Through Russia Part 37

With which he subsides on to the floor as though exhausted.

"The blockhead!" is Konev's remark.

Amid the darkness a black shape rises. It does so as soundlessly as a fish in a pond, glides to the door, and disappears.

"That was she," remarks Konev. "What a strong woman! However, if you had not pulled me away, I should have got the better of her. By G.o.d I should!"

"Then follow her, and make another attempt."

"No," after a moment's reflection he rejoins. "Out there she might get hold of a stick, or a brick, or some such thing. However, I'LL get even with her. As a matter of fact, you wasted your time in stopping me, for she detests me like the very devil."

And he renews his wearisome boastings of his conquests; until suddenly, he stops as though he has swallowed his tongue.

All becomes quiet; everything seems to have come to a halt, and to be pressing close in sleep to the motionless earth. I too grow drowsy, and have a vision amid which my mind returns to the donations which I have received that day, and sees them swell and multiply and increase in weight until I feel their bulk pressing upon me like a tumulus of the steppes. Next, the coppery notes of a bell jar in my ears, and, struck at random intervals, go floating away into the darkness.

It is the hour of midnight.

Soon, scattered drops of rain begin to patter down upon the dry thatch of the hut and the dust in the street outside, while a cricket continues chirping as though it were hurriedly relating a tale. Also, I hear filtering forth into the darkness a softly gulped, eager whispering.

"Think," says one of the voices, "what it must mean to have to go tramping about without work, or only with work for another to do!"

The young fellow who has been so soundly thrashed replies in a dull voice:

"I know nothing of you."

"More softly, more softly!" urges the woman.

"What is it you want?"

"I want NOTHING. It is merely that I am sorry for you as a man yet young and strong. You see--well, I have not lived with my eyes shut.

That is why I say, come with me."

"But come whither?"

"To the coast, where I know there to be beautiful plots of land for the asking. You yourself can see how good the land hereabout is. Well, there land better still is to be obtained."

"Liar!"

"More softly, more softly!" again urges the woman. "Moreover, I am not bad-looking, and can manage things well, and do any sort of work. Hence you and I might live quite peacefully and happily, and come, eventually, to have a place of our own. Yes, and I could bear and rear you a child. Only see how fit I am. Only feel this breast of mine."

The young fellow snorts, and I begin to find the situation oppressive, and to long to let the couple know that I am not asleep. Curiosity, however, prevents me, and I continue listening to the strange, arresting dialogue.

"Wait a little," whispers the woman with a gasp. "Do not play with me, for I am not that sort of woman. Yes, I mean what I say. Let be!"

Rudely, roughly the young fellow replies:

"Then don't run after me. A woman who runs after a man, and plays the wh.o.r.e with him, is--"

"Less noise, please--less noise, I beg of you, or we shall be heard, and I shall be put to shame!"

"Doesn't it put you to shame to be offering yourself to me like this?"

A silence ensues, save that the young fellow goes on snorting and fidgeting, and the raindrops continue to fall with the same reluctance, the same indolence, as ever. Then once more the woman's voice is heard through the pattering.

"Perhaps," says the voice, "you have guessed that I am seeking a husband? Yes, I AM seeking one--a good, steady muzhik."

"But I am NOT a good, steady muzhik."

"Fie, fie!"

"What?" he sn.i.g.g.e.rs. "A husband for you? The impudence of you! A 'husband'! Go along!"

"Listen to me. I am tired of tramping."

"Then go home."

This time there ensues a long pause. Then the woman says very softly:

"I have neither home nor kindred."

"A lie!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es the young fellow.

"No, by G.o.d it is not a lie! The Mother of G.o.d forget me if it is."

In these last words I can detect the note of tears. By this time the situation has become intolerable, for I am yearning to rise and kick the young fellow out of the hut, and then to have a long and earnest talk with his companion. "Oh that I could take her to my arms," I reflect, "and cherish her as I would a poor lost child!"

After a while the sounds of a new struggle between the pair are heard.

"Don't put me off like that!" growls the young fellow.

"And don't you make any attempt upon me! I am not the sort of woman to be forced."

The next moment there arises a cry of pain and astonishment.

"What was that for? What was that for?" the woman wails.

With an answering exclamation I spring to my feet, for my feelings have become those of a wild beast.

At once everything grows quiet again, save that someone, crawls over the floor and, in leaving the hut, jars the latch of the crazy, single-hinged portal.

"It was not my fault," grumbles the young fellow. "It all came of that stinking woman offering herself to me. Besides, the place is full of bugs, and I cannot sleep."

"Beast!" pants someone in the vicinity.

"Hold your tongue, b.i.t.c.h!" is the fellow's retort.

By now the rain has ceased, and such air as filters through the window seems increasedly stifling. Momentarily the hush grows deeper, until the breast feels filled with a sense of oppression, and the face and eyes as though they were glued over with a web. Even when I step into the yard I find the place to be like a cellar on a summer's day, when the very ice has melted in the dark retreat, and the latter's black cavity is charged with hot, viscous humidity.