"Echoes of First Love: A Journey through Time and Memory"

"Echoes of First Love: A Journey through Time and Memory" Table of Contents Preface 1. Chapter 1: Innocence and Infatuation · The Beginning of Summer · Meeting at the Fair · Shared Secrets 2. Chapter 2: Blossoming Romance · First Dates · Love Letters · Hidden Places 3. Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations · Family Disapproval · Misunderstandings · The First Argument 4. Chapter 4: Deepening Bonds · Overcoming Challenges · Growing Together · The Promise 5. Chapter 5: The Turning Point · Unexpected News · The Separation · Silent Goodbyes 6. Chapter 6: Echoes Over Time · Reflections on the Past · New Beginnings · Fading Memories 7. Chapter 7: Reunions and Revelations · Chance Encounters · Old Flames Rekindled · Secrets Revealed 8. Chapter 8: Love Reimagined · Redefining Relationships · Healing Old Wounds · A New Understanding 9. Chapter 9: The Final Echo · The Last Meeting · A Letter Unread · Forever Changed

Preface In the quiet moments between dusk and dawn, where the echoes of the past often whisper the loudest, lies the heart of "Echoes of First Love: A Journey through Time and Memory." This book is a testament to the enduring power of love, memory, and the indelible marks they leave on our lives. First love is a universal experience, a rite of passage that shapes us in profound ways. It is a time of innocence and discovery, where emotions are raw and moments are etched into the fabric of our being. Whether it ends in joy or heartache, first love remains a poignant reminder of who we once were and who we aspire to be. In writing this book, I sought to capture the essence of those tender moments and the ripple effects they create throughout our lives. Each story within these pages is a window into a different era, a different perspective, yet all are bound by the common thread of love's first bloom. From the carefree days of youth to the reflective solitude of old age, these tales traverse the landscape of human emotion, exploring how our earliest experiences of love continue to influence and resonate with us. "Echoes of First Love" is more than a collection of stories; it is a journey through time and memory. It invites you to revisit your own past, to rekindle the feelings that once defined your world, and to find solace in the shared experiences of others. Through the characters and their journeys, may you find a reflection of your own heart's echoes and perhaps, a deeper understanding of the timeless nature of love. This book is dedicated to all those who have loved and lost, to the dreamers and the romantics, and to the memory of that first love which never truly fades away. May these pages bring you back to those moments, and may you cherish the echoes they leave behind. With gratitude and affection, [Dr. Raza Ullah] "Echoes of First Love: A Journey through Time and Memory" The party had broken up long ago. It was half past twelve. Only the Owner of the house, Zaid Khan and our friend Shah Zain remained in the room. The owner of the house rang the bell and ordered the leftovers to be cleaned up. 'And so it is settled,' he watched, sitting back in his easy chair and lighting a cigarette. Each of us has a story to tell about our first love in life. Now it's your turn, Shah Zain. Shah Zain. Around little man with a plump, pale face looked first at the Owner of the house, and then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I never had a first love,” he said at last. 'I started with the second one.' 'How was he?' It's very easy. I was sixteen when I had my first flirtation with a charming young lady, but I fell in love with her as if it were nothing new to me. As I later presented to others. To be precise, the first and last time I fell in love with my neighbor was when I was eight years old. But that is in the distant past. The details of our relationship have slipped from my memory and even if I remember them, who could they be interested in?” "Then how will it be?" said the owner of the house. “I wasn't too interested in my first love either. I never fell in love with anyone until I met Sheela, who is now my wife, and we got along as easily as possible. Our parents arranged the match; we fell in love very quickly, and got married in no time. My story can be summed up in a couple of words. I must confess, gentlemen, in bringing up the subject of first love, I perceived you, I would not say old, but no longer young, bachelor. Can't you revive us with something, Zaid Khan? "My first love, of course, was not an ordinary one," replied Zaid Khan, a man of forty, with graying black hair, somewhat reluctantly. “Ah!” said the Owner of the house and Shah Zain in unison: “So much the better…. Tell us about it.” 'If you want... or not; I will not tell the story; I have no hand in telling the story. I make it dry and short, or spun out and impressed. If you allow me, I will write down what I remember and read it to you. At first his friends would not agree, but Zaid Khan insisted on his way. A fortnight later they were together again, and Zaid Khan kept his word. I I was sixteen at that time. This happened in the summer of 2012. I lived in Paris with my parents. They had taken a country house for the summer in front of sapari Gardens near presidential Gate. I was preparing for university, but didn't work much and was in no rush. No one interfered with my freedom. I did what I liked, especially after parting with my last tutor, a Frenchman who never thought he had fallen 'like a bomb' in Paris, and bed rest. will lie down. For several days with a look of despair on his face. My father treated me with careless kindness. My mother rarely saw me, even though she had no children besides me. The second care completely absorbed it. My father, still a young and very handsome man, married her out of considerations of rent. She was ten years older than him. My mother lived a sad life. She was perpetually agitated, jealous and angry, but not in my father's presence. She was very afraid of him, and he was stern, cold and distant in his demeanor…. I have never seen a more calm, confident and commanding man. I shall never forget the first weeks I spent in the country house. The weather was wonderful; we left town on May 25, Freedom Day. I used to walk in my garden, in the gardens of Sapari, and beyond the gates of the city. I would take some book with me – successful life, for example – but I rarely meditated on it, and more often than not recited the verses aloud. I knew a great deal of poetry by heart. My blood was in a boil and my heart was aching - so sweet and sensual; I was full of hope and expectation, a little afraid of nothing, and full of wonder at everything, and on the edge of hope. My imagination plays incessantly, fluttering about similar thoughts, like Martin about the bell tower in the morning; I dreamed, was sad, even cried. But through tears and through sadness, inspired by the verse of music, or the beauty of the evening, the delicious sense of youth and radiant life rises like grass in the spring. I had a beautiful horse to ride. I would saddle him myself and set off alone for long rides, galloping away and fantasizing myself as a knight in a tournament. How merrily the air is ringing in my ears! Or turning my face towards him. Heaven, I would absorb its bright glow and blueness into my soul, which was open to receive it. I remember that at that time the image of a woman in my mind, the vision of love, hardly ever arose in any particular form. But in all I thought, I felt something new, indescribably sweet, a half-conscious, shameful offering of the feminine was hidden…. This offer, this expectation, was all over my being. I breathed it in, it rushed through my veins with every drop of blood… it was destined to be fulfilled soon. The place, where we settled for the summer, consisted of a wooden manor with columns and three small lodges. To the left of the lodge was a small factory making cheap wallpapers. More than once I strolled down this path and saw about a dozen thin and disheveled boys with greasy smoke and worn faces, who were always jumping on the wooden levers that pressed the square blocks of the press, and similarly, their weak bodies broke the various patterns of wall papers. The lodge on the right stood empty, and had to be let. One day – three weeks after the 25th of May – the window curtains of this lodge were drawn, the faces of women were visible on them – some families had installed themselves in it. I remember that very day at dinner, my mother inquired of the waiter who was our new neighbor, and hearing the name of Princess Diana, looked at first a little reverently, 'Ah! A princess!” … and then said, “A pauper, I suppose?” 'They arrived in three hired bees,' said the butler respectfully, handing out a dish: 'they don't keep their carriage and the furniture of the poor.' 'Ah,' replied my mother, 'so much the better'. My father gave him a cold look. He was silent. Of course, Princess Diana cannot be a rich woman. The lodge he occupied was so dilapidated and small and lowly that people, even the moderates of the world, would scarcely have consented to occupy it. However, at that time it all went in one ear and out the other. The royal title had little effect on me. I was just reading Bible. II I used to roam around my garden every evening looking for insects. For a long time I had an aversion to these clever, cunning and impudent birds. On the day of which I speak, I went into the garden as usual, and after patrolling all the walks without success (the flowers knew me, and were merely scurrying at a distance), I found the lower Gave a chance to go near the fence. Which separated our domain from the narrow strip of garden which extended to the right beyond the lodge, and belonged to it. I was walking along, my eyes on the ground. Suddenly I heard a voice. I looked across the fence, and was struck by thunder…. I was faced with a strange spectacle. A few steps from me on the grass between the green raspberry bushes stood a tall, thin girl in a striped pink dress, a white handkerchief on her head. Four youths were around her, and she was alternately slapping the forehead with these little gray flowers, the names of which I do not know, though they are well known to the children. The flowers form small sacs, and they burst with a pop when you hit them with anything hard. The young men put forth their foreheads so eagerly, and in the gestures of the girl (I saw her in profile), there was something so charming, sensual, charming, sardonic, and charming, that I almost cried out with admiration and joy. , and I wondered if I had given everything in the world just to have those delicate fingers touch my forehead. My gun slipped on the grass, I forgot everything. I saw with my eyes the beautiful figure, the neck and the beautiful arms, the white hair lightly disordered under the white handkerchief, and the half-closed intelligent eye, and the eyelids and their soft Cheeks down... "Young man, hey, young man," came a sudden voice near me: "Is it permissible to stare at unknown young women like that?" When I started, I was struck dumb…. Near me, on the other side of the fence, stood a man with cropped black hair, looking at me ironically. At that moment that girl also turned towards me. I looked at the bright face of the mobile with big gray eyes, and the whole face suddenly shook and laughed, white teeth were shining, eyebrows were rising…. I turned red, picked up my gun from the ground, and gave chase through a musical. But did not laugh unseemly, ran to her own room, lay down on the bed, and hid her face in her hands. My heart was pounding. I was very shy and very happy. I felt an excitement I had never known before. After resting for a while, I brushed my hair, washed and went downstairs for tea. As the image of the young girl floated before me, my heart was no longer about to leap, but filled with a kind of sweet oppression. "What's the matter?" my father suddenly asked me: "Have you killed a bird?" I was on the point of telling him all about it, but I checked myself, and just smiled to myself. When I was going to bed, I rolled over - I don't know why - three times on one leg, pomaded my hair, went to bed, and slept like a top all night. Before dawn I awoke for a moment, lifted my head, looked about me happily, and fell asleep again. III "How do I know them?" was my first thought when I woke up in the morning. I went out into the garden before morning tea, but I did not go near the fence, and saw no one. After drinking tea I walked several times up and down the street before home and peered into the windows from afar…. I saw his face on a curtain, and I ran away raising the alarm. "I must introduce him," I thought, wandering about the sandy plain that stretched out before Sapari Park... "But how, that's the question?" remembered; For some reason or other I had a particularly vivid memory of how she laughed at me…. But when I sharpened my mind, and made various plans, fate had already provided for me. In my absence my mother had received a letter from her new neighbor on gray paper, stamped with brown wax, such as is used only in post-office notices or on the corks of cheap wine bottles. In this letter, written in an illiterate language and in a depressed hand, the princess begged my mother to use her powerful influence for her. My mother, in the words of the princess, was very intimately connected with persons of high rank, on whom her fortune and that of her children depended, for they had some very important business in hand. 'I address myself to you,' she wrote, 'as a gentlewoman to another gentlewoman, and therefore I am glad to avail myself of this opportunity. I found my mother in a state of indecisiveness. My father was not at home, and he had no one to turn to for advice. It was impossible not to answer a noblewoman, and a princess, in the bargain. But my mother was at a loss as to what to answer. It seemed inappropriate to write a note in French, and Russian spelling was not my mother's strong point, and she was aware of it, and did not care to expose herself. When I had put on my appearance she was very pleased, and at once made me go to the princess, and tell her by word of mouth that my mother would always be pleased to do me any service within her power, and that her vow of Come to meet him at one o'clock. This unexpectedly swift fulfillment of my secret desires delighted and terrified me. I made no sign, however, of the The commotion came over me, and I went to my room to put on a new necktie and tailcoat as a preliminary step. At home I still wore short jackets and laid-down collars, much as I hated them. Fourth In the narrow and dirty passage of the lodge, which I entered with an involuntary trembling in all my limbs, I met an old gray servant with a face of a dark copper color, little pig eyes, and such. There were deep edges. His forehead and temples were like nothing I had ever seen in my life. He carried a plate with the spine of a herring cut into it. And closing the door to the room with his foot, he snapped, 'What do you want?' “Is Princess Diana at home?” I asked. “Validity!” shouted a female voice from inside. Without a word the man turned his back on me, displaying as he did so the very threadbare back of his liver with a solitary scarlet heraldic button on it. He put the plate on the floor, and left. "Did you go to the police station?" The same female voice called again. The man muttered something in response. "Oh... Has anyone come?” I heard again…. “The young gentleman from the next door. Then ask him. "Would you step into the drawing-room?" said the servant, once more making his appearance and picking up a plate from the floor. I overcame my emotions, and went into the drawing-room. I found myself in a small and tidy apartment, with some shabby furniture that looked as if it had been hastily put down where it stood. In an easy chair by the window sat a woman of fifty with a broken arm, bare-headed and ugly, in an old green dress, and a striped scarf around her neck. His little black eyes froze me like pins. I went to him and bowed. May I have the honor to address Princess Diana? "I am Princess Diana; and you are Mr. Sardar Khan son?" 'Yes. I have come to you with a message from my mother. 'Please sit down. "Wonifty, where are my keys? Have you seen them?" I informed Madame Diana of my mother's reply to this note. He heard me drumming on the window pane with his fat red fingers, and when I finished he stared at me once more. "Very good; I will definitely come,” she observed at last. But how young you are! How old are you, may I ask? "Sixteen," I stuttered involuntarily. The princess took out some greasy scribbled papers from her pocket, held them up to her nose and looked at them. "Good old man," she ejaculated suddenly, shifting uneasily in her chair. 'And you pray, make yourself at home. I can't stand the ceremony." "No, really," I thought, scanning his impenetrable person with disgust I couldn't help but hold back. At that moment, another door opened quickly and in the door stood the girl whom I had seen in the garden the previous evening. He raised his hand, and a sardonic smile flashed across his face. "This is my daughter," observed the princess, gesturing with her elbow. "Nanuchka, son of our neighbor Mr. Vikram, what is your name, permit me to ask?" "Zaid Khan," I replied, rising, and stuttering in my excitement. "And your father's name?" 'Salman Khan' ''Ah! I knew a Commissioner of Police also named Zaid Khan. Bullying! Don't look for my keys; the keys are in my pocket. The young girl was still looking at me with the same smile, fluttering her eyelids slightly, and tilting her head slightly to one side. “I have seen Munir Shakir before,” he began. 'Will you let me call you?' 'Oh, please,' I stammered. "Where was he?" asked the princess. The young princess did not answer her mother. “You have something to do now?” he said, looking away from me. 'Oh no.' 'Would you like to help me wind some wool? Come here, to me.” She nodded at me and left the drawing room. I followed him. In the room we went to, the furniture was a little better, and arranged with more taste. Although, really, at the time, I was hardly able to feel anything. I moved like a dream and felt a kind of intense joy in my being that was tinged with instability. The young princess sat down, took out a red woolen fur and motioned me to the seat in front of her, carefully unfolding the fur. Across my hands. All this he did quietly with a kind of deliberation and with the same bright smile on his slightly parted lips. She began to win the wool on a bent card, and at once she dazzled me with a sight so brilliant and sharp that I could not help dropping my eyes. When his eyes, which were normally half-closed, were fully opened, his face had completely changed. It was as if flooded with light. “What did you think of me yesterday, Munir Shakir?” he asked after a short pause. 'You thought ill of me, I expect?' “I… Princess… I didn't think of anything… How could I?” I replied confused. "Listen," she rejoined. "You don't know me yet." I am a very strange man; I always like to be told the truth. You, I have just heard, are sixteen years old, and I am twenty-one: you see I am much older than you, and therefore you must always tell me the truth and do what I tell you. "Look at me: why don't you see me?" he added. I was still more embarrassed. However, I raised my eyes towards him. She smiled, not her old smile, but a smile of appreciation. “Look at me,” she said, dropping her voice lovingly: “I don't dislike it ... I like your face. I have an offer to be friends. But do you like me?” he said slyly. 'Princess...' I was starting. “In the first place you must call me Zainab, and in the second place it is a bad habit for children” – (he corrected himself) “for young people – not to say what they feel. It's great for all grown-ups. You like me don't you?'' Although I was very happy that he spoke to me so freely, I still felt a little hurt. I wanted to show her that she had no boy to deal with, and as simply and earnestly as I could, I observed, 'Of course. I like you very much, Zainab; I don't want to hide it." He nodded very knowingly. “Do you have a tutor?” he suddenly asked. 'No; I haven't had a tutor for a long time. I lied; I had not been separated from my French for a month. Oh! Then I see - you are quite grown up. He patted my fingers lightly. 'Hold your hands straight!' and he busied himself in winding up the ball. I took the opportunity when she was looking down and started looking at her first stealthily, then more boldly. Her face seemed even more attractive to me than the previous evening. Everything about it was so delicate, smart and sweet. She sat by her side by the window covered with white blinds, the sunlight, streaming through the blinds, light on her puffy golden curls, her innocent neck, her hunched shoulders and soft restless bosom. C was giving light. I looked at her, and how sweet and close she was already to me! I felt like I had known him for a long time and had never known or lived until I met him…. She was wearing a dark and very shabby dress and an apron. I happily felt that I had kissed every layer of this dress and apron. The tips of her little shoes peeked out from under her skirt. I could bow in reverence to these shoes…. 'And here I sit in front of him,' I thought. “I've made his acquaintance… what a joy, my God!” I barely managed to jump out of my chair with joy, but I just swung my legs a little, like a little kid who's been Sweets have been given. I was as happy as a fish in water, and I could always stay in that room, never leave that place. Her eyelids slowly lifted, and once more her clear eyes shone kindly upon me, and she smiled again. “How do you see me!” he said slowly, and he held out a threatening finger. I blushed … 'She understands it all, she sees it all,' flashed through my mind. And how could she fail to understand and see all this? At the same time there was a sound in the next room - the clanking of a saber. "Zainab!" cried the princess in the drawing-room, "Benazir has brought you a kitten." “A kitten!” cried Zainab, and, springing from her chair, ran off, throwing a ball over my lap. I also got up and placed a ball of wool on the windowsill and went into the drawing room and stood still hesitantly. In the middle of the room, a tabby kitten lay with outstretched paws. Zainab was on her knees in front of him, carefully lifting her little face up. Near the old princess, filling almost the whole space between the two windows was a curly-headed young man, handsome, rosy-faced, and prominent-eyed. "How funny!" Zainab was saying. And his eyes are not gray, but green, and what long ears! Thank you, Viktor Yegoruch! You are very kind.' The hussar, whom I recognized as one of the youths I had seen the evening before, smiled and bowed with the jingling of his spurs and the jingling of his saber-chain. 'You had the pleasure of saying yesterday that you wanted a long-eared tabby kitten … so I got it. Your word is law.” And he bowed again. The kitten gave a weak meow and sniffed the ground. "Hungry!" cried Zainab. "Wordily, Sonia!" Bring some milk. A maid, in an old yellow gown with a faded handkerchief round her neck, came in with a saucer of milk and placed it before the kitten. The kitten started, blinked, and lapped. "What a pink little tongue she has!" said Zainab, putting her head on the ground and peering under her nose. The kitten had had enough and began to infect his paws. Zainab rose, and turning to the maid said carelessly, take her. 'To the kitten - your little hand,' said the Hussar, shrugging his tightly built frame, tightly buttoned in a new uniform. "Both," replied Zainab, and she held out her hands to him. As he was kissing them, he looked at me over his shoulder. I stood there and didn't know whether to laugh, say something or keep quiet. Passing through the suddenly open door I caught sight of our footman Fyodor. He was beckoning me. Mechanically I went to him. "What do you want?" I asked. "Your mother sent," he whispered. "He's angry that you didn't come back with an answer." "Why am I here too late?" 'Over an hour.' “Over an hour!” I repeated unconsciously, and went back to the drawing-room to make bows and scratch with my heels. "Where are you going?" asked the young princess looking at me from behind Hasar. ''I have to go home. So I said, I addressed the old woman and said that you will come to us around two. "Do you say so, my good sir?" The princess quickly took out the snuff box and took a snuff so hard that I positively jumped. “Do you say so?” she repeated, winking and sneezing. I bowed again, turned, and walked out of the room with that strange sensation in my spine that a very young man feels when he realizes he is being watched. . "I think you will come and see us again, Munir Shakir," cried Zainab, and she laughed again. “Why is she always laughing?” I thought, as I returned home with Fyodor, who said nothing to me, but followed me in despair. My mother scolded me and wondered what I could have done with the princess for so long. I did not answer him and went to my room. I suddenly felt very sad…. I tried so hard not to cry....I was jealous of Hasar. I The princess called my mother as promised and gave her an unpleasant impression. I was not present at their interview, but at the table my mother told my father that Prince Diana had struck her as a woman, that she had begged him to interest Prince Sohana on her behalf. Hoy was quite narrow; he seems to have had no end of litigation and affairs - de villainess affairs dragnet - and must have been a very troublesome and litigious person. However, my mother added that she had asked her and her daughter over for dinner the next day (I pressed my nose to my plate at the word 'daughter'), because after all, the neighbors and He was the personality of the title. On this my father told my mother that he now remembered who this woman was. that he had known in his youth the late Prince Haskin, a man of very good birth, but frivolous and absurd; that because of his long residence in Paris he was given the nickname 'Le Parisians' in society. that he was very rich, but had gambled away all his property; And for some unknown reason, perhaps because of money, though indeed he might have made a better choice, if so, said my father with a cool smile, he had married an agent's daughter, and his marriage After that he had come down to speculations and completely ruined himself. . "I wish he wouldn't try to take the money," observed my mother. "It is very possible," replied my father, contentedly. 'Does she speak French?' 'Too badly.' 'We are of no consequence whatsoever. I think you said you asked the daughter too. Someone was telling me that she is a very attractive and sophisticated girl. ''Ah! Then she can't leave behind her mother. 'Nor his father,' rejoined my father. 'He was cultivated indeed, but a fool'. My mother sighed and lost in thought. My father said no more. I felt very uncomfortable during this conversation. After dinner I went into the garden, but without my gun. I swore to myself that I would not go near the garden of Haskins, but an irresistible force drove me thither, and not in vain. I had barely reached the fence when I saw Zainab. This time she was alone. She was coming slowly from the path with a book in her hand. He didn't notice me. I almost let it pass. But I immediately changed my mind and coughed. She turned, but did not stop, pushed back the wide blue ribbon of her round straw hat with one hand, looked at me, smiled softly, and again looked down at the book. I took off my hat, and after a moment's hesitation, walked away with a heavy heart. I heard familiar footsteps behind me. I looked around, my father came towards me in his light, fast walk. “Is this the young princess?” he asked me. 'Yes.' "Why do you know him?" 'I saw him this morning at the princess's.' My father stopped, and turned quickly on his heel and went back. When he was on a level with Zainab, he made her a humble bow. She also bowed to him, a look of surprise on her face, and dropped her book. I saw how she took care of him. My father was always unassuming, simple and dressed in his own style. But her appearance had never struck me more beautiful, her gray cap never sitting more gracefully on her curls, which were scarcely thinner than before. I bent my steps towards Zoha, but she did not even glance at me. She picked up her book again and left. We All evening and the next day I passed in a kind of sad indolence. I remember trying to work and pick up Kidanov, but the boldly printed lines and pages of the famous textbook flashed before my eyes. I read these words ten times: 'Julius Caesar was distinguished for warrior courage.' I did not understand anything and threw the book aside. Before dinner time I turned myself in once more, and put on my tailcoat and necktie once more. “What is this for?” asked my mother. 'You are not yet a student, and God knows whether you will pass the examination or not. And you haven't had a new jacket for a long time! You can't throw it away!” “There will be visitors,” I mumbled almost despairingly. 'What folly! Really nice visitors!' I had to submit. I exchanged my tailcoat for my jacket, but I did not take off my necktie. The princess and her daughter made their appearance half an hour before dinner time. The old woman wore, in addition to the green dress with which I was already familiar, a yellow shawl and an old-fashioned hat decorated with flame-colored ribbons. He immediately began to talk about his money troubles, sighing, complaining of his poverty, and begging for help, but he made himself at home. She took a noisy snuff, and sat up in her chair as freely as ever, and began to laugh. It never seemed like she was a princess. Zainab, on the other hand, was stern, almost haughty in her demeanor, every inch the princess. His face had a cold imperturbability and dignity. I should not have recognized him. I should not have known her smile, her eyes; though I thought she was wonderful even in this new aspect. She wore a light barrage dress with light blue flowers on it. Her hair fell in long curls below her cheeks in the English fashion. This style went well with her cold facial expression. My father used to sit by her at dinner, and entertain his neighbor with the quiet politeness peculiar to him. He looked at her from time to time, and she continued to look at him, but with a strange, almost hostile manner. Their conversation continued in French. I was amazed, I remember, at the purity of Zainab's tone. Princess, when we were at table, As no ceremony had been done before. He ate very well, and admired the dishes. My mother was clearly bored with this, and gave him a weary reply. Numbness My father now and then fainted. My mother didn't like Zainab either. "A conceited mink," he said the next day. 'And fancy, of which he must be proud, avec sa mine de gristle!' "It's clear you've never seen any gristle," my father observed. 'Thank God, I haven't!' 'Thank God, to believe... just how can you form an opinion about them?' Zainab paid no attention to me. Soon after dinner the princess got up to go. "I will rely on your kind offices, Maria and Petro viki," he said, singing a charming hymn to his mother and father. 'I have no help for him! The days were gone. Here I am, a virtue, and a poor honor that has nothing to eat! My father made him a respectful bow and led him to the hall door. I stood there in my short jacket, staring at the floor, like a man under sentence of death. Zainab's treatment of me absolutely crushed me. To my astonishment, as she passed me, she whispered sharply with her old beauty in her eyes: 'Come to see us at eight o'clock, did you hear, be sure….' She left with a white scarf on her head. VII At exactly eight o'clock, in my tailcoat and my hair in a bun on my head, I entered the lodge-pass, where the princess lived. The old servant turned to look at me and rose helplessly from his bench. There were shouts of joy in the drawing room. I opened the door and fell back in surprise. In the middle of the room stood the young princess, on a chair, with a man's hat in front of her; Half a dozen men crowded around the chair. They were trying to get their hands into the hat, while he held it above their heads, shaking it violently. Seeing me, she cried, 'Wait, wait, another guest, she must have a ticket too,' and jumping lightly from the chair, she caught me by the cuff of her coat. 'Come along,' she said. Said, 'Why are there? Are you still standing? Gentlemen, let me introduce you: this is M. Waqas, our neighbor's son. And this,” she went on, addressing me, and pointing in turn to her guests, Count Maledave, Dr. Luqman, the poet Mehmood, the retired Captain Nerma sati, and Babo Sheikh, whom you have already seen. I hope you will be a good friend.” I was so confused that I did not bow to anyone. In Dr. Lal Jan I recognized the dark man who had so cruelly embarrassed me in the garden. The rest were unknown to me. 'Count!' 'Write a ticket to Munir Shakir,' Zainab continued. "It's not fair," objected the count, in a light Polish tone, a very pretty and fashionably dressed brunette, with expressive brown eyes, a thin white nose, and a small mouth. But there was a delicate little mustache. "This gentleman is not playing tricks with us." 'It is unfair,' repeated Benazir in chorus, and the gentleman was a retired captain, a man of forty, with a pocket-mark of a hideous degree, as a curly-headed negro, round-shouldered, bandy-legged, and A military coat is worn unbuttoned, without epaulettes. "Write him a ticket, I tell you," repeated the young princess. 'What is this rebellion? M. Waqas is with us for the first time, and there are no rules for him yet. It's no use grumbling - write it down, I wish. The count shrugged his shoulders but bowed his head and took the pen in his white fingers, tore off a piece of paper and wrote on it. “At least let's tell Mr. Waqas what we are,” Luqman said sarcastically, “or he'll be completely lost. What are you looking at young people, we are playing azimuth. The princess has to pay an apology, and whoever draws the lucky lot gets to kiss her hand. Do you understand what I have told you? I only looked at her, and stood still in astonishment, while the young princess sprang back into her chair, and again waved her hat. They all moved towards him, and I followed the rest. 'Mehmood,' said the princess to a tall young man with a thin face, light eyes, and very long black hair, 'you must grow up as a poet, and give your number to Munir Shakir. That he might get two chances instead of one.' But Mehmood shook his head in denial, and the hair bounced. After everyone else I put my hand in the hat, and opened my lot…. Heavens! What was my state when I saw the word on it, kiss! 'Kiss!' I couldn't help crying out loud. 'Bravo! He has won,” said the princess quickly. "How happy I am!" She got off the chair and gave me such a bright sweet look that my heart skipped a beat. “Are you happy?” he asked me. “Me?” … I stammered. "Sell me your lot," Benazir said suddenly in my ear. "I will give you a hundred rubles." I answered Husar so furiously that Zainab clapped her hands, while Luqman cried, 'He is a good man!' 'But, as Master of Ceremonies,' he went on, 'it is my duty to see that all rules are kept. M'Waqas, get down on one knee. This is our code. Zainab was standing in front of me, her head tilted slightly to one side as if to get a better look at me. He extended his hand towards me with dignity. A mist passed before my eyes. I meant to drop to one knee, sink down on both, and pressed my lips to Zainab's fingers so awkwardly that I scratched myself a little with the tip of her fingernail. “Very well!” cried Luqman, and helped me up. The losing game continued. Zainab sat me next to her. He invented all kinds of extraordinary chaos! He had other things to represent a 'statue', and he chose as a pedestal the abominable Nirma, asking him to bend in an arch, and to rest his head on his breast. The laughter did not stop even for a moment. To me a boy growing up constantly in the solitude of a stately manor house, all this noise and commotion, this informality, almost tumult, this intercourse with strangers, was simply intoxicating. My head was dizzy, as if from wine. I began to laugh and talk louder than the others, while the old princess, who was sitting in the next room with a clerk at Tornado Gate, whom she had called to consult on business, positively came in to look at me. . But I felt so happy that I didn't mind anything, I didn't care about anyone's jokes or suspicious looks. Zainab kept showing me priorities, and keeping me close. In one necklace, I had to sit beside her, both hidden under a silk handkerchief: I was to tell her my secret. I remember our heads next to each other in the warm, translucent, fragrant darkness, the soft, close glow of his eyes in the darkness, and the burning breath from his parted lips, and the gleam of his teeth and his The ends are tickling me and setting me on fire. I remained silent. She smiled slyly and mysteriously, and finally whispered to me, “Well, what is it?” But I merely blushed and laughed, and drew back, catching my breath. We got tired of losing - we started playing a game with a string. My God! What was my transport when, not paying attention, I received from him a quick and violent slap on the knuckles, and I then endeavored to pretend that I was absent, and He teased me, and did not touch hands? Keep it out! What didn't we do that evening! We played the piano, sang, danced and acted in a gypsy camp. Nirma was groomed like a bear, and made to drink salt water. Count Maledave showed us several card tricks, and, after shuffling the cards, himself ended by dealing all the trumps with a whistle, which Luqman 'had the honor of congratulating'. Romanticism was at its height during this period) which he intended to issue in black cover with the title in blood-red letters. They stole the clerk's hat from his knee, and made him dance the Cossack dance as a ransom. They drew old Wonifty in a woman's hat, and the young princess wore a man's hat…. I can't count all the things we did. Only Benazir kept more and more in the background, nervous and angry…. Sometimes his eyes looked bloodshot, he flowed everywhere, and every moment it seemed as if he would pounce on us all and scatter us like shavings. But the young princess would look at him, and wave her finger at him, and he would go back to his corner. We were pretty tired at the end. Even the old princess, though she was ready for anything, as he expressed it, and no noise tired her, felt tired at last, and longed for peace and quiet. At twelve o'clock at night, dinner was served, consisting of a piece of stale dry cheese, and some cold turnovers of minced ham, which seemed to me tastier than any pastry I had tasted. There was only one bottle of wine, and a strange one; A dark colored bottle with a wide neck, and the wine in it was pink in color. However, no one drank it. Exhausted and giddy with joy, I left the lodge. Zainab pressed my hand warmly at parting, and then smiled mysteriously. The night air was heavy and damp on my hot face. A storm seemed to be gathering. Black storm clouds swelled and filled the sky, their smoky outlines clearly changing. A gust of wind rustled restlessly through the dark trees, and somewhere on the far horizon, rumbling thunder muttered as furiously as if it were itself. I walked up the backstairs to my room. My old nurse was sleeping on the floor, and I had to step on her. He woke up, saw me, and told me that my mother was very angry with me again, and that she wanted to send me away again, but that my father forbade it. (I never went to bed without saying goodnight to my mother, and asking for her prayers. There was no help for that now!) I told my man that I would undress and go to sleep by myself, and I put out the candle. But I did not undress, and did not go to bed. I sat down in a chair, and sat for some time, as if under a spell. What I was feeling was so new and so sweet…. I sat still, hardly looking round and not moving, drawing slow breaths, and only occasionally laughing quietly at some memory, or at the thought that I was in love, that it was her, that It was love. Zainab's face floated slowly before me in the darkness – floating, and not floating; Her lips still had the same mysterious smile, her eyes looked at me, from one side, with a questioning, dreamy, soft look… like right after parting with her. At last I got up, tiptoed to my bed, and, without undressing, carefully laid my head on the pillow, as if I feared some sudden movement would disturb my spirit…. I lay down but didn't even close my eyes. Soon I noticed that faint flashes of some sort of light were constantly being thrown across the room. I got up and looked at the window. The window frame was clearly distinguishable from the mysterious and dimly lit panes. It's a storm, I thought. And it was indeed a storm, but it was so far off that the thunder could not be heard. Only Faded, long, as the branches were spreading, Lightning flashed continuously across the sky. It did not glow, however, but shook and twitched like the wing of a dying bird. I got up, went to the window, and stood there till morning…. The lightning never stopped for a moment. It was what the peasants called the Night of the Sparrows. I gazed across the mute sandy plain, across the dark mass of Nothia Gardens, across the yellow facades of the distant buildings, watching every flicker of light. I squinted and could not turn away. These silent flashes of lightning, these flashes were in response to the secret silent fires that were burning within me. The morning began to dawn. The sky had turned into red patches. As the sun drew near, the lightning gradually grew fainter, and ceased. The flickering flashes were few and far between, and finally disappeared, drowned in the positive light of the coming day…. And my lightning disappeared too. I felt very tired and relaxed … but the image of Zainab still triumphed over my soul. But this image, too, seemed more peaceful: like a swan emerging from the reeds of a marsh, it stood out from the other beautiful figures around it, and as I fell asleep, I bid myself farewell. threw himself before him, relying on his worship. …. Oh, the sweet sentiments, the tender harmonies, the goodness and comfort of the gentle heart, the melting joy of love's first rapture, where are they, where are they? VIII The next morning, when I came down to tea, my mother scolded me - however, less severely than I expected - and told me how I had spent the previous evening. I answered him in a few words, leaving out many details, and trying to make everything sound as innocent as possible. 'Anyway, there are people who aren't wrong,' my mother commented, 'and you have no business hanging in there instead of preparing for the exam and doing your work.' As I knew very well that my mother's anxiety about my studies was limited to these few words, I did not think it necessary to make any reply. But after the morning tea was over, my father took me by the arm, and, walking with me through the garden, compelled me to tell him all that I had seen at Zobairi. My father had an interesting influence on me, and the relationship between us was interesting. He hardly took any interest in my studies, but he never hurt my feelings. He respected my independence; he treated me - if I may express it - with courtesy, only he never let me get close to him. I loved him, I admired him, he was my ideal of a man – and heaven! How passionately I should have been devoted to him, had I not been constantly conscious of his holding me back! But when he liked, he could almost instantly, with a word, a single gesture, instill in her an immense confidence. My spirit expanded, I went to him like a wise friend, a kind teacher... Then he suddenly got rid of me, and then he was gently and lovingly taking me away, but still he took me away. Kept Sometimes he was in high spirits, and then he was ready to go about with me like the boys (he was fond of all kinds of vigorous physical exercise); Once - it never happened a second time! - He nursed me so tenderly that I almost burst into tears…. But high spirits and gentleness alike vanished, and what passed between us gave me nothing to build upon for the future – it was as if I had dreamed it all. Sometimes I would look at his smart handsome bright face… my heart would beat and my whole being would yearn for him… he would sense what was going on inside me, pat me on the cheek, and go away, or something. Do, or freeze suddenly because only he knew how to freeze, and I shrank into myself at once, and went cold too. His rare fit of friendship with me was never called forth by my silent, but perceptible entreaties: he always came unexpectedly. Thinking about my father's role later, I have come to the conclusion that he had no thought for me and for family life. His heart was in other things, and he found full satisfaction elsewhere. “Take what you can for you, and do not be ruled by others. Belonging to yourself – that's the whole flavor of life,” he told me one day. Another time, I, as a young Democrat, fell to airing my views on liberty (he was 'kind,' as I called him in those days; and on such occasions I asked him what I liked. could speak accordingly). 'Freedom,' he repeated. And do you know what freedom can give a person? 'What?' 'Will, its own will, and it gives power, which is better than freedom. Learn how to will, and you will be free, and lead. 'My father, first and foremost, wanted to live, and lived on... Perhaps he had a premonition that he would not long to enjoy the 'fun' of life. : He died at the age of forty-two. I described my evening at Zobairi to my father. Half attentively, half carelessly, he listened to me, sitting on a garden seat, drawing a picture in the sand with his stick. Now and then he laughed, shot a glare, glanced at me, and encouraged me with short questions and assent. At first I couldn't bring myself to even mention Zainab's name, but I couldn't stop myself for long and started singing her praises. My father still laughed. Then he thought, stretched and stood up. I remembered that he ordered his horse to be saddled as soon as he left the house. He was a splendid horseman, and, long before Rarity, possessed the secret of breaking in the most vicious horses. "Shall I go with you, father?" I asked. "No," he replied, and his face resumed its usual expression of friendly indifference. 'Go alone if you wish. And tell the coachman that I am not going. He turned his back on me and hurried away. I took care of him. He disappeared through the door. I saw his hat move along the fence. He moved to Zobairi. He stayed there more than an hour, then immediately left for the city, and did not return home until evening. After dinner I went to Zobairi myself. In the drawing room I saw only the old princess. Seeing me he scratched his head with a needle under his hat, and suddenly asked me, could I copy a petition for him? "With pleasure," I replied, sitting on the edge of my chair. 'Just remember and capitalize the letters,' said the princess, handing me a dirty sheet of paper. 'And could you not do it today, my good sir?' 'Of course, I'll copy it today.' The door to the next room was just open, and through the crack I saw Zainab's face, pale and worried, her hair carelessly thrown back. He looked at me with big cold eyes, and gently closed the door. "Zina, Zina!" cried the old woman. Zainab did not answer. I took the old lady's application home and spent the whole evening on it. IX My 'passion' started from that day. I felt then, I remember, how a man feels on entering the service: I had ceased to be a mere young lad. I was in love. I have said that my hobby is from that day. I would have also said that my sorrows are also from that day. Away from Zainab I pined; I had nothing in mind. Everything went wrong with me I spent the whole day thinking about him … I paid attention when I was away, but I was no better in his presence. I was burning; I was conscious of my worthlessness. I was stupidly depressed or stupidly humiliated, and just like that, an invincible force drew me to her, and I couldn't stop shaking with joy every time I stepped through the door of her room. Zainab immediately guessed that I was in love with her and in fact I did not even think of hiding it. He ingratiated himself with my passion, fooled me, beat and tortured me. There is sweetness in being independent and irresponsible, the only source of greatest joy and deepest pain to another, and I was like wax in Xena's hands. Although, really, I wasn't the only one in love with her. All the men who came to the house were crazy about her, and she kept them all under her feet. She awakened their hopes and then their fears, turning them on her finger (she called it putting their heads together), while they never dreamed of offering resistance and eagerly surrendered to him. Full of life and beauty there was about his whole being a strange combination of cunning and carelessness, artificiality and simplicity, harmony and gaiety. About everything he did or said, about every act of his, there hid a delicate, fine charm, showing an individual power at work. And his face was changing, working too. It conveyed irony, dreaminess and passion almost at the same time. Different emotions, delicate and rapidly changing like cloud shadows on a windy day, chased each other incessantly across his lips and eyes. Every fan of his was important to him. Benazir, whom she sometimes called 'my wild animal' and sometimes simply 'mine', would gladly throw herself into the fire for his sake. With little confidence in his intellectual abilities and other qualities, he was forever offering her hand in marriage, a sign that the others were merely hanging around with no serious intentions. Maidan responded to the poetic fibers of his nature. A cold-tempered man, like almost all writers, he forced himself to convince himself, and perhaps himself, that he loved her, singing her praises in endless verses, and calling her a Reads with strange enthusiasm, at once inspired and sincere. . She sympathizes with him, as well as makes fun of him a little. She didn't have much faith in him, and after listening to him, she would make him read Pushkin, as she said, to clear the air. Luqman, the doctor of irony, who is too mean for words, knew her better than any of them, and loved her the most, though he abused her to her face and behind her back. She could not help respecting him, but making him wary of her, and sometimes, with a strange, deadly pleasure, she felt that he too was at her mercy. 'I am a flirt, I am heartless, I am an actress by instinct,' she told him one day in my presence. 'Good and good! Then give me your hand. I'll stick this pin in him, you'll be ashamed to see this young man, you'll be hurt, but you'll laugh at it all, O true man, Luqman blushed, bit his mouth, but folded his hands. Finished. He chewed it, and he actually laughed,… and she laughed, putting the pin deep enough, and looking into his eyes, which he tried in vain to keep in other directions…. I underestimated the whole relationship between Zainab and Count Maledave. He was handsome, smart, and talented, but there was something incongruous about him, something false, even to me, a boy of sixteen, and I was surprised that Zainab hadn't noticed it. But possibly he really sensed this element of falsehood and was not repulsed by it. Her irregular education, strange acquaintances and habits, the constant presence of her mother, the poverty and squalor of their home, everything that the young girl enjoyed, with the consciousness of her superiority over those around her, He grew up in it. He has a sort of half-contemptuous recklessness and lack of altruism. Anything can happen at any time. Nifty might declare that there is no sugar, or some seditious scandal would come to her ears, or her guests would come to quarrel—she would only shake her curls and say, 'What does it matter? ?' about it. But my blood, however, occasionally burned with a fire of rage when Maledave would come to her, with a cunning, fox-like movement, lean gracefully over the back of his chair and whisper in her ear. And smiling a faint smile, as she folded her arms across her chest, looked at him intently and she smiled too, and nodded. "What induced you to receive Count Meledave?" I asked him one day. "He has such a beautiful mustache," she replied. 'But that's beyond you.' 'You don't have to think I care,' he said to me once more. 'no; I can't care about people I have to despise. I must have someone who can master me…. But, good heavens, I hope I never meet such a one! I don't want to get caught in anyone's clutches, not for anything." 'You'll never be in love, then?' 'and U? Don't I love you?'' she said, and she hit me on the nose with the tip of her glove. Yes, Zainab indulged herself greatly at my expense. For three weeks I saw him every day, and what he did to me! She rarely visited us, and I didn't regret it. In our house she had turned into a young lady, a young princess, and I was a little worried about that. I was afraid of betraying myself in front of my mother. He strongly disliked Zainab, and looked upon us with hostility. My father was not so afraid. He didn't seem to notice me. He spoke to her very little, but always with special intelligence and importance. I stopped working and studying. I even stopped walking around the neighborhood and riding horses. Like a beet with a leg tied, I circled my lovely little lodge incessantly. I would gladly have stopped there, it seemed … but it was impossible. My mother used to scold me, and sometimes Zainab herself would chase me away. Then I would shut myself up in my room, or go down to the very end of the garden, and climb into what was left of the tall stone greenhouse, which now lay in ruins, for hours. He used to sit with his legs hanging on the wall which was visible. On the road, staring and staring and seeing nothing. White butterflies flew by me, on the dusty webs. A sparrow perched far away on the half-broken red brick and chartered irritably, twisting and turning its tail feathers incessantly. Still the distrustful rook sits high, high on the bare top of the birch tree; The sun and wind played gently on its slender branches. The sound of the bells of the Dawn Monastery comes before me from time to time, peaceful and eerie. As I sat, watched, listened, and was filled with a nameless feeling that contained everything: sadness and joy and Prediction of the future, and the desire and fear of life. But at that time I understood nothing of it, and could give no name to any of the things which passed in disorder within me, or they should all have been called by one name—the name of Zainab. Zainab played cat and mouse with me. He flirted with me, and I was all agitated and rapt. Then she would suddenly push me away, and I didn't dare go near her—didn't dare look at her. I remember she was very cold towards me for several days. I was completely crushed, and crept timidly to their lodge, trying to stay close to the old princess, regardless of the fact that she was particularly cursing and grumbling at the moment. Her finances were deteriorating, and she had already had two 'explanations' with the police authorities. One day I was walking in the garden along the familiar fence, and I saw Zainab. Leaning on both arms she sat on the grass, not moving a muscle. I was about to leave cautiously when he suddenly raised his head and pointed at me rudely. My heart fails me. I didn't understand it at first. He repeated his gesture. I immediately jumped over the fence and ran happily towards him, but he stopped me with a look, and motioned me to take two steps ahead of him. Confused, not knowing what to do, I dropped to my knees by the side of the road. She was so pale, so bitterly distressed, so intensely exhausted, in every feature of her face, that it sent a pang into my heart, and I murmured unconsciously, "What is the matter?" Zainab raised her head, picked up a blade of grass, cut it and threw it away. “Do you love me that much?” he finally asked. 'Yes.' I didn't answer - really, what was the need to answer? "Yes," he repeated, looking at me as before. ''it is just like this. The same eyes,' - she went on. He got lost in thought and hid his face in his hands. 'Everything has become so hateful to me,' she whispered, 'I would first go to the other end of the world - I can't bear it, I can't get over it…. And what is before me! Ah, wretched I am…. My God, how miserable I am!” "Why?" I asked fearfully. Xena didn't answer, she just shrugged. I knelt down, looking at him with deep sadness. Every word he spoke. Just cut me off. At that moment I felt that I would gladly have given my life, if he had not been sad. I looked at her—and though I could not understand why she was ugly, I vividly pictured to myself how, in unbearable distress, she had suddenly come out into the garden, and It was sunk to the ground, as if it had been cut down. One bite it was all bright and green. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, and the long branches of the raspberry bush swayed over Zainab's head. The doves cooed, and the bees hummed, flying over the low grass, the sun overhead shining blue – while I was so sad…. "Read me some poetry," said Zainab in a low voice, and she propped herself up on her elbow. I love reading your poetry. You read it in the Song of Songs, but it doesn't matter, it comes from being young. Read me "On the Hills of Himalaya." First just sit down. I sat down and read 'On the Hills of Himalaya'. "Whose heart can choose nothing but love," repeated Zainab. 'This is where poetry excels; It tells us what is not, and what is not only better, but more like the truth, "Can't choose but love,"—doesn't want it, but she can't help it. ' Then suddenly she started and got up. 'Come with. With Mamma inside the Maidan house, he brought me his poem, but I left it. Her feelings are hurt now too … I can't help it! You will understand everything one day… Just don't be angry with me!” Zainab quickly squeezed my hand and ran ahead. We went back to the lodge. Maidan began to read us his 'Human Assassin', which had just been printed, but I did not hear it. He screamed and drew out his four-foot iambic lines, the alternating rhythms ringing like little bells, noisy and meaningless, while I still looked at Zainab and tried to understand his last words. "Perhaps an unknown opponent has surprised and outsmarted you?" Maidan spoke suddenly through his nose - and mine and Zainab's eyes met. She fainted looking down. I saw her blush, and froze with terror. I had been jealous before, but only at that moment the thought of being in love with him crossed my mind. 'Lord Karim! He is in love! x My real agony started from that moment. I racked my brains, changed my mind, and changed it again, and kept a secret eye on Zainab as much as possible. A change had taken place within him, it was evident. She started taking walks alone - and long walks. Sometimes she could not see the guests. She would sit in her room for hours together. This was not his habit till now. I suddenly became – or imagined I had become – extraordinarily intrusive. 'Isn't he? Or isn't he?'' I asked myself, from one of his admirers to another in an inward outburst. Count Maledave secretly killed me to frighten me more than the others, though, for Zainab's sake, I was ashamed to admit it to myself. My vigilance did not look beyond the tip of my nose, and its secrecy probably did not deceive anyone. Anyway, Dr. Luqman soon saw through me. But that too had changed of late. He had become thin, he laughed often, but his laughter seemed hollower, more hateful, and petty, an involuntary nervous irritation replaced its former mild irony and cynicism. Adopted. "Young man, why are you hanging around here all the time?" he said to me one day, when we were alone in the Zubairis' drawing-room. (The young princess had not come home from the walk, and the loud voice of the old princess was heard from within; she was scolding the maid.) 'You must study, work - when you are young - what else? what are you doing?' "You can't tell I work at home," I replied with some arrogance, but also with some hesitation. 'You do a great job! It's not what you're thinking! Well, I wouldn't mistake it for … at your age which is in the natural order of things. But you have been very unlucky in your choice. Don't you see what this house is? 'I don't understand you,' I observed. ''You do not understand? Too bad for you. I feel obliged to warn you. Old bachelors like me can come here, what harm it can do us! We are tough, nothing can hurt us, what can it hurt us; But your skin is still soft - this air is bad for you - believe me, it can hurt you.' 'How does it go?' "Why are you all right now?" Are you in normal condition? Is what you are feeling - beneficial to you - good for you?' “Why, what do I feel?” I said, while I knew in my heart that the doctor was right. "Ah, young man, young man,' said the doctor, in a voice that to me contained something very insulting in those two words, 'what is the use of that, when, thank God, what is in your heart? ? In your face, so far? But there, what's the point of talking? I should not come here myself, if … (the doctor presses his lips) … if I were not such a strange man. This alone surprises me; How is it, you don't see what is happening around you with your intelligence? "And what's going on?" I alerted everyone. The doctor looked at me with a kind of irony. “My goodness!” he said to himself, “as if he needed to know anything about it. In fact, I tell you again,” he added, raising his voice, “the atmosphere here is not suitable for you. You love living here, but what about it! It's nice and fragrant in the greenhouse - but it has no habitat. Yes! Do as I tell you and go back to your Kaidan. The old princess came in, and complained to the doctor about her toothache. Then Zainab appeared. “Come,” said the old princess, “you must scold him, doctor. She drinks ice water all day long. Is it good for him, pray with his delicate bosom? "Why do you do that?" Luqman asked. 'Why, what effect can it have?' 'What effect? You can freeze and die. "Really?" Do you mean Great - the more the better? “Good idea!” muttered the doctor. The old princess had gone out. "Yes, a good idea," repeated Zainab. 'Is life a festive affair? Just look around you....is it good? Or do you imagine that I do not understand it, and do not feel it? It makes me happy – drinking ice water. And do you seriously convince me that such a life is too precious to be risked for a moment's pleasure—pleasure of which I will not even speak.' “Oh, very well,” remarked Luqman, “indifference and irresponsibility…. Those two words sum you up. Your whole nature is contained in these two words. Zainab laughed nervously. 'You are late for the post, my dear doctor. You don't have good eyesight. You are behind the times. Put on your glasses. I'm not into any comedy anymore. Making a fool of you, making a fool of yourself… It's a lot of fun! – And as for irresponsibility … M Waqas,' said Zainab suddenly, 'don't make such a sad face. I can't bear people feeling sorry for me.” She quickly left the room. "It's too bad for you, this environment for you, young man," Luqman said to me again. XI In the evening of the same day, as usual, the guests gathered at Zillikens. I was among them. The conversation turned to Maidan's poem. Zainab really appreciated it. "But you know what?" she asked him. If I were a poet, I would have chosen completely different subjects. Maybe it's all nonsense, but sometimes I get weird thoughts, especially when I'm not sleeping early in the morning, when the sky starts to turn pink and gray at the same time. Me, for example… you won't laugh at me?” "No, no!" We all cried in unison. 'I will describe,' she went on, folding her arms over her chest and looking away, 'a whole party of young girls on a quiet river in a big boat at night. The moon is shining, and they're all dressed in white, wearing garlands of white flowers, and singing, you know, something in the nature of a hymn." 'I see — I see; come on,” Medan remarked with dreamy importunity. "Suddenly, loud noises, laughter, torches, drums on the bank... It is a troop of Bacchantes dancing with songs and cries. It is your business to picture it, poet, Only I like the torches to be red and smoke so much, and the bacchantes' eyes to shine beneath their cloaks, and the cloaks to be dim. Don't forget the tiger's skin too, and goblets and gold – lots of gold….' “Where's the gold supposed to be?” Maidan asked, brushing back his greasy hair and flaring his nostrils. 'Where? On their shoulders and arms and legs – everywhere. It is said that in ancient times, women used to wear gold rings on their ankles. Bacchants call the girls in the boat to him. The girls have given up their hymn – they can't walk with him, but they don't stir, the river carries them to the shore. And suddenly one of them slowly wakes up…. This you must describe well: how she rises slowly in the moonlight, and how her companions are afraid…. She steps on the edge of the boat, the bacchantes surround her; take her into the night and darkness…. Here the smoke in the clouds confused everything. There is nothing but the sound of their screams and his cloak lying on the bank. Zainab stopped. ('Oh! He's in love!' I thought again.) "And is that all?" Maidan asked. 'That's all.' "It may not be the subject of a whole poem," he said politely, "but I will use your idea for a piece of poetry." "In a romantic way?" Maledave asked. 'Of course, in a romantic way - Byronic.' "Well, in my mind, Hugo beats Byron," observed the young count carelessly. 'He's more interesting.' "Hugo is a first-rate writer," Mehmood replied. 'And my friend, Tonko, in his French romance, El Truda...' ''Ah! Is this book with a question mark upside down?” Zainab stopped. 'Yes. This is a French custom. I was about to witness this Tonko…” Come on! "You're going to argue about classicism and romanticism again," Zainab interrupted him a second time. "We'd better play... Put in lotion? 'No, wasting is a bore; In competition.” (This game was invented by Zainab herself. Something or the other was mentioned, everyone tried to compare with something and whoever chose the best comparison got a prize.) She went to the window. The sun was just setting. There were big red clouds in the sky. "How are those clouds?" asked Zainab. And without waiting for our answer, he said, 'I think they are like the purple sails on Cleopatra's golden ship, when she sailed to meet Antony. Do you remember, Medan, you were telling me about that a while ago? We all, like Polonius in Hamlet, opined that the clouds remembered nothing like these ships, and none of us could discover a better comparison. "And how old was Antony then?" Zainab asked. "A young man, no doubt," observed Maledave. "Yes, a young man," Maidan confirmed. "Excuse me," cried Luqman, "he was over forty." “More than forty,” repeated Zainab, looking at him sharply…. I went home soon. “She is in love,” my lips repeated unconsciously…. "But with whom?" XII Days passed. Zainab became stranger and stranger and more and more incomprehensible. One day I went to him, and found him sitting in a basket-chair, his head pressed against the sharp edge of the table. He pulled himself up… his entire face was covered in tears. “Ah you!” he said with a wry smile. 'Come here.' I went to him. She put her hand on my head, and suddenly started pulling my hair. 'It hurts me,' I said at last. ''Ah! It does? And do you think I am not suffering from anything?” he replied. “O!” she suddenly cried, noticing that he had pulled out a small piece of hair. 'What have I done? Poor M. Waqas!' She carefully smoothed her tousled hair, twisting it around her finger and twirling it into a ringlet. "I will put your hair in a locket and wear it around my neck," she said, tears still glistening in her eyes. "That will be a small consolation to you, perhaps ... and now goodbye." I went home, and saw the unhappy state of things there. My mother was watching a scene with my father. She was reproaching him with something, while he maintained his usual polite and cold silence and soon left her. I couldn't hear what my mother was talking about, and I really didn't think to drop the subject. All I remember is that, when the interview was over, he sent me to his room, and I referred with great indignation to the frequent visitor, who was, in his words, une femme capable de tout. . I kissed her hand (I always did when I wanted to cut the conversation short) and went to my room. Zainab's tears completely overwhelmed me. I positively did not know what to think, and I was ready to cry myself. I was a child despite being sixteen years old. I had now ceased to think of Maledave, though Benazir looked more and more menacing every day, and watched the cunning like a wolf on a flock. But I didn't think about anything or anyone. I was lost in imagination, and always sought solitude and solitude. I was particularly fond of the ruined greenhouse. I'll climb the high wall, and seat myself, and sit there, so unhappy, so lonely, And sad youth, that I felt sorry for myself – and how comforting those mournful feelings, how I reveled in them! One day I was sitting on the wall looking into the distance and hearing the bells ringing…. Suddenly something floated over me – neither a breath of air nor a tremor, but as if it was a wave of fragrance – like the feeling of being close to someone…. I looked down. Down, on the path, in a light gray gown, with a pink umbrella over her shoulder, Zainab walked swiftly along. She saw me, stopped, and pushing back the brim of her straw hat, she raised her velvety eyes to me. "What are you doing up there?" she asked me with a strange smile. “Come,” she went on, “you're always declaring you love me. If you really love me, jump on the road with me. Zainab barely uttered these words when I flew down, as if someone had violently pushed me from behind. The wall was about fourteen feet high. I landed on my feet, but the shock was so severe that I could not keep my feet. I fell, and was unconscious for a moment. When I came to myself again, without opening my eyes, I felt beside myself. “My dear boy,” she was saying, bending over me, and her voice had a frightened softness, “how could you do this, dear. How can you believe it? You know I love you…. get up.' His chest was coming closer to me, his hands were caressing my head, and suddenly – what were my feelings at that moment – ??his soft fresh lips started to cover my face with kisses… they kissed my lips. Touch…. But then Zainab probably guessed by the expression on my face that I was conscious, though my eyes were still closed, and rushing to her feet she said: 'Come, get up, you naughty boy. Why are you lying, fool? In the dust?' 'Give me my umbrella,' said Zainab, 'I dropped it somewhere, and don't stare at me like that... What ridiculous nonsense! You're not hurt, are you? Stung by nettles, I dare? Don't look at me I tell you... But he doesn't understand, he doesn't answer,'' he added, as if to himself... 'Go home, M. Waqas, brush you off, and mine. Don't you dare chase, or I'll be angry, and never again...' She didn't finish her sentence, but quickly left, while I sat down on the side of the road… my legs were not supporting me. My hands were bitten by gout, my back ached, and I felt dizzy. But the sense of rapture I felt then never came a second time Life turned into a sweet ache in all my limbs and finally expressed itself in joyous hops and skips and screams. Yes, I was just a kid. XIII I was so proud and light-hearted that day, I retained the feeling of Zainab's kisses on my face so vividly, with such a shudder of joy I remembered every word she said, I felt my unexpected happiness. He hugged me so much that I felt scared. Unwilling to see it positively, which had given rise to these new feelings. It seemed to me that I could ask no more of fate that I must now 'go and take a deep breath and die.' But the next day when I went to the lodge, I felt very embarrassed. I tried to hide under an air of slight confidence, befitting a man who wished to show that he knew how to keep a secret. Zainab accepted me very simply, without any emotion, she just waved her finger at me and asked me, wasn't I black and blue? All my modest confidence and air of mystery disappeared instantly, and with them my embarrassment. Of course I didn't expect anything special, but Zainab's enthusiasm was like a bucket of cold water on me. I felt that in his eyes I was a child, and very miserable! Zainab walked up and down the room giving me a quick smile, every time she caught my eye, but her thoughts were far away, I saw her clearly…. “Shall I start myself about what happened yesterday?” I thought. “Ask her, where she was leaving so early, to find out once”… But I just went and sat in a corner with a hint of despair. Benazir came in; I felt relieved to see him. "I couldn't find you a quiet horse," he said in a low voice. 'Freitag guarantees one, but I feel no confidence in it, I'm afraid.' "What are you afraid of?" said Zainab. 'Permit me to ask?' 'What am I afraid of? Why, you don't know how to ride. Lord saves us, what may happen! What kind of slap has this suddenly come on you? 'Come, it's my business, Sir Wildebeest. In that case I will ask Parooq Vassili.'' … (My father's name was Parooq Vassili. I was surprised to find him mentioning his name so lightly and freely, as if he were willing to serve him. I believe.) "Oh, indeed," replied Baila, "you mean to go riding with him again?" 'It has nothing to do with you or anyone else. Just not with you, anyway.” "Not with me," repeated Benazir. 'As you wish. Well, I'll find you a horse. “Yes, now mind you, don't send any old cows. I warn you that I want to gallop.” "Gallop by all means... Who is it, Maledave, you're going to ride with?" And why not with him, Mr. Pugni Shitty? Come, be still,' he added, 'and don't shine. I will take you too. You know I have Maledave on my mind now - oh!” he shook his head. "You ask me to comfort you," said Baila. Xena half closed her eyes. 'Does it comfort you? Oh… oh… oh… Mr. Pugni Shitty!” he finally said, as if he couldn't find any other words. 'And you, Munir Shakir, will you come with us? "I don't care… at a big party," I mumbled, not looking up. “You prefer a tit… Well, freedom to the free, and heaven to the saints,” he commented with a sigh. 'Go along, Benazir, and improve yourself. I must have a horse for tomorrow.`` “Oh and where will the money come from?” said the old princess. Zainab said nervously. 'I will not ask you for it; "Benazir will trust me." "He'll trust you, won't he?" mumbled the old princess, and suddenly she cried out at the top of her voice, "Dinya!" "Mother, I have given you the bell to ring," observed Zainab. “Danya!” repeated the old lady. Benazir took leave; I went with him. Zainab did not try to detain me. XIV The next day I rose early, cut myself a stick, and went beyond the gates of the city. I thought I would take my grief away. It was a beautiful day, bright and not too hot, a fresh breeze moving over the land with a moderate rustling and stirring, which ruffled everything and disturbed nothing. I wandered for a long time in the hills and forests. I had not felt joy, I had left home intending to give myself up to melancholy, but youth, glorious weather, fresh air, the pleasure of speed, the sweetness of rest, lay in solitude on the thick grass. Nook got the upper hand; the memory of the never-to-be-forgotten words, those kisses, once again forced upon my soul. I liked to think that Zainab, after all, could not fail to do justice to my courage, my bravery….' Others might think her better than I, I thought, 'Let them go! But others only say what they will do, whereas I have done it. And what more would I not do for him?” My choice began to work. I began to think to myself how I would save him from the hands of the enemies. How, covered with blood I'll tear him from the prison by force, And perish at his feet. I remembered a picture hanging in our drawing room - Malik-Adil carrying Matilda - but then my attention was drawn to the figure of a spotted woodpecker climbing swiftly up the slender trunk of a birch tree. He was looking out. Behind him, first right, then left, like a musician behind a bass viol. Then I sang 'Not White Snow', and from it the popular song of the time: 'I wait for you, when the vain zephyr', then I began to read aloud Yermak's address to the stars from Homer's tragedy. I sentimentally tried to compose myself, and invented a line for the end of each verse: “O Zainab, Zainab!” but could not get any further with it. Meanwhile it was getting towards dinner time. I went down into the valley. A narrow sandy path led through it to the town. I walked along this path....the soft sound of horses' hooves echoed behind me. I instinctively looked around, stood still and took off my hat. I saw my father and Zainab. They rode side by side. My father was saying something to her, leaning towards her, putting his hand on the horse's neck, he was smiling. Zainab listened to him in silence, her eyes cast down miserably, and her lips tightly pressed. At first I just saw them. But a few moments later, Benazir appeared around a bend in the glade, wearing the uniform of a hussar with a palisade, and riding a frothy black horse. The brave horse tossed his head, snorted, and galloped about, his rider immediately catching him and pushing him forward. I stood aside. My father gathered the reins, turned away from Zainab, he slowly raised his eyes to her, and the two galloped off… Baila flew after them, his saber rattling behind him. 'She's as red as a crab,' I thought, 'while she … Why is she so pale? Out riding all morning, and pale? I redoubled my pace, and reached home just in time for dinner. My father was already sitting by my mother's chair, dressed for dinner, fresh from his bath. He was reading an article from the Journal des Debates in his smooth musical voice. But my mother listened to him without attention, and when she saw me asked where I had been all day, adding that she did not like this gooding God knows where and in God knows what company. "But I've been walking alone," I was about to reply, but I looked at my father, and for some reason I was relieved. XV For the next five or six days I hardly saw Xena. She said she was ill, but that didn't stop the usual guests from calling the lodge to pay - as they expressed it, their duty - everyone, except Medan, who promptly left. But became sad and depressed when he didn't have it. A chance to be excited. Benazir sat in a corner with a sad and red face, buttoned up to his throat. An evil smile constantly flashed on Maledave's fair face. He had become really displeased with Zainab, and waited on the old princess with special attention, and even accompanied her in a hired coach to meet the Governor-General. However, the expedition proved unsuccessful and even led to an unpleasant experience for Maledave. He was reminded of some scandal involving some of the officers of the Engineers, and was compelled in his explanations to refer to his youth and inexperience at the time. Luqman came twice a day, but didn't stay long. After our last unsafe conversation I was afraid of him, and at the same time felt a real attraction to him. He went for a walk with me one day in the gardens of Neskoncni, very good-natured and good-natured, told me the names and properties of various plants and flowers, and suddenly, as if nothing had happened, began to weep, beating his forehead with his hands, ' And I, the fool, thought it was a flirtation! It is clear that self-sacrifice is dear to some people!' "What do you mean by that?" I asked. "I don't have anything to tell you," Luqman replied quickly. Zainab avoided me. My presence—I could not help noticing it—affected him unwelcomely. She involuntarily turned away from me… involuntarily. He was the one who was so bitter; he was the one who crushed me! But there was no help for him, and I did not try to cross his path, and only to see him from a distance, in which I was not always successful. As before, something incomprehensible was happening to him. Her face was different, she was completely different. I was particularly struck by the transformation it had undergone on a warm still evening. I was sitting on a low garden bench under a sprawling elder bush. I loved this corner. I could see the window of Zainab's room from there. I sat there; above my head a small bird was flitting about in the darkness of the leaves. A gray cat, stretching itself at full length, was fretting about the garden, and the first beetle was flying largely in the air, which was still clean, though it was not. He sat in the light and looked at the window, and waited to see if it would open. It opened, and Zainab appeared upon it. He was clothed in white, and he himself, his face, shoulders, and arms were pale for whiteness. She stood motionless for a long time, looking straight ahead at him from under her furrowed brows. I never knew she looked like that. Then she clasped her hands firmly, raised them from her lips, to her forehead, and suddenly parted her fingers, she pushed her hair behind her ears, and nodded with a sort of determination, and slapped. The window Three days later she met me in the garden. I was about to back away, but he stopped me. "Give me your arm," he said to me with his old affection, 'it has been so long since we have spoken together.' I stole a glance at him. His eyes were filled with a faint light, and his face seemed as if it were smiling through a mist. “Are you still not well?” I asked her. "No, it's all over now," she replied, and she picked up a small red rose. "I'm a little tired, but this too shall pass." "And will you be the same as before?" I asked. Zainab held the rose to her face and I felt the reflection of its bright petals fall on her cheeks. "Why have I changed?" he asked me. "Yes, you have changed," I replied in a low voice. 'I've been cold to you, I know,' began Zainab, 'but you mustn't mind it...I couldn't help it...Come, why talk about it?!'' "You don't want me to love you that are all!" I cried helplessly. "No, love me, but not like you did." "Then how?" ‘Let’s be friends – come now!’ Zainab gave me a rose to smell. “Listen, you know I'm a lot older than you – I could really be your aunt. Well, not your aunt but an older sister. and U … ' "You think I'm a child," I interjected. “Well, yes, a child, but a sweet one, a good smart one, whom I love very much. Do you know? From today I grant you page status. And don't forget to keep the pages close to your ladies. Here Sticking a rose into the buttonhole of my jacket, he added that it was a token of your new dignity, 'a token of my favor.' “I once received other favors from you,” I murmured. 'Ahh!' 'What a memory he has!', remarked Zainab, and gave me a sidelong glance. Okay fine? I'm all set now...' and leaning towards me he planted a pure, soothing kiss on my forehead. I only looked at him, while he turned away, and, saying, 'Follow me, my page,' went into the lodge. I followed him - all in awe. 'Could this be the descent, decent girl,' I thought, 'the adulteress I knew?' I thought her walk was much calmer, her whole figure more majestic and more beautiful... And, mercy! With what fresh force love was burning in me! XVI After dinner the usual party reassembled in the lodge, and the young princess came out to them. Everyone was there in full force, just like on that first evening which I will never forget. Even Nerma Shitty was horrified to see it. Maidan came first this time, he brought some new verses. The game of necklaces resumed, but without the grotesque pranks, practical jokes and noise – the gypsy element was gone. Zainab gave a different tone to the proceedings. I sat next to him as a page because of my office. Among other things, he suggested that whoever was forced to pay should tell his dream. But it did not succeed. The dreams were either uninteresting (Benazir dreamed that he fed his mare on carp, and she had a wooden head), or unnatural and invented. Medan treated us to a regular romance. There were graves in it, and angels with voices, and flowers and music wafting from afar. Zainab didn't let it end. “If we are to have a composition,” he said, “let each say something, and make no pretense about it. Young Hussain was worried. 'I can't make anything!' he cried. "What nonsense!" said Zainab. 'Well, imagine, for example, that you are married, and tell us how you would treat your wife. Will you turn it off? 'Yes, I should turn it off.' 'And will you live with him yourself?' "Yes, I must stay with him myself." 'Very good. Well, but what if she gets sick of him, and she cheats on you?” “I must kill her.” "And if she ran away?" 'I must catch him and kill him'. 'Oh. And suppose I were your wife now, what would you do?'' Baila was silent for a minute. "I should kill myself..." laughed Zainab. "I see your story is not a long one." The next necklace was Zainab's. She looked at the ceiling and started thinking. 'Well, listen,' he began at last, 'what have I thought…. Picture a magnificent castle, a summer night, and a grand ball. This ball is given by a young queen. Everywhere is gold and marble, crystal, silk, lights, diamonds, flowers, fragrant perfumes, everything of luxury.” “Do you like luxury?” Luqman said. 'Luxury is beautiful,' he replied; 'I love everything beautiful.' "What is more?" he asked. 'It's something smart, I don't understand it. Don’t stop me so the ball is awesome. There is a crowd of guests, all young, handsome and brave, all in love with the queen. "Are there no women among the guests?" asked Maledave. 'No - or wait a minute - yes, there are some'. 'Are they all ugly?' 'No, charming. But the men are all in love with the queen. He is tall and handsome. In her black hair is a small gold bar. I looked at Zainab, and at that moment she seemed to me above all of us, so bright and intelligent, and so much power in her unbroken brow that I thought: 'You are that queen!' 'They're all gathered about him,' Xena went on, 'and they've all made very flattering speeches about him.' "And he likes flattery?" asked Luqman. What an insufferable person! He keeps interrupting… Who doesn't like flattery?” "One last question," observed Maledave, "does the queen have a husband?" 'I hadn't thought of that. No, why would her husband be? 'Surely,' agreed Maledave, 'why should she have a husband?' “Silence!” cried Medan in French, which he pronounced very bad. "Mercy!" said Zainab to him. ‘And so the queen listens to their speeches, and listens to the music, but looks at none of the guests. From top to bottom, six windows are open from floor to ceiling, and beyond them is a black sky with huge stars, a dark garden with big trees. The queen looks at the garden. There is a spring among the trees. It is white in the darkness, and raises tall, tall as an apparition. The queen listens to the gentle gurgling of her waters through words and music. She looks and thinks: All of you, gentlemen, gentle, smart, and rich, you crowd around me; you value every word I say, you are all ready to die at my feet. I hold you in my possession … But out there, by the fountain, by the splashing water, stands and waits for the one I love, who holds me in his possession. He has no fertile robes or precious stones, no one knows him but he waits for me, Surely I will come - and I will come - and there is no power that can stop me when I want to go to him, and be with him, and be with him out in the darkness of the garden, his I want to get lost under the whispering of the trees, and the gurgling of the fountain…'' Zainab stopped. "Is this a made-up story?" Maledave asked slyly. Zainab did not even look at him. "And what should we have done, gentlemen?" began Luqman suddenly, "if we were among the guests, and knew of the lucky fellow of the fountain?" “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Zainab, “I'll tell you myself what each of you must have done. You, Benazir, would have challenged him to a duel. You, Medano, would write an epigram on it … No, though, you cannot write an epigram, you would have composed a long poem on it in the style of Barbier, and put your production in the Telegraph. You, Nerma Shitty, would have borrowed … no, you would have given him money at high interest; you, doctor,” she paused. 'There, I really don't know what you would have done….' 'As court physician,' replied Luqman, 'I would have advised the queen not to give balls when she was not in the mood to entertain her guests. 'Perhaps you are right. And you, Count?” "And me?" repeated Maledave with his evil smile. "You will offer him poisoned sweets." Maledave's face changed slightly, and for a moment he assumed the Jew's expression, but he laughed outright. “And as for you, Munir Shakir,” Xenada said, “But that's enough, though; Let us play another game. "M Waqas, as the queen's page, would have halted her train when she ran into the garden," said Maledave rudely. I was red with anger, but Zainab quickly put her hand on my shoulder, and, rising, said in a low voice: I have never given your majesty the right to be rude, so I will tell you You leave us. He pointed to the door. "On my word, princess," murmured Maledave, and he turned quite pale. "The princess is right," cried Benazir, and he rose too. “Good God, I had not the least idea,” continued Maledave, “my words had nothing, I think, that could happen … I had no idea of ??offending you…. Forgive me.' Zainab coldly looked him up and down and gave a cold smile. "So hang on, sure," he said with a careless gesture of his arm. 'MWaqas and I were needlessly angry. Sting is your pleasure… May it bless you.” "Forgive me," Maledave repeated once more. While I, concentrating my thoughts on Zainab's gesture, repeated to myself that no true queen could show a haughty subject at the door with more dignity. After this little scene, the necklace game continued for a short while. Everyone felt relieved, not so much because of the scene, as from the other, not exactly, but the oppressive feeling. No one talked about it, but everyone felt it in them and in their neighbors. Maidan read us his verses. And Maledave praises them with exaggeration. "He wants to show how good he is now," Luqman whispered to me. We soon broke up. It seemed that Zainab was in a mood of reverence. The old princess sent word that she had a headache. Narma Shitty began to complain of his rheumatism…. I could not sleep for a long time. I was very moved by Zainab's story. “Could there be a hint in this?” I asked myself: “And who and to whom was she hinting? And if there really is anything to hint at…how does one make up one’s minded? No, no, it can't be,” I whispered, moving from one hot cheek to the other…. But I remembered the expression on Zainab's face during her story. I remembered the exclamation I had broken from Lasheen in the gardens of Neskoncni, the sudden change in his demeanor, and I was lost in speculation. "Who is that?" These three words appeared in front of my eyes in the darkness. A drooping deadly cloud hung over me, and I felt its oppression, and waited for it to break. I was used to many things. I learned a lot from what I saw at Zazie. Their disorderly ways, their long candlesticks, their broken knives and forks, their grumpy wonnafty, and the manners of a mean maid, an old princess—all their strange ways of life no longer impressed me…. But what I now dimly understood in adultery, I could never get used to it…. “An adventure!” my mother had said of him one day. An adventurer - that, my idol, my divinity? The word stabbed me, I tried to get away from it in my pillow, I was furious - and at the same time what I would not have believed, what I would not have given only to this lucky fellow of the glasses! Mine The blood was burning and boiling inside me. “Garden… fountain,” I thought… “I'll go to the garden.” I hurriedly got dressed and left the house. The night was dark, the trees were barely whispering, a cool breeze was blowing from the sky, the scent of fennel was coming from the kitchen garden. I went through all the walks. The faint sound of my own footsteps at once confused and encouraged me. I stood still, waiting and listening to my heart beating fast and loud. Finally I walked up to the fence and leaned against the thin bar. Suddenly, or so I thought, a woman's figure appeared a few steps away from me… I eagerly squinted into the darkness, I held my breath. What was that? Did I hear footsteps, or was my heart pounding? “Who's here?” I stammered, barely audible. What was it then, a burst of laughter… or rustling in the leaves… or just a sigh in my ear? I felt scared… "Who's here?" I repeated even more softly. The wind blew in a gust for a moment. A line of fire flashed across the sky; It was a falling star. “Xena?” I wanted to call out, but the words died on my lips. And suddenly everything went dark, as it often does in the middle of the night…. Even the locusts had stopped penetrating the trees - there was only a window somewhere. I stood up and stood, and then went to my room, to my cold bed. I felt a strange feeling. As if I had gone into some temptation, and was left alone, and passed near the happiness of another. XVII The next day I had only a passing glimpse of Zainab: she was going somewhere in a cab with the old princess. But I saw Luqman, who, however, barely congratulated me, and Maledave. The young count smiled, and spoke to me affectionately. Of all the people who came to the lodge, he was the only one who managed to force his way into our house, and that impressed my mother. My father did not take to her, and treated her almost contemptuously. “Ah, Monsieur LePage,” began Maledave, “it is a pleasure to meet you. What is your lovely queen doing?'' Her fresh, handsome face was so repulsive to me at that moment and she looked at me with such contempt that I did not answer her. “Are you still angry?” he went on. 'You have no reason to be. It was not I who called you a page, you know, and pages especially attend the Queen. But allow me to say that you perform your duties very badly. 'How does it go?' Pages should not be separated from their owners; Pages should know everything they do, they should, really, watch over them,” he added, lowering his voice, “day and night.” ''What do you mean?'' 'What do I mean? I express myself very clearly, I like. day and night. With the day it is not so important; It is light, and the people are in the daytime; But at night, then look for misfortune. I advise you not to sleep at night and watch with all your energies. You remember, in the garden, at night, at the fountain, where one needs to look. You will thank me.” Maledave laughed and turned his back on me. Probably, he did not attach much importance to what he said to me, he had a reputation for being mysterious, and for his power of leading people into pretense, which was greatly enhanced by an almost unconscious lie. In which his whole nature was molded.... He just wanted to tease me. But his every word was a poison that ran through my veins. The blood rushed to my head. ''Ah! That's it!” I said to myself. 'Good! So there was a reason for me to be drawn to the garden! It won't happen!” I cried. Loudly, and beat himself on the chest with his fist, though exactly what should not have happened I could not say. 'Does Maledave go into the garden himself,' I thought (he was bragging, perhaps; his insolence is enough for that), 'or someone else (our garden fence was very low, and it was impossible to get over it). There was no difficulty. It), anyway, if someone fell into my hands, it would be the worst for him. I do not advise anyone to visit me! I will prove to the whole world and to him, the traitor (I actually used the word 'traitor') that I can be avenged! I returned to my room, took from the writing-table an English knife which I had recently purchased, felt its sharp edge, and, furrowing my brows with cold and concentrated determination, thrust it into my pocket. As if doing so. Acts meant nothing to me, and not for the first time. My heart filled with anger, and felt as heavy as a stone. All day I kept a furrowed brow and tightly pressed lips, and was constantly pacing up and down, with my hand in my pocket, holding the knife, which was warm from my grasp, while I found myself, Prepared in advance for something terrible. These new unknown sensations so surrounded me and even delighted me that I hardly thought of Xanada. I was constantly harassed by the young gypsy, Aliko - 'Where are you going, young handsome man? Lay there,' and then, 'you are all covered with blood…. Oh, what did you do? Nothing!” With such a cruel smile I repeated “Nothing!” My father was not at home. But my mother, who had been in a constant state of despair for some time past, saw the sad and heroic side of me, and said to me at dinner, 'Why are you crying like a rat in a tub of food?' I just smiled in response, and thought, 'I wish they knew!' I went to my room, but didn't undress. I waited for midnight. Finally hit it. “The time has come!” I muttered through gritted teeth. And buttoning up to the throat, and pulling up my sleeves too, I went into the garden. I had already fixed the place from where to keep watch. At the end of the garden, at the point where the fence, separating our domain from the Zazie, met the common wall grew a solitary pine tree. Standing under its low branches I could see well, as far as the darkness of the night permitted, what was going on around me. Nearby, I ran along a winding path that always seemed mysterious to me. It was slithering like a snake under the fence, which it had signs of at the time. Climbed up, and led to a round arbor made of thick acacias. I made my way to a pine tree, leaned my back against its trunk, and began my watch. The night was the same as before, but the sky was less clouded, and the outline of the bushes, even of the tall flowers, could be seen more distinctly. The first moments of anticipation were oppressive, almost terrifying. I had made up my mind about everything. I only discussed how to act; Even if it thundered, 'Where are you going? Stand up! Show yourself - or die!' Or just attacking…. Every sound, every whisper and rustle, seemed to me wonderful and extraordinary…. I prepared myself.... I leaned forward.... But half an hour passed, an hour passed. My blood had gone still, cold. The consciousness that I was doing it all to no purpose, that I was even a little ridiculous, that Maledave was making fun of me, began to steal over me. I left my ambush, and wandered all over the garden. As if to taunt me, there was no small audible voice anywhere. Everything was at ease. Even our dog was sleeping, curled up in a ball at the gate. I climbed over the ruins of Sabzazar, looked far away at the open country before me, remembered my meeting with Zainab, and fell into a dream…. I started…. I thought I heard the door open, then the faint crack of a broken twig. In two bounds I descended the ruins, and stood silent, all bewildered. Quick, light, but careful steps were clearly heard in the garden. They were coming closer to me. “He's here… he's here, finally!” my heart flared. Hastily, I pulled out a knife from my pocket. Hastily, I opened it. A red glow swirled before my eyes. My hair stood on end with my fear and anger…. The footsteps were coming straight towards me. I bowed - I moved forward to meet him. A man appeared.... My God! It was my father! I recognized him at once, though he was wrapped in a black cloak, and his hat was pulled down over his face. He walked on tiptoe. He did not see me, although I was not hidden by anything. But I was so wrapped up and shrunk together that I thought I was almost on the ground. Jealous Othello, ready for murder, is suddenly transformed into a schoolboy…. I was so surprised by my father's unexpected appearance that at first I did not notice whence he had come or in what direction he had disappeared. I just fascinated myself, and thought, 'Why is my father walking in the garden at night?' When it was all over again. In my horror I dropped my knife in the grass, but I didn't even try to find it. I was so ashamed of myself. I was totally nervous. in a bar. On the way home, however, I went to my seat under the big tree, and looked out at Zainab's window. The small convex panes of the window shone a dull blue in the faint light thrown upon them by the night sky. Suddenly their color started to change. Behind them—I saw it, saw it plainly—gently and carefully a white blind was let down, landed right on the window-frame, and stayed there. “What's that for?” I said almost involuntarily out loud as I found myself in my room once more. "A dream, an opportunity, or..." The speculations that suddenly popped into my head were so new and strange that I didn't dare entertain them. XVIII I woke up in the morning with a headache. My passion from the previous day was gone. It was replaced by emptiness and a kind of sadness I hadn't known until then, like something inside me had died. “Why do you look like a rabbit with half a brain?” Luqman said as he met me. At lunch I looked first at my father, then at my mother: she was as composed as ever. He was secretly irritated as always. I waited to see if my father would make some friendly remarks to me, as he sometimes did. But he didn't even give me his usual cold greeting. "Should I tell Zeenat everything?" I asked in surprise. "It's all the same, anyway; everything is over between us.” I went to see him, but told him nothing, and could not have managed to talk to him if I had wanted to. The old princess's son, a twelve-year-old cadet, had come from Petersburg for a holiday. Zainab immediately handed over her brother to me. 'Here,' said he, 'my dear Volodya,'—it was the first time he had used this pet name for me—'there is a companion for you. His name is also Volodya. Please, like it; He is still shy, but has a good heart. Show him the beautiful gardens, walk with him, and take him under your protection. You would, wouldn't you? You are very good too!” He put both his hands lovingly on my shoulders and I was completely surprised. The boy's presence turned me into a boy too. I silently looked at the cadet, who was silently looking at me. Zainab laughed, and pushed us towards each other. “Hug each other, child!” We hugged each other. “Would you like me to show you around the garden?” I asked the cadet. "If you please," he replied in the husky voice of a regular cadet. Zainab laughed again.... I had time to notice that her face had never had such a brilliant color before. I left with the cadet. There was an old fashioned swing in our garden. I put him on the narrow plank seat, and started rocking him. He sat down in his new little uniform with a broad cloth of hard gold and held tight to the ropes. "You better unbutton your collar," I told him. "It's fine; We are used to it,” he said and cleared his throat. She was like her sister. Eyes especially missed him, I loved being nice to him. And at the same time, a painful sadness was overshadowed in my heart. 'I must be a child now,' I thought. "But yesterday..." I remembered where I had dropped my knife that night. Before, and found it. The cadet asked me, picked up a thick stalk of wild parsley, cut a pipe from it, and began to whistle. Othello also whistled. But how he wept in the evening, this Othello, in Zainab's arms, when seeking him in a corner of the garden, He asked him why he was so sad. My tears flowed with such violence that she was frightened. 'What's your problem? What is it, Volodya?” he repeated. And seeing I made no answer, and did not cease to cry, she was about to kiss my wet cheek. But I turned away from him, and whispered through my sobs, 'I know all. Why did you play with me? Why did you need my love?” "I'm guilty, Volodya..." Zainab said. “I am very guilty…” he said, wringing his hands.”How bad and how black and sinful I am! But now I am not playing with you." I love you; you have no doubt why and how…. But what do you know? What could I say to him? She stood in front of me, and looked at me. And I was completely his from head to toe him looked at me…. A quarter of an hour later I was racing with Cadet and Zainab. I wasn't crying, I was laughing, although a tear or two fell from my swollen eyelids as I laughed. I had a saddle ribbon around my neck, and I screamed with joy every time I managed to grab it by the waist. He did to me as he pleased. XIX I would be in great difficulty, if I were forced to describe what passed within me during the week following my unsuccessful midnight expedition. It was a time of a strange fever, a kind of chaos, in which the most violently opposed emotions, thoughts, doubts, hopes, joys, and sufferings swirled together in a kind of hurricane. I was afraid to look inside myself, if a sixteen-year-old boy could ever look inside. I was afraid to review anything. I just hurried through each day till evening. And at night I fell asleep… The lightness of childhood came to my aid. I didn't want to know if I was loved, and I didn't want to admit to myself that I wasn't loved. I avoided my father - but I could not avoid Zainab…. I burned like a fire in his presence… but what did I care what the fire was in which I burned and melted… enough was sweet enough to burn and melt. I surrendered myself to all my passing sensations, and deceived myself, turned away from the memories, and closed my eyes to what I had previously predicted. This weakness probably wouldn't have lasted long anyway … a crack cut it all in an instant, and set me on a new track altogether. One day, coming from a long walk to dinner, I learned with astonishment that I was dining alone, that my father was gone, and that my mother was ill, did not want dinner, and myself. Was locked in his bedroom. From the faces of the pedestrians, I guessed that something unusual had happened…. I did not dare to cross-examine him, but I had a friend in the young waiter Philip, who was fond of poetry, and a performer on the guitar. I addressed myself to him. From this I learned that there had been a terrible scene between my father and mother (and every word was heard in the maids' room; most of it was in French, but Masha spent five years with the lady (there was a dressmaker from Paris, and she understood it all) that my mother had reproached my father with infidelity, with intimacy with the young lady next door, that my father had at first defended himself, But the latter had lost his temper, and he too had said something cruel 'reflecting his age'. , which made my mother cry; that my mother had also pointed out some loan which seemed to have been made to the old princess, and had spoken very ill of her and of the young lady, and then my father Threatened him. “And all the mischief,” Philip continued, “came from an anonymous letter. And who wrote it, no one knows, otherwise there would have been no reason to come up with the matter. "But was there really any land at all?" I forced out, as my hands and feet grew cold and a sort of shudder ran through me. Philip winked meaningfully. ‘There is no hiding these things. At that time your father was very careful - but there, you see, for example, he wants to hire a car or something … can't even go without servants.'' I dismissed Philip, and collapsed on my bed. I did not cry, I did not give myself over to despair. I did not ask myself when and how it happened. I wasn't surprised how it was. I hadn't guessed it before, long ago. I didn't even say bad things to my father…. What I had learned was more than I could take. This sudden revelation stunned me…. All was over. All the fair flowers of my heart were almost uprooted at once, and lay around me, lay on the ground, and trampled underfoot. Xx My mother announced her intention to return to the city the next day. In the morning my father went to her bedroom, and stayed there alone with her for a long time. No one had heard what he said to her. But my mother cried no more. He regained his composure, and ordered food, but he did not make his appearance or change his plan. I remember that I wandered all day, but did not go into the garden, and did not once look at the lodge, and in the evening I was the spectator of a wonderful event: my father took Count Maledave by the arm during dinner. . room in the hall, and, in the presence of a footman, said to him: 'A few days ago your majesty was shown the door of our house; And now I am not going to enter into any sort of explanation with you, but I have the honor to announce to you that if you ever come to see me again, I will throw you out of the window. I don't like your writing.” The count frowned, bit his lip, shrank and disappeared. Preparations had already begun to take us to the city, Arbati Street, where our house was. My father probably didn't care to live in the country house anymore. But apparently he had succeeded in persuading my mother not to make a public scandal. Everything was done quietly, without haste. My mother even sent her compliments to the old princess, and lamented that her reluctance prevented her from seeing him again before her departure. I wandered around possessed, and only wished for one thing, for it all to be over as soon as possible. One thought could not escape my head: How could she, a young girl and a princess too, bring herself to such a step, knowing that my father was not a free man, and having the opportunity to marry? , for example, Benazir? What did he expect? How she was not afraid that her whole future would be ruined. Yes, I thought, that's love, that's passion, that's devotion… and Luqman's words came back to me: for some people it's cute to sacrifice yourself. Somehow I saw a white object in one of the windows of the lodge…. “Could this be Xena's face?” I thought… yes, it was indeed her face. I couldn't stop myself. I could not part with him without saying a final goodbye. I seized a favorable moment, and went into the lodge. In the drawing-room the old princess met me with her usual slow and careless greeting. “How is it, my good man that your people are in such a hurry?” he observed, sniffling. I looked at him and a burden lifted from my heart. The word 'debt', dropped by Philip, tormented me. He had no doubt…at least I thought so then. Zainab came in from the next room, pale, and dressed in black, her hair hanging loose. He took my hand without a word, and pulled me with him. 'I heard your voice,' she began, 'and immediately came out. Is it that easy for you to just leave us, bad boy?” 'I've come to say goodbye to you, princess, and ‘I replied,’ perhaps forever. You have heard, perhaps, that we are going.” Zainab looked at me carefully. “Yes, I have heard. Thanks for coming. I was beginning to think I should never see you again. Remember not evil against me. I have tormented you sometimes, but I am not what you imagine me to be.” She turned away and leaned against the window. “Really, I'm not like that. I know you have a bad opinion of me. 'I?' "Yes, you… you." 'I? 'I? Believe me, Zainab, whatever you have done, however much you have tormented me, I must love and love you to the end of my days. She turned swiftly towards me, and, stretching out her arms, embraced my head, and gave me a warm and passionate kiss. God knows who that long farewell kiss was looking for, but I eagerly savored its sweetness. I knew it would never happen again. 'Goodbye, goodbye,' I kept saying... She tore herself and went out. And I left. I cannot describe the emotion with which I left. I should never wish them to come again. But I should consider myself unlucky if I had never experienced such emotions. We went back to town. I didn't shake off the past too quickly. I didn't get to work early. My wound started to heal slowly. But I had no grudge against my father. On the contrary he had, as it were, obtained in my eyes… Let the psychologists best explain the paradox. One The other day I was walking along a boulevard, and to my inexpressible joy, I came across Luqman. I loved him because of his straightforward and unaffected character and also because of the memories he evoked in me. I rushed to him. “Ah!” he said, furrowing his eyebrows, “so it's you, young man. Let me take a look at you. You're still as pale as before, but you still don't have the same nonsense in your eyes. You look like a man, not a lap dog. This is a good thing. So what are you doing? Are you working? I heaved a sigh. I did not like to lie, while I was ashamed to tell the truth. 'Well, never mind,' said Luqman, 'don't be shy. The main thing is to live a normal life, and not be a slave to your emotions. If not, what will you get? Wherever you are led by the tide – it is all a bad sight; a man must stand on his feet, if he finds nothing but a rock to stand on. Here, I've got a cough … and Baila - have you heard anything about him?' 'No. what's this?' 'He is lost, and there is no news of him; they say he has gone to the Caucasus. A lesson for you, young man. And it's all about not knowing how to separate in time, to get out of the trap. You seem to have landed very well. Remember not to fall into the same trap again. Goodbye.' 'I won't,' I thought... 'I won't see him again.' But I was lucky to see Zainab once again. XXI My father used to ride a horse every day. He had a splendid English mare, a chestnut pebbly, long slender neck and long legs, an indomitable and vicious beast. His name was Cloud. No one could ride it except my father. One day he came to me in good humor, a frame of mind in which I had not seen him for a long time. He was getting ready for his ride, and had already put on his spurs. I begged him to take me with him. 'We'd better have a game of leapfrog,' replied my father. 'You will never be with me on your elbow.' 'Yes I will; I'll wear Spurs too." "Okay, let's go then." We left. I had a crack black horse, strong and quite spirited. It is true that he had to gallop, even when the electric went full speed, I was not far behind. I have never seen a ride like my father's. He had such a fine carelessly easy seat, that the horse beneath him seemed conscious of it, and proud of his rider. We rode all the boulevards, reached Maiden's Field, jumped several fences (at first I was afraid to jump, but my father had contempt for cowards, and I soon ceased to be afraid), twice. Crossed Ganga River, and I was under the impression that we were on our way home, especially when my father saw of his own accord that my horse was tired, when he suddenly broke away from me at the Crimean Ford, and galloped away. . River bank. I rode behind him. When he reached a high pile of old wood, he quickly slipped off the electric, told me to dismount, and gave him the reins of his horse, told him to wait for him on the woodpile, and turned into a small lane. Went. , missing. I began to walk up and down the bank of the river, spurring the horses forward, and scolding the electric, who pulled, nodded, snorted, and fussed as she went. And never pawed the ground as I stood still, and, crying, bit my beak on the neck. In fact he behaved like a thoroughly depraved race. My father did not come back. An ominous damp mist rose from the river. A fine rain began to fall softly, and dappled the stupid gray timber-stack with little black bushes, which I passed and passed, and by now was sick to death of it. I was very bored and even my father did not come. A kind of sentry man, a feathers, gray as wood, and with a large old-fashioned shako, like a pot, on his head, and a halberd (and, if you think about it, a sentry on the banks of the Ganga How come?!) approached, and turning his wrinkled face, like an old woman's, to me, he said, 'Young master, what are you doing here with the horses? Let me catch them.” I didn't answer him. He asked me for tobacco. To get rid of it (I, too, was impatient), I took a few steps in the direction from which my father had disappeared, then walked along the little street to the end, turned the corner, and went silent. Stood up In the street, forty paces from me, at the open window of a small wooden house, stood my father, his back to me. He was leaning over the window, and in the house, half hidden by a curtain, a woman in a black dress sat talking to my father. This woman was Zainab. I was terrified. This, I confess, I never expected. My first impulse was to run. 'My father must look round,' I thought, 'and I'm lost...' But a strange feeling - stronger than curiosity, stronger than jealousy, stronger than fear - kept me there. I started looking. I strained my ears to listen. It was as if my father was insisting on something. Zainab did not consent. I see her face now—mournful, serious, lovely, and with an indescribable expression of devotion, sorrow, love, and a sort of despair—I find no other word for it. He uttered monosyllabic words, not raising his eyes, just smiling—submissively, but without consequence. From that smile alone, I should have known about my old-time adultery. My father shrugged, and straightened his hat on his head, which was always a sign of impatience with him…. Then I caught the words: 'Vous devez vous séparer de cette…' Zainab sat up, and extended her arm…. Suddenly, in front of my eyes, the impossible happened. My father suddenly raised the broom, with which he was dusting his coat, and I heard a sharp blow on the arm, which was bare up to the elbow. I could hardly stop myself from crying. While Zainab, trembling, looked at my father without a word, and slowly raised her arm to her lips, kissed the red line upon it. My father threw away the litter, and hurried up the stairs into the house…. Zainab turned her neck, and with arms outstretched and head down, she too moved away from the window. My heart sinking with panic, with a kind of panicked fear, I ran back, and ran down the lane, almost letting go of the electric's grip. Went back to the river bank. I couldn't think of anything clearly. I knew that my cold and reserved father was sometimes thrown into fits of rage. And everything, I could never understand what I had just seen…. But I realized then that no matter how long I live, I can never forget Zainab's gesture, look, and smile. That his image, this image suddenly presented to me, was forever imprinted on my memory. I gazed blankly at the river, and never saw my tears fall. 'He's beaten,' I was thinking,... 'beaten... beaten...' ''Hello! What are you doing? Give me the mare!” I heard my father's voice behind me. Mechanically I gave him the reins. He jumped on the electrics … the mare, standing up cold, reared on her haunches, and jumped ten feet away … but my father soon brought her under control. He thrust the spurs into his side, and struck him with his fist upon the neck…. “Ah, I have no litter,” he muttered. I remembered the snapping and falling of the whip, heard some time before, and shuddered. "Where did you put it?" I asked my father after a pause. My father did not answer, and moved on. I left it behind. I felt I should see his face. "Are you bored waiting for me?" he said through gritted teeth. 'just a little. Where did you drop your litter?” I asked again. My father looked at me quickly. 'I didn't leave it,' he replied. “I threw it away,” he mused, and bowed his head… and then, for the first and almost last time, I saw how his hard features were capable of expressing tenderness and pain. . He moved forward again, and this time I couldn't outrun him. I reached home a quarter of an hour later. "This is love," I said to myself again, as I sat at night before my writing-table, upon which the books and papers had begun to take shape. “It is passion!… To think of not rebelling, of enduring a blow from anyone, whatever… even the kindest hand! But it seems one can, if one loves…. When I... I imagined...' I had grown a lot during the last month; And my love, with all its movements and sufferings, made me think of myself as a small and childish and pitiful thing apart from this other unimaginable thing, which I could hardly fully understand, and which made me a The unknown, like the beautiful, was frightening, but The terrible face, which one tries unsuccessfully to make out clearly in the half-darkness…. That night I had a strange and terrifying dream. I dreamed that I went into a less dark room…. My father stood with whip in hand, stamping furiously. In the corner Xena was crouched, and not on her arm, but on her forehead, with a scarlet bandage … while behind them both stood Benazir, covered in blood. He opened his white lips, and angrily threatened my father. Two months later, I entered the university. And within six months my father died of a stroke in Petersburg, where he had just moved with my mother and me. A few days before his death he received a letter from France that threw him into a violent protest…. He went to my mother to ask her for some favor: and, I am told, she positively shed tears – that, my father! He started writing to me in French the day he was injured. 'My son,' he wrote to me, 'fear the love of a woman. Fear this joy, this poison….' After his death, my mother sent a lot of money to France. XXII Four years have passed. I had just left university, and didn't quite know what to do with myself, which door to knock on. I was hanging on for a time for nothing. One fine evening I met Maidan at the theater. He had married, and entered the civil service. But I didn't find any change in it. He fell just as overexcited, and just as suddenly became sad again. 'You know,' he told me, among other things, 'Madame Pushpa Kumari is here.' "What, Madam Pushpa Kumari?" 'Can you forget it? - The young princess Zara Akbar whom we all loved, and you too. Do you remember the country house near Neskuchny Gardens? 'She married Pushpa Kumari?' 'Yes.' 'And is he here at the theater?' 'No: but he is in Petersburg. She came here a few days ago. She is going abroad.” "What kind of man is her husband?" I asked. 'A wonderful fellow, with property. He is a colleague of mine from France. You can understand very well – after the scandal… you must know everything about him…” (Medan smiled significantly) “It was not an easy task for him to marry well. It had its consequences … but with his cleverness everything is possible. Go and see it. He will be happy to see you. She is more beautiful than ever. Maidan gave me Zainab's address. She was staying at Hotel Dammit. Nostala was welling up in me....I resolved to go see my former 'flame' the next day. But some business started. A week passed, and then another, and when at last I went to the Hotel Dammit and asked for Madame Pushpa Kumari, I learned that four days before, she had died, almost suddenly, in childbirth. I felt a kind of stabbing in my heart. The thought that I may have seen him, and not seen him, and never shall see him—the bitter thought overwhelmed me with the full force of a mighty reproach. “She's dead!” I repeated, staring stupidly at the hall porter. I slowly made my way back to the road, and found myself not knowing where I was going. All the past He stood up in front of you and me. So this was the solution, this was the goal for which this young, passionate, brilliant life had made all the haste and tumult. I thought about it; I had those lovely features, those eyes, those wrinkles – in the cramped, damp underground darkness – lying here, not far from me – as long as I lived, and, perhaps, after a few steps from my father… I All this thought; I strained my imagination, and still all the lines: "Heard of his death with indifferent lips, I also heard with indifference" were echoing in my heart. Hey guys! You don't care about anything. You own all the treasures of the universe, even sorrow gives you joy, even sorrow you can turn to your advantage. You are self-confident and cocky; you say, 'I live alone - look at you!' — But your days fly by all the time, and vanish without trace or reckoning. And everything disappears in you, like wax in the sun, like snow…. And, perhaps, the whole secret of your charm lies, not in being able to do anything, but in being able to think that you will do anything. It consists only in throwing you to the winds, powers that you could not otherwise use. Each of us considers himself a stranger, seriously thinking that he is justified in saying, 'Oh, what I would not have done if I had not wasted my time!' I, now… What had I hoped for, what had I hoped for, what glorious future had I foretold, when the ghost of my first love rose for a moment, scarcely a sigh, a Mourning feelings? And what did I expect? And now, when the shadows of evening have fallen over my life, what is left to me fresher and more precious than memories of the storm — so early — of the morning, of the spring? But I wrong myself. Even then, in those tender days of youth, I was not deaf to the voice of sorrow, when it called to me, to the solemn strain that floated to me from beyond the grave. I remember, a few days after I heard the news of Zainab's death, I was, by a strange impulse, present at the death of a poor old woman who lived in the same house as ours. Covered in rags, lying on hard boards, with a sack under her head, she died with great difficulty and pain. His whole life was spent in a bitter struggle with daily necessities. She had not known happiness, had not tasted the honey of happiness. One would have thought that she would rejoice in death. His salvation, his rest. But still, while her rotten body was out, while her breast still heaved in agony under the icy hand that weighed upon her, until her last strength left her, the old woman crossed herself, and kept whispering, 'Lord, forgive me. My sins'; And with only the last spark of consciousness, the look of fear, the horror of the hereafter, vanished from his eyes. And I remember that at that time, on the deathbed of that poor old woman, I felt sorry for Zainab, and wanted to pray for her, for my father, and for myself.