing and crying. He kisses Kuzka and looks at his pigeon loft—he wants to go to his pigeons, but hasn't the heart to put Kuzka down. A soft, sentimental sort of fellow, he was. The day passes off all right, quietly and uneventfully. The bells are rung for evening service.
'"Tomorrow's Trinity Sunday,'' I think. "So why don't they deco- rate their gate and fence with green boughs? Somcthing's wrong," thinks I.
'So I go over. I look, and there he is sitting on the floor in the middle of thc room, rolling his eyes as if he was drunk, with tears streaming Jown his cheeks and his hands trcmbling. He takes somc cracknels, necklaces, gingerbread and various sweets out ofhis bundle, and throws them all over the floor. Kuzka, about three years old at the time, crawls around munching gingerbread, while Mashenka stands by the stove, pale and shuddering.
"'I'm no wife to you, I don't want to live with you," she mutters, and all sorts of silly rubbish.
'I bow low to Vasya.
'"We have done you wrong, Vasya," I say. "Forgive us, for Christ's sake!"
'Then I get up and speak to Mashenka.
'"You, Mashenka, must now wash Vasya's feet and drink the dirty water. Be his obedient wife, and pray God for me that He may forgive my transgressions in His mercy."
'As if inspired by an angel in heaven, I read her a lecture and speak with such feeling that I actually break do-wn and cry. Well, two days later Vasya comes to see me.
'"I'll forgive you, Matthew, and forgive my wife too," he says. "God help you both. She's a soldier's wife, it's a common way of behaving for a young female, it's hard to keep yourself to yourself. She ain't the first and she won't be the last. The only thing is," says he, "I ask you to act as if there had never been anything between you— don't let on. And I," says he, "will try to please her every way I can, so she'll love me again."
'He shakes hands with me, has some tea and goes away looking happy. Well, thinks I, thank God for that, and I'm glad it's all turned out so well. But no sooner is Vasya out of my yard than in comes Mashenka—something terrible, it was. She hangs on my neck, crying.
'"Don't leave me, for Christ's sake," she begs. "I can't live without t>»
you.
'The shameless hussy!' sighed Dyudya.
'I shout at her, I stamp my feet, I drag her out in the lobby, and I put the door on the latch.
'"Go to your husband," I shout. "Don't shame me in public. Have some fear of God in your heart."
'So it goes on every day. One morning I'm standing in my yard by the stable, mending a bridle, and suddenly I see her run in through the gate, barefoot, just as she was in her petticoat, coming straight towards me. She picks up the bridle and gets tarall over her, trembling and crying.
'"I can't live with that hateful creature, I can't bear it. If you don't love me, kill me."
'I get angry and hit her twice with the bridle, and meanwhile Vasya runs in through the gate.
'"Don't hit her, don't hit her!" he shouts, quite frantic.
'But he runs up himself and lashes out like a maniac, punching her with all his might. then throws her on the ground and starts kicking her. I try to protect her, but he picks up the reins and goes for her with those. And all the time he's thrashing her, he's squealing and whinny- ing like a foal.'
'I'd give you reins if I had my way!' muttered Barbara, moving ofl". 'Torturing us women, you rotten swine!'
'Shut up, bitch!' shouted Dyudya.
'Squealing away he was,' Matthew Savvich went on. 'One of the carters runs out ofhis yard, 1 call my own workman, and the three of us take Mashenka away from him and lead her home by the arms. Dis- graceful, it was! That evening I go along to see how she is, and she's lying in bed all wrapped up with fomentations on her. Only her eyes and nose can be seen, and she's looking at the ceiling.
'"Hello, Mashenka," I say. No answer.
'Vasya's sitting in the next room clutching his head.
"Tm a wicked man, I've ruined my life!" he weeps. "Let me die, O Lord!"
'I sit with Mashcnka for halfan hour and read her a lecture—put the fear of God into her.
' "The righteous will go to heaven in the next world," say I. "But you'll go into the fiery Gehenna along with all the other whores. Don't disobey your husband—down on your knees to him!"
'But not a word does she answer, she doesn't even wink an eye—I might have been talking to a stone. Next day Vasya sickens with something like cholera, and by evening I hear he's dead. They bury him.
'Not wanting to show people her shameless face and bruises, Mashenka doesn't go to the cemetery. And soon the rumour spreads among the townsfolk that Vasya's death wasn't natural, and that Mashenka did him in. The story reaches the authorities, who dig up Vasya, slit his guts and fmd arsenic in his belly—an open and shut case, it was. The police come and take Mashenka away together with that little innocent Kuzka, and put them in prison. That's where her flighty ways got her, it was punishment from God.
'They tried her eight months later. I remember her sitting in the dock wearing a white kerchief and grey prison coat. She was thin, pale, sharp-eyed—a pathetic sight. Behind her was a soldier with a gun. She wouldn't plead not guilty. There were some in court who said she'd poisoned her husband, while others argued that her husband had taken the poison himself in his grieЈ I was one witness. When they cross- examined me, I told the whole truth.
"'She done it, the sinful creature," said I. "She didn't love her husband, you can't get away from it—and she was used to having her o^ way."
'They began the trial in the morning, and that night they sentenced her to thirteen yeaxs' hard labour in Siberia. After the sentence, Mashenka was in the local prison for three months, and I used to go and see her—take her tea and sugar out of common humanity. But when she sees me she trembles all over and throws her arms about.