IX

The uryadnik kept his word and left the occupants of the forest hut alone for the time being. But there came an abrupt and appalling change in my relationship with Olesya. She now treated me without a trace of her former trusting and artless friendliness, of the vivacity in which the coquetry of a beautiful girl had mingled so charmingly with the sportiveness of a naughty boy. An insurmountable awkwardness had crept into our conversation. With hurried timidity, Olesya avoided all the lively subjects, which had given such a wide scope to our curiosity.

In my presence she would give herself up to her work with stern, tense concentration, but I could often see her hands drop limply on her lap, while she stared at the floor. If at a moment like that I called her by name or asked her a question, she would start and slowly turn to me a frightened face that reflected an effort to grasp the meaning of my words. Sometimes I felt as if my presence were a nuisance or a burden to her; but this seemed strange after the profound interest which only a few days ago she had shown in every comment I made, every word I spoke. And so I could only think that she would not forgive my pleading with the uryadnik – an act of patronage which must have offended her sense of independence. But this conjecture did not satisfy me, either, for how indeed could an ordinary girl, who had grown up in the woods, be so squeamishly proud?

An explanation was certainly called for, but Olesya stubbornly avoided every opportunity for a heart-to-heart talk. Our evening strolls ceased. In vain did I look eloquently and imploringly at her every day as I rose to leave – she made believe she did not understand. On the other hand, the old woman’s presence disturbed me, even though she was deaf.

At times I was angered by my own inability to break the habit of going to see Olesya every day. I had no inkling of the strong invisible threads that bound my heart to the captivating, unaccountable girl. I did not think of love yet, but I was already going through the restless period preceding love, a period full of vague, agonizingly sad sensations. No matter where I was or how I tried to divert myself, my mind was taken up by Olesya’s image, my whole being yearned for her, and the recollection of her words – sometimes quite insignificant ones – her gestures or her smile would grip my heart with a gentle, sweet pain. Then dusk would fall, and I would sit for hours on the low, shaky bench by her side, feeling, to my vexation, ever more timid, ever more awkward and dull-witted.

Once I spent a whole day sitting like that beside Olesya. I had not been feeling well since the morning, although I did not quite know yet what was wrong with me. Towards evening I felt worse. My head was heavy, there was a ringing in my ears and a dull, persistent pain at the back of my head, as if someone were pressing it with a soft, strong hand. My mouth was dry, and a sluggish, languid weakness pervading my whole body made me want to yawn and stretch all the time. My eyes ached intensely as if I had been staring at a dazzling object.

As I was walking home late that evening I suddenly began to shiver violently. I stumbled on like a drunken man, hardly knowing where I was going, and my teeth chattered loudly.

I do not know to this day who brought me home. For fully six days I shook with the terrible, relentless Polesye fever. During the day the illness would seem to subside, and I would recover consciousness. Completely worn out by the disease, I would crawl about the room, my knees weak and aching; if I moved with any vigour the blood would rush to my head in a hot wave, shutting out everything before my eyes. And at nightfall, usually about seven o’clock, the disease would swoop down on me anew, and I would spend a horrible night, as long as a century, during which I alternately shook with cold under the sheets and burned with a unbearable heat. The slightest touch of drowsiness brought with it painful nightmares, bizarre and crazy, that tortured my heated brain. My visions were full of minute, microscopic details that piled up and clung to each other in an ugly hustle and bustle. I would fancy I was sorting out some coloured boxes of grotesque shapes, taking small boxes out of big ones, and smaller boxes out of the small ones, unable to stop the endless task, which had become loathsome to me. Then long, colourful strips of wallpaper would flit before my eyes at a dizzy speed, and with striking lucidity I would see on them, instead of patterns, veritable garlands of human faces – some of them handsome, kind and smiling, others making fearful grimaces, putting out their tongues, baring their teeth, or rolling their enormous eyeballs. Then again Yarmola and I would engage in an abstract dispute, tangled and exceedingly complicated. The arguments we brought forward would become more and more cunning and profound; certain words and even letters would suddenly acquire a mysterious, unfathomable meaning, and I would be beset more and more by a fastidious terror of the unknown, weird force which drew ugly sophisms out of my head one by one and would not let me stop a dispute that had long become hateful.

It was a seething whirlwind of human and bestial forms, landscapes, objects of the most singular shapes and colours, words and phrases whose meaning I perceived with all my senses. Yet, strange as it may seem, I kept on seeing at the same time a neat circle of light, which the lamp with the green, scorched shade threw on the ceiling. And somehow I knew that in that peaceful circle with its blurred rim there lurked a silent, mysterious and terrible life, more dreadful and oppressive than the frenzied chaos of my dreams.

Then I would wake up, or rather find myself awake all at once. I would almost regain consciousness, and would realize that I was ill and in bed, that I had just been delirious, but still the latent and sinister threat of the bright circle on the dark ceiling would frighten me. Feebly I would reach for my watch, only to find in anguished perplexity that the whole endless succession of my hideous dreams had lasted no longer than two or three minutes. “God! When will daylight come!” I would think in despair, tossing my head on the hot pillows and feeling my own panting breath burn my lips. Then a light sleepiness would overpower me once more, and again my brain would become a plaything for a jumbled nightmare, and again I would wake up two minutes later, a prey to mortal anguish.

Six days later my strong constitution, aided by quinine and an infusion of plantain, overcame the illness. I got up from bed, completely shattered and tottering. I recovered fast. My head, wearied by six days of feverish delirium, was now lazily and pleasantly devoid of thoughts. My appetite came back redoubled, and my body gathered strength hourly, its every particle absorbing health and the joy of living. I felt a fresh urge to go to the lone sagging hut in the forest. My nerves had not yet rallied from the illness, and whenever I recalled Olesya’s face and voice I was so tenderly moved that I could have cried.

X

Five more days passed, and I was strong enough to walk all the way to the witch’s hut without feeling tired in the least. As I approached the threshold my heart beat in fear. I had not seen Olesya for nearly a fortnight, and now I realized with particular clarity how dear she was to me. My hand on the door-knob, I wavered for a few seconds, hardly drawing my breath. I even shut my eyes for a while in my hesitation before pushing the door open.

It is difficult to make out impressions like those which followed my entrance. Indeed, is it possible to remember the words spoken during the early moments of a meeting of mother and son, husband and wife, or two lovers? The words spoken ere very ordinary – in fact, they would have sounded ridiculous if recorded. But each word is fitting and infinitely precious merely because it is spoken by the dearest voice on earth.

I do remember, and very distinctly too, that Olesya quickly turned a pale face towards me and that that sweet face, which seemed new to me, reflected in instant succession perplexity, fright, and loving tenderness. The old woman mumbled something, shuffling about me, but I did not hear her greeting. Olesya’s voice came to me like sweet music.

“What happened to you? Were you ill? How thin you’ve grown, my poor one.”

For a long time I could say nothing in reply, and we stood silently facing each other, holding each other’s hands, gazing happily into each other’s eyes. I consider those few silent seconds the happiest in my life; never before had I felt, nor have I felt ever since, so pure, so complete and all-absorbing an ecstasy. And the things I read in Olesya’s big dark eyes – the emotion over the meeting, the reproach for my long absence, the passionate confession of love! I felt that, along with that gaze, she was joyfully giving me her whole being, without any conditions, without wavering.

She was the first to break the spell by indicating Manuilikha with a slow movement of her eyelids. We sat down side by side, and she began to ask me solicitous questions about my illness, the medicines I had taken, the things that the doctor had said (he had come from the town twice to see me). She made me repeat my story about the doctor several times, and occasionally I saw a mocking smile quiver on her lips.

“If only I’d known you were ill!” she cried, with impatient regret. “I’d have had you back on your feet in a day. How can you trust people who don’t know anything – anything at all? Why didn’t you send for me?”

I faltered.

“You see, Olesya, it came so unexpectedly and, besides, I didn’t dare to disturb you. You’ve been treating me in a queer way lately, as if you were cross with me, or fed up with me. Listen, Olesya,” I added, lowering my voice. “We must talk over many, many things, just the two of us – you know what I mean.”

She dropped her eyelids in acquiescence, then glanced timidly at her grandmother, and whispered quickly, “Yes, I wanted that myself, only not now – later.”

Scarcely had the sun set when she urged me to go home.

“Get ready, quick,” she said, pulling me by the hand from the bench. “If the damp gets into you now the illness will come back at once.”

“Where are you going, Olesya?” asked Manuilikha as she saw her granddaughter hurriedly putting on her grey woollen shawl.

“I’ll walk with him a bit,” answered Olesya.

She said it with seeming indifference, looking at the window and not at Manuilikha, but in her voice I detected a hardly perceptible shade of exasperation.

“So you are going after all?” said the old woman with emphasis.

Olesya’s eyes flashed as she looked at Manuilikha.

“Yes, I am!” she replied haughtily. “We’ve talked about it quite enough. It’s my business, and I’ll take the consequences.”

“So I see!” cried Manuilikha, irritably and reproachfully.

She had been about to add something, but instead she waved her hand hopelessly, shambled on her wobbly feet into a corner, and got busy with a basket.

I gathered that the rapid, resentful dialogue I had just heard was a sequel to a long series of quarrels.

“Your granny doesn’t want you to go out with me, does she?” I asked Olesya as we descended to the forest.

She shrugged her shoulders in annoyance.

“Don’t pay any attention to that. Well, no, she doesn’t. What of it? Surely I’m free to do as I please!”

Suddenly I felt an urge to reproach her for her former severity.

“So you could have gone out with me even before my illness, but you didn’t care to. If only you knew how much pain you caused me, Olesya! Every evening I hoped you would go with me. But you were so cold and dull and cross. Oh, how you tormented me, Olesya!”

“Stop it, please, dear one. Forget it,” she begged me, a gentle apology in her voice.

“Well, I’m not blaming you – it just came out. Now I know the reason, but at first I had a feeling – it’s funny to think of it, really – I had a feeling that you were angry with me because of the uryadnik. And that hurt me a lot. It seemed to me you considered me such a stranger that you found it hard to accept a mere friendly service from me. It made me so unhappy. I had no idea, you see, that it all came from Granny.”

Olesya suddenly flushed deeply.

“No, it didn’t! I just didn’t want it myself!” she cried defiantly.

I looked at her from the side, and saw the pure, delicate profile of her slightly bowed head. Only now did I notice that she herself had grown thinner and that there were bluish shadows under her eyes. She sensed that I was gazing at her, and looked up, but at once dropped her eyes again, and turned away with a bashful smile.

“Why didn’t you want it, Olesya? Why?” I asked her, my voice breaking with emotion, and, seizing her by the hand, I made her stop.

We were in the middle of a long, narrow lane, straight as an arrow. Tall, slender pines flanked us on both sides, forming an avenue that ran away into the distance, with a canopy of fragrant intertwining boughs. The bare trunks bore crimson reflections of the dying sunset.

“Why, Olesya? Why?” I asked her again and again in a whisper, tightening my grip on her hand.

“I couldn’t. I was afraid,” she said in a hardly audible voice. “I thought I could get away from fate. But now – ”

She gasped as if for air, and suddenly threw her arms round my neck in я strong embrace, and I felt on my lips the burning sweetness of her hurried, tremulous whisper.

“Now I don’t care any more, I don’t! Because I love you, my dear one, my happiness, my own!”

She clung to me ever closer, and I felt her robust, warm body quivering in my arms, and her heart racing against my chest. Like strong wine, her passionate kisses went to my head, still weak from the illness, and I began to lose my self-control.

“Olesya, for God’s sake, don’t – let me go,” I said, trying to unclasp her arms. “Now I’m afraid too, afraid of myself. Let me go, Olesya.”

She turned up her face, and a languorous smile crept across it.

“Don’t be afraid, my darling,” she said, with an ineffable look of tender caress and touching boldness. “I’ll never reproach you or be jealous. Just tell me if you love me.”

“Yes, Olesya. I’ve loved you for a long time, with all my heart. But – don’t kiss me any more. I feel weak and dizzy, I’m not sure of myself.”

Once again her lips held mine in a long, tantalizingly sweet kiss, and I guessed rather than heard her say, “Then don’t be afraid, and don’t worry any longer. This is our day, and nobody can take it from us.”

And the whole of that night merged into one enchanting fairy-tale. The moon rose, mottling the forest with grotesque, mysterious colours, casting pale blue spots of light on gnarled stumps, crooked boughs, and the soft, plush-like carpet of moss. The slender white trunks of birch-trees stood out in clear outline, while their sparse leaves seemed to be veiled in silvery gauze. Here and there, where the moonlight could not pierce the awning of pine branches, the darkness was complete and impenetrable, except for a beam of light which had somehow made its way into the middle to catch a long row of trees and lay a straight narrow path on the ground, as bright and lovely as a tree-lined walk trimmed by elves for the solemn march of Oberon and Titania. And we walked arm in arm amid that living, smiling legend, without saying a word, overwhelmed by our happiness and the eerie stillness of the forest.

“Why, darling, I quite forgot you must hurry home,” said Olesya suddenly. “How selfish of me! You’ve only just recovered, and here I am keeping you so long in the woods.”

I embraced her, and pushed back the shawl from her rich dark hair.

“You aren’t sorry, Olesya, are you?” I asked softly, bending over her ear. “You don’t regret it?”

She slowly shook her head.

“No. I shan’t be sorry no matter what comes afterwards. I’m so happy.”

“Must something come?”

There was a flicker of the familiar mystical terror in her eyes.

“Yes, it must. Remember what I told you about the queen of clubs? I am that queen, and it’s to me that the misfortune the cards foretold will happen. You know, I was going to ask you to stop coming to our place altogether. But just then you fell ill, and I didn’t see you for nearly a fortnight. I felt so terribly lonely and sad I thought I’d give anything on earth just to be with you for one moment. That was when I made up my mind. Come what may, I said to myself, I won’t give up my happiness for anything.”

“You’re right, Olesya. I felt that way too,” I said, touching her temple with my lips. “I didn’t know I loved you till I had to part with you. It’s true, whoever said it, that separation does to love what the wind does to the fire: it puts out a small love and fans a big one.”

“What was that? Please say it again,” said Olesya, interested.

I repeated the aphorism. Olesya fell to musing, and I could see by her moving lips that she was repeating the words.

I peered closely at her pale upturned face, into her big black eyes with the bright glint of moonlight in them, and a vague foreboding of impending misfortune chilled suddenly my heart.