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

of life without struggle, or pain, or joy; then death also appears sickening and hideous. For life and death are bound together by a living thread. I do not remember who it was that said, “Death is the child of life.” It is true in this sense: as healthy children are born of healthy parents, so a life that has been healthy in the full significance of the word is followed by a death as bright as the sunset of a clear day. XXII

One evening as I sat in the shed, in the state of mind which I have just described, the passenger train from Moscow began to slacken speed as it neared the station. Again the bars of light flashed across the platform and shadows moved in the dim windows, and I could hear sounds and talking from the shut-in life of the carriages. And once more it seemed like the mere echo of long past impressions. When, however, the train went on again, I found that this echo had left upon the platform a living being.

The red lantern at the end of the last carriage flung a ray of light on the solitary passenger, from whom I instantly retreated to the furthest corner of the shed. It was the girl-cashier from the Volga, who, as the navigation was stopped, had made up her accounts and returned to us for the winter.

She apparently expected that somebody would meet her, and found herself mistaken. Perhaps, though, she was playing one of her audacious pranks, and trusted to chance for an escort. Be that as it might, there she stood, alone in the dark, looking round her. The train glittered in the distance like a red star; the place was quite deserted; and I sat still in the shed, trying not to stir.

The girl laid her handbag on the platform, and crossed the line to the watchman’s hut on the opposite bank. For a moment I lost sight of her, but the next moment her slender figure reappeared at the open door.

“Grigoryevna! Good evening!” she called to the watchman’s wife.

“Eh! Who is there?”

“I, I. Why, she doesn’t know me!”

Grigoryevna answered in the languid voice of a suffering woman. The door closed; but a moment afterwards both the women came out again.

“Dear! dear! What a pity! He is just gone down the line. You had better wait a bit for him; he will go with you.”

“No; it is all right; I’ll go alone. Goodbye!” And the girl went rapidly down the bank.

“No, but really⁠ ⁠… it is not safe; indeed, it is not safe. Heaven forbid! somebody might harm you.”

“No, they won’t. I’m lucky; no one ever harms me.”

These familiar words, accompanied by the old familiar laugh, sounded as if they had been spoken in my ear. Then she crossed the platform, and I withdrew further into my corner.

Why, I cannot tell. It seemed to me that the indefinite, half-conscious expectations which I had previously formed in the same place, referred to the event which was now coming to pass. I even fancied that, earlier in the day, I had felt a foreboding of her coming, and taken my “resolution” beforehand.

Be that as it might, there rose before me the living image of that past so near, yet already so far off.

Now I analyzed everything and mocked at everything. But, until this moment I had not dared to touch with my hideous analysis this girl whom I had once loved, and whose memory I still cherished, pure and unsullied. It lay dormant in the deepest recesses of my soul, together with some other memories that were also very dear to me. But I knew that they would be called up to judgment by my new mood, and if I once began to submit these memories and feelings to analysis, 1 should never stop, and there would not be left in my soul one single untainted spot.

It is very likely that I was trembling in my corner from a foreboding of all this. It is possible, too, that I did not like to let her, so strong and full of life, see me shivering, shrinking, with the inner consciousness of a wretched little dog. Anyhow, I waited till she had started, and then followed her.

She walked quickly, and her figure now showed like a dim shadow in front, now disappearing altogether. I followed her, dreading to lose sight of her, yet, at the same time, fearing to attract her attention. And then, for the first time, the oddity of my position occurred to me: why had I not gone straight up to her? Why hide myself, and then creep after her like a thief in the dark?

For the first time I felt causeless shame. Why? I had done nothing wrong⁠—nothing with which to reproach myself. It is the shame of existing at all, flashed through my mind. It was the dread of showing her the dirty, gray spot in my soul.

This thought angered me. At the same time, as I could no longer see her, I feared I might lose her, and forgetting both the cold and my own shivering fit hurried on peering into the darkness.

Suddenly I quivered as if I had been shot, and stood still, hearing at the same moment a low, startled cry. The girl, as it appeared, was tired, and, placing her portmanteau on the ground, sat down on it to rest herself. I thus found myself face to face with her.

For a few seconds we remained standing⁠—she in surprised silence⁠ ⁠… Then I held out my hand and said:⁠—

“Good evening,⁠ ⁠… Tonia.”

“Ah! it is you! There, I knew you would come. Why, Gavrik dear, how you startled me!” and, taking my hand in both hers, she pressed it warmly, laughing and talking merrily of her fright.

“Why didn’t I see you on the platform? Did you get my letter? Why, wherever did you come from?”

She showered questions upon me, and went straight on, without waiting for an answer.