is hard to imagine. He lived in a dilapidated hovelat no great distance from our house. His elder daughter Raissa livedwith him and kept house, so far as that was possible. This Raissa isthe character whom I must now introduce into our story.
XII
When her father was on friendly terms with mine, we used to see hercontinually. She would sit with us for hours at a time, either sewing,or spinning with her delicate, rapid, clever fingers. She was awell-made, rather thin girl, with intelligent brown eyes and a long,white, oval face. She talked little but sensibly in a soft, musicalvoice, barely opening her mouth and not showing her teeth. When shelaughed--which happened rarely and never lasted long--they were allsuddenly displayed, big and white as almonds. I remember her gait, too,light, elastic, with a little skip at each step. It always seemed to methat she was going down a flight of steps, even when she was walking onlevel ground. She held herself erect with her arms folded tightly overher bosom. And whatever she was doing, whatever she undertook, if shewere only threading a needle or ironing a petticoat--the effect wasalways beautiful and somehow--you may not believe it--touching. HerChristian name was Raissa, but we used to call her Black-lip: she hadon her upper lip a birthmark; a little dark-bluish spot, as though shehad been eating blackberries; but that did not spoil her: on thecontrary. She was just a year older than David. I cherished for her afeeling akin to respect, but we were not great friends. But betweenher and David a friendship had sprung up, a strange, unchildlike butgood friendship. They somehow suited each other.
Sometimes they did not exchange a word for hours together, but bothfelt that they were happy and happy because they were together. I hadnever met a girl like her, really. There was something attentive andresolute about her, something honest and mournful and charming. Inever heard her say anything very intelligent, but I never heard hersay anything commonplace, and I have never seen more intelligent eyes.After the rupture between her family and mine I saw her lessfrequently: my father sternly forbade my visiting the Latkins, and shedid not appear in our house again. But I met her in the street, inchurch and Black-lip always aroused in me the same feeling--respectand even some wonder, rather than pity. She bore her misfortunes verywell indeed. "The girl is flint," even coarse-witted, Trankvillitatinsaid about her once, but really she ought to have been pitied: herface acquired a careworn, exhausted expression, her eyes were hollowand sunken, a burden beyond her strength lay on her young shoulders.David saw her much oftener than I did; he used to go to their house.My father gave him up in despair: he knew that David would not obeyhim, anyway. And from time to time Raissa would appear at the hurdlefence of our garden which looked into a lane and there have aninterview with David; she did not come for the sake of conversation,but told him of some new difficulty or trouble and asked his advice.The paralysis that had attacked Latkin was of a rather peculiar kind.His arms and legs had grown feeble, but he had not lost the use ofthem, and his brain indeed worked perfectly; but his speech wasmuddled and instead of one word he would pronounce another: one had toguess what it was he wanted to say.... "Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo," hewould stammer with an effort--he began every sentence with"Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo, some scissors, some scissors," ... and the wordscissors meant bread.... My father, he hated with all the strength lefthim--he attributed all his misfortunes to my father's curse and calledhim alternately the butcher and the diamond-merchant. "Tchoo, tchoo,don't you dare to go to the butcher's, Vassilyevna." This was what hecalled his daughter though his own name was Martinyan. Every day hebecame more exacting; his needs increased.... And how were those needsto be satisfied? Where could the money be found? Sorrow soon makes oneold: but it was horrible to hear some words on the lips of a girl ofseventeen.
XIII
I remember I happened to be present at aconversation with David over the fence, on thevery day of her mother's death.
"Mother died this morning at daybreak," shesaid, first looking round with her dark expressive eyes and thenfixing them on the ground.
"Cook undertook to get a coffin cheap but she's not to be trusted; shemay spend the money on drink, even. You might come and look after her,Davidushka, she's afraid of you."
"I will come," answered David. "I will see to it. And how's yourfather?"
"He cries; he says: 'you must spoil me, too.' Spoil must mean bury.Now he has gone to sleep." Raissa suddenly gave a deep sigh. "Oh,Davidushka, Davidushka!" She passed her half-clenched fist over herforehead and her eyebrows, and the action was so bitter ... and assincere and beautiful as all her actions.
"You must take care of yourself, though," David observed; "you haven'tslept at all, I expect.... And what's the use of crying? It doesn'thelp trouble."
"I have no time for crying," answered Raissa.
"That's a luxury for the rich, crying," observed David.
Raissa was going, but she turned back.
"The yellow shawl's being sold, you know; part of mother's dowry. Theyare giving us twelve roubles; I think that is not much."
"It certainly is not much."
"We shouldn't sell it," Raissa said after a brief pause, "but you seewe must have money for the funeral."
"Of course you must. Only you mustn't spend money at random. Thosepriests are awful! But I say, wait a minute. I'll come. Are you going?I'll be with you soon. Goodbye, darling."
"Good-bye, Davidushka, darling."
"Mind now, don't cry!"
"As though I should cry! It's either cooking the dinner or crying. Oneor the other."
"What! does she cook the dinner?" I said to David, as soon as Raissawas out of hearing, "does she do the cooking herself?"
"Why, you heard that the cook has gone to buy a coffin."
"She cooks the dinner," I thought, "and her hands are always so cleanand her clothes so neat.... I should like to see her there at work inthe kitchen.... She is an extraordinary girl!"
I remember another conversation at the fence. That time Raissa broughtwith her her little deaf and dumb sister. She was a pretty child withimmense, astonished-looking eyes and a perfect mass of dull, blackhair on her little, head (Raissa's hair, too, was black and hers, too,was without lustre). Latkin had by then been struck down by paralysis.
"I really don't know what to do," Raissa began. "The doctor haswritten a prescription. We must go to the chemist's; and our peasant(Latkin had still one serf) has brought us wood from the village and agoose. And the porter has taken it away, 'you are in debt to me,' hesaid."
"Taken the goose?" asked David.
"No, not the goose. He says it is an old one; it is no good foranything; he says that is why our peasant brought it us, but he istaking the wood."
"But he has no right to," exclaimed David.
"He has no right to, but he has taken it. I went up to the garret,there we have got a very, very old trunk. I began rummaging in it andwhat do you think I found? Look!"
She took from under her kerchief a rather large field glass in acopper setting, covered with morocco, yellow with age. David, as aconnoisseur of all sorts of instruments, seized upon it at once.
"It's English," he pronounced, putting it first to one eye and then tothe other. "A marine glass."
"And the glasses are perfect," Raissa went on. "I showed it to father;he said, 'Take it and pawn it to the diamond-merchant'! What do youthink, would they give us anything for it? What do we want a telescopefor? To look at ourselves in the looking-glass and see what beautieswe are? But we haven't a looking-glass, unluckily."
And Raissa suddenly laughed aloud. Her sister, of course, could nothear her. But most likely she felt the shaking of her body: she clungto Raissa's hand and her little face worked with a look of terror asshe raised her big eyes to her sister and burst into tears.
"That's how she always is," said Raissa, "shedoesn't like one to laugh.
"Come, I won't, Lyubotchka, I won't," she added, nimbly squatting onher heels beside the child and passing her fingers through her hair.The laughter vanished from Raissa's face and her lips, the corners ofwhich twisted upwar
ds in a particularly charming way, becamemotionless again. The child was pacified. Raissa got up.
"So you will do what you can, about the glass I mean, Davidushka. ButI do regret the wood, and the goose, too, however old it may be."
"They would certainly give you ten roubles," said David, turning thetelescope in all directions. "I will buy it of you, what could bebetter? And here, meanwhile, are fifteen kopecks for the chemist's....Is that enough?"
"I'll borrow that from you," whispered Raissa, taking the fifteenkopecks from him.
"What next? Perhaps you would like to pay interest? But you see I havea pledge here, a very fine thing.... First-rate people, the English."
"They say we are going to war with them."
"No," answered David, "we are fighting the French now."
"Well, you know best. Take care of it, then. Good-bye, friends."
XIV
Here is another conversation that took place beside the same fence.Raissa seemed more worried than usual.
"Five kopecks for a cabbage, and a tiny little one, too," she said,propping her chin on her hand. "Isn't it dear? And I haven't had themoney for my sewing yet."
"Who owes it you?" asked David.
"Why, the merchant's wife who lives beyond the rampart."
"The fat woman who goes about in a green blouse?"
"Yes, yes."
"I say, she is fat! She can hardly breathe for fat. She positivelysteams in church, and doesn't pay her debts!"
"She will pay, only when? And do you know, Davidushka, I have freshtroubles. Father has taken it into his head to tell me his dreams--youknow he cannot say what he means: if he wants to say one word, itcomes out another. About food or any everyday thing we have got usedto it and understand; but it is not easy to understand the dreams evenof healthy people, and with him, it's awful! 'I am very happy,' hesays; 'I was walking about all among white birds to-day; and the LordGod gave me a nosegay and in the nosegay was Andryusha with a littleknife,' he calls our Lyubotchka, Andryusha; 'now we shall both bequite well,' he says. 'We need only one stroke with the little knife,like this!' and he points to his throat. I don't understand him, but Isay, 'All right, dear, all right,' but he gets angry and tries toexplain what he means. He even bursts into tears."
"But you should have said something to him," I put in; "you shouldhave made up some lie."
"I can't tell lies," answered Raissa, and even flung up her hands.
And indeed she could not tell lies.
"There is no need to tell lies," observed David, "but there is no needto kill yourself, either. No one will say thank you for it, you know."
Raissa looked at him intently.
"I wanted to ask you something, Davidushka; how ought I to spell'while'?"
"What sort of 'while'?"
"Why, for instance: I hope you will live a long _while_."
"Spell: w-i-l-e."
"No," I put in, "w-h-i-l-e."
"Well, it does not matter. Spell it with an h, then! What does matteris, that you should live a long while."
"I should like to write correctly," observed Raissa, and she flushed alittle.
When she flushed she was amazingly pretty at once.
"It may be of use.... How father wrote in his day ... wonderfully! Hetaught me. Well, now he can hardly make out the letters."
"You only live, that's all I want," David repeated, dropping his voiceand not taking his eyes off her. Raissa glanced quickly at him andflushed still more.
"You live and as for spelling, spell as you like.... Oh, the devil,the witch is coming!" (David called my aunt the witch.) "What ill-luckhas brought her this way? You must go, darling."
Raissa glanced at David once more and ran away.
David talked to me of Raissa and her family very rarely andunwillingly, especially from the time when he began to expect hisfather's return. He thought of nothing but him and how we should livetogether afterwards. He had a vivid memory of him and used to describehim to me with particular pleasure.
"He is big and strong; he can lift three hundred-weight with onehand.... When he shouted: 'Where's the lad?' he could be heard allover the house. He's so jolly and kind ... and a brave man! Nobody canintimidate him. We lived so happily together before we were ruined.They say he has gone quite grey, and in old days his hair was as redas mine. He was a strong man."
David would never admit that we might remain in Ryazan.
"You will go away," I observed, "but I shall stay."
"Nonsense, we shall take you with us."
"And how about my father?"
"You will cast off your father. You will be ruined if you don't."
"How so?"
David made me no answer but merely knitted his white brows.
"So when we go away with father," he began again, "he will get a goodsituation and I shall marry."
"Well, that won't be just directly," I said.
"No, why not? I shall marry soon."
"You?"
"Yes, I; why not?"
"You haven't fixed on your wife, I suppose."
"Of course, I have."
"Who is she?"
David laughed.
"What a senseless fellow you are, really? Raissa, of course."
"Raissa!" I repeated in amazement; "you are joking!"
"I am not given to joking, and don't like it."
"Why, she is a year older than you are."
"What of it? but let's drop the subject."
"Let me ask one question," I said. "Does she know that you mean tomarry her?"
"Most likely."
"But haven't you declared your feelings?"
"What is there to declare? When the time comes I shall tell her. Come,that's enough."
David got up and went out of the room. When I was alone, I pondered ...and pondered ... and came to the conclusion that David would actlike a sensible and practical man; and indeed I felt flattered at thethought of being the friend of such a practical man!
And Raissa in her everlasting black woollen dress suddenly seemed tome charming and worthy of the most devoted love.
XV
David's father still did not come and did not even send a letter. Ithad long been summer and June was drawing to its end. We were wearingourselves out in suspense.
Meanwhile there began to be rumours that Latkin had suddenly becomemuch worse, and that his family were likely to die of hunger or elsethe house would fall in and crush them all under the roof.
David's face even looked changed and he became so ill-tempered andsurly that there was no going near him. He began to be more oftenabsent from home, too. I did not meet Raissa at all. From time totime, I caught a glimpse of her in the distance, rapidly crossing thestreet with her beautiful, light step, straight as an arrow, with herarms crossed, with her dark, clever eyes under her long brows, with ananxious expression on her pale, sweet face--that was all. My aunt withthe help of her Trankvillitatin pitched into me as before, and asbefore reproachfully whispered in my ear: "You are a thief, sir, athief!" But I took no notice of her; and my father was very busy, andoccupied with his writing and driving all over the place and did notwant to hear anything.
One day, passing by the familiar apple-tree, more from habit thananything I cast a furtive glance in the direction of the little spot Iknew so well, and it suddenly struck me that there was a change in thesurface of the soil that concealed our treasure ... as though therewere a little protuberance where there had been a hollow, and the bitsof rubbish were disarranged. "What does that mean?" I wondered. "Cansomeone have guessed our secret and dug up the watch?"
I had to make certain with my own eyes. I felt, of course, the mostcomplete indifference in regard to the watch that lay rusting in thebosom of the earth; but was not prepared to let anyone else make useof it! And so next day I got up before dawn again and arming myselfwith a knife went into the orchard, sought out the marked spot underthe apple-tree, began digging--and after digging a hole a yard deepwas forced to the conviction that the
watch was gone, that someone hadgot hold of it, taken it away, stolen it!
But who could have dug it up except David?
Who else knew where it was?
I filled in the hole and went back to the house. I felt deeplyinjured.
"Supposing," I thought, "that David needs the watch to save his futurewife or her father from dying of starvation.... Say what you like, thewatch was worth something.... Why did he not come to me and say:'Brother' (in David's place I should have certainly begun by sayingbrother), 'brother, I need money; you have none, I know, but let memake use of that watch which we buried together under the oldapple-tree? It is of no use to anyone and I shall be so grateful toyou, brother!' With what joy I should have consented. But to actsecretly, treacherously, not to trust his friend.... No! No passion, nonecessity would justify that!"
I repeat, I felt horribly injured. I began by a display of coldnessand sulking....
But David was not one of the sort to notice this and be upset by it.
I began dropping hints.
But David appeared not to understand my