Sanine by Mikhail Artsybashev (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

hat and sunshade, walked to school in her usual buoyant way, where she remained until noon, and then returned home.

In the street she met Lida Sanina. They both stood there in the sunlight, graceful, young, and pretty, as with smiles on their lips they talked of trifling things. Lida felt morbidly hostile towards Sina, happy and free from care as she imagined her to be, while the latter envied Lida her liberty and her pleasant, easy life. Each believed herself to be the victim of cruel injustice.

“I am surely better than she is. Why is she so happy, and why must I suffer?” In both their minds this thought was uppermost.

After lunch, Sina took a book and sat near the window, listlessly gazing at the garden that was still touched with the splendour of the dying summer. The emotional crisis had passed, and now her mood was one of apathy and indifference.

“Ah! Well, it’s all over with me now,” she kept repeating. “I’d better die.”

Sina saw Sanine before he noticed her. Tall and calm, he crossed the garden, thrusting aside the branches as if to greet them by his touch. Leaning back in her chair, and pressing the book against her bosom, she watched him, wild-eyed, as he slowly approached the window.

“Good day,” he said, holding out his hand.

Before she could rise or recover from her amazement he repeated in a gentle, caressing tone.

“Good morning to you.”

Sina felt utterly powerless. She only murmured:

“Good morning.”

Sanine leant on the windowsill and said:

“Do come out into the garden for a little while and have a talk.”

Sina got up, swayed by a strange force that robbed her of her will.

“I’ll wait for you there,” added Sanine.

She merely nodded.

As he strolled back to the garden Sina was afraid to look at him. For some seconds she remained motionless, with her hands clasped, and then suddenly went out, holding up her dress so as to walk more easily.

Sunlight touched the bright-hued autumn foliage; and the garden seemed steeped in a golden haze. As Sina hastened towards him, Sanine was standing at some distance in the middle of the path. His smile troubled her. He took her hand, and, sitting on the trunk of a tree, gently drew her on to his lap.

“I am not sure,” he began, “that I ought to have come here to see you, for you may think that I have treated you very badly. But I could not stay away. I wanted to explain things, so that you might not utterly hate and loathe me. After all⁠ ⁠… what else could I do? How was I to resist? There came a moment when I felt that the last barrier between us had fallen, and that, if I missed this moment of my life, it would never again be mine. You’re so beautiful, so young⁠ ⁠…”

Sina was mute. Her soft, transparent ear, half-hidden by her hair, became rosy, and her long eyelashes quivered.

“You’re miserable, now, and yesterday, how beautiful it all was,” he said. “Sorrows only exist because man has set a price upon his own happiness. If our way of living were different, last night would remain in our memory as one of life’s most beautiful and precious experiences.”

“Yes, if⁠ ⁠…” she said mechanically. Then, all at once, much to her own surprise, she smiled. And as sunrise, and the song of birds, and the sound of whispering reeds, so this smile seemed to cheer her spirit. Yet it was but for a moment.

All at once she saw her whole future life before her, a broken life of sorrow and shame. The prospect was so horrible that it roused hatred.

“Go away! Leave me!” she said sharply. Her teeth were clenched and her face wore a hard, vindictive expression as she rose to her feet.

Sanine pitied her. For a moment he was moved to offer her his name and his protection, yet something held him back. He felt that such amends would be too mean.

“Ah! well,” he thought, “life must just take its course.”

“I know that you are in love with Yourii Svarogitsch,” he began. “Perhaps it is that which grieves you most?”

“I am in love with no one,” murmured Sina, clasping her hands convulsively.

“Don’t bear me any ill-will,” pleaded Sanine. “You’re just as beautiful as ever you were, and the same happiness that you gave to me, you will give to him you love⁠—far more, indeed, far more. I wish you from my heart all possible joy, and I shall always picture you to myself as I saw you last night. Goodbye⁠ ⁠… and, if ever you need me, send for me. If I could⁠ ⁠… I would give my life for you.”

Sina looked at him, and was silent, stirred by strange pity.

“It may all come right, who knows?” she thought, and for a moment matters did not seem so dreadful. They gazed into each other’s eyes steadfastly, knowing that in their hearts they held a secret which no one would ever discover, and the memory of which would always be bright.

“Well, goodbye,” said Sina, in a gentle, girlish voice.

Sanine looked radiant with pleasure. She held out her hand, and they kissed, simply, affectionately, like brother and sister.

Sina accompanied Sanine as far as the garden-gate and sorrowfully watched him go. Then she went back to the garden, and lay down on the scented grass that waved and rustled round her. She shut her eyes, thinking of all that had happened, and wondering whether she ought to tell Yourii or not.

“No, no,” she said to herself, “I won’t think any more about it. Some things are best forgotten.”

XLI

Next morning Yourii rose late, feeling indisposed. His head ached, and he had a bad taste in his mouth. At first he could only recollect shouts, jingling glasses, and the waning light of lamps at dawn. Then he remembered how, stumbling and grunting, Schafroff and Peter Ilitsch had retired, while he and Ivanoff⁠—the latter pale with drink, but firm on his feet⁠—stood talking on the