Fifty-Two Stories

“He looks a little like Lermontov¹…Isn’t it so?”

Having hurriedly said goodbye, without looking anyone in the face, Volodya left the dining room. Ten minutes later he was already marching down the road to the station and was glad of it. Now he was no longer either frightened or ashamed; he breathed lightly and freely.

A quarter of a mile from the station he sat down on a stone by the roadside and began to look at the sun, which was more than half hidden behind the embankment. At the station lights were already lit here and there, one dim green light was flickering, but there was no train in sight yet. Volodya liked sitting, not moving, and listening to how the evening gradually approached. The darkness of the gazebo, the footsteps, the smell of the bathhouse, the laughter, and the waist—it all rose up with astonishing clarity in his imagination, and it was all no longer as frightening and significant as before…

“Nonsense…She didn’t pull her hand away, and she laughed when I held her by the waist,” he thought, “which means she liked it. If it disgusted her, she would have gotten angry…”

Now Volodya was annoyed that there, in the gazebo, he had not been bold enough. He was sorry that he was going away so stupidly, and he was now certain that, if the chance repeated itself, he would look on things more boldly and simply.

And the chance could easily repeat itself. The Shumikhins took long strolls after supper. If Volodya went for a stroll in the dark garden with Nyuta—that would be a chance!

“I’ll go back,” he thought, “and take the morning train tomorrow…I’ll say I was late for the train.”

And he went back…M-me Shumikhin, maman

, Nyuta, and one of the nieces were sitting on the terrace playing whist. When Volodya lied to them that he had been late for the train, they worried that he would be late for the examination the next morning, and advised him to get up early. All the while they played cards, he sat to one side, greedily looking at Nyuta and waiting…In his head a plan was already formed: he would approach Nyuta in the darkness, take her by the hand, then embrace her; there would be no need for talk, because they would both understand everything without talking.

But after supper the ladies did not go for a stroll in the garden, but went on playing cards. They played until one in the morning and then went to bed.

“How stupid this all is!” Volodya thought vexedly, going to bed. “But never mind, I’ll wait till tomorrow…Tomorrow again in the gazebo. Never mind…”

He did not try to fall asleep, but sat on the bed, his arms around his knees, thinking. The thought of the examination was loathsome to him. He had already decided that he would be expelled and that there would be nothing terrible in his expulsion. On the contrary it was all good, even very good. Tomorrow he would be free as a bird, he would change out of his uniform, smoke openly, come here and court Nyuta whenever he liked; and he would no longer be a high school boy, but a “young man.” And the rest, what is known as a career and a future, was quite clear: Volodya would volunteer for the army, or become a telegrapher, or get a job in a pharmacy, where he would work his way up to chief dispenser…as if there weren’t enough occupations! An hour or two went by, and he was still sitting and thinking…

It was past two o’clock and dawn was breaking, when the door creaked cautiously and maman came in.

“You’re not asleep?” she asked, yawning. “Sleep, sleep, I’ll leave at once…I’ll just take the drops…”

“What for?”

“Poor Lily’s having spasms again. Sleep, my child, you have an examination tomorrow…”

She took a vial of something from the medicine chest, went to the window, read the label, and left.

“Marya Leontyevna, these are the wrong drops!” Volodya heard a woman’s voice a minute later. “This is convallaria, and Lily’s asking for morphine. Is your son asleep? Ask him to find it…”

It was Nyuta’s voice. Volodya turned cold. He quickly put on his trousers, threw his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door.

“You understand? Morphine!” Nyuta was explaining in a whisper. “It should be written on it in Latin. Wake Volodya up, he’ll find it…”

Maman opened the door, and Volodya saw Nyuta. She was in the same blouse in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair was not done up, but strewn over her shoulders; her face was sleepy, swarthy in the darkness…

“Here’s Volodya, not asleep…,” she said. “Volodya, dearest, look for the morphine in the medicine chest! What a punishment this Lily is…She’s always got something.”

Maman muttered something, yawned, and left.

“Go and look,” Nyuta said, “don’t just stand there.”