Knock-knock! Knock-knock!
Vasya was standing before the locked door of her former attic, where
Grusha was living now. She knocked. Downstairs they had told her that
Grusha had come home from work. But the door was locked. Where was
Grusha?
Knock-knock! Knock-knock!
Could she be asleep?
She turned, to see Grusha coming down the hall with a kettle of hot
water.
"Grusha!"
"Vassilissa! Dearest! When did you come? So unexpected!"
Setting the teakettle on the floor, Grusha embraced Vasya.
"Do come in. It's your attic after all. I owe my living here only to
you. Only wait until I open the door. They steal in this house--it's
terrible. I even lock the door when I go for water. Not long ago
they took a coat that was hanging in Furyashkin's room. A fall coat,
absolutely new. He turned the entire house upside down, and even got
the police. But they didn't find anything.
"So, you're home now, Vassilissa! Take off your wraps, wash off the
dust of your trip. I was just going to make tea. Do you want something
to eat? I have eggs, bread, and some apples."
Home? Grusha had said she was at home. But could people like Vasya have
a "home"?
She looked about. The attic was so familiar. But it wasn't Vasya's
attic any more. There was a sewing machine, a dressmaker's model in
the corner, pieces of cloth lying about, scraps and short threads on
the floor. The walls were bare. Neither Marx nor Lenin, nor the group
of tenants celebrating the founding of the community house. Instead, a
faded red paper fan. Beside it, a postcard with the picture of an egg
and a golden inscription: "Christ hath arisen." An ikon in the corner.
Grusha was not a member of the Party. She believed in God and observed
the fasts, although she was in favor of the Soviet Government and had
many friends among the Communists. She had been engaged to be married;
but her fiancé had gone with the Whites, had probably been killed. And
if he had been killed, the chances were he had been put to death by
the Red Guards. That was why Grusha refused to become a Communist. She
cherished the memory of her lover.
"If I should join you he would curse me in the other world."
Before, Vasya had been unable to understand Grusha. How could she
love a White? But now she knew that the heart would not obey orders.
Vladimir and she had come to the parting of the ways; but her love
still was alive, gave her no peace.
Grusha was glad that Vassilissa had come home. She didn't know which
would be the best place to give her. She fairly overwhelmed her with
news, and wondered why Vasya hadn't gained when she was with her
husband. She had come back as thin as she had been, if not thinner.
Vasya said nothing. She had thought that when she would see Grusha she
would fall into her arms and, weeping, tell her all her troubles. But
when they met, Vasya could not open her mouth, could find no words. How
could she tell anyone about this sorrow?
The news of Vassilissa's arrival spread through the house. The old
tenants were delighted, while the new ones were curious to see what she
was like. One of the members of the House Committee grumbled that now
she probably would want to get into the administration again. The first
to come to Grusha's room were the children, Vasya's old friends of the
Children's Club.
The older among them immediately had a complaint to lodge: the
Children's Club had been broken up at the time of the Nep. They had
said it didn't pay, and that the rooms were needed for other purposes.
But where could the children do their lessons now? Their collections
had been broken up and their library had been scattered; some of it had
even been sold.
Vasya listened. Was such a thing possible? She bridled at once. She
would not let the matter rest. She would go immediately to the Party
Committee, to the Educational and Housing Bureaus. Let the Nep attend
to its own business; but let it keep its hands off the things the
workers had built up laboriously.
"I'll fight them. I won't permit such a thing. Don't worry, children;
I'll see to it that you get what's coming to you, even if I have to go
to Moscow for it."
The older boys laughed with delight. They believed in Vasya. She would
surely attend to it; she was going to fight now. The whole house knew
her as "the fighter". That was as it should be. The children were all
for Vassilissa.
After the children the old tenants came in to greet her. But the moment
they had said: "Good afternoon," each of them had an urgent request
to make of her, everyone had his troubles and wanted to tell her
about them. Vasya listened patiently to them all. As always, she was
interested in everything, advised and consoled them.
The attic was so crowded that it was impossible to turn around.
"Wait a little, Comrades," pleaded Grusha. "You're not giving her a
chance to eat. And she's tired, after traveling for so many nights. But
you have to come in with your affairs, and get her all mixed up."
"Don't, Grusha. Never mind. I'm not at all tired. What were you telling
me, Timofei Timofeiyevitch? Oh yes, about the taxes you're supposed to
pay. How can that be? You're no property owner, nor an employer or
manager..."
As she uttered the word "manager" she thought of Volodya. But her pain
was submerged in the troubles of others. She had no time for it.
Her old friends went away, one by one; and, forgetting her weariness,
Vasya decided to go to Party Headquarters and get to work immediately.
She buttoned her coat, listening to Grusha's news the while. One man
had married, another had left the Party; this girl had become a member
of the Council. Suddenly they heard the voice of the Fedosseyev woman,
resounding through the hall.
"Where's our darling, our defender? My precious Vassilissa
Dementyevna!" She threw her arms around Vasya's neck, and covered her
with moist kisses. At the same time bitter tears were rolling down her
cheeks and wet Vasya's face.
"I waited for you so long, dearest! I've been so lonesome for you! I
waited for you as for the sunshine. When Vassilissa Dementyevna, our
protector, comes back she'll straighten out everything. When she's here
the wretch won't dare make his wife a laughing-stock. He'll be ashamed
to disgrace the entire house with that slut. She'll sympathize with
me because I have to take care of the little children all by myself.
She'll take him to court. At least he'll have to submit to the Party.
You, our darling, you're my only hope."
As a rule Vasya was able to divine the troubles of others from a few
words. But this time she couldn't quite make out what the Fedosseyev
woman was wailing about. Of whom was she complaining? Vasya saw that
she had changed a great deal, almost beyond recognition. She had been
a young, robust, full-bosomed woman--now she had grown thin, old and
yellow.
What sorrow was breaking her heart?
Fedosseyev had entered on a love affair with Dora, an "unbaptized"
Jewess. He wanted to have nothing to do with his wife, made her the
laughing-stock of the entire district. No one could make him ashamed of
himself. He had left his own children, was bringing everything to his
sweetheart. Here, little girl, that's for you! Let the family die in
their corner! Only don't chase me away, me, your pock-marked lover.
"What in the world did that goose Dora see in him?" shrieked the
Fedosseyev woman. "If he were a real man...! But he's disgusting.
He's so damned filthy! I put up with him for eight years, kissed his
pock-marked phiz for the children's sake. Vassilyevitch, I thought,
you're an ass, but fate brought us together and the Church married us,
so I'll have to stand you. When he would be insistent, he'd make me
sick. But I endured him, never looked at anyone else. I thought he'd
be grateful to me. I gave all my youth to the filthy beast; and that's
what I get for it! I lost my good looks, and he ran after that girl. He
had to get mixed up with a Jewish girl! It's a disgrace for the whole
district."
The Fedosseyev woman wept uncontrollably. Vasya listened; and her own
heart seemed filled with a dark flood. Here she found her own grief and
indignation all over again. She shuddered with disgust. Where had her
pluck gone? She no longer felt any desire to go to the Party Committee.
She wanted only to bury her head in her pillow, and to see nothing more.
The other, however, continued to sob, to kiss Vassilissa's shoulder, to
beg her to bring her husband to reason and to defend the interests of
the little children. She should threaten him with a court trial.
* * * * *
As she went home from Party Headquarters, Vasya was surrounded by her
Comrades. They couldn't stop talking. And Vasya felt so happy and gay.
She had forgotten everything, as if she had never lived for or worried
about anything but the Party.
She had grown excited, had quarreled and stood her ground; she had
asked questions about everything, and had found out just how the land
lay. It had interested and satisfied her. Her head was working, her
soul seemed to rise.
She hurried up to her attic without noticing the stairs. Only then she
felt her weariness.
While Grusha was preparing supper Vasya lay down on the bed, and fell
asleep at once.
Grusha looked at her friend, undecided as to whether she should wake
her. She felt sorry for her. Vasya was exhausted; let her sleep.
She undressed Vasya as though she were a child, took off her shoes,
and covered her. She hung a shade over the light, and sat down to sew
button-holes.
Knock-knock!
Who the devil could be coming now? Grusha muttered angrily. They never
let a person alone.
She opened the door. There stood Fedosseyev, the husband.
"What do you want?"
"I want to see Vassilissa Dementyevna. Is she at home?"
"Are you all crazy? She's had a long trip; she's tired, hasn't had a
chance to sleep--and you fall on her like a pack of hungry dogs on a
bone. Vassilissa Dementyevna is asleep."
Grusha and Fedosseyev had words. Fedosseyev was obstinate, but Grusha
refused to let him in. Tomorrow. They agreed on the next day.
She banged the door in Fedosseyev's face. A damned filthy fellow. Had a
wife and three children, and Dora was big, too. It was beyond Grusha.
She considered that Fedosseyev was in the wrong. And she condemned
Dora, too. Why had she started anything with a married man? Weren't
there enough bachelors? Grusha's morals were very strict. She kept
within bounds; for she still remembered her lover.
When Vasya woke up she felt calm and at peace with the world. The
autumn sun was shining through the window, throwing a golden light on
the seamstress. Grusha was heating her flatiron on the petroleum stove;
she was going to iron a dress.
"For whom is it?"
"For a member of the Executive Committee, for a birthday party."
"What? Are they celebrating birthdays nowadays?"
"I should say so! You ought to see them--it's better than it used to
be with the rich people. The table is covered with appetizers, wine,
whiskey..." Grusha's iron was hissing; she had no time to talk. Vasya
stretched on the bed. She remembered it well. It was hard and narrow;
yet she had slept in it together with Volodya. How had they ever had
room? Now they had been in each other's way even in a wide bed.
It had been different in the old days.
Was her misery trying to creep into her heart again, to disturb her
peace of mind? No, everything was quiet in her heart. The calm that
follows a storm.
Grusha remembered the appointment with Fedosseyev, and told Vasya about
it.
"I don't care. Let him come."
She didn't want to have too much to do with the Fedosseyevs. She
seemed offended because these gossips had been overtaken by the same
misfortune as she.
She inquired about Dora. Who was she?
"Don't you remember her?" Grusha was amazed. "She's dark and
pretty--she danced with the tambourine at the Komsomolsk celebration."
Now Vasya recalled her. Very favorably. She had worked in the tanners'
Cultural Committee. A clever girl; and her youth was no drawback.
Besides, she sang well. How could the Fedosseyev woman think of
comparing with her?
Grusha's view was different. She condemned Dora; the laws had to be
observed. If the Communists were to permit husbands to act that way,
all the men would desert their wives and little children, and would
take on young girls. The Party was going to take proceedings against
Dora.
"Take proceedings against her? Only the Fedosseyev woman could be
behind that. A disgusting creature!" Vasya defended Dora. "No law could
force a man to live with a woman he doesn't love. Do you want to force
him to embrace that woman? Even though he loathes her? Even though
she's a common sneak?"
Vasya was quite wrought up. She was furious with the Fedosseyev woman;
and why? She hardly knew herself. As she fought about the Fedosseyevs
she thought of Vladimir. As she defended Dora she saw the white lace
parasol and Nina's red lips.
Grusha was surprised to see Vassilissa siding with Fedosseyev.
"You act as if they were your best friends. Weren't you always railing
against them? You know how much trouble they caused you. Of course,
it's your own affair; but I'd advise you to keep out of this business.
There's no use in getting mixed up in a dog fight."
Vasya was stubborn. She would stand up for Dora if there were
proceedings against her. "Tell me, if you please: does Fedosseyev's
legal wife think she's the only one who has rights? No. She's mistaken.
There are other rights, not dictated by human laws. They are the
commands of the heart."
As Grusha pressed the hem of the dress she looked at Vasya attentively,
as if to read her friend's innermost thoughts.
Vasya frowned. Why did Grusha object? Wasn't Vasya right? Could any law
dictate to the heart?
"Who said so? The heart is most important of all. You can't be human if
you haven't a heart. But as I look at you now I see clearly that you're
heart-sick, too, Vassilissa, that you're suffering. That's why you're
defending Fedosseyev. You're thinking of your man, aren't you? And you
want to find an excuse for him. I'm right."
Vasya said nothing, but bowed her head.
Grusha asked no more questions. Taking the dress from the ironing-board
she shook it out and picked off the loose threads. Now it was finished.
"Are you through?" asked Vasya, thinking of something quite different.
"Yes."
"Well, then I'll go to the Party Committee. Let Fedosseyev wait."
* * * * *
Now came days of hard work for Vassilissa. She was preparing to
leave for the weaving works. She conferred with Stepan Alexeyevitch,
acquainted herself with her instructions, and spent her evenings at
meetings of her responsible co-workers. The hours passed so quickly
that she had no time to think, or to listen to her heart.
And then she had her new worries, about the Fedosseyevs and Dora. They
and their difficulties gave Vasya no rest.
Fedosseyev had come to her, and had told her everything.
He had met Dora Abramovna in the Cultural Committee. He had been
singing in the chorus. Dora Abramovna liked his bass, and took him to a
music teacher. She was a musician herself. And she had brought him into
the Cultural Committee. That was how it had begun. But his wife soon
got wind of it, and then there was trouble.
Fedosseyev complained about his wife; she was spreading all sorts of
rumors, and was setting the Comrades against Dora Abramovna. She was
wailing that Dora was "robbing" her family, and was letting Fedosseyev
support her. The truth was quite the opposite. Not only did Dora
refuse to accept a single kopek from Fedosseyev, but she even helped
the family, sharing everything with them. She thought of the children,
too, had brought the younger ones into the kindergarten, and had given
textbooks and copybooks to the oldest boy, who went to school. Of
course she didn't want the wife to know that. Besides, she had made a
shirt and tie for Fedosseyev to wear to the concerts. But the malicious
gossips had it just the other way.
Fedosseyev was grieved on Dora's account. It wouldn't hurt him. But he
was worried about her, lest she get into difficulties with the Party
because of him. It was all his wife's fault; she insisted on being in
their way.
Listening to Fedosseyev, Vasya couldn't help thinking of Vladimir and
Nina. They too had suffered like this, had sought a way out, had been
angry at Vasya because she prevented them from being happy. She had
advised the Fedosseyev woman to get out of the way of her own accord.
It was impossible to block the happiness of others; no matter how
many barriers you would put in its path, you couldn't keep it from
flying over your head. But what was Vasya herself doing? Was not she,
too, standing in the way? Was she not still standing guard over the
happiness that had been?
Fedosseyev loved Dora. When he spoke of her his face seemed to shine.
She had seen the same change in Vladimir when he thought of Nina.
"Dora Abramovna has a heart of gold. In the union everybody's fond of
her, too. Those who don't belong to the Party don't think it'll take
any action against her. But if it does, they'll be only too happy. 'Let
her come to us independents; we'll take Dora Abramovna's part, never
fear!'"
Fedosseyev had hardly left Vasya when his wife caught hold of her,
kissed her shoulders, and begged her to be on her side.
Vasya, who didn't like Fedosseyeva, crossly waved her away. Whereupon
she filled the entire house with her shouting about Dora, about her
husband, and about Vasya, abusing all three of them at once.
Vasya met Dora at Party headquarters. They found a corner where the
typists were busily pounding away at their machines, where the noise
permitted them to talk without being overheard.
Dora was pretty, with clever eyes. Vasya liked her.
She was trying to hide her pregnancy with a shawl.
Dora began to speak of her own accord. Not of herself, but of
Fedosseyev. She looked after him, esteemed him, admired his talent;
his voice was excellent, as good as Chaliapin's. All he needed was to
study. That was why Dora wanted to marry him. So that he could break
away from his family and from his cobbling, so that he could devote
himself entirely to his singing.
But although she spoke highly of Fedosseyev Dora also bewailed his
indecision. As long as he was with her he was prepared to do anything,
fully determined to leave his wife and put through the divorce. But as
soon as he came home it was finished. He would give in, and she would
have to begin all over again. She had been working on him for so many
months! And unsuccessfully.
Vasya grew disturbed as she listened to Dora. Might not Nina have
spoken of Vladimir in the same way?
Dora didn't care a rap for all the formalities of divorce and
marriage. It was all nonsense in her eyes; she favored a free union.
But Fedosseyeva would never let them live in peace unless they were
registered in the Commissariat; therefore Dora was making the most of
her being 'in the family way' to move Fedosseyev and induce him to get
the divorce. She wasn't afraid of motherhood. She would be able to take
care of herself without a husband too.
To move him? To force him to get the divorce? Had Nina done that, too?
Dora, praising Fedosseyev, was expecting Vasya to voice her approval.
But Vasya was thinking of her own troubles. Dora saw only the good
in Fedosseyev. Nina probably loved Vladimir in the same way. Vasya
was different. She saw Vladimir's bad points, too. She loved him and
suffered for his faults; they distressed her, and she wanted to reform
him. Might this not have hurt Volodya?
"Why does his wife cling to him so?" Dora spoke wrathfully. "Because
they used to love each other? But that was so long ago! Now there's
nothing to keep them together. She doesn't really know him--she can't
appreciate him--she doesn't understand him at all!"
Ah, thought Vasya, that's how it was with Vladimir and me. He didn't
know what I wanted, and I couldn't understand his ideas. Our paths went
off in different directions.
"He's a stranger to his wife; they're different in every respect--in
their tastes and in their ideals. She wants to keep him as a husband,
but she doesn't need him as a man. He's not essential in her life."
And she, Vasya--did she need Vladimir as a man? Was he essential to her?
As she asked herself this question her heart answered distinctly: No,
she did not need him--not as he was now. But Dora could not help going
on: "What sort of love is that? They can't bear each other. It's a
cat-and-dog life. Every man for himself. Neither friendship, nor faith
in each other."
Yes, thought Vasya. Yes; neither friendship, nor faith in each other.
"And we, Comrade Fedosseyev and I, understand each other as if we had
only one heart, one soul."
So that was the love of Vladimir and Nina.
Vasya seemed to understand it only now. She grew thoughtful.
She had much to do. Urgent Party affairs, preparations for her
departure. Yet she didn't forget the Fedosseyevs. She did her best to
hasten the divorce, tried to reconcile Fedosseyev with his Comrades,
and to defend Dora.
All this seemed important, very important for Vasya. She couldn't
explain why.
* * * * *
Vasya was hurrying home from Party headquarters. She was to leave for
the weaving works the next day. Her head was whirling. How reorganize
the work, follow orders and adapt herself to the many who didn't belong
to the Party? The independents were just like the Communists nowadays.
They wanted to penetrate more and more deeply into everything, to
investigate everything themselves. They took nothing on faith. If you
didn't have a sound basis for your statements you might just as well
not talk to them.
Her head was full of all this. She seemed to have forgotten her
heartache. She felt as if she had never lost her man, her friend--as if
she had not lived through an entire summer as "the manager's lady".
Vasya hurried along. She had had nothing to eat since morning. And when
she thought of food she felt sick, everything seemed to grow dark, her
head was reeling. How long? Was she going to be ill, or....
A suspicion rose in her mind. It was almost three months since her last
period. Oughtn't she to look up Marya Andreyevna, the physician? She
lived right here, in one of the side streets. They had worked together
in the organization of the nursery for the community houses. She would
have to find out what the trouble was. Vasya couldn't go to her new
work if she was sick.
She turned into the side street, went up to the little white house, and
rang the bell. The physician, Marya Andreyevna, opened the door herself.
"How in the world did you happen to come here? Is it a business matter,
or do you want my professional advice?"
Vasya was on pins and needles; she felt embarrassed, and even blushed.
After watching her carefully for a while Marya Andreyevna put her hand
on her shoulder.
"Come into my office--I'll examine you."
Marya Andreyevna inquired about Vasya's appetite, her periods, her
dizziness. She seemed to know everything in advance. She examined Vasya.
It was disagreeable and embarrassing for Vasya. She had never consulted
a gynecologist before. She was almost frightened when she had to sit
down on the examination chair.
As she dressed, her hands trembled so that she couldn't fasten the
hooks.
Marya Andreyevna stood before the wash-stand in her white smock, and
painstakingly scrubbed her hands with soap and a brush.
For a while neither spoke.
"Well, dear Comrade Vassilissa, I don't know whether you'll be glad or
sorry, but there's no doubt about it. You're in the family way."
Vasya was surprised. But in a moment a smile flitted over her face. A
baby? That would be nice.
"Will you go back to your husband now?" asked the white-smocked
physician as she dried her hands on an embroidered towel.
"To my husband? No." Vasya shook her head. "I'm not going back to
him--we've separated. Each of us is going his own way."
"You've separated? This is a fine time for it! How will you arrange
things now? We may yet be able to stop the business. What do you say?
Where will you go all alone with your child? You're not strong."
"I'm not alone, though. Tomorrow I'm leaving for the weaving works.
There's a fine group there, mostly women, weavers. We'll all work
together there, organize a nursery. Oh, yes, that's what I wanted to
ask you: how did you make the nursery self-supporting? Tell me about
it, please, and advise me."
They discussed the nursery, subsidies, contributions, the payment of
professional employes. Vasya forgot the "news" about herself. Marya
reminded her of it when she was leaving.
"Don't undertake too much work! Remember that your health is none too
good. I'm afraid for you, my dear!"
She gave Vasya some advice. One thing was prohibited, while another
was good for her. Vasya listened, and tried to remember everything.
For the child's sake. It should be a strong baby. It was so little, so
helpless....
She reached the street, smiled as she walked along.
A baby! That would be nice. She would show the other women how to raise
a child in the Communist way. There was no need for a kitchen, for
family life and all that nonsense. The thing to do was to organize a
nursery, a self-supporting community house. Practice was better than
preaching.
Vasya was so occupied with the idea of self-support that she even
forgot her child. The thought of Vladimir, however, never entered her
mind, as though he had had nothing to do with it.
Vasya was packing. A box containing Volodya's picture and his letters
fell over. On the top of the pile lay a narrow, tinted envelope, Nina
Constantinovna's letter.
Vasya looked at it, turned it over and over. She knew it by heart, yet
she wanted to read it again. It would revive her heartache; but she
could not resist it. Whenever she read it the old pain again gnawed at
her heart; then it would freeze--that was her wrath against Vladimir.
Why had he lied? Why had he deceived her?
She took up the letter, went closer to the window. It was growing dark.
She unfolded the familiar sheet. She read it carefully, every word.
But the gnawing pain was gone. And the serpent, that venomous
tormentor, seemed to have lost its strength.
Instead, Vasya felt pity stirring in her heart. Sympathy for Nina
Constantinovna's tears. Sympathy with the grief, the sorrow, the
distress of another woman's heart. She remembered Nina going away from
the bandstand, wiping away her tears with her fingers.
Why had she suffered? Why had she exposed herself to such anguish? She
had expected a baby; and she had got rid of it. Why?
Going over to the table, Vasya pushed aside Grusha's pieces of cloth,
set down the ink and began to write a letter.
"Nina Constantinovna!
"I don't know you, have no idea of what you really are. I've seen
you only once. And I will tell you quite frankly that I didn't like
you. But when you cried, as you went away from the bandstand, my
heart understood your pain and suffered with you.
"I have just reread your letter to Vladimir Ivanovitch. I'm
returning it to you; my taking it was quite unwarranted, and I kept
it from Vladimir. But it has served its purpose. So you needn't be
angry with me on this account.
"I've thought a great deal about your letter. Now that I have just
reread it I know that I cherish no grudge against you, that I'm not
angry with you any more. I see that you, too, have suffered much
because of me. Let me, therefore, tell you what I've already told
Vladimir: We've had enough of this game of hide and seek. You must
become Vladimir Ivanovitch's wife, his legal wife. The two of you
are better suited to each other. I'm not the proper wife for him,
for our tastes differ, and our lives run in different directions. I
never know what he thinks, and he doesn't understand me.
"When we separated, Vladimir and I, it was not because you had
stolen him away from me; you could take possession of his heart
only because he no longer loved me. I shall continue to live now
just as I used to live before without Vladimir. You, however,
actually cannot live without him. It is always so when two people
love each other.
"Vladimir Ivanovitch and I lived in a free union, so that no
divorce is required.
"I do not reproach you. If I had known sooner how you love each
other, I would have done this long ago. Tell Vladimir Ivanovitch
that I feel no bitterness toward him, but will always be his
friend, as I always used to be. And should you ever need anything I
shall always be ready to help you or to be of service to you. There
was a time when my heart held little love for you. But now that I
understand everything I feel only deep sympathy for you, for all
your tears, for the suffering and heartache of a woman. I wish you
great happiness, as I would a sister. Remember me to Vladimir, and
tell him to take good care of his bride.
"In any case, I'm giving you my new address. If you want to write
me, I will answer. For we aren't enemies, Nina Constantinovna, even
though, unintentionally, we caused each other much pain. Neither of
us wanted to hurt the other.
"Good-bye. I wish you all the happiness in the world,
"Vassilissa Malygina."
At the end of the letter she wrote down her exact address. Then she put
both letters into an envelope, moistened the flap with her tongue, and
pasted it together.
Then, suddenly, her soul--not her reason--told her: this is the end.
The end? But where was the pain?
There was no pain.
Where was her grief? Her gnawing, benumbing grief?
The grief, too, had gone.
Volodya "the American" was there--not Vladimir Ivanovitch. She thought
of Vladimir and saw Nina. She thought of Nina, and Vladimir appeared
beside her.
As though they had become one for Vasya--one, indivisible, inseparable.
One. The thought of it did not hurt her. Let them be one.
Her heart was calm, full of peace. Like a garden after a tempest.
* * * * *
Vasya stood beside the window, enjoying the sunset. The sun was sinking
behind purple, gold-edged clouds, as in a storm. The crows were
circling over the earth, cawing, seeking a shelter for the night.
The air smelled of dry leaves, mushrooms and autumn earth. Fragrant,
refreshing, familiar. Not spicy and enervating, as in Vladimir's
country.
Vasya drew a deep breath, avidly drinking in the air.
Yes, life was beautiful.
She leaned out of the window. In the little courtyard Grusha was
hastening to get the clean clothes off the line while it was still
daylight.
"Grusha. Grusha. Come here, quick. I have some news. Good news...."
"I'm on my way."
She came in, threw the laundry on the bed.
"What's the news? Did you get a letter?"
"A letter? Yes, it's a letter; but I didn't get it--I wrote it. Guess
to whom!"
"To none other than Vladimir Ivanovitch, I'm sure."
"But you're wrong! Not to him, but to the little lady, his wife, Nina
Constantinovna."
Grusha was astonished. "Why did you do that?"
"You see, Grusha, when I read that letter of Nina's over again I felt
so sorry for her. After all she suffered, too, on my account. And
she lost a baby because of me. She endured everything, grieved, was
miserable. And why? We're not rivals, after all. We're not enemies. If
she had taken Vladimir from me in cold blood, without love, I would
never have forgiven her, would always have been furious at her. But now
that I really understand her.... For she loves Vladimir. She loves him
very much, more than I do. And she's right.
"Life without Vladimir means nothing to her. That's why she writes:
'I can't live without you!' Do I need Vladimir? I've thought it over,
Grusha, many times; and now I realize that I won't grieve for him.
If Volodya 'the American' could come back, it would be different. I
long for him, Grusha, for the old Volodya. But, you see, the American
doesn't exist any more! And he'll never return! So why should I torment
Nina? Why disturb the happiness of these two? What do I care about the
'manager'? I don't need him."
"Yes," agreed Grusha, "you don't need the manager. That's the worst of
it, the way so many of our men have deserted us to become managers.
But don't be unhappy, Vassilissa. There are plenty of our boys left.
Just look at those who don't belong to the Party! You'll find true
Communists among them, real proletarian Communists."
"Of course, we're getting new recruits. But the others? They exchanged
their proletarianism long ago for lamps and quilts. They don't
understand us. So, you see, Grusha, I thought: Why torment Nina? Why
hold on to Vladimir? He was neither married nor free. What was the
sense in that state of affairs? It would have to be stopped; and that
without bitterness. They had suffered enough. I didn't quite understand
all this when I left Vladimir. I was still expecting something, hoping
for something. I thought that if Vladimir left me for another woman I
would die of grief. I was numbed with pain when I came here; I didn't
even notice the trip. But when I went to work in the Party Committee,
when others came to me with their worries and troubles, it seemed to me
that my sorrow was gone. Will you believe me? I can honestly say that I
feel neither bitterness nor jealousy. Everything is calm and quiet."
"Mother of God, I thank thee!" Grusha quickly crossed herself, and
glanced at the ikon in the corner. "I did not kneel and pray to our
Holy Lady all these nights in vain, Vassilissa. 'Help a woman's
heart,' I prayed. 'Help Vassilissa.'"
Vasya smiled. "Stop, Grusha! You're incorrigible! Do you still believe
in ikons? But what you said is true: I'm cured. How many months was I
walking about like a somnambulist! I wasn't conscious. I didn't live. I
forgot the Party. But now I'm well again. Everything delights me now,
everything's new to me. The old world still goes round. Vladimir may
be gone, but the Party is there. That's how I felt after I had typhus,
when I began to recuperate."
"I'm only afraid that you'll have another attack, that your husband'll
write some more of those damned letters of his."
"No, Grusha, that won't happen again!" Thoughtfully Vasya shook her
head. "My heart has changed altogether. I resent nothing, reproach him
with nothing; my jealousy of Nina has disappeared. But my pity for them
remains. All three of us were lost in a labyrinth. We were angry at
one another. And we couldn't find the way out before we had lost our
bitterness. When I took Nina into my heart I stepped out of that maze
of suffering. It was not because I forgave her; what did I have to
forgive? But I sympathized with her as with a sister, for she had known
a woman's pain, and had suffered as much as I. Not through her own
fault, but because life still hasn't reached the ideal. I pitied her
and I felt better."
"And it couldn't be otherwise if you don't love him any more. Love
always brings suffering. It gives you a little joy--but sorrow follows
it like a shadow. And when you feel no more pain your love's at an end,
too."
"That's not true, Grusha; you mustn't look at things that way," Vasya
shook her head. "I haven't stopped loving Vladimir. He's still in my
heart. But my love has changed. It no longer makes me miserable; I'm
not angry at him any more. I am grateful to him for the love that has
been, for the happiness we felt together. Why should I be vexed with
Vladimir? As long as he loved me we were happy. Now he has stopped
loving me--who's to blame for that? I thank him for what has been. I
feel as if Vladimir had become my brother, and Nina my sister."
"I can't quite see your regarding Nina as a sister. You're trying to
fool yourself, Vassilissa. Don't try to be too clever--don't be a
super-Communist. Of course it's better that you've forgiven Vladimir
about Nina. Forgiven and forgotten. Out of your heart, and out of
your mind. But as for love--don't! Keep your love, your heart for the
workers instead. They're having a hard time now. Many of them have lost
faith in themselves. They don't get much out of your Party doctrines.
Give them something more, food and warmth for the heart. I'm not a
member of the Party, but I see everything nevertheless. Just ask me,
Vassilissa, and I'll always tell you the truth."
"I know you're with us, Grusha; we all know that. But why do you still
insist on believing in your ikons? Now, don't pout, don't be offended.
I won't say another word. I won't tease you any more, and I won't
quarrel with you. I'm in such a festive mood today, Grusha. I feel so
happy, so gay, so free! And do you know who cured me? Do you? Try to
guess!"
"I can't imagine!"
"The Fedosseyevs."
"You don't mean it! Then let that Fedosseyev woman be forgiven for all
her sins and meanness!"
They laughed.
"But I haven't even told you the biggest news of all, Grusha. I saw the
doctor. I'm expecting a baby."
"A baby?" Grusha clapped her hands. "Really? Then how could you let
your husband go? Will you let the baby be fatherless, or are you going
to be fashionable, and have an abortion?"
"Why an abortion? Let the child grow. I don't need a man. That's all
they can do--be fathers! Look at the Fedosseyev woman with her three
children--they didn't keep her husband from going to Dora."
"That's all very well; but how will you bring it up all by yourself?"
"All by myself? The organization will bring it up. We'll fix up a
nursery. And I'll bring you over to work there. You like children, too.
Then it'll be our baby. We'll have it in common."
Again they laughed.
"But now, Grusha, I have to hurry with my packing. The train leaves
early in the morning. I'm going to my work tomorrow. I'm going to
arrange everything just as I want it. Stepan Alexeyevitch has given me
his blessing. Back to work! Grusha, do you realize the joy of that?"
She seized Grusha's hands, and the two danced about the room like
children. They almost knocked over the dressmaker's model.
They laughed uproariously. Even the people downstairs in the courtyard
could hear them.
"We must live, Grusha! Live!"
FINIS