Chapter 20 Part Five 21-25

twenty one The sun was scorching the gardens, and the streets of the town were deserted until five o'clock in the afternoon.My brother took a nap while we were lying on her big bed.The sun circled the house and gradually came to the bedroom windows, looking out from the garden, whose green foliage was reflected in the mirror over the wash-basin.Gogol had studied in this city and visited all the surrounding suburbs; Mirgorod, Yanovshina, Shishaki, Yalesiki.We often recite with a smile: "How fascinating and colorful the summer in Little Russia is!"① "It's still hot!" she said, and lay on her back with a sigh of relief. "And there are so many flies! How do you describe the vegetable garden?"

"All kinds of insects are scattered in the colorful vegetable garden like emeralds, topaz, and rubies."② ————— ①②See the first paragraph of Gogol's short story "Solo Qingcai Bazaar". "It's charmingly written. I really want to go and see Mirgorod, and I must go there anyway, right? Let's go whenever we want: it's just that he's such a queer and unpleasant man in life." , he never loved anyone, not even when he was young..." "Yes, he had only one queer act in his youth—to Lyubek." "Just like you go to Petersburg... why do you like to go out so much?"

"Then why do you like receiving letters?" "Who else can I get a letter from now?" "Anyway, you like it. People always look forward to some kind of lucky and interesting things, fantasize about some kind of happy event, some kind of accident. This makes people yearn for travel. Coupled with freedom, open sea and sky... new things are always called Exaltation, heightening the zest of life, that is what we all long for, and seek, in all passions." "Yes, yes, indeed." "Speaking of Petersburg, it's a terrible place. Once I got there, I always knew in my heart that I was a Southerner through and through, if only you knew that. Gogol once wrote in the Italian newsletter: 'Peter Fortress, heavy snow, hooligans, yamen—I have only seen these in my dreams. When I woke up, I found myself in my hometown again.’ I also woke up here. As soon as I heard these place names: Qijilin, Cherkassey, Khorol, Lubny, Chertomlyk, Tikoye-Polye cannot be ignored; the sight of reed roofs, peasants with short hair, village women in yellow or red boots, and even their The bark basket with cherries and plums carried on a pole, I can't remain indifferent.' The gulls hovering above their heads are crying, just like crying for her beloved son; the sun is scorching, and the Cossack grassland is rippling with the breeze...' This is by Shevchenko. He is a great poet! Little Russia is the most beautiful place in the world. The main thing is that it has no history—its historical life is completely over. It has only the past, It's just the songs and legends of the past that seem to be something out of time. That's what marvels me the most."

————— ① Taras Grigorievich Shevchenko (1814-1861), the great people's poet of Ukraine. "You're always talking about admiration, admiration." "Life is supposed to be amazing..." The sun was setting, and sunlight poured in through the open windows, pouring on the painted floors, and the reflections in the mirrors flickered on the ceiling.The sun was growing stronger on the window sill, where the flies buzzed happily and bit her cool bare shoulders.Suddenly, a sparrow jumped onto the window sill, looked around alertly and quickly, and flew away again, disappearing into the clear shade of the garden.The garden looks crystal clear in the setting sun.

"Come on, tell me something else," she said. "Say, when are we going to the Crimea? You don't know how much I want to go! You could write a novella, I seem to think you must will write brilliantly, then we'll have money, and we'll go on vacation... why are you giving up writing? You're wasting your talent!" "Once upon a time there were some Cossacks called 'vagrants', from the word 'wandering'. I was probably also a tramp, 'God gave this one a home and that one a home away from home.' Gogol's best The works are his notes. You listen: "A crested gull on the grassland soars from the main road... There are green boundary markers along the way, covered with thistles, and beyond the boundary markers is an endless plain. Nothing else... Sunflowers rising over hedges and ravines, straw awnings in cleanly painted farmhouses, pretty little windows painted with red borders... You, the roots of ancient Rus, where the feeling is more genuine, Slavic nature is more beautiful!'”

She listened intently, and then suddenly asked: "Tell me, why do you read to me that passage that Goethe wrote? The passage about his departure from Frederica, in which he suddenly saw a vision of a knight riding forward in a gold-rimmed gray waistcoat. What did the passage say?" "'This knight is myself, and I wear a gold-rimmed gray waistcoat that I have never worn.'" "Hey, it's kind of weird and frightening indeed. Then you said everyone fantasized about a favorite waistcoat when they were young... Why did he abandon her?" "He said he was always at the beck and call of his 'demon'."

"By the way, you don't love me anymore either. Hey, tell the truth, what do you want most?" "What do I want? I want to be a khan of ancient Crimea and live with you in the Bakhchisaray Palace... The entire Bakhchisaray Palace is located in a canyon, with steep mountains and rocks, and the climate is hot , but the palace is always shady, with fountains, and mulberry trees outside the windows..." "Don't talk nonsense, be serious!" "I'm serious. You know I've always had a bit of nonsense in my life. For example, look at the gulls on the meadow, that's meadow and sea combined... Brother Nikolai used to laugh at me , said I was a born fool, I was very sorry. Twice later I noticed in the book that Descartes said that in his spiritual life, clear and reasonable thoughts occupied only the most insignificant place. "

————— ① Descartes (1596-1650), an outstanding French philosopher, physicist, mathematician and physiologist. "What's the matter? Is there a harem in your palace? I'm also serious. You told me yourself, remember? You said that there are all kinds of love mixed in a man's love, you love Nikolina, and then Nadya... You've been frank with me sometimes, haven't you? Not long ago you even said something similar about our Cossack maid." "I'm just saying that, looking at her, I'm thinking very much about living in a tent on a salt marsh prairie."

"Here, you see, you said it yourself, and you want to live in a tent with her." "I didn't say to be with her." "Then with whom? Oh, the sparrows are coming again! I'm afraid they'll fly in and hit the mirror!" So she jumped up and clapped her hands awkwardly a few times.I hugged her and kissed her bare shoulders and thighs... I was most excited by the difference in the heat and cold of her body parts. twenty two In the evening, the heat dissipated and the sun went down behind the house.We drank tea in the glassed-in porch, near the window that opened onto the courtyard.She studies very hard now, and when she is studying, she always asks her brother some questions, and his brother is very happy to give her advice.At dusk, everything is silent, only the swallows fly across the yard, soar up and disappear into the sky.They were talking, and I was listening: "Hey, that woman on the mountain is cutting wheat..." The song sang about farmers harvesting on the mountain.At first the singing was gentle and melodious, full of sorrow and hatred, but later it became firm and majestic, showing a free, bold, brave and mighty tone:

under the high mountains, There was a troop of Cossacks, Gallop past! The song is melodious, full of melancholy, and it praises how a Cossack detachment passed through the valley, how the hero Doroshenko led it; Why did you abandon your wife, In exchange for a nest of cigarette bags, you mate... The singing slowed down, as if sighing that there are such strange people in the world.This is followed by a particularly cheerful and free melody: My wife can't drag me, As soon as the Cossacks hit the road, Tobacco pouch nest, Everything is indispensable! ————— ① Mikhail Doroshenko (died in 1628), the leader of the Ukrainian Cossacks, commanded the legion to fight the Turks in Hoting in 1621.

②Peter Knonovich-Sagedachny (died in 1622), the leader of the Ukrainian Cossacks. As I listened, I couldn't help feeling a kind of envy that made people feel sweet even if they felt pain. At sunset we went for walks, sometimes into the city, sometimes into the little park on the cliff behind the cathedral, sometimes into the fields on the outskirts of the city.There are several paved streets in the urban area, full of Jewish shops, there are countless watch shops, pharmacies, and tobacco shops.These streets are paved with white stone slabs, evaporating the heat absorbed during the day.There are kiosks at intersections where pedestrians drink sodas of various colors.All this makes people think of the South, and prompts people to think of going further south.I remember thinking of Kerch a lot at that time for some reason.Looking down the valley from the cathedral, I was in Krementsov, Nikolaev in my imagination.We passed the western suburbs and came to the fields outside the city, which is completely rural.Farmhouses, cherry orchards, and melon fields connect the plains with a straight road leading to Mirgorod.On the far side of the avenue, looking forward along a row of telephone poles, there is a large Ukrainian cart moving forward slowly. Two broad oxen are mounted on the yoke of the cart, and they both lower their heads and pull the cart bit by bit.The car and these electric poles gradually disappeared and disappeared, as if sinking into the sea.The last few electric poles like small sticks are only faintly erected on the plain.This is the way to Yanovshina, Alesiki, Shishaki... ————— ①City of the Crimea Province of the Ukrainian SSR, port of the Kerch Strait. We used to spend the evenings listening to concerts in the city park.In the dark, the balcony of the restaurant is brightly lit, and it is as eye-catching as the stage of the theater from a distance.My brother went straight to the restaurant, and we sometimes went to the garden where the cliff ends.The night is so thick, so dark, so warm.It was pitch black under the cliff, and some lights flickered, and bursts of singing rose and fell, as harmonious as a hymn.This is the suburban boys singing.The singing merged with darkness and silence.The train rumbled past like a shining chain, and at this moment, the depth and darkness of the valley was particularly felt; the rumbling sound gradually weakened and disappeared, as if the train had gone underground.Then the song was heard again, and the whole horizon beyond the valley seemed to tremble with the endless trill of the toad; and the silence and darkness seemed to be forever paralyzed by the trill of the gnat. She squeezed happily forward, eyes blinded by the bright light as we emerged from the darkness onto the crowded restaurant terrace.My brother has become drunk, he immediately waved to us, looking affectionate.At the table with him were Vakin, Leontovic, and Sulima.They gave us a seat noisily, and they wanted white wine, wine glasses and ice cubes.Later, the music also stopped, and the park outside the verandah was dark and empty, and occasionally a breeze came from nowhere, which made the lights in the glass shade flicker, and the lampshade was covered with nocturnal insects, but everyone said It's still early.At last it was agreed that it was time to go, but still they did not break up immediately, but went home in groups, talking loudly all the way, rattling the boardwalk beside the road.The garden has fallen asleep, the night is darker and more mysterious, and the light of the slanting moon in the middle of the night softly fills the earth.When we, the three of us, walked into our yard, the moon was looking down on it, illuminating the dark corridor with glass windows; a cricket was chirping softly; every piece of the locust tree next to the wing was reflected on the white wall Leaves, the solidified shadows of every branch, are extremely clear and graceful. The moments before bedtime are most charming.Candles shimmered on the bedside table.A cool air hits outside the window, giving people a sense of freshness, youth, health and happiness.She sat on the edge of the bed in her pajamas, her dark eyes fixed on the candle, her hands braiding her soft, shiny braid. "You're always making a fuss about my change," she said, "if you only knew how much you've changed. You're paying less and less attention to me, especially when we're with other people! I'm afraid Will turn into air for you, you can't live without it, but you don't pay attention to it, am I not telling the truth? You say this is the greatest love, but I seem to think it means, getting me is not satisfies you." "Not satisfied, not satisfied," I said with a smile, "I am not satisfied with anything right now." "Let me also say that there is something that always fascinates you. Georgy Alexandrovich has already told me that you have asked to travel with the statistician. Why? Driving in the hot sun, in the dust bumpy, and then sat in the stuffy town hall, endlessly questioning the Ukrainians one by one according to the items in the forms I sent out..." Throwing her braids back over her shoulders, she raised her eyes and asked: "What attracts you?" "Just because I'm happy, because I really don't feel like I'm content with anything right now." She took my hand: "Are you really happy?" twenty-three Vakin was on a business trip to Shishaki and took me with him.It was the first time I walked the Mirgorod Avenue, where she was so eager to go with me. I remember that we had to start early before the heat came, and we were afraid of oversleeping.My going out alone made her sad, but she restrained herself and got up before the sun rose, made tea for me, and woke me up gently.The sky was gray and the air was clear, and she kept looking out the window.Could it be that she is worried that it will rain and affect my departure?We jumped to our feet when we heard the stage-coach bell ringing outside the gate.I said goodbye affectionately, and then ran out of the small door. I can still feel the tenderness and anxiety.Varkin wore a fat, long canvas robe.Wearing a gray summer sun hat, sitting in the car. Later, the car bells that echoed in the vast space gradually died down. The weather cleared up and was dry and hot. The carriage drove peacefully on the avenue, kicking up billows of dust.Everything around me was so monotonous that soon there was no interest in gazing at the dizzyingly bright horizon, nor in concentrating on anticipation.At noon, we passed a scorching and uninhabited cropland, and saw a scene of nomadic life-the endless Kochubey sheep pen.The carriage was turbulent and bumpy, and I wrote this passage in the car: "At noon, the sheepfold. The hot gray sky, the hawk and the blue-winged crow... I am very happy!" In Yanovshina I wrote down A small tavern: "Janovshina, an old tavern, with a dark, shady interior. The Jewish owner said he had no beer, 'only drinks'. 'What drink?' 'It's a drink! Violet drink.'" The Jew thin Skinny, wearing a long skirt.However, the drink was served by a middle school student from the back room.The boy was extraordinarily fat, with a new leather belt tied high in his light gray clothes. He was handsome and looked a bit like a Persian. He turned out to be the son of a Jew.After driving through Shishaki, I immediately remembered a piece of Gogol’s notes: “In the middle of the flat road, ditches suddenly appeared, deep and concave steep slopes, in the depths were forests, and there were still forests on the other side of the forest; Yes, it is blue in the distance, and there is a strip of pale yellow sand... Above the cliff and the rapids, a windmill creaked and flapped its wings..." Under the steep wall, in the deep valley, Pu The Shore River bends like a bow, and there is a big village as green as a garden.We searched for a long time in the village for a man named Vasilienko, and Vakin asked him something.When I finally found his home, he was not there.We sat under a linden tree next to the house and waited for a long time, surrounded by the moisture of willow bushes and the cry of frogs.Here we sat all night with Vassilenko, eating supper and drinking mulled wine; all around us was the mysterious darkness of a summer night, with only one lamp shining on the green leaves overhead.Then there was a sudden knock at the gate in the darkness, and a well-dressed girl appeared at the table, her face heavily powdered and as pale as aluminum.She was the Zemstvo doctor and a friend of Vasilenko's, so she would of course have learned in time that he had visitors from the province.At first she was very restrained, and chattered away; and as we drank one glass after another, she responded louder and louder to my witticisms.She was very nervous, with high cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, muscular hands that smelt strongly of carbolic acid; prominent collarbones, large breasts under a thin blue blouse, and a slender waist , buttock hypertrophy.It was late at night, and I took her home.It was so dark that we couldn't see our fingers, we walked down an alley along the dry ruts.She stopped by a fence and put her head on my chest, I managed to restrain my urge... Varkin and I got home very late the next day.She is already lying on the bed, reading a book.As soon as she saw me, she jumped up in surprise: "Why, you're back?" I hurriedly told her what I saw and heard on the road, and when I talked about the female doctor with a smile, she interrupted: "Why are you telling me this?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "How cruel you are to me!" she said, hastily drawing a handkerchief from under the pillow. "It's not enough to leave me alone..." How many times in my life since then have I recalled these tears!Twenty years later, I recalled that night one day at my beach house in Bessarabi.I remember that at noon, I came back from swimming and lay in the study.It was hot and windy.The garden around the house is sometimes quiet, and sometimes there is a strong urgent sound like tearing silk; light and shadows flicker among the trees, and the crooked branches dance... When the wind blows harder and harder, it blows stronger and stronger As it approached, it suddenly split open the green shade that covered the dark study windows, revealing a hot, enamelled sky, and the shadows on the white ceiling of the study receded at once, so that the ceiling became brighter.It turned purple, and then the wind died down, and it faded away, lost in the depths of the garden, over the sea cliffs.I watched and listened to all this, and suddenly remembered: twenty years ago, in a remote village in that long-forgotten Little Russia, I had just started living with her; I have gone to work; the window is also open to the garden, and the noise outside the window is the same, the swaying, the light spots are colorful, and the extremely happy wind is freely passing through the room.Brings the aroma of fried onions and heralds that lunch is near.I opened my eyes, breathed the air, put my elbows on my pillow and looked at another pillow beside it, which could still smell faintly of her beautiful black hair and the violet fragrance left by a handkerchief-that It was the handkerchief she held in her hand long after the reconciliation with me.I think back on all this, and think that half my life has passed since I lost her, and I have seen the whole world, and I am still alive and still seeing it, but it has been a long, long time since she left this world.My head started to feel cold, and I jumped up from the sofa, walked out of the room, and walked towards the cliff along the path between the North American saltwood trees like flying through the clouds. Looking at a piece of green sea at the entrance of the path, I suddenly felt This piece of sea has become very scary, wonderful, and fresh as it was at the beginning of the business... I swore to her that night that I would never go anywhere again.But after a few days I left again. twenty four Brother Nicola said when we were in Baturino: "I'm so sorry for you! You think you have no future at such a young age!" In fact, I didn't feel hopeless at all. Again I saw my public office as a stopgap measure.Nor should he regard himself as a man with a wife.Now when I think of my life without her, I feel terrified, but I also have a lot of doubts about the fact that we will never be separated: can we really be united forever, grow old together, have a family and children like all people?Especially the latter—having children and a wife, I can't bear it even more. "You see, someday you and I will be married," she said, dreaming of the future. "I'd still like to be married, and besides, there's nothing better than marriage! Maybe we'll have children . . . don't you want to? " A feeling both sweet and mysterious made my heart constrict, and I dismissed it with a joke. "'The immortals create things, and ordinary people only give birth to their own kind'." "What about me?" she asked, "When our love is over. Once my youth is over and I become someone you don't need anymore, what will I live on?" That sounds really sad.I eagerly retorted; "Never pass, you will never be someone I don't need!" It was me now (like she had been at Orel) who wanted to be loved, and to love while remaining free and dominant in everything. Yeah, the moment when she braids her hair at night and comes to kiss me goodnight is the most emotional moment for me.When she looked up into my eyes, I realized that she was so much shorter than me after taking off her high heels. I think I love her the most when she reveals to me her infinite devotion, selflessness, and the right to express a certain special feeling and take a certain action. We often recalled our winter at Orel, how we parted there, and how I left for Vitebsk.I say: "Yes, what attracted me to Pilotsk at that time? Polotsk may have been called Polotisk in ancient times. This place name has long been connected in my mind with the legend of the ancient Grand Duke Vseslav of Kiev. Together. I read this legend when I was a boy: Vseslav was usurped by his brother and fled to 'the barren land of the Polotsk people', where he lived 'in hunger and cold', practice, prayer, toil and' The temptation of memories' spent the rest of his life. He always seemed to wake up before dawn, 'weeping bitter and sweet tears', dreaming stupidly that he was in Kiev again, in the principality 'as faithful as his own wife' ', it seems that the bells for Vespers were rung not in Polotsk, but in St. Sophia Cathedral in Kiev. Since then, the old, barbaric Polotsk has always been in my imagination Very wonderful: a dark, desolate winter day, the Kremlin made of big logs, with wooden churches and small dark wooden houses, heaps of piles trampled by horses and pedestrians in sheepskins and bark shoes Snow... When I finally returned to the real Polotsk, I couldn't find anything similar to the imaginary Polotsk. But I still have two Polotsks in my mind. Polotsk, that is the imaginary Polotsk and the real Polotsk. Now I think this real Polotsk is quite poetic: the city is lonely, damp, cold and dark, and the station But there was a warm hall with huge semicircular windows, and although it was just getting dark outside, the chandeliers were already brightly lit. There were many people in the hall, including civil and military officials, and they were all hurrying to go. Before the train to Petersburg pulls in, there are voices everywhere, the clang of knives and plates; waiters come and go, bringing the aroma of spices and soup everywhere..." At such times, she always listened to me attentively, and after she finished listening, she agreed with a confident tone: "Well, well, I understand what you mean." I took advantage of this opportunity and then hinted to her: "Goethe once said. 'Ourselves are subject to the consciousness we create'. There are feelings I am completely irresistible, and sometimes a certain imagination of mine arouses in me a painful longing to go where I imagined, to be behind the imagination Do you understand? Behind: I can't explain it to you!" Once, Vakin and I went to Kazachbrod, an old village in Podne-Provier, to attend the ceremony of sending off the immigrants from the Ussuri district, and returned by train the next morning .When I came home from the station entrance, she and her brother had already gone to work.I was tanned and looked energized, refreshed and smug.I was so emotional that I just wanted to tell her and my brother as quickly as possible about the strange things I had seen.I saw with my own eyes a great mass of people moving to this mythical district ten thousand versts from the village of Kazakh Brod.I walked around the empty and tidy house, then went into the bedroom to change and wash; I looked at all her cosmetics and her bed with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The small bordered pillows on top of the big pillow—these are infinitely precious to me, but they are also extremely lonely, which makes me feel a strong sense of guilt and happiness for her.However, when I found an open book on the bedside table, I was stunned: it turned out to be Tolstoy's "Family Happiness", and a few lines were marked on the page: "All my thoughts at that time, All feelings are not my own, but his thoughts and feelings suddenly become mine..." I turned a few pages later, and saw a few lines marked: This summer, I often go to Going into my bedroom, I found that I was no longer worried about my desires and hopes for the future as I used to be, but worried about my present happiness... The summer passed like this, and I began to feel lonely.He is always running outside, leaving me alone at home, he is neither sad nor afraid... I stood there for a few minutes, transfixed.Really, it never occurred to me that she would have (and was having) secret, mostly sentimental thoughts and feelings that I didn't know about, and they were already in the past tense! "At that time all my thoughts, all my feelings... This summer, I used to go into..." The most unexpected is the last sentence: "So the summer passed, and I began to feel lonely..." That is to say, I It was no accident that she shed tears the night she returned from Shishaki! I walked into the office very refreshed, kissed, chatted, and joked with her and my brother happily. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, but my heart was secretly suffering. When it was only the two of us left together, I immediately said to her sharply: "You seem to have watched "Family Happiness" while I was away?" She blushed. "See, how is it?" "I am surprised by the mark you made on the book." "why?" "Because it's clear from that that living with me has made you miserable, that you've been alone, that you've been disappointed." "You're always exaggerating!" she said. "What disappointment? I'm just a little sad. I did find something similar. . Who did she want to believe?Me or herself?Still, I'm glad to hear those words.I am willing to believe her, and I am willing to believe her. "The crested prairie gull soared from the road... she ran, with her blue wool skirt round her waist, her quivering breasts bouncing up and down under her linen shirt, her feet bare, her legs Naked to the knees—showing youth and health..." Which imaginary here has something "behind" it?How can I say no?Besides, I thought these were perfectly compatible with her.I used all kinds of excuses to enlighten her: You only live for me, you only think about me alone, you don’t deprive me of my freedom of will and action, I love you, and I will love you even more for this in the future.I felt that I loved her so much that I could do anything, forgive anything. twenty five "You've grown a lot," she said. "You've become stronger, kinder, and sweeter. You've become an optimist." "Yes, but brother Nikolai, and your father always said that we will be unhappy in the future." "It's because Nicholas doesn't like me. When I was still in Baturino, I felt his indifference and politeness, which you can't imagine." "On the contrary, he always talked about you with tenderness. He said: 'I feel sorry for her, she is still a child. You think about your future in the future. In a few years, your life will be levied by the county consumption tax. What's the difference between the life of a member of the Communist Party?' Do you remember how I used to jokingly describe my future? Three flats, fifty rubles salary..." "He only loves you." "Not very affectionate. He said his only hope was that my 'dissolution' would save me and you, and that I was incompetent even in this business, and that we would soon part. He said to me:' Either you ruthlessly abandon her, or she will abandon you after she has done this comfortable statistical work for a while and understands what fate you have arranged for her.'” "His hopes for me are in vain, and I will never forsake you. The only time I will forsake you is when I find that I am no longer what I need to see you, I am in your way, I am in your way your freedom, your ambition..." When a man is in misfortune, he is constantly caught up in this or that useless brooding.When and how did this begin?What caused it?How could I have failed to heed what seemed to be a warning to me? "There is only one condition in which I will abandon you..." How could I not have noticed these words, that she hadn't ruled out a "situation" after all? Brother Nicholas was right in saying that I valued my "aspirations" too much and abused my freedom more and more.I couldn't sit still at home more and more, and I would go out as soon as I was free, whether by car or on foot, wherever I wanted to go. "Where did you get such a tan?" My brother asked me during lunch. "Where have you been?" "The monastery, the riverside, the station..." "Going alone all the time," she complained. "How many times have I promised to go to the monastery together, but I have only been there once since I came here. It is very beautiful, with thick walls, swallows, monks..." I felt ashamed and sad, and didn't dare to look up at her, but I was afraid of losing my freedom, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said: "What do you like about these monks?" "how about you?" I tried to change the subject and said: "I saw a very strange phenomenon in the cemetery there today: a monk ordered someone to dig an empty tomb for himself in advance, but it was completely built, and even the cross on the tomb was installed. , it has written that someone was buried here, when he was born, and even wrote the word "died in". Only the place for the date of death is left. The place is clean and tidy, with many paths, planted Flowers, but suddenly there is such an empty tomb." "Here, look." "Look at what?" "You're pretending on purpose! Forget it. Turgenev is right..." I interrupted her and said: "You seem to read books now to find something in yourself and me. Then again, all women read books in this way." "Hmph, so what? Although I'm a woman, I'm not that selfish..." My brother came forward to mediate, and he said gently: "Forget it, stop talking!"