Chapter 26 Chapter Eleven Walking (1)

During the week since their last intimacy a barrier of awkward formality had formed between Anna Sergeyevna and him.Her manner towards him was so unnatural that he felt that the child who had been watching and listening must have come to the conclusion that she wished him to leave the house. For whom are they maintaining this facade of keeping a respectful distance?Certainly not for themselves.It can only be for the viewing of the two children --- the current child and the child who is no longer there. Yet he longed to hold her in his arms again.He did not believe that she would be indifferent to him.He felt like a dog chasing its own tail in circles that got smaller and smaller.When he was with her in the darkness of atonement, he felt a sign that his limbs were loose and his soul was released, and the soul was now connected to his body at the shoulders, hips and knees. .

At the core of his hunger was a desire, not entirely clear the first night, that now seemed to be centered on her smell.She and he seemed beasts, attracted by what he smelled in the air around her: the smell of autumn, especially of walnuts.He began to understand the habits of life of animals and of children, attracted or repelled by smells and atmospheres.He seemed to see himself lying on top of her like a lion, arching the hair on the nape of her neck with his mouth, sticking his nose into her armpits, rubbing his face against her crotch. The door did not have a security lock.At that time it was not inconceivable that the child wandered into the room, and it was possible to catch a glimpse of him in this lustful state--lustrous was a word he hated, but it was very apt.Besides, many children have the problem of sleepwalking: she may get up in the middle of the night and grope into his room while still asleep.In addition, will this intimate smell be passed on from mother to daughter?After falling in love with his mother, will he also long for his daughter?Confused thoughts, confused desires!It must be buried with him, and not known to anyone but one.That man is Pavel.Because now Pavel is inside him, and Pavel never sleeps.He could only pray that the weakness that had once disgusted a child now brought him a smile, a smile that was pleasant and forgiving.

Maybe Nechayev will do the same. Once he crosses the black river leading to death, he will no longer be cruel and fierce, but learn to smile again. So, the next evening, he went to meet Anna Sergeyevna opposite Yakovlev's shop.When she came out, he crossed the street to meet her, feeling her surprise at seeing him. "Shall we go for a walk?" She drew the dark shawl tighter under her chin. "I don't know. Matryosha will be anxious for me." Nevertheless they went for a walk.The wind had died down and the air was dry and cold.The streets were bustling with people, but no one paid any attention to them.They are most likely an ordinary couple.

She was carrying a basket, but he took it.He liked the way she walked, her long strides, her arms folded across her chest. "I'm leaving here soon," he said. She didn't respond. His wife's question was delicately placed between the two of them.He mentioned that when leaving, it felt like a chess player deliberately let the opponent capture a pawn. Whether captured or not, this move will cause complex changes.Are things like this between men and women, one is calculating and the other is being calculated?Is calculation an element of joy: to be the object of another party's calculations, to be ushered into a corner, to be tenderly pressed until it yields?Was she plotting against him in her own way as she walked beside him?

"I'm here waiting for the investigation to be over. I don't even need to wait for the verdict. All I want is the documents. The rest is irrelevant." "Are you going back to Germany by then?" "yes." They have reached the embankment.He held her arm as they crossed the street.They leaned side by side against the railing on the bank. "Because of what happened to Pavel in this city," he said, "I don't know whether to hate it or feel more inseparable from it. Because it is now Pavel's home. He will never leave again. , I can no longer travel outside as I please."

"Nonsense, Fyodor Mikhailovitch," she said, smiling at him sideways. "Pavel is with you. You are his home. He is in your heart, and wherever you go, he goes with you." She touched his chest lightly with her gloved hand. His heart skipped a beat, as if her fingertips had directly touched his heart.Is the gesture coquettish, or is it coming directly from her heart?Holding her in my arms now was the most natural thing in the world.He felt that his eyes were literally engulfing her pretty, still smiling lips.She didn't flinch from that gaze.She is not a young woman.Not children either.The two of them looked over Pavel's body and challenged.A thought suddenly flashed: it would be good if he wasn't here!The thought then disappeared into the corner.

They bought some fish patties from a street vendor for dinner.Matrona opened the door, but when she saw who it was with her mother, she turned away.At the dinner table, she was upset and pestered her mother to listen to a long and messy story about a schoolmate who quarreled with her.When he intervened to defend the girl a little, she snorted and didn't bother to start a conversation with him. He knew she was aware and was trying to draw her mother back from him.why not?This is her right.But as long as she's not here!This time he didn't suppress his thoughts.If the child is not present, he will never waste time to say a word.He would extinguish the candle and find each other again in the dark.They're going to take that big bed for themselves, that widow's bed--she said it's been a while since a man has slept in that bed--four years?

In his imagination he saw Anna Sergeyevna very sensual.Her petticoat was pulled up high, exposing her breasts.He lay between her legs: two long white legs clamped him.Her face was turned to one side, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing heavily.Although the man who had sex with her was himself, it seemed to be seen from the perspective of the bedside.It was her thighs that dominated the imaginary scene: he put his hands on her legs and pressed hard on his flank. "Come on, eat what's on your plate," she urged her daughter. "I'm not hungry, I have a sore throat," Matrona cried.She tossed the food on her plate for a moment, then pushed the plate away.

He stood up. "Good night, Matryosha. I hope you feel better tomorrow," the child did not bother to answer.He left, leaving her alone.