A Reckless Character, and Other Stories Part 21

Aratoff tried to rise also ... but he could not stir, he could not unclasp his hands, and could only gaze after her in despair.

Then the woman suddenly turned round, and he beheld bright, vivacious eyes in a living face, which was strange to him, however. She was laughing, beckoning to him with her hand ... and still he was unable to move.

She laughed yet once again, and swiftly retreated, merrily nodding her head, on which a garland of tiny roses gleamed crimson.

Aratoff strove to shout, strove to break that frightful nightmare....

Suddenly everything grew dark round about ... and the woman returned to him.

But she was no longer a statue whom he knew not ... she was Clara. She halted in front of him, folded her arms, and gazed sternly and attentively at him. Her lips were tightly compressed, but it seemed to Aratoff that he heard the words:

"If thou wishest to know who I am, go thither!"

"Whither?" he asked.

"Thither!"--the moaning answer made itself audible.--"Thither!"

Aratoff awoke.

He sat up in bed, lighted a candle which stood on his night-stand, but did not rise, and sat there for a long time slowly gazing about him. It seemed to him that something had taken place within him since he went to bed; that something had taken root within him ... something had taken possession of him. "But can that be possible?" he whispered unconsciously. "Can it be that such a power exists?"

He could not remain in bed. He softly dressed himself and paced his chamber until daylight. And strange to say! He did not think about Clara for a single minute,--and he did not think about her because he had made up his mind to set off for Kazan that very day!

He thought only of that journey, of how it was to be made, and what he ought to take with him,--and how he would there ferret out and find out everything,--and regain his composure.

"If thou dost not go," he argued with himself, "thou wilt surely lose thy reason!" He was afraid of that; he was afraid of his nerves. He was convinced that as soon as he should see all that with his own eyes, all obsessions would flee like a nocturnal nightmare.--"And the journey will occupy not more than a week in all," he thought.... "What is a week? And there is no other way of ridding myself of it."

The rising sun illuminated his room; but the light of day did not disperse the shades of night which weighed upon him, did not alter his decision.

Platosha came near having an apoplectic stroke when he communicated his decision to her. She even squatted down on her heels ... her legs gave way under her. "To Kazan? Why to Kazan?" she whispered, protruding her eyes which were already blind enough without that. She would not have been any more astounded had she learned that her Yasha was going to marry the neighbouring baker's daughter, or depart to America.--"And shalt thou stay long in Kazan?"

"I shall return at the end of a week," replied Aratoff, as he stood half-turned away from his aunt, who was still sitting on the floor.

Platosha tried to remonstrate again, but Aratoff shouted at her in an utterly unexpected and unusual manner:

"I am not a baby," he yelled, turning pale all over, while his lips quivered and his eyes flashed viciously.--"I am six-and-twenty years of age. I know what I am about,--I am free to do as I please!--I will not permit any one.... Give me money for the journey; prepare a trunk with linen and clothing ... and do not bother me! I shall return at the end of a week, Platosha," he added, in a softer tone.

Platosha rose to her feet, grunting, and, making no further opposition, wended her way to her chamber. Yasha had frightened her.--"I have not a head on my shoulders," she remarked to the cook, who was helping her to pack Yasha's things,--"not a head--but a bee-hive ... and what bees are buzzing there I do not know! He is going away to Kazan, my mother, to Ka-za-an!"

The cook, who had noticed their yard-porter talking for a long time to the policeman about something, wanted to report this circ.u.mstance to her mistress, but she did not dare, and merely thought to herself: "To Kazan? If only it isn't some place further away!"--And Platonida Ivanovna was so distracted that she did not even utter her customary prayer.--In such a catastrophe as this even the Lord G.o.d could be of no a.s.sistance!

That same day Aratoff set off for Kazan.

XII

No sooner had he arrived in that town and engaged a room at the hotel, than he dashed off in search of the widow Milovidoff's house. During the whole course of his journey he had been in a sort of stupor, which, nevertheless, did not in the least prevent his taking all proper measures,--transferring himself at Nizhni Novgorod from the railway to the steamer, eating at the stations, and so forth. As before, he was convinced that everything would be cleared up _there_, and accordingly he banished from his thoughts all memories and speculations, contenting himself with one thing,--the mental preparation of the speech in which he was to set forth to Clara Militch's family the real reason of his trip.--And now, at last, he had attained to the goal of his yearning, and ordered the servant to announce him. He was admitted--with surprise and alarm--but he was admitted.

The widow Milovidoff's house proved to be in fact just as Kupfer had described it; and the widow herself really did resemble one of Ostrovsky's women of the merchant cla.s.s, although she was of official rank; her husband had been a Collegiate a.s.sessor.[64] Not without some difficulty did Aratoff, after having preliminarily excused himself for his boldness, and the strangeness of his visit, make the speech which he had prepared, to the effect that he wished to collect all the necessary information concerning the gifted actress who had perished at such an early age; that he was actuated not by idle curiosity, but by a profound sympathy for her talent, of which he was a worshipper (he said exactly that--"a worshipper"); that, in conclusion, it would be a sin to leave the public in ignorance of the loss it had sustained,--and why its hopes had not been realized!

Madame Milovidoff did not interrupt Aratoff; it is hardly probable that she understood very clearly what this strange visitor was saying to her, and she merely swelled a little with pride, and opened her eyes widely at him on perceiving that he had a peaceable aspect, and was decently clad, and was not some sort of swindler ... and was not asking for any money.

"Are you saying that about Katya?" she asked, as soon as Aratoff ceased speaking.

"Exactly so ... about your daughter."

"And you have come from Moscow for that purpose?"

"Yes, from Moscow."

"Merely for that?"

"Merely for that."

Madame Milovidoff suddenly took fright.--"Why, you--are an author? Do you write in the newspapers?"

"No, I am not an author,--and up to the present time, I have never written for the newspapers."

The widow bent her head. She was perplexed.

"Consequently ... it is for your own pleasure?" she suddenly inquired.

Aratoff did not immediately hit upon the proper answer.

"Out of sympathy, out of reverence for talent," he said at last.

The word "reverence" pleased Madame Milovidoff. "Very well!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with a sigh.... "Although I am her mother, and grieved very greatly over her.... It was such a catastrophe, you know!... Still, I must say, that she was always a crazy sort of girl, and ended up in the same way! Such a disgrace.... Judge for yourself: what sort of a thing is that for a mother? We may be thankful that they even buried her in Christian fashion...." Madame Milovidoff crossed herself.--"From the time she was a small child she submitted to no one,--she abandoned the paternal roof ... and finally, it is enough to say that she became an actress! Every one knows that I did not turn her out of the house; for I loved her! For I am her mother, all the same! She did not have to live with strangers,--and beg alms!..." Here the widow melted into tears.--"But if you, sir," she began afresh, wiping her eyes with the ends of her kerchief, "really have that intention, and if you will not concoct anything dishonourable about us,--but if, on the contrary, you wish to show us a favour,--then you had better talk with my other daughter. She will tell you everything better than I can...."

"annotchka!" called Madame Milovidoff:--"annotchka, come hither! There's some gentleman or other from Moscow who wants to talk about Katya!"

There was a crash in the adjoining room, but no one appeared.--"annotchka!" cried the widow again--"Anna Semyonovna! come hither, I tell thee!"

The door opened softly and on the threshold appeared a girl no longer young, of sickly aspect, and homely, but with very gentle and sorrowful eyes. Aratoff rose from his seat to greet her, and introduced himself, at the same time mentioning his friend Kupfer.--"Ah! Feodor Feodoritch!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the girl softly, as she softly sank down on a chair.

"Come, now, talk with the gentleman," said Madame Milovidoff, rising ponderously from her seat: "He has taken the trouble to come expressly from Moscow,--he wishes to collect information about Katya. But you must excuse me, sir," she added, turning to Aratoff.... "I shall go away, to attend to domestic affairs. You can have a good explanation with annotchka--she will tell you about the theatre ... and all that sort of thing. She's my clever, well-educated girl: she speaks French and reads books quite equal to her dead sister. And she educated her sister, I may say.... She was the elder--well, and so she taught her."

Madame Milovidoff withdrew. When Aratoff was left alone with Anna Semyonovna he repeated his speech; but from the first glance he understood that he had to deal with a girl who really was cultured, not with a merchant's daughter,--and so he enlarged somewhat, and employed different expressions;--and toward the end he became agitated, flushed, and felt conscious that his heart was beating hard. Anna Semyonovna listened to him in silence, with her hands folded; the sad smile did not leave her face ... bitter woe which had not ceased to cause pain, was expressed in that smile.

"Did you know my sister?" she asked Aratoff.

"No; properly speaking, I did not know her," he replied. "I saw and heard your sister once ... but all that was needed was to hear and see your sister once, in order to...."

"Do you mean to write her biography?" Anna put another question.

Aratoff had not expected that word; nevertheless, he immediately answered "Why not?" But the chief point was that he wished to acquaint the public....

Anna stopped him with a gesture of her hand.

"To what end? The public caused her much grief without that; and Katya had only just begun to live. But if you yourself" (Anna looked at him and again smiled that same sad smile, only now it was more cordial ...