Chapter 9 Chapter Five Anna Sergeyevna (3)

Yet she spoke the truth, more truth than she knew.The wife he embraced on his return to Dresden would have changed, would have traces of the subtle and coquettish widow he had brought back.Through his wife he will reach this woman, as through this woman—to whom? Did his thoughts come out?She blushed suddenly with anger, shook off his hand that was holding onto her sleeve, went up the stairs, and left him alone. He then went upstairs and shut himself in his room, trying to calm down.The pounding of his heart gradually slowed down.Pavel!He whispered the name over and over again, as if calling it a spell.But the image that was inexorably presented to him was not Pavel, but another person, Sergey Nechayev.

He no longer denies that a rift has developed between him and the dead child.He was angry with Pavel and felt betrayed.What surprised him wasn't that Pavel had been drawn into the nihilist circle, nor that Pavel hadn't said a word about it in his letters.But when Nechayev was involved, the situation was different.Nechayev was not a young student, nor was he a naive nihilist.He is the Mongol left behind in the Russian spirit after the number one nihilist withdrew to the deserts of Asia.And Pavel is nothing but a foot soldier in his army! He remembered a pamphlet called "Revolutionary's Handbook" circulating in Geneva, which was said to be written by Bakunin, but the ideological content and the choice of words and sentences were obviously Nechayev's. "A revolutionist is a doomed man," the pamphlet began unequivocally. "A revolutionary has no personal interests, no feelings, no attachments, not even a name. He has only one passion in his heart: revolution. In his heart he has severed all ties with social order, law and morality. His continued existence is in society just to destroy it." Then he added: "He doesn't expect any mercy. He prepares himself for death every day."

He prepares for death, he expects no pity: these words are easy to say, but what child understands them all?Pavel could not; even Nechayev, the unloved, unlovable young man, probably could not. He recalled Nechayev himself: standing alone in the corner of the Geneva reception hall, eating conspicuously and voraciously.He shook his head, trying to erase that image. "Pavel! Pavel!" he whispered to the absent man. There was a light knock at the door.Matrona's voice: "Dinner is ready!" He tried to look cheerful at the dinner table.Tomorrow was Sunday: he suggested going to Petrovsky Island, where there was a market and a band on Sunday afternoon.Matrona was eager to go; to his surprise Anna Sergeyevna agreed.

He made an appointment with them to meet them at church after the service.As he went out in the morning, he stumbled over something in the dark doorway: a homeless man was lying there under an old musty blanket.He cursed; the tramp sat up grumbling. The service was not over when he arrived at St. Gregory's.He was waiting in the colonnade of the church when the bum reappeared, sleepy and smelling.He turned around and asked the homeless man, "Are you following me?" Although they were within six inches of each other, the tramp pretended neither to hear nor to see.He repeated it angrily.The filing of the churchgoers looked at the two of them curiously.

The man sneaked away.After walking half a block, he stopped and leaned against the wall, pretending to yawn.He had no gloves and rolled up the blanket as a muff for warmth. Anna Sergeyevna and her daughter came out of the church.It is a long way to the park along Voznesensky Avenue, across the southern tip of Vasilevsky Island.Even before he got to the park, he knew he had made a mistake, a stupid mistake.The band stage was empty, and there was no one around the skating rink, except for a few seagulls strutting. He apologized to Anna Sergeyevna. "There's plenty of time, and it's not yet noon," she answered cheerfully. "Shall we go for a walk?"

Her good mood surprised him; what was even more surprising was that she took his arm.Matrona was on her other side, and they strode along.It seems to be a family, he thought to himself: As long as there is a fourth one, we will be complete.Anna Sergeyevna seemed to guess what he was thinking, and held his arm tighter. They passed a herd of sheep gathered in the reeds.Matrona pulled a handful of grass and went to the flock; the flock scattered.A village boy holding a stick came out from the reeds and cursed.It seemed that a quarrel was inevitable.The village boy suddenly changed his mind, and Matrona slipped back to them.

After some tossing, her face glowed red.She'll grow up to be a beauty, he thought: she'll break hearts. He wondered what his wife would think.So far, he had always felt remorse after his misdeeds, and remorse was followed by an urge to repent.Although these confessions were painful on the surface, they were vague in detail. The wife became more and more confused and angry. The confession did more damage to their marriage than the fact of infidelity itself. But in the present situation, he feels no guilt.Instead, he was unwavering in his belief in his own rightness.He didn't know what lay behind this sense of rightness; in fact he didn't want to know.For now, there was something like euphoria in him.Forgive me, Pavel, he whispered to himself.But it still doesn't mean it.

If only I could start my life all over again, he thought; if only I could be young again!And maybe: if only I could make use of the life Pavel has thrown away, the youth he has thrown away! What about the woman next to him?Did she feel remorse now that she had committed herself to him impulsively?If that hadn't happened at all, today's play might mark the beginning of a formal courtship.That's what a woman wants: someone to woo her, woo her, persuade her, win her over!Even when she's committed, she doesn't want to be too blunt, but half-push, in a pleasant haze.Fall, but never an irreversible fall.No: to fall and come back, remade, virginal, ready to be wooed again, to fall again.A game with death, a game of resurrection.

What would happen to her if she knew what he was thinking?Back angrily?Is that part of the game too? He glanced at her secretly, and at that moment, he realized clearly: I can fall in love with this woman.Beyond the physical attraction, he felt what he could only call her resemblance.He and she belong to the same type, the same generation.Suddenly the contemporaries took their places: Pavel, Matrona and his young wife Anna on one side, he and Anna Sergeyevna on the other.Children on one side, and not children on the other, but people old enough to feel death when they make love.Hence the urgency of that night, the burning heat.In his arms she was like Joan of Arc at the stake: the soul wrestled with the chains that bound it while the body was reduced to ashes.Struggling at the same time.Things a child will never understand.

"Pavel said you were in Siberia." Her words jolted him out of his contemplation. "Stayed there for ten years. That's where I met Pavel's mother. In Semipalatinsk. Her husband used to work in customs. Pavel was seven years old when he died. She died too, that was a few days ago Years—Pavel must have told you." "So you got married again." "That's right. What did Pavel say?" "He only said your wife was very young." "My wife was about Pavel's age. For a time we lived together, the three of us, in an apartment on Meshyaskaya Street. It was not a happy time for Pavel. He was somewhat against my wife. In fact, when I told Pavel that she was going to marry me, Pavel went to her and told her quite seriously that I was too old. After that, he always took care of himself Orphaned: 'Orphans want another slice of toast,' 'Orphans have no money,' etc. We took it as a joke, but it wasn't. It resulted in family discord."

"I can understand. But of course he deserves sympathy. He must feel losing you." "How could he lose me? Since the day I became his father, I have never been sorry to him. Is there anything I can do to him now?" "Of course not, Fyodor Mikhailovich. But children are very possessive. They have a jealous side like all of us. When we are jealous, we make up things that are not good for us." stories, generate our own ideas, scare ourselves." Her words are like a prism, just turn the angle a little, and it will reflect a very different meaning.Did she do it on purpose? He glanced at Matrona.She wore new boots trimmed with wooly sheepskin.She stomped hard on the wet grass, leaving a line of footprints.She frowned thoughtfully. "He said you used him to deliver messages." There was a sharp pain in his heart.Pavel remembers even that! "It's true. A year before we were married, on her name day, I asked him to give her a present for me. It was a very wrong thing, and I regret it very much afterwards. I can't forgive it. I Didn't think much of it. Was it the worst thing?" "the worst?" "Did Pavel ever tell you anything worse than that? I'd love to know, I know what's wrong and I can ask for forgiveness." She looked at him strangely. "That's a bad question, Fyodor Mikhailovich. Pavel had his moments of loneliness. He'd say it, and I'd listen. Sometimes things were said, not always pleasant. things. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe he won't brood so much when he's told the past." "Matrona!" He turned to the child. "Did Pavel ever tell you—" Anna Sergeyevna interrupted him. "I'm sure Pavel didn't tell her that," she said, turning to him, and whispered hard, "You shouldn't be asking a child that question!" They stopped in the wilderness facing each other.Matrona looked away with a stern face and pursed lips; Anna Sergeyevna stared. "It's getting cold," she said. "Shall we go back?"