Vladimir had returned to his work for the first time, had gone to the
office. Vasya was rejoicing in her freedom. In the morning she rushed
to the Party Committee, and thence to the hemp-binding works. Lisa was
asking for help, preparations had to be made for the meeting of the
union.
On the way to the Party Committee Vasya smiled. She felt as though
she had escaped from a cage. Everything delighted her. She felt as if
she had not seen her Comrades for an incredibly long time; and they
were glad, too. They had missed her. Vasya was a general favorite. She
did so much, gossiped not at all, and sympathized with everybody's
troubles. The moment she reached Party headquarters she was given work
to do--she had to determine what was to be discussed at the meeting,
and to classify the material with the speakers.
Vasya looked at the clock. Impossible! It was almost eight! Vladimir
must have waited for her impatiently. Had they given him a dinner
conforming with the doctor's orders? Vasya had forgotten all about it.
She walked with Lisa, discussing the news that a Comrade of the Central
Administration had brought from Moscow. Many peculiar things were
happening in the Party these days. Lisa was in complete disagreement
with the new policy; she stood with the boys of the factory. They were
going to put up their own candidates at the Party Conference--there
would be another fight against the Chairman.
Vasya envied her. Since her arrival she had taken no really active
part in anything, as if she were not a member of the Party, but only a
"sympathizer."
"That's because you're a manager's wife. If you had been living by
yourself you would have come back to work very soon."
Vasya sighed. Lisa didn't have to tell her that; she knew it herself.
But she had no time to think of such things. As soon as Vladimir should
have completely recovered she would go back to her province.
"Oh, you won't go! You're much too fond of your Vladimir Ivanovitch.
You're only a wife nowadays," Lisa objected irritably.
Vasya remained silent. What could she say? Lisa was right; but she did
not complain. She had gone through too much. Let Volodya only live,
live without suffering.
When Vasya came home he was not there.
"Where is Vladimir Ivanovitch? Hasn't he come back yet?"
"Of course he came back. He was here from three o'clock, and waited for
you to come for dinner. But he couldn't wait so long. When you didn't
come he ate with Ivan Ivanovitch. They went away not long ago," Marya
Semyonovna told her. "But there's a note for you on the table."
Vasya took it up.
"Dear Vasya, we've agreed always to be frank with each other; and you
said you'd always understand me. I absolutely must be there today. I'll
tell you why later. Then you'll understand that I couldn't help it. I
beg you to stand by our agreement, and not to grieve. Your Volodya."
When Vasya had read the note her hands dropped on her lap.
Again? So it was not over. But why had she thought it was over? Had
Volodya ever said so? Hadn't she known that Ivan Ivanovitch was always
going back and forth, forming the connecting link between Vladimir
and the other woman? Volodya was honest, as she had begged him to
be. Frankness, only frankness! Why did it hurt so? Why did bitter
resentment and indignation rise in her heart, as if Volodya had
deceived her again?
Marya Semyonovna was setting the table and looking disapprovingly at
Vasya.
"Do you want to eat?" she asked. "Are you starting this business
all over again? Nobody eats, and a person is expected to cook! Then
there'll be more of your endless quarrels and tears. You may resent it
or not, Vassilissa Dementyevna, but I must tell you the truth; you're
not the woman for Vladimir Ivanovitch. Now you're broken-hearted over
his letter, and you're crying because he's gone to his mistress. But I
tell you that you're to blame, too. The man just rose up from the dead,
so to speak. He took poison on account of you. But the moment he walked
out the door you were gone yourself. If it were your work, it would be
different. Business demands its rights. But you just run around from
one meeting to another, enlightening our silly women. Why don't you
clean up your own house before you try to teach others? It's a disgrace
to work for you!"
Banging the door, she disappeared into the kitchen. But after a few
minutes Marya Semyonovna returned, a little gentler, with a hot omelet
and a cup of cocoa.
"Eat, Vassilissa Dementyevna, and stop thinking. You can't think of
everything, after all."
Marya Semyonovna sat down at the table beside Vasya and recounted her
own experiences. Something of the sort had happened in the house of
the late Madame Gollolobova, the general's wife. All on account of the
French governess. But then the general and his wife were reconciled and
lived together very well until she died. What was more, they even were
happy.
Vasya listened half-heartedly, but did not interrupt. She had come to
know Marya Semyonovna during Vladimir's illness. Marya Semyonovna
pitied Vasya, and recognized one of her own people in her. She hated
the specialists, the doctors, and the managers, thought them all
_burshuis_. But now Vasya had to listen to Marya Semyonovna's endless
stories of how the millionaire Pokatilovs had lived; and what the
general's wife used to like for dinner. They bored Vasya; but she
didn't want to hurt Marya Semyonovna's feelings. She was a kindly old
soul, though she seemed rather sulky at first glance.
Her stories were particularly disagreeable to Vasya just now. She
wanted to weigh everything, to clear up matters in her own mind, to
think things over from beginning to end.
"Thanks for the supper, Marya Semyonovna. Now I'll have to go to my
papers."
"Is that all you ate? If I'd known that I wouldn't have cooked anything
for you. You'll kill yourself, Vassilissa Dementyevna; and the whole
business isn't worth that. For, to tell you the truth, I wouldn't give
a kopek for Vladimir Ivanovitch's sweetheart! She isn't worth your
little finger."
Lisa had said the same thing.
"Why do you say that, Marya Semyonovna? She is supposed to be so very
beautiful."
"What's beautiful in her? She's painted and powdered like a clown. She
isn't interested in anything but clothes, so that she can get more and
more out of the men."
"Do you know her? Did you ever see her?"
"Of course I know her. How often didn't she sleep here before you came,
the dressed-up hussy! She has all sorts of notions. She has to have hot
water at night, needs this, that, and the other. She pretends she's
a lady, and says she's been used to this life since she was a child.
But she's lying--she doesn't look like that. Real gentlefolk are more
polite. They always say 'Please' and 'Thank you' to the servants. But
this hussy can only give orders: 'Bring me this! Do that! Clear these
things away!'"
"What's her name?"
"Her name? Nina Constantinovna. I can't remember her last name.
Everybody in town calls her just Nina Constantinovna."
"I'd like to see her sometime," Vasya said thoughtfully, turning
Volodya's note in her hands.
"Nothing could be simpler. She goes walking in the City Park every day
when the band plays. Let's go there tomorrow, and you can take a look
at the minx. In the old days that kind used to walk the streets of
Moscow at night."
"When the music plays, you say? All right, Marya Semyonovna; let's go
there. Maybe I'll feel better after I've seen her."
Marya Semyonovna shook her head doubtfully; but she made no attempt to
dissuade Vasya. She was anxious to see how the two rivals would look at
each other.
* * * * *
Vasya went through the dark house. She didn't want any light; she felt
that the darkness soothed her. She could not sleep.
In the morning everything seemed fine; Volodya was well and working
again, and she, too, was busy. For she would soon return to her
province. She didn't want to be the "manager's lady". Since she and
Vladimir had agreed always to be frank, she felt better. But the pain
was still there. It was not jealousy. Nor had Vladimir broken his word;
he had told the truth to Vasya as to a friend. Still, she did not feel
quite happy.
She scolded herself: what in the world did she want? Surely she had not
thought that Vladimir had come back to her altogether, that he had torn
the other out of his heart. But that was just it. That was what Vasya
had thought, hoped for, longed for.
And what was the upshot of it all? They had suffered so much, and had
progressed not an inch. Vladimir was again spending his evenings with
the other woman while Vasya wandered alone through the dark house.
He had no pity for her. Whom did he love? Her, Vasya, his friend and
comrade, or the other? He said he loved Vasya; but it wasn't true.
These thoughts only increased her suffering. If she knew that he had
stopped loving her she would go away. But as matters stood, how could
she go? Suppose she was mistaken. Suppose he should attempt suicide
again. Vasya could not leave Vladimir. How could she live far away
from him with this agony in her heart? It was more bearable when he was
there.
Come what might, she loved Vladimir. If she didn't love him could she
suffer such torment because of him?
She loved him: but she understood him less every day. As if they had
entered a forest by two divergent paths. The farther they penetrated
into the forest the greater the distance between them. She loved
Volodya; but in her heart she condemned him more and more. Why had he
had anything to do with such a creature? If it had been one of her
own people, a Communist girl, she would not have felt so hurt. But
this was a real _burshuika_. Volodya himself had told Vasya that she
was a stranger, a young lady of the aristocracy. Spoiled. She could
not understand the Bolsheviki and the Communists, but longed for her
old life. She had been brought up in luxury. There had been seventeen
servants in her home. She had had a horse of her own, accustomed to
the side-saddle. Her father had been a White soldier. Her mother had
died during the Revolution. Her brother, an officer, had been reported
missing. Only she was left. She had looked for work. As she knew
many languages she was taken on in the administrative offices as a
secretary. Volodya met her there; she fell in love with him, wrote him
letters.
Vasya was far away, Volodya was always alone. So their affair began.
It was soon noticed in the office; Nina Constantinovna was frowned
upon, and had to give up her position. Savelyev made her his secretary.
"Only his secretary?" Vasya couldn't hold back the question. For one
thing, she wanted to irritate Vladimir; besides, she wanted to learn
the truth about the other.
"What sort of gossip are your repeating there?" Vladimir flared up.
"Aren't you ashamed to say such vile things? I didn't think you would
sling mud at her, like any other woman. Why, Vasya? It doesn't become
you!"
He told Vasya that Savelyev was a sort of father, or guardian, to Nina
Constantinovna. He had known her parents; and when Nina stood alone in
the world he took care of her, gave her advice and material assistance,
procured the position in the administrative office for her. Then,
when she left, he helped her again. She had to vacate her room. Where
could she go? To Vladimir? That couldn't be done. Savelyev offered to
take her into his house. But Nina Constantinovna didn't want that. Was
she to be left on the street? Savelyev found a small house where he
arranged to have his office, and offered Nina a home there. "For he is
something like a guardian of hers. He feels sorry for her, takes care
of her...."
"And makes love to her!" Again Vasya could not control herself. She
was angry; Volodya spoke too favorably of her. He always had been a
trusting soul. Vasya, however, was suspicious of the girl. Everybody
said she was a regular one....
"It's a lie, a slanderous lie! Why do you find pleasure in repeating
such filth? If you want to know the truth, ask me. Nina thinks of no
one. Nina loves only me. And even if it were true, Savelyev would not
be the only one to make love to her. Do you know Maklezov, of the
Foreign Trade Office? He offered her a life of luxury, but Nina showed
him the door. I won't deny that Savelyev may like Nina. Maybe his love
for her isn't purely paternal. But Nina can't stand him--as a man, that
is. There's nothing doing there. It's not to be thought of. I know
Nina, you can be sure of that."
She saw that he was growing quite excited, as if he wanted to convince
not Vasya, but himself. But what hurt her most was Savelyev's
connection with everything. She had disliked him from the first day.
There had been a reason for the S. C. telling her that Vladimir
Ivanovitch ought to keep away from him.
"But I don't see why Savelyev has to be mixed up with it. That's why
they say that you keep her together, share and share alike."
"If anyone dares say that to you, spit in his face! You must understand
me, Vasya. That's the terrible part of it, that Nina was a virgin when
I took her. She was pure...."
"Pure?"
Vasya felt a stab in her heart, as if a fine needle were piercing it.
Long ago, in '17, at that evening tea in Vasya's room, he had said:
"I'm keeping my heart for a pure girl." And then, that first night, he
had caressed her and said: "No one in the world can be purer than you."
"Pure? What nonsense are you talking there, Vladimir? What has the body
to do with purity? You're beginning to think like a _burshui_!"
"Try to understand me, Vasya. I don't think so, but she does. It's a
great tragedy for her that I took her without marrying her. Now, she
thinks, she's 'lost.' You can't know what she suffers. She cries all
the time. Try to understand, Vasya. She thinks differently than we
proletarians do. The first man who has her has to marry her, too."
"Why didn't you tell me that before? Who's preventing you from marrying
her? I?"
"Oh, Vasya, Vasya. You're so clever--but when it comes to love
you're a woman, like all the rest. How can I marry her, Vasya? We're
strangers--we're different in every respect. It's not love. It's rather
pity. You can see it yourself."
Only pity? Really? She wanted to believe it was only pity.
"If you don't love or understand each other, why don't you separate?
It's tormenting both of you!" Vasya didn't mention herself.
"How can I leave her? It's not such a simple matter, Vasya. Where can
she go if I leave her? On the street? Should Savelyev keep her? Or
should she register as a prostitute?"
"Why all this fuss? Let her look for work!"
"Work! That's more easily said than done nowadays, when everybody's
laying off. Besides, what sort of work? After all, Nina can't go into a
factory!"
Vasya wanted to say: Why not into a factory? Why not, that hussy? But
she wanted to spare Vladimir. He was not yet well, and the doctor had
ordered him to avoid all excitement. He was already visibly affected by
their conversation.
Later, as she roamed through the dark house, Vasya was sorry. Why
hadn't she cried out the truth? Why hadn't she told Vladimir everything
she thought of the woman? She didn't believe that Nina Constantinovna
loved him. She was merely ensnaring him, to gain a double advantage.
Vasya hated her, not because she was reputed to be of loose character,
but because her heart was not pure. Plenty of prostitutes were better
than the so-called decent women. Vasya remembered the curly-haired
Sinka, who had been shot by the Whites, and who cried, as she died:
"Long live the Soviet Government! Long live the Revolution!" She had
been on the streets, the lowest of the low; but when the Revolution
broke out she revealed herself, undertook the most difficult and most
dangerous tasks. She had worked in the Cheka with all her heart and
soul. Vasya could have understood Vladimir's falling in love with a
woman like that. But this "lady," this _burshuika_! She was a stranger,
after all. And she had no heart, she was simply fooling Vladimir. He,
trusting soul, believed in her. That was what hurt so badly. Vasya
would never be able to reconcile herself to that.
What was her hold on him? His pity for her? I'm so weak, so helpless!
He said she had been pure! Pure! But now there remained not the tiniest
trace of that purity. She had exchanged it long ago for presents from
men. He, however, still believed in her. Vasya was furious at the other
woman.
"How long are you going to run around the house this way, Vassilissa
Dementyevna?" grumbled Marya Semyonovna, breaking Vasya's train of
thought. "You ought to take care of yourself; you need your strength
for your meetings. Why don't you try to sleep? There's no sense in your
staying up for your husband. You won't want to have him in your room
anyway, when he comes from the other one. I'll make his bed in the
drawing room."
Vasya threw her arms about Marya Semyonovna. But she felt even more
sad. A stranger was sorry for her. But he, her lover, her husband, her
friend, pitied only the other, the heartless, wily woman who wound
herself about him like a serpent.
* * * * *
"Are you asleep, Vasyuk?" Coming into the bedroom, Vladimir lit the
lamp. Vasya lay in bed, her eyes wide open. How could she sleep with
this agony in her heart?
"No, I'm not asleep."
"Is Vasyuk angry with me?"
He sat down on the bed and tried to kiss Vasya. She pushed him away
vehemently.
"So you are angry with me. What about our agreement? I told you the
truth as I would a friend. You asked me to, yourself. And now...? Is it
better to lie?"
Vasya did not answer.
"It's not good for us, darling, to begin our squabbles and reproaches
all over again. Why are you angry? Because I visited Nina? Just think
it over, Vasya. I was together with you all the time; and she is alone.
Do you think she didn't worry and suffer enough when I was ill?"
Vasya wanted to scream: "What has that to do with me?" But she pressed
her lips together. She said nothing; only her heart was beating
furiously.
"You must not think that anything happened, Vasyuk. I wasn't alone
with her. Savelyev was there, too, and Ivan Ivanovitch came in. We had
something to discuss. Would you like to know why I was there today?
Well, Vasya--I went there to say good-bye. Why do you stare so? Don't
you believe me? Ask Ivan Ivanovitch. That's why I had him come here,
so that he would arrange everything. Help Nina Constantinova to get
away from here, pay her rent, and all the rest of it."
"Where is she going?" Vasya's voice sounded hollow.
"To Moscow. Savelyev will take her there; he has relatives there, with
whom Nina will live. And she will look for a position. It'll be easier
for all of us that way."
Vasya remained silent. There was suspicion in her eyes.
Why the sudden change? What had happened? Didn't he love her any more?
"Let's not talk about love. That's quite another question. But Nina,
too, understands that things can't go on this way. She's fully made up
her mind to go to Moscow; she decided that long ago. She told me she
would go the morning you went away from me. She telephoned me, and said
she would not go on with this life. Either the one thing or the other.
Or she would go to Moscow...."
"Ah, so that's it. That's why you took poison! One woman had gone,
and the other was threatening to leave if you didn't marry her. Now I
see it all. You were afraid you'd lose her! What a fool I am. What a
silly fool. I thought it was because of me that you were despondent and
wanted to die." Vasya laughed bitterly, hysterically.
"How you twist everything, Vasya. How spiteful you've become. You're
not the Vasyuk you used to be," Vladimir said sadly, getting up from
the bed. "There's really no sense in our talking. I wanted to tell you
everything, so there would be no secrets between us. But now I see
that the more truthful I am the worse matters become. You've become
different, cruel."
"Oh, no! Stop, Volodya!" Vasya's voice was like breaking glass,
quivered with all the despair of her heart. "If we're going to talk
things over, let's do it. Why do you send her to Moscow? You love her,
not me. If you loved me you would have stayed with me today. But you
consider only her, you pity only her."
"Vasya, Vasya. How unjust you are. If you only knew what Nina has gone
through in these months. She is so young--almost a child. She hasn't
a single close friend. Everybody slings mud at her. And why, Vasya?
Because she had the misfortune of falling in love with me. You, Vasya,
have your Party, your friends. But she has only me. I'm her only
protector, her only supporter."
Walking up and down the room, his hand on his back, Vladimir told Vasya
that Nina had expected a child. His child--his dream! So much joy, and
so much sorrow.
"Where is the child?" Vasya asked, trembling.
"You surely don't think Nina could have kept it! The scandal! And how
you would have suffered! We thought of you. Nina cried her heart out.
But for your sake, Vasya, we decided to do even that."
For her sake? He had discussed it with a strange woman, had "thought of
her" with a strange woman, of her, Vasya, as if she were not his friend
and comrade, but some enemy. He had not come to her with his troubles,
but to the other, to Nina. So she was nearer to him--she, not Vasya,
belonged with him now.
"The day you came I found out that Nina was pregnant. Now you know what
was tormenting me, Vasya."
She nodded silently.
Vladimir went on, telling her that Nina had gone to another city, to
prevent gossip. Savelyev had found a place for her to live there. And
she had had her abortion there. But the operation had not gone off
smoothly. There had been complications. Vladimir had gone to see her.
"Was that when the shipping clerks were going to strike?"
"Yes, about that time."
Hm.... So that was why he had wept in the dining room that day. On
account of Nina. Not because of the shipping clerks, of course.
"And she came back the morning Savelyev arrived, didn't she?" Vasya
went on.
"Yes."
"I understand."
Neither spoke; both waited. Now the hard, cruel words would come again.
Later they would regret them; but they could not be taken back. They
distorted love, mutilating it until it was like a pock-marked face. No
more beauty, no more heart-warming happiness.
"Vasya!" Vladimir broke the oppressive silence. "Why all this
heartache? Who's to blame? I swear to you, I spared you, spared you as
long as I could."
"That wasn't necessary, Volodya. I only wanted you to believe that I'm
your friend."
Sitting down again beside her, Vladimir took her hand.
"Yes, Vasya, I know you're my friend. That's why it's so hard for me."
He laid his head on Vasya's shoulder, as he had always used to do.
Stroking that head, Vasya felt a sweet joy tempering her pain. In spite
of everything he was there, with her! He still loved her, in his way.
"Mightn't it be better, Volodya, if I go away, and she stays?" she
asked cautiously.
"Don't start with that again, Vasya. Don't torture me. Instead of
helping me you drive me off the right path. I've revealed my soul to
you as to a friend. I'm keeping no secrets from you. And here you say
you want to go away."
"For your sake, Volodya; if you love her."
"What do you mean by love, Vasya? Love must be returned; and I feel it
so clearly, that Nina and I have nothing in common, that she isn't
a comrade, that she can never be a friend like you to me. I'm sorry
for her, I take care of her. What would become of her if I were to
leave her, if we were to part? I feel responsible for her. Can't you
understand? After all, she was a virgin when I took her."
"That's nonsense, Volodya. Why are you responsible for her? She wasn't
a child; she must have known what she was doing. Besides, who bothers
about such things nowadays?"
"You have proletarian ideas; but Nina is different. It's a real tragedy
for her."
"I know. That's why I say I'll go away, and you should marry her."
"There you go again, Vasya! Didn't I beg you not to torment me? Besides
it's too late. Everything's been decided. Nina Constantinovna goes to
Moscow Thursday. That's all there's to it! Let's stop talking about it."
Vladimir spoke so calmly, with so much assurance, that she had to
believe him.
"But you be patient, Vasya, for another few days. Don't do anything
rash. She'll go away, and we'll live as before. No, it'll be better
than ever before. Now we have suffered together, and that'll bring us
closer to each other."
Volodya put his arms around Vasya, and kissed her eyes.
"I'd like to sleep with you tonight, Vasyuk. Do you mind? I'm so tired,
my head's reeling."
Lying down, he laid his head on Vasya's shoulder, and fell asleep at
once.
Vasya, however, did not sleep. If he loved her, he would have caressed
her. If he loved her, he would have understood her grief. She gazed
at him. That familiar head, hiding such strange, incomprehensible
thoughts. Those long lashes, veiling tender glances not meant for her.
Those warm lips, covering another woman with yearning kisses, arousing
her passion.
She pushed Voldya's head from her shoulder. He was a stranger to her!
"Why do you drive your precious Volya away?" Vladimir whispered in his
sleep.
"Your precious Volya?" Whose pet name was that? Not Vasya's. He had
confused them. He thought of the other even in his sleep.
Vasya scowled at her sleeping husband. Was that her lover? Had he once
been her friend and comrade? Was he the man whom she had loved when,
together, they had fought for the Soviet?
He was a stranger. A stranger.
She shivered. She was so lonely.