The day was
drawing to a close, but the young couple continued to walk and talk, paying no
attention to the time or the road. In front of them, in the shade of a tree,
stood the dark mass of a grove, and among the branches of the trees, like
burning coals, the sun burned, inflaming the air and transforming it into
glittering golden dust. The sun appeared so close and luminous that everything
seemed to vanish; He alone remained, and painted the road with his own crimson
tints. It hurt the eyes of passers-by, who turned their backs, and suddenly
everything that fell within their field of vision was extinguished, it became
the tall trunk of a fir tree that shone through the greenery like a candle
in peaceful
and clear, and small and intimate. A little farther away, a short mile away,
the red one set in a darkened room; The reddish glow of the road stretched
before them, and every stone cast its long black shadow; and the girl's hair,
bathed in the rays of the sun, now shone with a golden nimbus. A loose hair,
separated from the rest, fluttered in the air like a golden thread woven by a
spider.
The first
shadows of dusk did not interrupt or change the course of their conversation.
It went on as before, intimate and quiet; He went on to discuss the same theme:
the strength, beauty, and immortality of love. They were both very young; The
girl was not more than seventeen years old; Ncmovctsky had just turned
twenty-one. They both wore student uniforms: she in the modest brown dress of a
female school student, her companion in the elegant attire of a technology
student. And, like their conversation, everything around him was young,
beautiful, and pure. Their figures, erect and supple, advanced with a light,
elastic step; Their cool voices, uttering even the most vulgar words with
thoughtful tenderness, were like a rivulet on a quiet spring night, when the
snow has not yet quite melted on the mountainsides.
They
walked, rounding the bend of an unknown road, and their long shadows, with
absurdly small heads, now advanced separately, now emerged together in a long,
narrow strip, like the shadow of a poplar. But they did not see the shadows,
for they were too absorbed in their talk. As he spoke, the young man did not
take his eyes off the girl's beautiful face, over which the setting sun seemed
to have left a measure of its delicate tints. As for her, she bent her eyes
over the path, pushing aside the tiny pebbles with the tip of her parasol, and
watched now one foot, now the other, as they emerged from under her dark dress.
The path
was interrupted by a dusty ditch with footprints imprinted on them. For a
moment, the two young men stopped. Zinochka raised his head, looked about him
with a puzzled air, and asked:
"Do
you know where we are?" I had never been here.
His
companion carefully examined their surroundings.
-Yes, I
know. There, behind the hill, is the city. Give me your hand. I'll help you
cross.
He
stretched out his hand, white and thin as a woman's, not marred by hard work.
Zinochka was cheerful. She wanted to leap over the ditch by herself, and run,
crying, "Get me, if you can!" But he restrained himself, bowed his
head with modest gratitude, and timidly stretched out his hand, which retained
its childish morbidity. Nemovetsky felt the urge to squeeze the trembling
little hand tightly, but she restrained herself too, and with a slight bow she
took it politely in hers and modestly turned her head when, as she crossed the
ditch, the girl flashed her calf fleetingly.
And again
they walked and talked, but their thoughts were filled with the momentary touch
of their hands. She could still feel the dry warmth of the palm and the strong
male fingers; He felt pleasure and shame, while he was conscious of the
submissive softness of the tiny female hand, and saw the black outline of her
foot and the little shoe that wrapped around him tenderly. He was overcome by a
sudden desire to sing, to stretch out his hands to the sky, and to shout,
"Run! I want to you!", that ancient formula of primitive love among
the woods and the noisy waterfalls. And tears flowed down her throat from all
these desires.
The long
shadows vanished, and the dust on the road turned gray and cold, but they
didn't notice and continued chatting. They had both read many good books, and
the radiant images of men and women who had loved, suffered, and perished out
of pure love stood before them. His memoirs resurrected fragments of almost
forgotten verses, adorned with the melodious harmony and sweet sadness that
love provides.
"Do
you remember where this is from?" Nemovetsky asked, reciting: "...
Once again she is with me, she, whom I love; of whom, having never spoken, I
conceal all my sadness, my tenderness, my love..."
"No,"
replied Zinochka, and repeated thoughtfully, "All my sadness, my
tenderness, my love..."
"All
my love," Nemovetsky replied like an echo.
Other
memories came back to them. They remembered those girls, pure as lilies, who,
dressed in black, sat alone in the park, ruminating on their sorrow among the
dead leaves, but happy in the midst of their sorrow. They also remembered the
men who, abounding in will and pride, implored the love and delicate compassion
of women. The images thus evoked were sad, but the love reflected in that
sadness was radiant and pure. As vast as the world, as bright as the sun, it
lifted up fabulous beauty before his eyes, and there was nothing so powerful or
so beautiful on the face of the earth.
"Could
you die for love?" Zinochka asked, as she looked at his childish hand.
"Yes,
I might," replied Nemovetsky, convinced, and looked his companion in the
eye. And you?
-Yes, me
too. The girl thought thoughtfully. Dying for love is a joy.
Their eyes
met. Clear, limpid eyes, full of goodness. His lips smiled.
Zinochka
stopped.
"Wait
a minute," he said. You've got a thread in your jacket.
The girl
raised a hand to the young man's shoulder and carefully, with two fingers,
grasped the thread.
-That's it!
-Cried-. And, becoming serious, she asked, "Why are you so pale and
thin?" You study too much...
"And
you have blue eyes, with golden sparks," replied Nemovetsky, looking into
the girl's eyes.
"And
yours are black. No, chestnut trees. They seem to shine. There are in them...
Zinochka
didn't finish the sentence. He turned his head, his cheeks flushed, his eyes
took on a shy expression, while his lips smiled involuntarily. Without waiting
for Nemovetsky, who was also smiling with secret pleasure. The girl started
walking, but soon stopped.
"Look,
the sun has set!" He exclaimed in sorrowful astonishment.
"Yes,
it has been set," replied the young man with a new sadness.
The light
had faded, the shadows had died, everything was pale, dying. At that point on
the horizon where the sun had burned, dark masses of clouds were now silently
accumulating, conquering blue space step by step. The clouds gathered, pushed
each other, slowly transformed their monstrous profiles; They were advancing,
as if driven against their will by some terrible, implacable force.
Zinochka's
cheeks grew paler and her lips redder; His pupils widened imperceptibly,
obscuring his eyes. Whispered:
-I'm
scared. I am concerned about the silence that surrounds us. Have we gone
astray?
Nemovetsky
knitted her bushy eyebrows and looked around.
Now that
the sun had disappeared and the approaching night breathed fresh air,
everything seemed cold and inhospitable. The grey field stretched out on either
side with its stunted grass, its hills and its hollows. There were many of
these hollows, some deep, some small, and full of vegetation; the silent
darkness of night had already crept into them; And because of the existence of
signs of cultivation, the place seemed even more desolate.
Nemovetsky
crushed the feeling of insecurity that was struggling to invade him and said:
"No,
we haven't gone astray. I know the way. First to the left, then through that
grove. Are you scared?
She smiled
bravely and replied:
"No.
Not now. But we need to get home early and have some tea.
They
quickened their pace, only to shorten it again at once. They did not look by
the wayside, but they could feel the indolent hostility of the tilled field,
which surrounded them with a thousand tiny motionless eyes, and the sensation
drew them nearer to each other and awakened in them memories of childhood.
Bright memories, full of sun, green foliage, love and laughter. It was as if
this had not been a life, but an immense and melodious song, and they
themselves had been part of that song as sounds, as two faint notes: one clear
and resonant like pure crystal, the other somewhat duller but more animated at
the same time, like a small bell.
Signs of
human life began to appear. Two women were sitting on the edge of a hollow. One
of them was cross-legged and staring into the bottom of the hole. He lifted his
head, touched with a handkerchief, from which tufts of matted hair escaped. She
wore a very dirty blouse with flowers printed on it, as big as apples; Her
laces were loose. He didn't look at those passing by. The other woman was very
close, half reclining, with her head thrown back. He had a broad, coarse face,
with the features of a peasant, and under his eyes the prominent cheekbones
showed two reddish spots, resembling very recent scratches. She was even
dirtier than the first woman, and she looked shamelessly at the two young men.
When these had passed, the woman began to sing in a strong, masculine voice:
"For
you alone, my beloved, I will burst like a flower..."
"Varka,
did you hear?" The woman turned to her silent companion and, receiving no
answer, burst into hoarse laughter.
Nemovetsky
had known such women, who were filthy even when wearing luxurious dresses; He
was used to them, and now they slipped from his retina and vanished, leaving no
trace. But Zinochka, who had almost brushed against them in her modest dress,
felt that something hostile invaded her soul. But in a few moments the
impression had vanished, like the shadow of a cloud rushing across the flowery
meadow; and when, advancing in the same direction, a barefoot man passed by,
accompanied by another of these women, Zinochka saw them, but paid no attention
to them.
And once
more they walked and talked, and behind them moved reluctantly a dark cloud,
casting a transparent shadow. The darkness gradually thickened. Now, the two
young men were talking of those terrible thoughts and sensations that visit man
during the night, when he cannot sleep and all is silence around him; when the
darkness, immense and endowed with multiple eyes, is crushed against his face.
"Can
you imagine the infinite?" Zinochka asked, putting a hand to his forehead
and closing his eyes.
"The
infinite?" "No," replied Nemovetsky, closing his eyes as well.
"Sometimes
I see it. I first noticed it when I was very young. Imagine a large number of
cards. One, another, another, endless letters, an infinite number of letters...
It's terrible!
Zinochka
trembled.
"But
why letters?" Nemovetsky smiled, though he felt uncomfortable.
-I don't
know. But I saw letters. One, another... endless.
The
darkness was thickening. The cloud had already passed over their heads, and
standing in front of them he could now see the faces of the two young men,
growing paler and paler. The ragged figures of other women like the ones they
had encountered appeared more frequently; as if the deep hollows, dug for some
unknown purpose, were vomiting them to the surface. Now alone, now in groups of
two or three, they appeared, and their voices echoed noisily and strangely
desolate in the still air.
"Who
are these women?" Where do they come from? Zinochka asked in a low,
trembling voice.
Nemovetsky
knew what kind of women these were. He was terrified that he had fallen into
this wicked and dangerous neighbourhood, but he answered calmly:
-I don't
know. It doesn't matter. Let's not talk about them. We'll be home soon. We just
have to go through that grove and we will reach the city. Too bad we came out
so late.
The girl
found those words absurd. How could he say they had left late, if it was only
four o'clock? He looked at his companion and smiled. But Nemovetsky's brows
continued to furrow, and, to reassure and comfort him, Zinochka suggested:
"Let's
go faster." I want to have some tea. And the grove is very close now.
"Yes,
we're going to go faster.
When they
entered the grove and the silent trees came together in an arc above their
heads, the darkness grew more intense, but the atmosphere was also more
peaceful and calm.
"Give
me your hand," Nemovetsky proposed.
She shook
his hand, with some hesitation, and the faint touch seemed to light up the
darkness. Their hands didn't move or squeeze each other. Zinochka even pulled
away from his partner a bit. But all his consciousness was focused on the
perception of the tiny place in the body where the hands touched. And again
came the desire to talk about the beauty and mysterious power of love, but to
speak without violating silence, to speak, not through words but through looks.
And they thought they ought to look, and they wished they would, but they dared
not...
"And
there are some people here!" Zinochka exclaimed cheerfully.
On the bald
spot, where it was brighter, three men sat by an almost empty bottle, silent.
They looked expectantly at the newcomers. One of them, clean-shaven like an
actor, laughed loudly and whistled provocatively.
Nemovetsky's
heart beat with a trepidation of horror, but, as if pushed from behind, he
walked on in the direction of the trio, sitting by the roadside. There they
were waiting, and three pairs of eyes were staring at the passers-by,
motionless and threatening.
Desirous of
winning the goodwill of these idle and ragged men, in whose silence he
perceived a threat, and of gaining their sympathy through his own helplessness,
Nemovetsky asked:
"Is
this the road that leads to the city?"
They didn't
answer. The clean-shaven whistled something mocking and indefinable, while the
others remained silent and stared at the pair with malignant intensity. They
were drunk, hungry for women and sensual fun. One of the men, with a reddish
face, stood up like a bear and sighed heavily. His companions glanced at him,
and then fixed their intense gaze on Zinochka again.
"I'm
terribly afraid," whispered the girl.
Nemovetsky
did not hear his words, but he could sense them by the weight of the arm
resting on him. And, trying to appear calm that he did not feel, though
convinced of the irrevocability of what was about to happen, he went on with
studied firmness. Three pairs of piercing eyes drew nearer and nearer,
twinkled, and were behind him.
"It's
better to run," thought Nemovetsky. And he said to himself, "No, it
is better not to run."
"It's
a chick!" Are you afraid of him? said the third member of the trio, a bald
man with a sparse red beard. And the girl is very fine. May God grant that we
may give each of us one like her!
The three
men burst out laughing.
-Hey! One
minute! I want to talk to you, horseman! The taller man shouted in a strong
voice, looking at his comrades.
The trio
rose to their feet.
Nemovetsky
walked on, without turning.
-Stop when
asked! The redhead exclaimed. And if you don't want to, face the consequences!
"Is he
deaf?" The taller man growled, and in two strides he approached the pair.
A massive
hand fell on Nemovetsky's shoulder and swung him around. As he turned, he found
very close to his face the round, bulging, terrible eyes of his assailant. They
were so close that he seemed to see them through a magnifying glass, and he
could clearly distinguish the small red veins in the eyeball and the yellowing
of the eyelids. He dropped Zinochka's hand and, sinking his own into his
pocket, murmured:
"Do
you want money?" I can gladly give you the one I'm carrying.
The bulging
eyes flashed. And when Nemovetsky looked away from them, the tall man gained
momentum and slapped the young man's chin. Nemovetsky's head was thrown back,
his teeth cracked, and his cap fell to the ground; Waving his arms, the young
man collapsed heavily. Silently, without uttering a single cry, Zinochka turned
and ran with all the speed he was capable of. The man with the clean-shaven
face uttered an exclamation that rang strangely:
-A-a-ah!
And he
started running after Zinochka.
Nemovetsky
sprang to his feet, but had barely regained his vertical when another blow to
the back of the head knocked him down again. There were two of his adversaries,
and the young man was not accustomed to physical combat. Yet she struggled for
a long time, scratched with her nails like a whitewashed woman, bit with her
teeth, and sobbed in unconscious despair. When he was too weak to continue
resisting, the two men lifted him off the ground and pushed him out of the way.
The last thing he saw was a fragment of the red beard that almost touched his
mouth, and beyond that, the darkness of the forest and the light-colored blouse
of the fleeing girl. Zinochka ran silently and swiftly, as he had run a few
days before when they were playing marro; And behind her, with short strides,
gaining ground, ran the clean-shaven man. Then, Nemovetsky noticed the
emptiness around him, his heart stopped beating as the young man experienced
the sensation of sinking into a bottomless pit, and finally tripped over a
stone, hit the ground, and lost consciousness.
The tall
man and the red-haired man, having thrown Nemovetsky into a ditch, paused for a
moment to listen to what was happening at the bottom of the ditch. But their
faces and eyes were turned to one side, in the direction taken by Zinochka.
From there the girl's shrill cry rose, only to die out almost immediately. The
tall man muttered angrily:
"The
very pig!"
Then,
rising up like a bear, he ran.
-Me too! Me
too! His red-haired comrade shouted, running after him. He was weak and
panting; He had hurt his knee in the fight, and he was furious at the thought
that he had been the first to see the girl and would be the last to have her.
He stopped to rub his knee; then, putting a finger to his nose, he sneezed, and
ran again, crying, "Me too!" Me too!
The dark
cloud dissipated across the sky, fading into the still night. The short-cut
figure of the red-haired man was soon swallowed up by the darkness, but for a
time the uneven rhythm of his footsteps, the rustling of fallen leaves on the
ground, and the plaintive cries could be heard:
-Me too!
Brethren, so am I!
Nemovetsky's
mouth was full of dirt. When he came to, the first sensation he experienced was
the awareness of the pungent and pleasant smell of the earth. His head was
heavy, as if it were full of lead; I could barely turn it back. His whole body
ached, especially his shoulder, but he didn't have any broken bones. He sat up,
and for a long time looked over him, neither thinking nor remembering. Directly
above his head a bush bent its broad leaves, and between them the now clear sky
was visible. The cloud had passed, not dropping a single drop of rain, and
leaving the air dry and exhilarating. Very high, in the middle of the sky,
appeared the sculpted moon, with transparent edges. He was living his last
nights and his light was cold, discouraged, lonely. Small tufts of clouds
glided swiftly across the heights, pushed by the wind; They did not obscure the
moon, merely caressing it. The solitude of the moon, the timidity of the
fugitive clouds, the barely perceptible breath of the wind below, made one feel
the mysterious depth of the night dominating over the earth.
Nemovetsky
suddenly remembered everything that had happened, and could not believe that it
had happened. It was all so terrible that it didn't seem true. Could the truth
be that horrible? He, too, sitting on the ground in the middle of the night and
looking at the moon and the patches of receding clouds, felt strange to
himself, so much so that he thought he was living through a vulgar but terrible
nightmare. These women, of whom he had known so many, had also become a part of
the dreadful and perverse dream.
"It
can't be! He exclaimed, shaking his head weakly. It can't be!"
He
stretched out an arm and began to reach for his cap. When he couldn't find her,
everything became clear to him; And he realized that what had happened had not
been a dream, but the horrible truth. Possessed with terror, he clung furiously
to the walls of the ditch trying to get out of it, only to find himself again
and again with his hands full of dirt, until finally he managed to cling to a
bush and climb to the surface.
Once there,
he ran without choosing a direction. For a long time he kept running, circling
among the trees. The branches scratched his face, and again it all began to
look like a dream. Nemovetsky experienced the sensation that something like
this had happened to him before: darkness, invisible branches of the trees, as
he ran with his eyes closed, thinking it was all a dream. Nemovetsky stopped,
and then sat down in an awkward posture on the ground, without any elevation.
And again he thought of his cap, and murmured:
"This
is: I have to kill myself. Yes, I have to kill myself, even if this is a
dream."
He sprang
to his feet, but remembered something and started walking slowly, trying to
locate in his confused brain the place where they had been attacked. It was
almost pitch black in the forest, but now and then a moonbeam filtered through
the branches of the trees, deceiving him; It lit up the white trunks, and the
forest seemed to be filled with motionless and mysterious silent people. All
this, too, seemed like a fragment of the past, and it seemed like a dream.
"Zinaida
Nikolaevna!" called Nemovetsky, uttering the first word aloud and the
second in a low voice, as if the loss of her voice had also given up all hope
of an answer. No one answered.
Then
Nemovetsky found his way, and recognized it immediately. He arrived at the
calvery. And when he got there, he realized that everything had really
happened. In his terror, he ran, crying out:
"Zinaida
Nikolaevna! Soy yo! No!"
No one
answered his call. Taking the direction in which he thought the city was, he
shouted with all the force that remained in his lungs:
«¡S o c o r
r o o o!»
• Again he
ran, whispering something as he brushed the bushes, until a white spot appeared
before his eyes, like a spot of frozen light. It was Zinochka's prostrate body.
"Oh!
My god! What is this?" said Nemovetsky, his eyes dry, but his voice
sobbing. He dropped to his knees and came into contact with the girl lying
there.
His hand
fell on the naked body, which was soft to the touch, and firm, and cold, but
not dead. Trembling, Nemovetsky ran his hand over her.
"My
dear, darling, it's me," she whispered, searching for the girl's face in
the darkness.
Then he
stretched out a hand in another direction, and again came into contact with the
naked body, and wherever he rested his hand touched the woman's body, so soft,
so firm, seeming to acquire warmth at the touch of his hand. Nemovetsky
suddenly drew her hand away, and immediately rested it again on that body,
which she could not associate with Zinochka. Everything that had happened here,
everything that those men had done with this mute woman's body, appeared to
Nemovetsky in all its frightful reality, and she found a strange and eloquent
answer in her own body. With his eyes fixed on the white spot, he raised his
eyebrows like a man engaged in the task of thinking.
"Oh!
My god! What is this?" he repeated, but the sound came unreal, deliberate.
Nemovetsky
laid her hand on Zinochka's heart: it was beating faintly but steadily, and
when the young man leaned over the woman's face he caught the faint breath as
well. The girl seemed to be in a peaceful sleep. He called to her in a low
voice:
"Zinochka!
It's me!"
But he knew
immediately that he wouldn't want to see her awake until a long time had
passed. Nemovetsky held her breath, glanced furtively around, and then stroked
the girl's cheek; First he kissed her closed eyes, then her lips... Fearing
that he would wake up, he leaned back and remained in an icy attitude. But the
body was motionless and mute, and in its helplessness and easy access there was
something pitiful and exasperating. With infinite tenderness Nemovetsky tried
to cover the girl with the pieces of her dress, and the double consciousness of
the cloth and the naked body was as sharp as a knife and as incomprehensible as
madness. Here, wild beasts had feasted: Nemovetsky caught the fiery passion in
the air and dilated her nostrils.
"It's
me! It's me!" he repeated like a madman, not understanding his
surroundings and still possessed by the memory of the white selvedge of the
woman's skirt, the black silhouette of the foot, and the footwear that so
tenderly contained it. As he listened to Zinochka breathe, his eyes fixed on
his face, he waved a hand. He stopped to listen, and waved his hand again.
"What
am I doing?" he cried aloud in despair, and leaned back, horrified at
himself.
For an
instant, Zinochka's face flashed in front of him and vanished. He tried to
comprehend that this body was Zinochka, with whom he had been walking and
talking about the infinite, but he could not comprehend. He tried to feel the
horror of what had happened, but the horror was too intense to grasp.
"Zinaida
Nikolaevna! He cried imploringly. What does this mean? Zinaida
Nikolaevna!"
But the
tormented body remained mute, and, continuing his mad monologue, Nemovetsky
dropped to his knees. He pleaded, threatened, said he would commit suicide, and
grabbed the prostrate body, pressing it against his...
The body
made no resistance, obedient meekly to his movements, and the whole thing was
so terrible, incomprehensible, and savage that Nemovetsky sprang to his feet
again and cried out sharply:
"Help!"
But the
sound was fake, as if it were deliberate.
And once
more she dropped upon the passive body, with kisses and tears, feeling the
presence of an abyss, a dark, terrible, absorbing abyss. There was no
Nemovetsky there; Nemovetsky had been left behind, somewhere, and the being who
had replaced him was now shaking the warm, submissive body, and was saying with
the cunning smile of a madman:
"Answer
me! Or don't you want to answer me? I love you! I love you!"
With the
same sly smile he brought his wide eyes to Zinochka's face and whispered:
"I
love you! You don't want to talk, but you're smiling, I notice. I love you! I
love you! I love you!"
He pressed
Zinochka's body tighter against his, and his passivity aroused a savage
passion. Wringing her hands, Nemovetsky whispered again, her voice hoarse:
"I
love you! We won't tell anyone, and no one will know. I'll marry you tomorrow,
whenever you want. I love you! I'll kiss you, and you'll answer me, yes?
Zinochka..."
He pressed
his lips to hers, and in the anguish of that kiss his reason was utterly
nullified. It seemed to him that Zinochka's lips quivered. For an instant,
horror cleared his mind, opening a black abyss before him.
And the
black abyss engulfed him.
The
end
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