"What does it matter for a sot like him? What has he to be afraid of?"
"Carefully, carefully, Orloff! Lift his legs higher ... that's right Ate you ready?... Drive on, Peter!" the student ordered. "Tell the doctor I will follow him directly.... I beg of you, Mr. Orloff, to stay here for a time and help me to disinfect the place.... You might take this opportunity of learning what to do in case of necessity some other time. Is it agreed? Yes?"
"We can set about it at once," said Orloff with visible pride, glancing round at the crowd.
"I will help too!" cried Tschischik.
He had followed the ambulance-van up to the door of the Infirmary, and had already returned in time to offer his services to the medical student The latter looked at him over his spectacles.
"Who are you, my little chap?"
"I am the apprentice here at the painter's," replied Tschischik.
"And you are not afraid of the cholera?"
"I ... afraid?" replied Senka, astonished. "I am not afraid of anything in the world."
"Is that so?... Well, that's all right.... Just listen now, my friends."
The student sat down on a barrel which stood in the yard, and, whilst he rocked himself backwards and forwards on it, he began to explain to Orloff and Tschischik how, before everything else, they must be scrupulously clean in their own persons.
A few minutes later Matrona, smiling anxiously, joined the group in the courtyard. The cook followed her, wiping her tear-stained eyes with a damp apron. One by one the crowd followed, approaching the group where sat the student, with furtive steps as a cat might approach a sparrow. After about a dozen people had collected, the student became more enthusiastic and interested, for he observed the increasing attention paid to what he was saying. Standing in their midst, and gesticulating as he spoke, he gave a sort of lecture, raising by turns a laugh, or calling forth an expression of distrust.
"The principal thing, gentlemen, in all cases of illness is cleanliness in your own persons, and good fresh air," thus he instructed his listeners.
"But those who keep clean manage to die all the same!" remarked one of the audience.
"Ah! dear Lord!" sighed the painter's cook out loud. "It would be better to pray to the holy martyr St. Barbara to save us from a sudden death!"
Orloff stood near his wife, and though apparently occupied with his own thoughts, watched the student with a fixed stare. Suddenly he felt some one pull his sleeve.
"Little Uncle Grigori!" whispered Tschischik in his ear, standing on tiptoe, and looking at the cobbler with small round eyes that glowed like burning coals. "The poor Mitri Pavlovitch is going to die. He has no relations—what will become of his accordion?"
"Keep quiet, you little imp!" Orloff replied, and pushed him on one side.
Senka looked in at the window of the room from which they had just carried out the accordion-player, his eyes searching round with a covetous glance.
"Well, as a final word of caution, my friends, use plenty of chloride of lime!" the student's voice was heard once more saying.
Towards the end of this disturbed day, whilst the Orloffs were sitting at tea, Matrona asked her husband in a tone of curiosity, "Where did you go just now with the student?"
Grigori seemed to be looking at her as through a mist, and he poured his tea from the cup into the saucer without replying.
Towards mid-day, after they had disinfected the accordion-player's room, both Grigori and the sanitary officer had gone off together. On his return, Grigori had remained for nearly three hours in a silent, thoughtful mood. He had lain down on the bed, and had remained there till tea-time, his face turned up towards the ceiling, without speaking a word. In vain had Matrona tried, over and over again, to begin a conversation with him. He did not once swear, even when she worried him. This was quite an uncommon occurrence which gave her much cause for thought With the instinct of the woman whose life is absorbed in that of her husband, she guessed at once that something new had come between them. She felt alarmed, and was all the more curious to find out what had really happened.
"Come, arn't you feeling very well, Grischka?" she began once more.
Grigori gulped down the last drop of tea from his saucer, wiped his moustache with his sleeve, handed the cup to his wife, and said with a dark frown, "I was with the medical student, up at the Infirmary."
"What, in the cholera hospital?" exclaimed Matrona, in a scared voice; and then added, terrified, "Are there many folk there?"
"Fifty-three people, counting the one they brought from here."
"You don't say so?—and——"
"About a dozen are getting better, they can already walk about; but they are quite yellow and thin."
"Are they really cholera patients...? Or have they been changed for others?—so that the doctors might be able to say they had cured them?"
"You stupid goose!" cried Grigori roughly, throwing an angry look at her. "What a lot of foolish people you are, all of you! It is ignorance and stupidity, nothing else! One can stick here all one's days in blind ignorance—understanding nothing!"
He pulled the cup of tea, which Matrona had just poured out for him, violently towards him, and was silent.
"I should like to know where you get all your great wisdom?" said Matrona mockingly.
Orloff did not pay the least attention to her words. He grew as silent as before, and appeared quite unapproachable. The samovar was nearly extinguished, only a simmering sound escaping from it. There came into the windows from across the yard a smell of oil-paints, carbolic, and dirty slops. This smell, blending with the twilight of evening, and the monotonous singing of the samovar, awoke in the narrow close cellar a sensation, which lay with the weight of a nightmare on its occupants. The black ghastly mouth of the stove seemed to look at them menacingly, as if about to devour them. For a long time the Orloffs sat there in silence, nibbling sugar, gulping down mouthfuls of tea, and fidgeting with the tea-things. Matrona sighed, and Grigori drummed with his fingers on the tea-table.
"I never saw such cleanliness as reigns there!—never saw anything like it!" Grischka broke in suddenly on the silence.
"Every one of the attendants wears white linen clothes; the sick people have baths as often as it is necessary—and they get wine to drink at five and a half roubles a bottle! And the food!... The smell is almost enough for one; it's so delicious! There is such care—such attention! —no mother could be kinder to a child. Yes, yes! when one comes to think of it! Here we live, and not a soul bothers his head about us, asks us how we are, or how we are getting on;—whether we are happy or unhappy—whether we have anything to put in our mouths or not But as soon as it's a case of dying, then they can't do enough for one, they will go to any expense. These infirmaries, for instance—and the wine—five and a half roubles the bottle! Don't the fellows reason then, what all that is going to cost them? They had better have spent it in helping the living every year a little."
Matrona did not trouble to try and follow what he was saying. It was sufficient for her that his thoughts had taken a new direction, and that now her relations with Grigori would be on a different footing. She was quite convinced that this would be the result, and foresaw only too quickly what the consequences of this spiritual change would be to her. Fear and hope moved her, together with a feeling of enmity against her husband.
"They'll know very well what to do without you," she said ironically, drawing down the corners of her mouth.
Grigori shrugged his shoulders, glancing askance at her; then continued to speak in still more meaning tones, this time watching her attentively.
"Whether they know it or not that is their business.... But if I have to die without seeing something of life, then I shall be the first to whom such a thing happens!... Understand then, this time of torment must come to an end! I won't sit here any longer, and wait till the cholera comes to me as it did to the accordion-player, and carries me off to the grave. No, I won't, I can't! I would rather go boldly and meet it.... Peter, the student, said to me—'If Fate is against you, just show that you also can oppose Fate. You can but try which is the stronger.... It's simply a battle—nothing more.' You ask what is the matter with me?... I mean to go as an attendant in the Infirmary! do you understand?... I will crawl right into the jaws that threaten, and they may swallow me up, but at least I will defend myself with my hands and my feet!... I shan't be so badly off there; I shall get twenty roubles a month, besides tips, and my keep. It's just possible that I shall die there; but that might happen here!... At any rate it's a change in one's life."
He struck the table with his fist in wild excitement, so that the tea-things clattered and danced.
Matrona had listened to him at first full of curiosity and disquietude, but towards the end she interrupted angrily.
"The medical student has been advising you to do this, hasn't he?" she asked in a meaning voice.
"Haven't I my own reason to go by? Can't I take a decision for myself?" answered Grigori, evading a direct answer.
"Well!—and what am I to do meanwhile?"
"What are you to do?" asked Grigori, astonished. He had not once thought about this side of the question. The simplest way, of course, would be for him to leave his wife in their old lodgings. But wives are not always trustworthy, and he had not entire confidence in his Matrona. She required, according to him, a good deal of looking after. Struck by this thought, Grigori continued sullenly—
"The most simple thing would be for you to remain here. I shall always get my wages, and that will keep you. Hm!—yes," he said, apparently anxious to hear what she would reply to this.
"It's all the same to me," she answered quietly.
And once more he noticed cross her face that woman's smile, which seemed to him to possess a double meaning, and which had so often before awoke in him a feeling of jealousy. It aroused his anger now just in the same way, but he knew how to control himself, and said abruptly, "It's all nonsense, all that you say!"
He looked at her irritably, full of expectation of what she would reply. She however was silent, but continued to annoy him with the same provoking smile.
"Well!—what's to be done?" asked Grigori at last in a higher key.
"Yes, what's to be done?" replied Matrona indifferently, drying the teacups.
"You had better not play me any tricks, you serpent!—you had better not, or you will get one over the head!" raged Orloff. "It may be I am going to my death!"
"Well, don't go then—I don't send you," replied Matrona quietly.
"Anyhow, I know that you are glad I am going," continued Orloff with a sneer.
She was for once silent. This silence aggravated his rage, but he controlled himself so as not to destroy this moment of resolution by a horrid scene of wife-beating.
And suddenly there entered his mind a thought, which appeared to him more diabolical than the aggravating mood of his wife.
"I feel certain you want me to be underground," he said, "but just wait a little—we'll see who gets there first!—yes, that we will! I'll do something that will settle your business, my good woman!"
He jumped up from the table, took his cap in his hand, and hurried out. Matrona remained behind alone. She was dissatisfied with the result of her manoeuvres, and upset by his threats. With a steadily growing feeling of fear, she thought about the future. She looked out of the window and whispered softly to herself, "Oh! Lord God! King of heaven! Holy Mother of God!"
She sat for a long time at the table, filled with terror-stricken presentiments, trying in vain to guess what was really the matter with Grigori. Before her stood the clean tea-things. The setting sun threw a great streak of light across the massive wall of the neighbour's house, which stood opposite the window of their room; the whiteness of the wall reflected this light, causing it to fall straight across the cellar and sparkle on the glass sugar-basin standing in front of Matrona. She watched with wrinkled brow this glimmer of light till her eyes grew tired. Then she rose, put the tea-things away, and lay down on the bed; she was feeling anxious and heavy-hearted.
When Grigori returned it was already dark. She could tell by the way he walked that he was in a good temper. He did not swear at the darkness of the room, but called Matrona by her name, and then went up to the bed and sat down on it Matrona raised herself and sat by his side.
"Guess what's the latest news!" began Orloff, smiling.
"Well, what is it?"
"You are going to take a situation also."
"Where?" she asked with stammering lips.
"In the same Infirmary as I shall be in," he explained in an impressive tone of voice.
She fell on his neck, pressed him closely to her breast, and kissed his lips. He did not expect this and pushed her away. "She is only pretending," he said to himself. "The cunning creature, she does not really want to be with me! She thinks me a fool, the little serpent!"
"Well, why are you so pleased about it?" he asked in a rough voice that was hill of distrust He would have liked to have pushed her off the bed.
"I am only so pleased," she said, smiling happily.
"Don't try and humbug me; I know you!"
"My dear brave knight!"
"Shut up—or I'll give you something!"
"My dear, dear Grischanja!"
"Just say straight out what you want from me!"
Finally, when her endearments had appeased him a little, he asked her anxiously—
"Are you not frightened then at all?"
"But we shall be together!" she answered at once simply.
It was pleasant to him to hear her say this, and he replied gratefully—
"You are indeed a plucky little wife!"
Then he pinched her till she screamed.
During the first days of their service, the Orloffs found an immense deal to do. Many sick people were daily brought to the Infirmary, and the two novices, who were only accustomed to the tedious weariness of their former life, felt at first very uncomfortable in the midst of this rapid, pulsating, busy rush into which they were suddenly thrown. They lost their heads, and failed to understand at once the orders that were given them; whilst they became confused with all the different impressions that poured in upon them. And though they had the firm intention of making themselves useful, running hither and thither full of zeal, they succeeded nevertheless in doing very little work, and too often got into the way of other people. Grigori felt more than once that he had indeed deserved a reproof for his clumsiness, but to his astonishment no one took it upon them to reprove him.
One of the doctors, a tall dark man with a black moustache and a hooked nose, with an enormous wart over his right eyebrow, told Grigori to help one of the patients into the bath-room; the new attendant, eager to be useful, seized hold of the patient with such a show of zeal that he called out and groaned.
"Take care, my man! Don't break him in two!" said the doctor quite seriously. "We've got to get him into the bath-room whole.... These words confused Orloff. The patient, however, a long thin fellow, smiled constrainedly, and said in a hollow voice—" He doesn't understand yet ... he's a new hand....
The head doctor, an old gentleman with a pointed grey beard and great flashing eyes, had told the Orloffs when they first came into the Infirmary how they should manage the patients, and what they had to do under certain circumstances. At the end of his instructions he asked them if they had taken a bath lately, and then gave them out white aprons. The voice of this old gentleman had in it something pleasing and sympathetic, and the Orloffs felt they should like him. But half-an-hour afterwards they had forgotten all his instructions in the noisy rush of work in the Infirmary.
People in white clothes ran up against them; commands which were carried out with lightning speed by the attendants, sounded in their ears; the patients groaned, sobbed and sighed; water flowed splashing and hissing from the taps; and this blending of sounds seemed to fill the air, which was already saturated with sharp unpleasant smells that irritated the nose; and it seemed to Orloff that every word of the doctors, every sigh of the patients, was impregnated with the same smell.
At first all this appeared to him like a wild chaos, in which he could never feel at home, but which worked on him increasingly in a depressing, bewildering way. But after a few hours he was seized by the strong current of energy which flowed through everything. He pricked up his ears, and felt a burning desire to get into the swim, and learn how to do all these things that others were doing; joined with the feeling that he would be lighter-hearted and happier if he could be swept away in this whirlpool.
"Corrosive sublimate!" shouted one of the doctors.
"Some more hot water in the bath over there!" a thin little student with red eyes ordered.
"Look here! What's your name?"
"Orloff."
"All right!... Just rub this patient's feet ... yes, that's right ... so.... I see you understand at once.... So—o ... not so hard! or you will rub his skin off!..."
"Oh! how tired I am!" exclaimed another student, long-haired and pock-marked, whilst he was giving Orloff the necessary instructions.
"They have brought in another patient!" some one exclaimed.
"Orloff, just go and see!... Help them to bring him in."
Grigori, full of zeal, followed out all the directions. He was covered with perspiration, there was a ringing in his ears, and a mist swam before his eyes. At times the consciousness of himself disappeared entirely under the mass of impressions which crowded in upon him at every moment. The dark-green rings round the glassy eyes of the patients, their leaden-coloured faces, their bones, which stood out from their bodies, their clammy, bad-smelling skins, the horrible convulsions of the half-dead bodies, all this oppressed his heart painfully, and produced a nausea which he had never experienced before.
Once or twice he had caught a hurried glimpse of his wife in the corridor of the Infirmary; she seemed in these few hours to have grown thinner, and her white face wore a troubled look.
"Well, how are you getting on?" he asked during one of these hurried encounters. She could only answer with a smile, and disappeared immediately.
A thought struck Grischka, which he however kept to himself; was it really so necessary for him to have brought his wife with him into this hell? She might catch the infection and die.... The second time he met her he called out to her in a loud voice—
"Be sure and keep yourself clean; wash your hands very often, and take every care!"
"Why do you say all that? What if I don't take care?" she asked, showing her little white teeth; and it seemed to him as if she were defying him.
Her reply made him angry.
"There she is," he thought, "joking even in such a place as this! What a parcel of fools these women-folk are!"
He found however no further opportunity to give her recommendations. Matrona, having noticed the angry look on his face, hurried away to the women's side of the building.
A minute later Grigori was helping to carry into the mortuary the body of a policeman who had been well known to him. Only two days before he had seen the policeman at his post, and had sworn at him as he had passed by; they had never been on good terms together. And now he saw this man, such a short time before so strong and healthy, lying dead, and quite disfigured with convulsions. The corpse swayed backwards and forwards against the bearers, and stared with wide-open glassy eyes.
Orloff realized the whole force and cruelty of the contrast. "Why does one ever come into the world?" he thought to himself, "if such a horrible complaint as this can knock one over in four-and-twenty hours?"
He glanced at the bier, and felt a movement of pity for the dead policeman. What would become now of the three children of the dead man? Last year he lost his wife, and there had scarcely been time for him to marry again ... now the poor little creatures would be left orphans entirely....
This thought filled him with a feeling of real pain. Suddenly the left arm of the corpse began to stretch out and to straighten itself, and at the same time the mouth of the dead man, which till then had stood open, and drawn down on the left side, closed itself.
"Stop a moment," said Orloff to the other bearer; and he rested the bier on the ground. "He is still alive!" he whispered in a terrified voice.
The bearer, who had been helping him to carry the stretcher, turned round, looked at the corpse attentively, and then said angrily to Orloff—
"What nonsense you are talking! Don't you understand that he is getting himself ready for his coffin? Don't you see how the cholera has twisted him up?... He can't lie in the coffin in that position!... Come! Let's get on again!"
"But just look; he is still moving!" protested Orloff, trembling with horror.
"Hurry up now! Catch hold, you fool!... Don't you understand what I say, then?... Hehasto move in order to relax his limbs! Are you then such an ignorant and stupid chap?...Healive?... How can any one say that about a corpse? That's mutiny, brother!... All our corpses here move, but I should advise you to be quiet about it Don't tell a soul that he has moved! Otherwise one will tell his neighbour, and his neighbour will add a little bit on to the story, and we shall soon have a regular row up at the Infirmary, because they will be saying we bury them alive! The whole mob would come here and pull everything to pieces.... And you would get your share of the knocks!... Do you understand? .... We will put him down there to the left."
The quiet voice of Pronim—that was the name of the other attendant—and his soft way of speaking, calmed and reassured Grigori.
"Just keep a level head, brother! You will soon get used to it all. There is no harm going on here.... The feeding, and the management, and everything are first-class.... We have all to die some day, every one recognizes that But till that time comes, keep, as I have said, a level head!... Will you have a glass of schnapps?"
"Why not?" replied Orloff.
"I have got a drop in the corner there, ready for use on these sort of occasions. What do you say; shall we have a go at it?" They went off accordingly towards a quiet corner of the Infirmary, and pulled themselves together with a small glass of spirits. Then Pronim dropped some essence of peppermint on to a piece of sugar, and handed it to Orloff.
"Take it; otherwise they will smell that we have been drinking. They are very particular here about vodka; they say it is bad for one."
"And you?... have you got accustomed to the life here?" asked Grigori.
"I should think so! I was one of the first to come. Hundreds have died before my eyes. One lives here indeed in a state of uncertainty, but otherwise, to tell the truth, it's not bad ... it is God's work,—just like the Red Cross in war. Have you heard of the Red Cross ambulance work, and of the nurses and sisters? I saw them in the Turkish war.... And I was also at Ardahan and at Kars. They were indeed a brave lot, those ambulance people I Full of kind-heartedness and courage. We soldiers had at least our guns and cannons; but they went about among the bullets as if they had been walking about in some pleasant garden. And when they found either one of us or a Turk—they brought them all to the place where the doctors were dressing the wounds, and stood near, whilst all around them the bullets were flying ... sch!... sch!... Tju!... Fit!... Often some poor chap would be hit by a ball just at the back of the neck,—ping!... and there he would lie...."
This conversation, added to the drop of vodka which he held drunk, put Orloff into a more cheerful frame of mind.
"If I were to tell A, then I should also have to tell B," he consoled himself with thinking, whilst he rubbed the feet of a patient. "As the ale is drawn, so it must be drunk."
Behind him some one was begging in a plaintive voice—"Give me water!... Give me something to drink ... for the love of...."
Another one called out, his teeth chattering with cold—"Oh!... Och!... Hohoho!... hotter still!... It does me good, doctor! Christ will reward you!... Give me some more hot water...."
"Just pass the wine over here!" called out Doctor Wasschtschenko.
Orloff listened, full of interest, whilst he did his own work, to all that went on around him, and it began to dawn upon him that it was not all so meaningless and chaotic as it appeared to him at first This was no chaos reigning here, but powerful, conscious, active strength. It was only when he thought of the police-officer, that a cold terror took possession of him, and he threw a scared glance out of the window towards the mortuary where the dead man lay. He really did believe at heart that the police-officer was dead, but at times horrid doubts shot through his mind. Suppose the dead man were to suddenly jump up and shout! And he remembered how some one had told him once that those who had died of the cholera broke out of their coffins, and, so it was said, ran about alter each other. As he went backwards and forwards at his work, rubbing the limbs of one patient, helping another into a bath, everything seemed to be seething and turning round in his brain. He thought of Matrona; what was she perhaps doing at this same moment? Sometimes he felt a fleeting wish to see her at once, if only for a minute. But immediately this was succeeded by another thought; "After all, she's all right here!... It's good for her to have to move about; the fat little lump.... It won't hurt her to get a bit thinner ... perhaps then she won't be so stupid...."
He could not get rid of the thought that Matrona was nourishing hidden desires in her breast, which were not flattering to his own manly vanity. He went to the length of acknowledging to himself that she certainly had every right to be discontented with her past life, and it was possible she might long for some sort of change. The fact of his acknowledging this much to himself was the cause of his mistaking his doubts as to her loyalty for the truth; and as a result of his jealousy he asked himself the question—"Why did I want to leave my cellar, and get into this kettle of hot water?" ... But all these, and other thoughts, stirred and whirled deep down at the bottom of his soul, they had no influence on his work, and they were driven into the background by the ceaseless attention which he bestowed on all that went on in the Infirmary. He had never in his life seen men work as did these doctors and medical students, and more than once he thought, as he looked into their drawn faces, that they indeed more than earned their salaries.
As soon as Orloff was off duty he went, though he could hardly keep on his legs, into the courtyard of the Infirmary, and lay down close to the wall, under the window of the dispensary. His thoughts seemed all scattered; near his heart he felt a dull, throbbing pain, and his legs were heavy with fatigue. He seemed to have no more strength left either for thought or desire, but stretched himself out at once on the turf, and stared up towards the sky, which was filled with the many-coloured cloud-glories of the setting sun. He dropped asleep at once, half-dead with fatigue.
He dreamt that he and his wife were the guests of Doctor Wasschtschenko—in a great room, around which stood elegant Viennese chairs. On these chairs sat all the patients from the Infirmary. In the middle of the room the doctor began to dance the Russian national dance with Matrona, whilst Grischka himself played on the accordion and laughed light-heartedly, for the doctor's long legs were quite stiff at the joints, and he stepped in a dignified way like a heron on a bog, by the side of Matrona. And the patients sitting round all laughed also, and swayed uncertainly on their chairs.
Suddenly there appeared at the door the police-officer.
"Aha!" he cried out in a gloomy threatening voice. "You thought I was dead already, brother Grischka! Here you are playing on the accordion ... but you sentmeinto the mortuary.... So now then, get up with you, and come and follow me!"
Trembling in his whole body, and covered with perspiration, Orloff awoke, and scrambled up from the ground, whilst Doctor Wasschtschenko stood watching him reproachfully, and remarked—
"Just listen to what I've got to say to you, my friend; if you want to go to sleep you have your own bunk there in the Infirmary! Haven't they shown you where it is? What sort of an attendant do you call yourself, if you go and lie here on the ground with nothing over your body?... If you get an inward chill, and knock up and die (which God forbid), what's going to happen then? That's not the way to behave, my friend.... Why you're shivering now ... come along with me, and I will give you something for that...."
"I was so dead tired," muttered Orloff in a low voice, making excuses for himself.
"So much the worse! You'll have to take care.... It's a dangerous time just now, and we need you here very much."
Orloff followed the doctor quietly through the corridors of the Infirmary, swallowed in silence a small glass of medicine, which was handed to him, then drank another; finally made a grimace and spat on one side.
"That's right ... and now go and have a good sleep.... Good-day to you!..."
The doctor strode with his long thin legs down the corridor, and Orloff stood watching him. Suddenly a smile lit up the attendant's whole face, and he ran after the doctor.
"Thank you so much, doctor."
"What for?" asked the doctor, standing still.
"Why, for the work that I have got here! I will do all I can to please you, for I like being here in all this bustle ... and you said just now you needed me ... so I thank you specially for that, with all my heart...."
The doctor watched with surprise the joyful, excited face of the new attendant, and smiled in a friendly way.
"You're a queer sort of fellow! But it's all right ... you take it the right way.... There is something straightforward in what you say. Come then ... do your work well But not for my sake; do it for the sick people.... It's like a field of battle here; we have to save the sick from the jaws of disease; do you understand? Well then, help us with all your strength to conquer. Now then, be off and get some sleep!"
Orloff was soon lying in his bunk, feeling a pleasant sensation of pride at being on such a confidential footing with a person like the doctor. He was' only sorry that Matrona had not overheard the conversation. But he would tell her about it to-morrow. She would scarcely believe it, the fat little lump that she was.... Busy with such pleasant thoughts Grigori fell asleep.
"Come and drink your tea, Grischka." With these words Matrona awoke her husband the next morning.
He lifted his head and looked at her. She was smiling pleasantly at him; her hair was brushed, and looked glossy and neat, whilst her white dress gave her a smart, clean appearance.
It pleased him to see her thus, but immediately afterwards the thought glanced through his brain that the other men in the Infirmary might also find pleasure in looking at her.
"What's the matter?... Tea's ready?.. I'll have my tea here!... Where do you want me to go and get it?" he asked, with a frown.
"Come, we'll drink our tea together," she proposed, looking at him with her grey smiling eyes.
Grigori turned away, and replied in a curt voice that he would come directly.
As she left the room he stretched himself once more in his bunk and began to brood.
"Yes ... she calls me to tea ... and is as pleasant as possible! She has grown thinner too in these last few days...."
He felt pity for her, and would have liked to have prepared an agreeable surprise for her, perhaps to have bought some cakes or something of that sort to eat with their tea. But whilst he was washing he put these thoughts away.... "Why should he spoil his wife?... She could get on very well without it!"
They drank their tea in a small bright room, the two windows of which looked out on to the open fields. The gilded rays of the morning sun lay on the floor. Dew still sparkled on the grass under the window. Along the distant horizon could be just seen through a light opal morning mist the trees that bordered the high-road. The sky was cloudless, and a fresh smell of grass and of damp earth was waited in at the open windows.
The table stood just between the two windows, and three people sat down to it; Grigori, Matrona, and a companion of the latter, a tall, thin, middle-aged person, with a pock-marked face and good-tempered grey eyes. She was called Felizata Jegorovna, and she was a spinster and the daughter of a college superintendent She could not drink the tea provided by the Infirmary, and so used her own samovar. All this she told Orloff in an excited cracked voice; she invited him hospitably to take a seat near the window, and to refresh himself with the "magnificent air of Heaven," whilst she disappeared somewhere for a time.
"Well, were you very tired yesterday?" Orloff asked his wife.
"I should rather think so," Matrona replied in a lively tone of voice. "I could scarcely feel my legs under me, and my head was swimming. I moved about at last as if I were half dead, and could scarcely hold on till I was released from duty.... I was praying all the time to the Lord that He would be merciful to us."
"How is it, then? Don't you feel afraid here?"
"What, of the sick people?"
"Of the sick people ... or of anything else...."
"I am only afraid of the dead.... Do you know," ... she bent down towards him and whispered in a scared voice—"they still move after they are dead ... it's true, on my soul!"
"I know that ... I have seen it myself!" Grigori continued with an ironical laugh—"The police-officer Nazaroff nearly gave me a box on the ear as he lay on the stretcher. I was carrying him to the mortuary, and all of a sudden he let out with his left hand.... I only just escaped it ... it's true!"
Grischka was in the best of tempers. Taking his tea in this bright clean room, from which could be seen endless distances of green fields and blue sky, pleased him immensely. And there was something else too which caused him pleasure—something which radiated, as it were, from his own personality. He felt the desire to show the best side of his character, and at the same time to appear in Matronal eyes as the hero of the hour.
"I shall make this my life work.... Heaven itself shall rejoice at it! I have my own special reasons for doing so.... The people here, I tell you, are such as one seldom meets in the world...."
He told her now of his conversation with the doctor, and whilst he unconsciously exaggerated a little, he worked himself into a still pleasanter frame of mind.
"And then the work itself, too," he continued. "You see, my dear, it's a holy work ... it's a sort of war. On one side stands the cholera, and we stand on the opposite side ... who is going to prove the stronger? We have to sharpen our wits to see that nothing is neglected.... What is this cholera after all?... We must first understand that clearly, and then we must use all means possible to fight it.... Doctor Wasschtschenko said to me, 'We need you, Orloff, in this business. Don't let yourself be frightened. Continue to rub the feet and the stomachs of the patients,' he said, and I will rub their insides with my medicines.... And so we shall thoroughly get the better of the disease, you will see, and the patient will recover, and will thank us for restoring him to life.' ... Think of that; you and I together, Matrona ... you and I!"
He swelled his chest out with a feeling of pride, and looked at Matrona with sparkling eyes. She smiled back at him, but did not reply. He looked so handsome whilst he was speaking, and reminded her so of the Grischka whom she used to know in their early married life.
"On the women's side also every one is so zealous and so good!" she said, after a pause. "There's that lady doctor with the spectacles, and all the nurses, they are all first-rate people; they talk to one so simply, so that one understands at once what they want done."
"Then you are contented also?" asked Grigori, when his enthusiasm had cooled a little.
"I should rather think I was contented! Lord! yes!... just reckon up!... I get twelve roubles, and you get twenty.... That makes thirty-two roubles a month! And our keep besides.... What a lot we shall be able to save if the cholera lasts right on into the winter!... Then we shall be able ... at last ... please God ... to get out of that hole of a cellar!..."
"Hm!... Yes, we can think about that,...." said Orloff thoughtfully; and after a few moments he tapped Matrona on the shoulder, and continued, with a ring of hope in his voice, "Ah, Matrona, perhaps the sun of happiness may yet shine upon us!... We won't lose courage, will we?"
She also was filled with enthusiasm.
"Yes, if you would only keep sober," she remarked after a few moments' pause, in a doubtful tone.
"Don't talk about that now; that will depend entirely on circumstances.... Once our lives become different, then my habits will alter."
"Please God that may indeed happen!" sighed Matrona from the bottom of her heart "Well, don't say any more about it!"
"Dear Grischenka!"
They separated, experiencing quite new sensations towards each other. They were full of joyful courage, and firmly resolved to put forth all their strength, so as to succeed in their new work. Three or four days passed, and Orloff had already earned several words of praise for his quickness and zeal. At the same time he remarked, however, that the other attendants were envious of him, and were trying to make mischief, so that he had to be constantly on his guard. This awoke in him a feeling of enmity, whereas, before that, he had been good friends with Pronim. The secret and open enmity of these fellow-workers was really a pain to him. "The jealous brutes," he thought to himself, and ground his teeth together. "But I'll get the chance some day of paying them back in their own coin!" Unconsciously his thoughts travelled to Matrona—for he could talk over everything with her. She would not envy him his success, and would not, like this fellow Pronim, bum his boots with carbolic acid.
Each day brought the same busy rush, just as Orloff had experienced at first But it was now no longer so fatiguing to him, for he got more accustomed to it every day. He had learnt to distinguish the smells of the different remedies, and as often as possible he refreshed himself with the smell of the ether, to which he had taken a great fancy. He had observed that the smell of ether was as exciting to him as was a good glass of vodka. He understood quite quickly now the doctors' orders; it was only necessary for them to show him by signs what had to be done. He was chatty and pleasant, and knew how to divert the attention of the patients, and this pleased increasingly the doctors and students. All the impressions which in his new occupation pressed in upon him, worked together to elevate his feelings, and to increase his own self-respect. He felt within himself a lively desire to do something great, so that the attention of all should be directed to him, and that every one should be astonished. It seemed almost as if he had now for the first time become conscious that he was a human being, and as if he felt the need to prove this to himself and others by some heroic deed. Filled with this unaccustomed ambition, Orloff undertook various venturesome deeds, in the hopes of distinguishing himself in the eyes of onlookers. For instance, he would carry alone, without waiting for the help of another attendant, some heavy patient from his bed to the bath-room; he did not shrink from attending to the most filthy among the cholera patients, seeming to despise the possibility of infection, and treating the corpses with cynical indifference.
But even all this did not satisfy him. He still longed to do something greater, something more out of the common. This unappeased longing caused him pain, and brought back his former moodiness, and as he had no one else with whom he could speak, he opened his heart to Matrona.
One evening when they were off duty, and had had their tea, they went out into the fields together. The Infirmary stood some way out at the back of the town, in the midst of a green far-stretching plain, bounded on one side by the dark edge of the forest, and on the other by the soft outline of the distant town. Towards the north the field extended into the far distance, and faded into a dim blue horizon; on the south it was bordered by the deep ravine-like banks of the river, which ran through the country roads, shaded on either side by trees planted at regular intervals The sun was just setting, and the golden crosses of the church-towers of the town, rising above the dark green of the gardens, flashed in all their brilliance against the background of the sky, and reflected golden rays. The windows also of the houses flashed back the red glow of the sunset. Music could be heard in the distance. From the dense ravine, sown thickly with the débris of the fir-trees bordering the river, an aromatic scent arose, whilst the evening wind brought from the forest in caressing waves a mingling of spicy perfumes. A soft, sweetly melancholy, yet intense feeling, lay over the whole wide expanse.
The Orloffs walked silently through the fields, breathing delightedly the fresh air, which, in contrast with the atmosphere of the Infirmary, seemed to them more than ordinarily pleasant.
"Listen! there's a band!... Is it in the town or up at the barracks?" Matrona asked in a low voice of her husband, who seemed to be sunk in thought.
She did not like him to brood in this sort of way by himself. He appeared to her at such moments strange and far away. They had seen but little of each other these last few days, so that the moments now when they were together, seemed to her all the more precious.
"A band?" asked Grigori, as if waking out of a dream, "the devil take such music!... You should just listen to the music which is ringing through my soul.... That's the right sort of music!..."
"What sort of music are you talking about?" said Matrona, looking anxiously into his eyes.
"I don't know myself what sort.... I can't describe it to you, and if I could you would not understand. My soul seems in a sort of glow.... I should like to go forth, far, far away.... I should like to put forth my whole strength.... Ah! I feel within me such boundless strength!... If for instance this cholera would change itself into a man, into a giant, into Ilja Murometz himself, for instance ... then I would wrestle with him, and we would see who would conquer!... Thou art strong, and I, Grischka Orloff, am also strong ... we will see which is the stronger of the two! ... And I would overcome him, even if I myself lost my life in the struggle.... They would erect a cross to me there in the green fields, 'To the Memory of Grigori Andrejeff Orloff ... who freed Russia from the Cholera.' ... That's all I should want!"
His face flushed, and his eyes flashed whilst he was speaking.
"My dear brave one!" whispered Matrona, and pressed tenderly against him.
"I would throw myself against a hundred sharp knives if I could do any good.... Do you understand? that?... Not for my own profit, but to make men's lives happier.... I see there such people as the doctor Wasschtschenko and the student Chochrjakoff; the work they do is quite wonderful. One would think they would have died long ago from absolute fatigue.... Do you think they work for the love of money? No man would work like that for money only! The head doctor has plenty of his own ... he needs no more ... he is a rich man already.... When he was ill lately, Doctor Wasschtschenko watched by him for four days and nights; not once did he go home during the whole time.... Money plays no part in all this; they do it out of pity ... they are sorry for the people, and so they sacrifice themselves ... And for whom?... For everybody ... as much for Mischka Ussoff as for anybody else.... They took as much pains to get him better as they did about the others, and they were quite rejoiced when he got better. This Mishka, if he had his deserts, should be in penal servitude, for every one knows that he is a thief or something worse!... Yet they were quite rejoiced when he got out of bed for the first time, and laughed aloud for pure joy!... I should like to feel such happiness also; I am full of envy when I see how glad they are, and I grow hot with the desire to do as they do. But how am I to begin?... Ah!'tis a devil of a business!..."
He made a hopeless gesture, expressive of his despair, and once more sank into profound reflection. Matrona was silent, but her heart beat rapidly. The excited state of mind of her husband made her feel vaguely anxious. She felt distinctly in his words the burning pain which oppressed him during his, to her, incomprehensible fits of depression. She loved her husband; and it was a husband she needed, not a hero....
They approached the steep banks of the river, and sat down near each other on the grass. Above them nodded the feathery tops of the young birch-trees. Down below, over the water, lay a blue mist, reeking of rotting leaves, of pine-needles, and of damp earth. Backwards and forwards a light breath of wind swept over the ravine; the tops of the young trees moved softly, and the whole forest seemed filled simultaneously with a shy whispering, as if some beloved person were asleep under the shelter of its trees, and it feared to wake him. The stars shone down from above, and the lights flashed from the town, having the appearance, against the dark background, of gardens of gay quivering flowers. The Orloffs sat on in silence. Grigori drummed with his fingers on his knee, whilst Matrona watched him and sighed softly.
Suddenly she put her arms round his neck, laid her head against his breast, and whispered—
"Grischenka, my dear one, my loved one! How good you have grown towards me, my dear brave lad!... We are living now just as we did when we were first married—you never say a bad word to me.... You talk to me, and open your heart to me.... Not once have you scolded me...."
"Are you already longing for something of that sort? If so, I will give you a thorough good beating," he said jokingly, whilst he felt for her in his heart nothing but sympathy and tenderness. He stroked her hair softly, and experienced a real pleasure in giving her these fatherly caresses. Matrona appeared to him at this moment as a child. She sat on his knees, and nestled soft and warm against his breast.
"My dear, dear one!" she whispered.
He breathed deeply, and words poured from his mouth, which were to her, and to himself, full of new meaning.
"Ah! my poor little girl!... Little coaxing thing! You see now, you have no one nearer to you in the world than your husband! And you look at me always with such a frightened glance out of the corner of your eye. If I have hurt you now and then, it was because I was suffering from this ache, Motrja! We lived in our hole ... we saw no sunlight, we knew no one. Now I have got out of the hole, and am among human beings. How blind I was to the world and to life!... Now I understand that a wife should be a man's best friend, the friend of his heart, so to speak. For men are vicious and cruel.... They are always trying to harm one another.... There's this Pronim Wasioukoff!... devil take him!... We won't talk of that, Motrja. We shall be all right in time, and we won't lose courage! We will live in a human way, and reasonably, won't we?... What do you say to that, you dear little goose?"
She was crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she realized the happiness which he pictured to her; and she only replied with kisses.
"Ah! my only loved one!" he whispered, returning her caresses. Clinging tenderly together, they sat there and kissed the salt tears from each other's cheeks. And for some time Orloff continued to speak in the same new tone....
It had become quite dark. Countless stars lit up the evening sky, which looked down with triumphant sadness on the earth. The plain all around them was as peaceful as the heavens above.
They had grown into the habit of taking their early tea together. The morning after their conversation in the fields, Orloff appeared in his wife's room with a gloomy, disturbed expression on his face. Felizata had been ill. Matrona was alone in the room, and received her husband with a radiant smile. She was surprised, however, on seeing his expression, and inquired anxiously—"What is the matter then? are you ill?..
"I have nothing the matter with me," he replied dryly, sitting down on a chair, and drawing towards him the cup of tea which she had poured out.
"What has happened then?" ... Matrona waited for an answer.
"I have not slept at all, I have been thinking all the night We were really much too silly yesterday, much too weak with one another. I am ashamed of it now; that sort of thing leads to no good.... Women profit by such weak moments to get the better of their husbands. But don't you imagine you will succeed in that way.... You won't get over me.... That is all I wanted to say to you!"
He repeated all this with a certain emphasis, but without looking at her. She, on the contrary, never took her eyes off him.
"You are sorry then that you were yesterday so good and so kind to me?" she asked in a low voice, whilst her lips trembled painfully. "You regret then that you kissed and caressed me? It is terrible for me to hear this, very terrible.... Your words cut me to the heart What do you want to do then? Am I already a burden to you?... Don't you care for me any more?"
She looked at him searchingly as she spoke these words, and her voice was bitter and defiant "I did not mean that," said Grigori confusedly. "I only spoke in a general way.... We lived together in our cellar ... you know yourself what a life it was! Already the recollection of it even, pains me.... Now we have crept out into the light, and ... I feel half frightened.... The change all took place so quickly.... I seem to be a stranger to myself ... and you also seem to be changed.... What-does it all mean?... What will happen next?"
"What will happen next? That's as God wills, Grischka!" said Matrona in a serious tone. "I only beg this of you; don't regret that you were so kind to me yesterday."
"All right ... say no more about it!" Grigori interrupted her in the same gloomy voice. "You see, I have slept over it, and I feel sure there is no good to be got out of that sort of thing. Our former life was indeed thorny, but our present one is not full of roses.... Though I don't drink, nor fight, nor beat you ... still there is...."
Matrona laughed hysterically. "You have no time for such things now!"
"I could soon find time if I wanted to go in for that sort of thing," said Orloff, smiling. "But, somehow, I don't understand why, I don't want to do so. Besides.... I don't know.... I feel so queer somehow or other...."
He shook his head slowly, and stared fixedly before him.
"God only knows what's the matter with you," said Matrona, sighing deeply. "You get on very well here, even if you have plenty of work. The doctors all like you, and you behave so well ... What's the matter with you then? tell me ... It seems to me you are too restless."
"That's it ... I am too restless!... For I was thinking the whole night of what Peter Ivanovitch, the student, said lately. He says that all men are equals.... Well—am I not a man like any other? ... And yet this Doctor Wasschtschenko, for example, is better than I am, and Peter Ivanovitch is better, and many others also. I can see for myself that I am not their equal.... I can feel that I am not worthy to hand them a glass of water. They cured Mischka Ussoff, and they rejoiced at doing so ... and I cannot understand that. I cannot see what reason there is for rejoicing at a man's recovering from illness!... Life is often worse than cholera pains, if you look facts straight in the face. They know that as well as I do, and yet they rejoice.... I should like to be able to feel the same sort of joy as they do; but I cannot, for, as I have already said, I can't see any cause for rejoicing...."
"It is because they feel pity for mankind," Matrona interrupted. "And such pity!... It's just the same on the women's side of the Infirmary. If one of the patients gets better ... good heavens, what a fuss is made about her!... When the time comes for her to leave they help her with advice, and give her medicine and money.... I am often moved to tears when I see it.... They are indeed good people, and are filled with compassion."
"You talk of shedding tears, but it only makes me wonder ... fills me with astonishment!..."
He shrugged his shoulders, and rubbed his forehead, looking all the time at his wife with a puzzled expression.
Suddenly she began to talk eagerly and rapidly, striving to prove to him that mankind indeed deserved to be treated pitifully. Leaning forward, and looking tenderly into his face, she talked long and earnestly, about mankind, and the heavy burden of life it was called on to bear. He, however, only watched her, thinking to himself—"Just see how they can talk when they like, these women! Where on earth did she get all these words from?"
"You, yourself, also have a pitiful heart," she said. "I have heard you say you would like to destroy the cholera if only you had strength enough. Why then should you want to destroy it? According to what you have just said it does more good than harm. As far as you are concerned it does you no harm—quite the reverse.... Have you not been better off since we had cholera in the town?"
Orloff burst out laughing.
"That's true! that's true! It has certainly been all the better for me that the cholera came t Devil take it! The people are dying all around like flies, and I am all the better off because of it!... Ha!... ha!... ha!... That's the way of the world! It's enough to drive one mad to think about it!"
He rose from his chair, and went off to his work; still laughing. As he went along the corridor the thought crossed his mind again, that it was certainly a pity no one could hear Matrona's wise talk.
"How cleverly she said it all!... Though she is only a woman, yet she speaks quite sensibly!"
He started work, still under the impression of this pleasant thought; though the moans and groans of the patients fell on his ears the moment he entered the ward.
Every day the world of his sensations enlarged, and at the same time there grew within him the need of expressing what he thought and felt It is true he was not yet in a position to formulate all that was going on within him, and give clear expression to it, for the greater part of his impressions and thoughts he was not yet able to understand himself. More especially was he pained by the consciousness that he was not able, like other people; to rejoice over the good fortune and well-being of others. There grew within him, however, daily the desire to do something great, something out of the common, and thereby attract the attention of the whole world. His position in the Infirmary seemed to him to be an awkward one; he felt himself to be between two stools. The doctors and medical students stood above him, the attendants beneath him; he was not the equal of either. A feeling of loneliness came over him, and it appeared to him as if fate, in order to make a sport of him, had tom him away from his own place, and were whirling him about like a feather in the wind. He felt pity for himself, and sought out his wife in order that she might console him. This he did often against his will, for he had an idea that his candid outspokenness might lower him in the eyes of Matrona. But he continued to confide in her all the same. He would go to her usually in a dark, angry or cynical mood, and would leave her feeling consoled and comforted. Matrona knew just the right words to use. She had no great command of language, and her words, to some, might have appeared weak, but they were inspired by conviction, and Grigori observed with surprise that she obtained more and more influence over his inner life, that his thoughts turned increasingly towards her, and that he felt more constantly the need of opening his heart to her.
Matrona also quickly realized what she had become to him, and tried constantly to strengthen her growing influence over him. Without her being conscious of it herself, her busy useful life in the Infirmary had sensibly increased her own self-respect It was not in her disposition to reflect over the past or to grumble about things, but when she thought of her former life in the dark cellar, of its narrow round of cares, of her husband and of her trade, she, in spite of herself, could not help contrasting that past with her present condition; and the dim pictures of her former existence melted into an ever more and more distant and misty background. The authorities at the Infirmary valued her because of her quickness and willingness, and every one behaved kindly to her. Being treated as a human being was such a new experience to her, that her spirits rose, and her enjoyment of life was heightened.
Once, when she was on night duty, the stout lady doctor began to question her about her former life. Matrona told her everything quite openly, and without constraint; then she ceased suddenly, and smiled a curious sort of smile.
"Why do you smile?" asked the lady doctor.
"I can't help smiling when I think how bitter my life was.... You will scarcely believe me, but I had no notion then how sad and bitter it was.... It is only now that I begin to understand."
This looking back on her past life roused a new feeling in Matrona's breast against her husband. She cared for Grigori as much as ever, and showed him all the tenderness of a loving wife; but it appeared to her at the same time that Grigori was guilty toward her. Sometimes when talking to him she would adopt almost a protective tone, for his constant restlessness made her feel sorry for him. Now and then a doubt arose in her mind as to whether it would ever be possible to lead a quiet, peaceful life with him, though she still held steadfastly to the belief that Grigori would, in the end, settle down, and throw off his despondency.
According to the ordinary course of events they ought gradually to have grown accustomed to each other, and reconciled to their every-day life in common. They were both young, strong and industrious, and many in a similar position would have been contented to go on from day to day, leading the grey, cheerless life of the ordinary worker—the life of poverty, alternating with starvation—their energies completely absorbed in the task of providing their daily bread. But this ordinary existence was rendered impossible by the unrest which Grigori carried in his heart, and which prevented him from reconciling his inmost soul with the monotony of a daily task.
One dreary September morning the ambulance-van drew up in the courtyard of the Infirmary, and Pronim lifted from it another victim of the epidemic, a yellow-faced, emaciated, half-dead little lad in motley clothes, stained with many colours.
"Another case from Petounukoff's house!" said the driver of the van in answer to a question as to the quarter from which he had brought the new patient.
"Tschischik!" cried Orloff in a tone of pain. "Good heavens! it is Senka. Little imp, don't you recognize me?"
"Yes, I do," said Tschischik with an effort, as he lay on the stretcher, turning up his eyes to catch a glimpse of Orloff, who was standing behind him.
"Ah! you merry little bird! How did this happen?" asked Orloff. He was quite upset at the sight of the lad, who was completely exhausted with the painful disease.
"Why could it not spare this Innocent child?" he cried out, shaking his head slowly, and as if concentrating in this cry all his tense horror.
Tschischik was silent, and shivered from head to foot.
"I am so cold!" he said, as they laid him on the bed and took off his ragged, paint-stained clothes.
"We'll soon pop you into a nice hot bath!" Orloff promised him. "We'll make you well again in a hurry."
Tschischik shook his head.
"No, Uncle Grigori.... I shall never be well again," he whispered in a dead voice.... "Bend down towards me.... I stole the accordion ... it is hidden under some wood in the woodshed.... The day before yesterday ... I played on it for the first time.... Oh! what a beauty it is I ... Directly after I had these pains in my stomach.... They were a punishment for the sin.... Give it back, Uncle Grigori.... The accordion-player had a sister.... Ah!... A ... ah!"
His whole body shook and twisted with violent cramps. All they could do was done for the little lad, but the weakened body was unable to guard the spark of life. That same evening Orloff carried Tschischik's body to the mortuary. He felt as if he had himself received a blow or an injury. He tried to straighten out the little body, but could not succeed in doing so. He left the place with a stunned feeling, in a dark, melancholy mood, with the image of the once bright and cheerful, but now so frightfully disfigured boy, constantly before his eyes.
He had the oppressive consciousness of his own helplessness when face to face with death. How much trouble and care he had lavished on poor little Tschischik, and how anxious the doctors had been to cure the lad!... But in spite of it all he had to die!... It all seemed so unjust!... He himself also, Grigori Orloff, would have some day to pack up his traps in the same way, leaving nothing behind. Then all would be over. A shudder ran through him, and he immediately experienced a feeling of loneliness, of being forsaken. He felt the need of talking to some understanding person about it all. He had often tried to get a long talk with one of the students, but no one here had time to philosophize. So there was nothing for it but to talk to his wife. In a heavy, oppressed mood he sought out Matrona.
She was just off duty, and was washing herself in a corner of the room. The samovar stood ready, simmering and steaming on the table.
Grigori sat down in silence, and looked at Matrona's bared, round shoulders. The samovar boiled up, and spurted drops of hot steam around. Matrona also splashed the water about with her washing. In the corridor outside, the attendants' footsteps could be heard hurrying backwards and forwards, and Grigori tried to guess, from the sound of the steps, who was passing. Suddenly it seemed to him as if Matrona's shoulders were as cold and as damp with perspiration as was the body of the little Tschischik, as he tossed about on his bed in the agony of cholera cramps.
Grigori shuddered, and said in a low voice—
"Senka is dead...."
"Dead!... Senka dead? God rest his soul!" exclaimed Matrona piously, scarcely pausing in her noisy ablutions, and spluttering the soapsuds from mouth and nose.
"I feel sorry for the poor child," said Grigori in a sad voice.
"But he was a mischievous lad, though," Matrona interjected.
"Well, leave him in peace now he is dead and gone! It's not our business what he was when alive.... I am truly sorry he is dead! He was such a quick, bright boy! The accordion ... hm! He was indeed a sharp lad! Sometimes the thought used to cross my mind that I should like to have him to teach,—not exactly as an apprentice. He was an orphan, he might have got attached to us, and have taken the place of a son.... I fear we shall never have children!... I don't understand why. Such a strong, hearty woman as you are, and yet you bear no children.... You had one, and there was an end of it!... Ah! if we only had a couple of little squallers, I believe our life would not be so tedious.... As things are, I work and work, and what is the end of it all? Just to provide daily bread for you and me!... And why do we need daily bread? So that we may be able to work.... And so life goes round in a circle without sense or meaning. . If we only had children they would change our life entirely ... yes, entirely..."
All this was said in a fretful, dissatisfied tone of voice, his head sunk on his breast Matrona stood listening to all he had to say; but growing gradually paler and paler.
"I am strong and healthy; so are you," continued Grigori; "and yet we have no children. What is the reason?... I think and think about it till I get quite melancholy, and take to drinking in sheer desperation!"
"What you are saying is not true!" said Matrona in a firm loud voice. "You are not speaking the truth! Never dare to repeat to me what you have just said!... If you take to drink, it is only your own dissipated habits that prevent your keeping away from it My not having children has nothing to do with it! That idea is false, Grigori!"
Grigori was stunned by her words. He rose and leaned against the back of his chair, watching his wife, and scarcely recognizing her. Never before had he seen her in such a rage; looking at him with so much pitiless anger in her eyes; never before had she spoke with such fierce strength.
"Go on!... Go on!.." said Grigori defiantly, whilst he clutched the back of the chair. "I should like to hear what else you have got to say!"
"You shall soon hear!... I should never have said what I have just said, if you had not reproached me so unfairly! You tell me I do not bear you children!... Very well!... Never will I bear you a child.... I have no wish to bear one to you, after the way you have treated me!"
Her voice broke with sobs, but she almost screamed the last words.
"Stop that noise!" said her husband in a severe voice.
"Would you like me to remind you why I have no children?... Just remember, Grischka, how you have always ill-treated me, and constantly kicked me about the body! Just reckon up the blows and knocks you have given me, the times you have tortured me! How often have you made the blood flow? My clothes were often soaked with blood. And it's your cruelty, my dear husband, that has prevented my having children! ... And now you reproach me with it?... Are you not ashamed to look into my eyes, you murderer—you?... Yes, you are a murderer, for you have killed your own children! And now you want to lay the blame upon me!... upon me, who bore everything, who forgave you everything! But these words I can never forget or forgive; to my dying hour I shall remember them! ... Did you imagine then that I did not, like other women, long for children? Did you think I did not wish to have any?... Many and many a night, when I lay sleepless, I have prayed the good God to save the child in my womb from you ... you murderer! When I see some other woman's child, I could cry with envy and bitterness, because such happiness is denied me.... Ah! Holy Virgin! How often have I wished that Senka were my child! How I would have cared for him!... And then, notwithstanding all this, for you to reproach me with not bearing you a child!..."
She had grown breathless, and the words poured incoherently from her lips. Her face was congested, and showed red patches under the skin; she trembled and clutched her throat, which was choked with sobs.
Grigori sat white and troubled, still holding on tightly to his chair; watching with wide-open eyes this woman, his wife, but who seemed now a stranger to him. He was afraid of her ... he was afraid she might seize him and throttle him. She seemed to threaten him with her flashing angry eyes. At this moment she was immeasurably his superior; he felt it and feared her accordingly. He could not jump up and strike her, as he would have done formerly, for he could not help being overawed by the moral and mental force, which seemed to make of her a new being.
"You have wounded my soul, Grischka!... Your sin and your guilt towards me are great.... I bore everything and kept silence.... Why was that? Because I loved you ... and I still love you, but I will not bear these reproaches from you ... it's beyond my strength to do so.... Though you are the husband whom Heaven has given me, I curse you for those words of yours!"
"Silence!" roared Grigori, showing his teeth.
"Halloa! What's all this row about? Have you forgotten where you are?... We can have no squabbles here!"
A mist seemed to rise before Grischka's eyes. He did not notice who was standing in the doorway, speaking in these full bass tones, but pushing the intruder aside, rushed past him into the open air. Matrona stood for a moment in the middle of the room, as if struck blind and dumb, then stumbled with outstretched hands towards her bed and threw herself down on it, sobbing aloud.
It was already growing dark. The silvery rays of the moon, piercing the torn edges of the clouds, fell across the floor, throwing the rest of the room into blue shadow. By and by a thick drizzling rain began to beat against the window-panes, and run down the walls of the Infirmary—sounding like a herald of the approaching autumn with its damp, reeking, darkening days. The pendulum of the clock, with its monotonous tick-tick, marked the passing of the minutes. The drops of rain pattered ceaselessly against the window-panes. Hour after hour passed, and still the rain continued to fall On her bed the woman lay motionless, staring with wide-open feverish eyes at the ceiling. Her face was dark and careworn, her teeth were firmly clenched, and her cheek-bones seemed to stand out prominently; in her eyes there was an expression of sadness and of painful expectation. Still the rain continued to beat against the walls and the windows. It sounded like some one whispering in a monotonous but persuasive voice, trying to bring conviction; without possessing the power to do this rapidly and with telling arguments; and who was therefore attempting to obtain his object by this painful, tedious droning, entirely wanting in the enthusiasm of real belief.