Chapter 8 Eight

When I went downstairs to tea the next morning, my mother scolded me, but not as severely as I had expected.She insisted on me describing how I passed the evening.I gave a brief answer, omitting many details, and tried to put everything beyond reproach. "They're not commeilfaut after all," said the mother. "You don't have to hang out with them so often. You have to study for your exams." As I knew my mother was concerned with my studies, and that all she had to say was these few words, I thought it unnecessary to argue with her; but after tea my father took my arm and joined me. Go into the garden, and I must tell you what I saw at Tasekin's.

My father had a strange influence on me—our relationship was also a strange one.He hardly ever inquired about my education, but never hurt my feelings; he respected my freedom - he was even polite to me... if I can describe it that way.He just never let me get close to him.I love him, I admire him, I think he's a great role model for men - my God!How passionately I would have loved him if I hadn't often felt his hand pushing me away!But if he wanted to, he could, by a word or a gesture, almost in the blink of an eye, arouse in my soul infinite confidence in him.I once opened my heart—I talked to him as I would to a wise friend, a tolerant teacher... Then he suddenly threw me aside—his hand pushed me away again, although with Kind and gentle way, but pushed me away after all.

Sometimes he gets happy--then he'll run and dance and play with me like a child (he likes all kinds of strenuous exercise); once, and only once!He was so tender to me that I almost cried... Then his cheerfulness and tenderness disappeared without a trace, and what happened between us did not make me feel hopeful for the future. Any hope, it seems to me it's all just a dream.Sometimes, I only need to look at his bright, handsome, happy face...my heart will tremble, and my whole body and mind will yearn for him...he seems to feel what is thinking in my heart, and he will comfort me He patted my cheek casually—then he either walked away, or went to discuss something, or suddenly became icy, that kind of icy attitude is unique to him; and I immediately felt tense and cooled down .His rare gestures of affection were never provoked by my unspoken entreaties, these gestures of caresses always came out of the blue.Afterwards I thought about my father's character carefully, and I came to the conclusion that he was not interested in me, nor in domestic life; "Whatever you can take, take it, don't give in to others; you are yours—that's the way life is," he once said to me.On another occasion, as a young democrat, I lavished on liberty in his presence (his manner that day seemed to me to be "kindly"; so any subject could be brought to him).

"Freedom," he repeated, "what makes a man free, do you know?" "what is it then?" "Will, your own will, which gives more power than freedom. If you have will, then you are free, and you can command others." My father's first and greatest will was to live—he had lived it... perhaps he had a presentiment that he would not enjoy life long, this thing": he died at forty-two. I told my father the exact circumstances of my visit to the Zasekins.He was sitting on the bench, paddling back and forth on the sandy soil with his cane, listening to my narration as if he was very attentive and a little absent-minded.He smiled occasionally, looked at me from time to time, seemed to be quite happy and interesting, and asked me some short questions and disagreements to encourage me to continue talking.At first I felt afraid to mention Zinaïda's name, but then I couldn't help it, and began to praise her.Father kept smiling.Then he fell into thought, stretched, and stood up.

I remember, as he went out of the house, he ordered his horses to be ready.He was an excellent rider, able to tame the wildest horses, much earlier than Mr. Riley. "Daddy, can I go horseback riding with you?" I asked him. "No," he answered, with his usual cold but kind expression on his face. "If you're going, go alone; tell the groom I won't ride." He turned away and walked away quickly.I watched his back - he disappeared outside the gate.I saw his hat moving along the fence: he was going to Zasekin's. He remained with them less than an hour, and immediately went to town, and did not return until evening.

After lunch, I myself went to Zasekin's.In the drawing-room I saw only the old Duchess.When she saw it, she scratched her scalp under the hair cap with a knitting needle, and suddenly she asked me if I could copy a statement for her. "With pleasure!" I replied, and sat down on the edge of the chair. "But be careful, the writing should be larger," the Duchess said in a low voice, and handed me a piece of untidy paper, "Master, can I copy it today?" "Okay, I'll copy today, ma'am." The door of the adjoining room was opened a little, and through the crack Zinaïda's face—a pale, pensive face, with hair brushed back carelessly—was revealed; With a cold glance at me, she closed the door softly.

"Zina, Zina!" the old lady shouted. Zinaïda made no reply.I took the old lady's report back and copied it all night.