In the house where Nadia was lodged with the two other Russian ladies,
Bertram was able to have some private talk with her before taking the
boat next morning down the Volga.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” he said. “For a few weeks at least.
Afterwards—”
She looked up at him with a smile, as she sat sewing at a table. She was
making herself a linen coat such as doctors wear in the wards.
“Afterwards, my friend—?”
He was silent for a little while, thinking deeply of many things—of all
his life, and the meaning of it, and the hope of it.
“Perhaps it’s too soon to talk of afterwards. When I come back we will
arrange something.”
“What kind of thing?” she asked.
“Our life together,” he said simply.
She rose, and let her linen drop, and took his hands.
“I will be your good comrade,” she said. “For a little while, if you
like. For ever, if you like.”
“I want comradeship,” he told her. “I’m lonely, and I hate loneliness. I
think we could do good work together, for children, for peace, for
ourselves. I’ll be a faithful servant to you, Princess!”
“Not mine,” she said, smiling. “I’m no Princess, but a serving wench.
I’m Communist enough to believe in equality between a man and his woman.
We will serve God together!”
“I don’t know much about God,” said Bertram. “I’m a hopeless infidel.
But I’m spiritual enough to adore the goodness in you. Your courage!
Your self-forgetfulness.”
“Where love is, there God is also,” said Nadia. “That’s Tolstoy, but
it’s true, I think. We will find God together, in love for each other
and the world.”
“I’ve made a hopeless failure of love once,” said Bertram. “I’d be glad
to get a second chance.”
“You shall have the chance, dear sir,” said Nadia. “You are one of the
great lovers of the world. How proud I am to be your handmaid! I will
help you to do your work for poor humanity. Every word you write shall
be a light to my love for you. You will make the world know the truth,
and I shall have a share in it by keeping you well, giving you comfort
in spirit and body, making for you that little private paradise of which
once you spoke to me.”
“You promise me good things,” said Bertram. “Better than most men get,
and more than I deserve.”
“I promise myself better things,” she answered. “I am selfish in
thinking of so many sweet gifts that will come to me with you. Happiness
in Russia! I think I shall be the only happy woman.”
“You make me a little afraid,” said Bertram. “You will find me out as a
poor fellow.”
“No, I have found you out as a kind, brave gentleman.”
“Something happened to us in the market-place at Moscow!” said Bertram.
“It was God’s hand that turned your head my way and let me look into
your eyes.”
“It was luck,” he said. “God, if you like!”
“Love, anyhow,” she answered.
He stood looking into her eyes, and his were thoughtful.
“My love,” he said, “is not a boy’s first flame of passion, body and
soul on fire. That was given to my wife, Joyce. In a way it’s hers now,
because it belongs to the past which was hers and mine. I shall come to
you in a different way, Princess. Not as an ardent boy, but as a man
who’s seen the brutality of life, and come through agony, and perhaps
has a better understanding of himself and of human nature. But what love
I have in my heart, and a comradeship of utter loyalty, devotion, and
humility, shall be yours until I die, if you’ll let me live with you so
long.”
“We shall arrange our life together,” she said, using the words he had
spoken. “Our loving comradeship has no ignorance. We have both seen
life’s misery and been touched by it. We shall have the wisdom of love,
so that it is more precious.”