“You may call me Tekla, then. My poor Andrei called me so. I was devoted
to him. He lived in wretchedness and suffering, and died in misery. That
is the lot of all us Russians, nameless Russians. There is nothing else
for us, and no hope anywhere, unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless all these people with names are done away with,” she finished,
blinking and pursing up her lips.
“It will be easier to call you Tekla, as you direct me,” said
Razumov, “if you consent to call me Kirylo, when we are talking like
this--quietly--only you and me.”
And he said to himself, “Here’s a being who must be terribly afraid of
the world, else she would have run away from this situation before.”
Then he reflected that the mere fact of leaving the great man abruptly
would make her a suspect. She could expect no support or countenance
from anyone. This revolutionist was not fit for an independent
existence.
She moved with him a few steps, blinking and nursing the cat with a
small balancing movement of her arms.
“Yes--only you and I. That’s how I was with my poor Andrei, only he was
dying, killed by these official brutes--while you! You are strong. You
kill the monsters. You have done a great deed. Peter Ivanovitch himself
must consider you. Well--don’t forget me--especially if you are going
back to work in Russia. I could follow you, carrying anything that
was wanted--at a distance, you know. Or I could watch for hours at the
corner of a street if necessary,--in wet or snow--yes, I could--all day
long. Or I could write for you dangerous documents, lists of names or
instructions, so that in case of mischance the handwriting could not
compromise you. And you need not be afraid if they were to catch me. I
would know how to keep dumb. We women are not so easily daunted by pain.
I heard Peter Ivanovitch say it is our blunt nerves or something. We can
stand it better. And it’s true; I would just as soon bite my tongue out
and throw it at them as not. What’s the good of speech to me? Who would
ever want to hear what I could say? Ever since I closed the eyes of my
poor Andrei I haven’t met a man who seemed to care for the sound of
my voice. I should never have spoken to you if the very first time you
appeared here you had not taken notice of me so nicely. I could not help
speaking of you to that charming dear girl. Oh, the sweet creature! And
strong! One can see that at once. If you have a heart don’t let her set
her foot in here. Good-bye!”
Razumov caught her by the arm. Her emotion at being thus seized
manifested itself by a short struggle, after which she stood still, not
looking at him.
“But you can tell me,” he spoke in her ear, “why they--these people in
that house there--are so anxious to get hold of her?”
She freed herself to turn upon him, as if made angry by the question.
“Don’t you understand that Peter Ivanovitch must direct, inspire,
influence? It is the breath of his life. There can never be too many
disciples. He can’t bear thinking of anyone escaping him. And a woman,
too! There is nothing to be done without women, he says. He has written
it. He--”
The young man was staring at her passion when she broke off suddenly and
ran away behind the stable.