Short Fiction by Vladimir Korolenko (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

thing,” said someone; “anybody would think he was doing it for fun; he comes on purpose, just to obstruct, confound him!”

“Why, good people, he doesn’t do it of his own accord,” remarked the seminarist Rouchin, shrugging his shoulders as he stood on the windowsill. “Somebody else puts him up to it.”

Rouchin was a naive and excitable lad, who fell into a state of fanatical adoration of every new idea that was presented to his boyish gaze, and imagined that all the powers of darkness were at that moment collecting in arms to attack the villa among the snowdrifts and strangle the new world in its birth.

“What’s that? Who puts him to this? What nonsense!” resounded from all sides.

“No, it is true. And I know who it is⁠—Gavrilov.”

My name rang out with startling suddenness. Several faces near the door turned to me. Tonia shuddered.

This startling charge produced at first deep silence, followed the next moment by a flood of talk. Some of the men expressed doubt; others defended me; the din became terrific.

“It is true,” broke in the harsh voice of Chernov, from our room, above the uproar, and he jumped up in his usual angular way, “he even sneaks into gardens, and peeps under win⁠ ⁠…”

Tonia, with a terrified and miserable face, started up hurriedly, and caught him by the arm.

“Hush! Hold your tongue; do you hear?” she said imperatively.

Chernov turned round and would have said something; but Madame Sokolov seized him, and forced him back into his seat.

“Sit still when you are told. What a nuisance you are!”

Chernov submitted.

Tonia turned to me with a white face; and I could read in her eyes an entreaty not to be angry.

“Come along,” she said softly.

“Why?” said I, looking straight into her eyes.

“I⁠ ⁠… I ask you, please.”

I rose. In an anteroom, I found her gray cloak, and held it for her. She put in one arm; then, in an embarrassed way, pulled the cloak away from me, and put it on herself. I would have helped Madame Sokolov too; but she simply snatched her cloak from my hands.

Tonia tied her shawl, and drew her hair from under her collar, then, when we were on the road, she hurried along nervously, slipping in the snowdrifts.

As we passed the General’s villa, I again fixed my eyes on its dark windows, and glanced back at the big house.

“How stupid!” I involuntarily exclaimed.

Tonia walked on more rapidly; but Madame Sokolov, who wore a summer hat, turned her head, towards me, and said sharply:⁠—

“Well, what is there so very particular?⁠ ⁠… He cannot even hold his tongue, but must begin to whine.⁠ ⁠… Cannot you see that Tonia is not happy?” she added softly; “you are a precious lot!”

XXV

When we had gone a little way Tonia slackened her pace, and Madame Sokolov went on before us.

“What on earth can have happened to Titus Ivanich?” said Madame Sokolov without turning round. “Deuce take it! He is just like a dog that has broken his chain. And he used to be so quiet.”

When Tonia fell behind, I was walking with her, and although we both were ill-at-ease, remained with her.

“I want to ask you,” she began gently, and then stopped.

“If you, too, are curious concerning Titus, I can tell you beforehand I know nothing. I have nothing to do with it. You believe me, I hope?”

“There is no need for you to tell me that,” said the girl simply. “I believe you incapable of it. Indeed, I⁠ ⁠… I myself have to ask your forgiveness.”

“There! As if you need to apologize,” Madame Sokolov broke in again, without turning round; “too much honor.”

“Let us alone, Katia! Go on in front, can’t you?”

Madame Sokolov walked on quickly; and her ugly, angular figure disappeared in the darkness. Tonia walked with her head bent down.

“I wanted to ask you,” she began again, as if screwing up her courage, “what you think of all this?”

“Of Titus’s pranks?”

“Why, no, no! Of what Gribkov was reading.⁠ ⁠…”

“Ah! Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t listen carefully. It isn’t a bad pamphlet; pretty fair.⁠ ⁠…”

“Is that all?”

“What don’t people write, Antonina Dimitrievna? So many different things are written.”

“Look here, Gavrik,” she began, walking more slowly and lowering her voice, as though she expected that, being alone with her, I should become different; “why do you always⁠ ⁠… why do you talk that way? It is not your own self; you know it is not you who speak thus.”

“Really, I don’t know how to answer you. So far I feel as if I were myself; but perhaps I may be mistaken.”

“You⁠ ⁠… you are laughing at me?⁠ ⁠… I don’t quite understand.”

“Not at all. A thing of this kind happened to me:⁠—I knew, or imagined I knew, a certain person; I even loved him; and then, somehow, instead of him, I saw a heap of dirt.⁠ ⁠…”

“No,” the girl interrupted, in a tone of distress; “I don’t understand at all. Did you read my letter?”

“I didn’t read any letter.”

“You didn’t read my letter through?”

“I didn’t receive any letter.”

She sighed with relief.

“I wrote you a letter from Trzaritrzyn. I asked you for your opinion. Well now, listen, Gavrik.⁠ ⁠… You see, I don’t believe people when they say all those things about you. I don’t even believe you yourself. I believe in the old Gavrik, that I⁠ ⁠… do you remember?⁠ ⁠… used to have so many long talks with⁠ ⁠… I have got into the habit of talking to you about things that I never talked about to anyone else. I trusted you as myself; even more than myself. And I trust you now; only don’t talk like that⁠ ⁠… There, then, tell me, as you used to.⁠ ⁠… Indeed, I am not asking an idle question. Very much depends upon it. Our whole lives may be different.⁠ ⁠… For heaven’s sake, cannot you speak?”

I felt as though my heart would break, something within me was struggling painfully to get out, yet however hard I tried to give it expression, however hard I tried to recall those happy moments of