Dark — Section 4
Again he rested his heavy head on his hands, looking askance with the eyes of a wolf at bay; and his thoughts ran on without connection.
So she was Truth!...
That meant that tomorrow and the day after he would not go, and everyone would know why he had not gone, that he had stayed with a girl, drinking; and they would call him traitor and coward and rascal.
Some would intercede for him--would guess ...
no, better not count on that, better see it all as it was!
All over then?
Was this the end?
Into the dark--thus--into the dark?
And what lay beyond?
He did not know.
In the dark?
Probably some new horror.
But then as yet he did not understand their ways.
How strange that one had to learn to be common!
And from whom?
From her?
No, she was no use.
She didn't know anything.
He would find out for himself.
One had to become really common oneself in order to....
Yes, he would wreck something that was great!
And then?
And then, some day he would come back to her, or where they were drinking, or into a prison, and he would say: »Now I am not ashamed, now I am not guilty in any respect in your eyes.
Now I am one like you, besmirched, fallen, unhappy!
« Or he would go into the open street and say: »Look at me, what I am!
I had everything--intellect, honour, dignity--stranger still, immortality.
And all this I flung at the feet of a whore.
I renounced it all because she was common!
« What would they say?
They would gape, and be astounded, and say, »What a fool!
« Yes--yes, a fool!
Was he guilty because he was fine?
Let her--let everyone--try to be fine!
»Sell all thou hast and give to the poor.
« But that was just what he had done, all that he had.
But this was Christ--in whom he did not believe....
Or perhaps....
»He who loses his soul«--not his life, but his soul....
That was what he was contemplating.
Perhaps ...
did Christ himself sin with the sinners, commit adultery, get drunk?
No, he only forgave those who did, and even loved them.
Well, so did he love and forgive and pity her.
Then, why sacrifice himself?
For she was not of the faith.
Nor he.
Nor was this Christ; but something else, something more dreadful.
»Oh, this is dreadful, Liuba!
« »Dreadful, darling?
Yes, it is dreadful to see Truth.
« Truth--again she named it!
But what made it dreadful?
Why should he dread what he so desired?
No--no--there was nothing to fear.
There, in the open, in front of all those gaping mouths, would he not be the highest of them all?
Though naked and dirty and ragged--and his face would be horrible then--he who had lost abandoned himself, would he not be the terrible proclaimer of justice eternal, to which God himself must submit--otherwise he were not God?
»There is nothing dreadful about it, Liuba.
« »Yes, darling, there is.
You are not afraid, and that is well.
But do not provoke it.
There is no need to do that.
« »So that is it--that is my end!
It is not what I expected--not what I expected for the end of my young and beautiful life.
My God, but this is senseless!
I must have gone mad!
Still it is not too late ...
not too late ...
I can still escape.
« »My darling,« the woman was murmuring, her hands still clasped behind her head.
He glanced at her and frowned.
Her eyes were blissfully closed; a happy, unthinking smile upon her lips expressed an unquenchable thirst, an insatiable hunger, as though she had just tasted something and was preparing for more.
He looked down on her and frowned--on her thin soft arms, on the dark hollows of her armpits; and he got up without any haste.
With a last effort to save something precious--life or reason, or the good old Truth--without any flurry, but solemnly, he began dressing himself.
He could not find his collar.
»Tell me, have you seen my collar?
« »Where are you going?
« The woman looked round.
Her hands fell away from her head, and the whole of her strained forward towards him.
»I am going away.
« »You are going away?
« she repeated, dragging the words.
»You are going?
Where?
« He smiled derisively.
»As if I had nowhere to go!
I am going to my comrades.
« »To the fine folk?
Have you cheated me?
« »Yes.
To the fine folk.
« Again the same smile.
He had finished dressing, he was feeling his pockets.
»Give me my pocket-book.
« She handed it to him.
»And my watch.
« She gave it to him.
They had been lying together on the little table.
»Goodbye.
« »Are you frightened?
« The question was quiet and simple.
He looked up.
There stood a woman, tall and shapely, with thin, almost child-like arms, a pale smile, and blanched lips, asking: »Are you frightened?
« How strangely she could change!
Sometimes forceful and even terrible, she was now pathetic and more like a girl than a woman.
But all this was of no account.
He stepped toward the door.
»But I thought you were going to stay....
« »What?
« »The key's in your pocket--for my sake.
« The lock was already creaking.
»Very well, then!
Go ...
go to your comrades and....
« It was then, at the last moment, when he had nothing to do but to open the door and go out and seek his comrades and end a noble life with a heroic death--it was then he committed the wild, incomprehensible act that ruined his life.
It may have been a frenzy that sometimes unaccountably seizes hold of the strongest and calmest minds; or it may have been actually that, through the drunken scraping of a fiddle somewhere in that bawdy house, through the sorcery of the downcast eyes of a prostitute, he discovered a last new terrible truth of life, a truth of his own, which none other could see and understand.
Whichever it were--insanity or revelation, lies or truth, this new understanding of his--he accepted it manfully and unconditionally, with that inflexible spirit which had drawn his previous life along one straight, fiery line, directing its flight like the feathers on an arrow.
He passed his hand slowly, very slowly, over his hard, bristly skull, and, without even shutting the door, simply returned and sat in his former place on the bed.
His broad cheekbones, his paleness, made him look more than ever a foreigner.
»What's the matter?
Have you forgotten something?
« The girl was astonished.
She no longer expected anything.
»No. « »What is it?
Why don't you go?
« Quietly, with the expression of a stone on which life has engraved one last commandment, grim and new, he answered: »I do not wish to be fine.
« She still waited, not daring to believe, suddenly shrinking from what she had so much sought and yearned for.
She knelt down.
He smiled gently, and in the same new and impressive manner stood over her and placed his hand on her head and repeated: »I do not want to be fine.
« The woman busied herself swiftly in her joy.
She undressed him like a child, unlaced his boots, fumbling at the knots, stroked his head, his knees, and never so much as smiled--so full was her heart.
Then she looked up into his face and was afraid.
»How pale you are!
Drink something now--at once!
Are you feeling ill, Peter?
« »My name is Alexis.
« »Never mind that.
Here, let me give you some in a glass.
Well, take care then; don't choke yourself!
If you're not used to it, it's not so easy as out of a glass.
« She opened her mouth, seeing him drink with slow, sceptical gulps.
He coughed.
»Never mind!
You'll be a good drinker, I can see that!
Oh, how happy I am!
« With an animal cry she leapt on him, and began smothering him with short, vigorous kisses, to which he had no time to respond.
It was funny--she was a stranger, yet kissed so hard!
He held her firmly for a moment, held her immovable, and was silent awhile, himself motionless--held her as though he too felt the strength of quiescence, the strength of a woman, as his own strength.
And the woman, joyously, obediently, became limp in his arms.
»So be it!
« he said, with an imperceptible sigh.
The woman bestirred herself anew, burning in the savagery of her joy as in a fire.
Her movements filled the room, as if she were not one but a score of half-witted women who spoke, stirred, went to and fro, kissed him.
She plied him with cognac, and drank more herself.
Then a sudden recollection seized her; she clasped her hands.
»But the revolver--we forgot that!
Give it to me--quick, quick!
I must take it to the office.
« »Why?
« »Oh, I'm scared of the thing!
Would it go off at once?
« He smiled, and repeated: »Would it go off at once?
Yes, it would.
At once!
« He took out his revolver, and, deliberately weighing in his hand that silent and obedient weapon, gave it to the girl.
He also handed her the cartridge clips.
»Take them!
« When he was left alone and without the revolver he had carried so many years, the half open door letting in the sound of strange voices and the clink of spurs, he felt the whole weight of the great burden he had taken on his shoulders.
He walked silently across the room in the direction where They were to be found, and said one word: »Well?
« A chill came over him as he crossed his arms, facing Them; and that one little word held many meanings--a last farewell--some obscure challenge, some irrevocable evil resolution to fight everyone, even his own comrades--a little, a very little, sense of reproach.
He was still standing there when Liuba ran in, excitedly calling to him from the door.
»Dearie, dearie, now don't be angry.
I've asked my friends here, some of them.
You don't mind?
You see, I want so much to show them my sweetheart, my darling; you don't mind?
They're dears!
Nobody has taken them this evening and they're all alone.
The officers have gone to bed now.
One of them noticed your revolver and liked it.
A very fine one, he said.
You don't mind?
You don't mind, dear?
« And the girl smothered him with short, sharp kisses.
The women were already coming in, chattering and simpering--five or six of the ugliest or oldest of the establishment--painted, with drooping eyes, their hair combed up over their brows.
Some of them affected attitudes of shame, and giggled; others quietly eyed the cognac, and looking at him earnestly shook hands.
Apparently they had already been to bed; they were all in scanty wrappers; one very fat woman, indolent and indifferent, had come in nothing but a petticoat, her bare arms and corpulent bosom incredibly fat.
This fat woman, and another one with an evil bird-like aged face, on which the white paint lay like dirty stucco on a wall, were quite drunk; the others were merry.
All this mob of women, half naked, giggling, surrounded him; and an intolerable stench of bodies and stale beer rose and mingled with the clammy, soapy air of the room.
A sweating lackey hurried in with cognac, dressed in a tight frocks coat much too small for him, and the girls greeted him with a chorus of: »Màrkusha!
Oh, Màrkusha!
Dear Màrkusha!
« Apparently it was a custom of the house to greet him with such exclamations, for even the fat drunken woman murmured lazily, »Màrkusha!
« They drank and clinked glasses, all talking at once about affairs of their own.
The evil-looking woman with the bird-like face was irritably and noisily telling of a guest who took her for a time ...
and then something had happened.
There was much interchange of gutterswords and phrases, pronounced not with the indifference of men, but with a peculiar asperity, even acidity; and every object was called by its proper name.
At first they paid little heed to him, and he maintained an obstinate silence, merely looking on.
Liuba, full of her happiness, sat quietly beside him on the bed, one arm about his neck, herself drinking little, but constantly plying him, and from time to time whispering in his ear, »Darling!
« He drank heavily, but it did not make him tipsy; what was happening in him was something different, something which strong alcohol often secretly effects.
Whilst he drank and sat there silent, the work was going on in him, vast, destructive, swift, and numbing.
It was as though all he had known in his past life, all he had loved and meditated--talks with companions, books, perilous and alluring tasks--was noiselessly being burned, annihilated without a trace, and he himself not injured in the process, but rather made stronger and harder.
With every glass he drank he seemed to return to some earlier self of his, to some primitive rebel ancestor, for whom rebellion was religion and religion rebellion.
Like a colour being washed away in boiling water, his foreign bookish wisdom was fading and was being replaced by something of his very own, wild and dark as the black earth--from whose bleak stretches, from the infinitudes of slumbrous forest and boundless plain, blew the wind that was the life-breath of this ultimate blind wisdom of his; and in this wind could be heard the tumultuous jangling of bells, and through it could be seen the blood-red dawn of great fires, and the clank of iron fetters, and the rapture of prayer, and the Satanic laughter of myriad giant throats;
and above his uncovered head the murky dome of the sky.
Thus he sat.
Broad cheeked, pallid, already quite at home with these miserable creatures racketing around him.
And, in his soul, laid waste by the conflagration of a desolated world, there glowed and gleamed, like a white fire of incandescent steel, one thing alone--his flaming will; blind now and purposeless, it was still greedily reaching out afar, while his body, undisturbed, was secretly being steeled in the feeling of limitless power and ability to create all things or to shatter all things at will.
Suddenly he hammered on the table with his fist.
»Drink, Liubka!
Drink!
« And when, radiant and smiling, she had poured herself out a glass, he lifted his, and cried aloud.
»Here's to our Brotherhood!
« »You mean Them?
« whispered Liuba.
»No, these.
To our Brotherhood!
To the blackguards, brutes and cowards, to those who are crushed by life, to those perishing from syphilis, to....
« The other girls laughed, the fat one indolently objecting: »Oh, come, that's going a bit too far, my dear!
« »Hush!
« said Liuba, turning very pale, »He is my betrothed.
« »To those who are blind from birth!
Ye who can see, pluck out your eyes!
For it is shameful«--and he banged on the table--»it is shameful for those who have sight to look upon those who are blind from birth!
If with our light we cannot illumine all the darkness, then let us put out the signal fires, let us all crawl in the dark!
If there be not paradise for all, then I will have none for myself!
And this, girls, this is no part of paradise, but simply and plainly a piggery!
A toast, girls!
That all the signal fires be extinguished.
Drink!
To the Dark!
« He staggered a little as he drank off his glass.
He spoke rather thickly, but firmly, precisely, with pauses, enunciating every syllable.
Nobody understood his wild speech, but they found him pleasing in himself, his pale figure and his peculiar quality of wickedness.
Then Liuba suddenly took up the word, stretching out her hands.
»He is my betrothed.
He will stay with me.
He was virtuous and had comrades, and now he will stay with me!
« »Come and take Markusha's place,« the fat woman drawled.
»Shut up, Manka, or I'll smash your face!
He will stay with me.
He was virtuous....
« »We were all virtuous once,« the evil old woman grumbled.
And the others joined in: »I was straight four years ago ...
I'm an honourable woman still ...
I swear to God....
« Liuba was nearly weeping.
»Silence, you sluts!
You had your honour taken from you; but he gives it me himself.
He takes it and gives it for my honour.
But I don't want honour!
You're a lot of ...
and he's still an innocent boy!
« She broke into sobs.
There was a general outburst of laughter.
They guffawed as only the drunken can, without any restraint; the little room, saturated with sounds, and unable to absorb any more, threw it all back in a deafening roar.
They laughed until the tears fell; they rolled together and groaned with it.
The fat woman clucked in a little thin voice and tumbled exhausted from her chair.
And, last of all, he laughed out loud at the sight of them.
It was as though the Satanic world itself had foregathered there to laugh to its grave that little sprig of virtue, the dead innocence itself joining in the laughter.
The only one who did not laugh was Liuba.
Trembling with agitation, she wrung her hands and shouted at them, and finally flung herself with her fists on the fat woman, who even with her beam-like arms could hardly ward off her blows.
»So be it!
« he shouted in his laughter.
But the others could hear nothing.
At last the noise died down a little.
»So be it!
« he cried, a second time.
»But, peace!
Silence!
--I have something to show you!
« »Leave them alone,« said Liuba, wiping her tears away with her fist.
»We must get rid of them.
« Still shaking with laughter he turned round to face her.
»Are you frightened?
« he asked.
»Was it honour you wanted after all?
You fool!
It's the only thing you ever have wanted!
Leave me alone!
« Without taking any more notice of her, he addressed himself to the others, rising and holding his closed hands above his head.
»Listen!
I'll show you something!
Look here, at my hands!
« Merry and curious, they looked at his hands, and waited obediently, like children, with gaping mouths.
»Here!
Here!
See?
« He shook his hands.
»I hold my life in my hands!
Do you see?
« »Yes!
Yes!
Go on!
« »My life was noble, it was!
It was pure and beautiful.
Yes, it was!
It was like those pretty porcelain vases.
And now, look!
I fling it away....
« He let fall his hands, almost with a groan, and all their eyes looked downwards as though there really lay something down there, something delicate and brittle, that had been shattered into fragments--a beautiful human life.
»Trample on it, now, girls!
