Poor Folk and Other Stories (28 page)

Here Katerina broke off her narrative in deep agitation; she drew in her breath and breathed out again, smiling wryly at the new idea which had occurred to her. She was about to continue when suddenly her glittering eyes encountered the inflamed gaze of Ordynov, which was fixed on her. She started with a shiver and tried to say something, but the blood rushed to her face… She covered her eyes with her hands and fell face down on the pillows as though she had fainted. Ordynov was shaken to the marrow of his being. A strange, tormenting emotion, an uncontrollable, unbearable disturbance coursed like poison through his veins, growing with each word of Katerina's story: a desperate yearning, a passion that was greedy and intolerable, seized his thoughts and clouded his feelings. But at the same time a sadness, heavy and infinite, weighed ever more crushingly on his heart. At moments he wanted to shout at Katerina, tell her to be quiet, he wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg her in tears to return to him his former agonies of love, his former pure, instinctive yearning, and with a pang of regret he remembered his long-since dried tears. His heart ached and bled
with tenderness, yet surrendered no tears to his lacerated soul. He could not understand what Katerina was saying to him, and his love had taken fright at the emotions that were surging up in the poor woman. In that moment he cursed his passion: it was choking him, torturing him, and he felt as though molten lead was flowing in his veins instead of blood.

‘Oh, but that is not what grieves me,' Katerina said, raising her head suddenly.'What I have just told you – that is not what grieves me' she continued in a voice that had begun to resonate like copper with a new, unexpected emotion, until her entire soul was bursting with concealed, desperate tears. ‘That is not what grieves me, that is not what worries and torments me! What, what do I care about my mother, even though I shall never find another like her in all the world? What do I care that she cursed me in her last, desperate hour? What do I care about my former golden life, my warm attic room, my maiden's freedom? What do I care that I have sold myself to the unclean one and given up my soul to my undoer, that I have committed mortal sin for the sake of happiness? Oh, that is not what grieves me, even though my undoing is great thereby! No, what grieves me and tears at my heart is that I am his degraded slave, that my shame and my degradation are sweet to me, shameless woman that I am, that my greedy heart finds it sweet to remember my suffering as though it were joy and happiness – what grieves me is that there is in my heart no strength, no anger at my humiliation!…'

The poor woman suddenly lost her breath, and a convulsive, hysterical sobbing cut short the flow of her words. Her lips burned with hot, impetuous breathing, her bosom rose and sank deeply, and her eyes flashed with a mysterious indignation. But by such enchantment were her features gilded in that moment, with such passionate, unendurable, unheard-of beauty did each line, each muscle of her face tremble, that Ordynov's dark brooding instantly subsided and the pure sadness faded within his breast. His heart yearned to press itself to hers and to forget itself passionately in it, united with it in a reckless excitement, to beat in harmony with the same storm, the same onslaught of mysterious passion and to thrill with it in expectancy of the same intense emotion. Katerina met Ordynov's clouded gaze, and the smile she gave him made a redoubled current of fire pass through his heart. He was practically beside himself.

‘Have pity on me, have mercy on me!' he whispered, holding his trembling voice in check, leaning down to her, supporting himself with one arm on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes closely, so closely that their breathing fused into one. ‘You are my undoing! I don't know the cause of your suffering, and my soul is confused… What business is it of mine to know what your heart is weeping about? Only speak… and I will obey. Come with me, come, don't make me despair, don't drain the life from me!…'

Katerina was looking at him fixedly; on her burning cheeks her tears had dried. She made as though to interrupt him, took him by the arm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to find the words. A strange smile slowly appeared on her lips; it was as though she were trying to laugh.

‘I don't think I've told you everything,' she said at last in an unsteady voice.'I shall tell you more; only please, please will you listen to me, ardent heart? Obey your sister! It seems you have little knowledge of her cruel grief. I should like to tell you how I lived with him for a year, but I won't… A year went by, he set off down the river with some companions of his, and I stayed behind to wait at the landing-stage with his foster-mother. I waited for him for a month or two – and in the settlement I met a young merchant. I glanced at him and remembered my former golden years. “Dear sister!” he said, after we had exchanged a few words. “I'm Alyosha, your intended bridegroom. The old folk married us by word of mouth when we were children; if you've forgotten me, then remember me now – I'm from your village…” “And what do the people in our village say about me?” “Rumour has it that you entered into dishonourable relations, that you forgot your maiden's modesty and took up with a brigand, a murderer,” Alyosha told me, laughing. “And what did you tell them about me?” “When I arrived here I wanted to tell them a lot of things,” he said, and his heart became troubled. “I wanted to tell them a lot of things, but ever since I laid eyes on you I have grown numb; you have been my undoing!” he said. “But my soul, too, take it, I don't care if you laugh at my feelings, at my love, fair maiden. I'm an orphan now, I'm my own master, and my soul's my own, too: it doesn't belong to anyone else, and I haven't sold it to anyone, not like a certain woman I could mention who has snuffed out her memory, and I don't need to sell my heart – I'll give it to you for nothing, and
it's evidently a good bargain!” I laughed; it was not to be our last conversation – he stayed on the farm for a whole month, abandoned his wares, dismissed his workmen and remained all on his own. I took pity on his orphan's tears. One morning I said to him: “Alyosha, wait for me down by the landing-stage when it gets dark; we'll go to your village together! I'm fed up with my miserable life!” Well, night came, I did up my bundle, and my soul began to ache and overflow. Then, strangely and unexpectedly, I saw my master walk in. “Hello; let's be off, there's going to be a storm on the river, and time will not wait.” I followed him out, and we went down to the river; it was a long journey to where his men were; we looked: there was a rowing-boat, and the oarsman in it was familiar to us – he seemed to be waiting for someone. “Hello, Alyosha,” my master cried, “may God give you strength! I expect you've been held up at the landing-stage and are hurrying now to rejoin your boats. Good man, will you row the mistress and myself to the village where our men are? I've let our boat go, and I can't swim.” “Get in,” said Alyosha, and my soul pined and languished at the sound of his voice. “Get in, together with your mistress; the wind is for all, and there will be room in my house for you, too.“ We got in; it was a dark night, the stars were not visible, the wind had begun to howl and the waves were rising; we rowed a verst from the bank, and were silent, all three.

'“A storm!” my master said. “And this storm is a bad omen. I have never seen a storm on the river like the one that is brewing now in all my born days. Our boat will not weather it! It will not carry three!” “No, it will not,” Alyosha replied, “and it appears that one of us is one too many.” As he spoke, his voice trembled like a string. “What do you say, Alyosha?” my master said, “I knew you when you were only a little child, your father and I were like brothers, we shared each other's hospitality. Tell me, Alyosha, do you think you can swim your way to the bank, or will you perish for nothing, and lose your life?” “No, I won't reach it! But what about you, good sir? If the hour is not propitious, and you must drink of the deep, will you reach the bank or not?” “I won't reach it; it would be the end of me, I could not stand up to the stormy river. Listen now, Katerina, my priceless pearl! I remember a night like this, only then the waves were not heaving, the stars were out and the moon was shining…
I want to ask you, simply: have you forgotten?” “No, I remember,” I said… “Well, if you haven't forgotten it, then you won't have forgotten the pact by which a certain stalwart lad instructed a fair maiden to reclaim her freedom from a man she did not love – eh?” “No, I haven't forgotten it,” I said, more dead than alive. “Ah, so you haven't forgotten! Well, now our boat is too heavy. Hasn't someone's time come? Tell us, my darling, tell us, my dove, coo to us gently what you have to say…”

‘I did not say anything… !' Katerina whispered, palely… She had not finished her story.

‘Katerina!' a hoarse, hollow voice said above them.

Ordynov started. In the doorway stood Murin. He was barely covered by his fur bedspread, looked as pale as death and was staring at them with eyes that were almost insane. Katerina was growing paler and paler, returning his gaze fixedly, as though she were in a trance.

‘Come here, Katerina!' the sick man whispered in a voice that was barely audible, and went out of the room. Katerina kept staring fixedly into space, as if the old man were still standing in front of her. But suddenly the blood returned in a fiery glow to her pallid cheeks, and she slowly got up from the bed. Ordynov found himself remembering their first meeting.

‘Until tomorrow then, my tears!' she said, smiling strangely. ‘Until tomorrow! Remember the point at which I stopped: “Choose one of two: whom do you love, whom do you not love, fair maiden?” Will you remember that, will you wait for one more night?' she repeated, putting her hands on his shoulders and surveying him tenderly.

‘Katerina, don't go, don't destroy yourself! He's mad!' Ordynov whispered, trembling for her.

‘Katerina!' a voice said behind the partition.

‘What? Do you think he'll cut my diroat?' Katerina replied, laughing.'Good night to you, my beloved heart, my ardent dove, my darling brother!' she said, tenderly pressing his head to her bosom, and her face was suddenly bathed in tears.'These are my last tears. Sleep away your unhappiness, my darling, tomorrow you will awake to joy.' And she gave him a passionate kiss.

‘Katerina! Katerina!' Ordynov whispered, falling on his knees before her and endeavouring to detain her.

‘Katerina!'

She turned round, nodded smilingly to him, and went out of the room. Ordynov heard her go into Murin's room; he held his breath, listening; but he did not hear any further sound. The old man was keeping silent, or perhaps he was already unconscious… He would have gone to her in there, but his legs gave way under him… He grew weak and sat down on the bed…