Dark — Section 5
»Women?
What do you mean, darling?
« »Young, gentle girls, still in their teens.
They follow in the steps of the men, manfully, daringly, die with them....
« »Die!
Oh my God!
« she cried, clutching his shoulder.
»What?
Are you touched by this?
« »Never mind, darling.
I sometimes....
Go on with your story!
Go on!
« And he went on with his story, and there happened a wonderful thing.
Ice was turned into fire.
Through the funeral notes of hi requiem speech, suddenly rang for the girl, her eyes wide open now and burning, the gospel of a new, joyous, and mighty life.
Tears rose in her eyes and dried there as in a furnace; she was excited to the pitch of rebellion, eager for every word.
Like a hammer upon glowing iron, his words were forging in her a new responsive soul Steadily, regularly, it fell--beating the soul ever to a finer temper--and suddenly, in the suffocating stench of that room, there spoke aloud a new and unknown voice, the voice of a human being.
»Darling, am I not also a woman?
« »What do you mean?
« »I also might go with Them?
« He did not reply, and in his silence he seemed to her so remarkable and so great (he had been Their comrade, had lived with Them) that it felt uncomfortable to be lying beside him, embracing him.
She moved away a little and left only a hand touching him, so that the contact might be less; and forgetting her hatred of the Fine, her tears and curses, and the long years of inviolable solitude in the depths--overcome by the beauty and self-denial of Their lives--her face flushed with excitement, and she was ready to weep at the terrible thought that They might not accept her.
»Dear, but will they take me?
My God, if they won't!
What do you think?
Tell me they'll take me--they won't be squeamish!
They won't say: You are impossible, you are vile, you have sold yourself!
Answer me!
« Silence--and then a reply that rejoiced.
»Yes, they will!
Why not, indeed?
« »Oh, my darling.
But....
« »Fine people, they are!
« The man's voice had the finality of a big fat full stop, but the girl triumphantly repeated, with a touching confidence: »Yes!
They are fine!
« And so radiant was her smile that it seemed as if the very darkness smiled in sympathy and some little stars strayed in as well, little blue points of light.
For a new truth had reached her--one that brought not fear, but joy.
Then the shy suppliant voice.
»Let us go to them, dear?
You'll take me with you?
You won't be ashamed of having such a companion?
For they'll accept me, won't they?
Just as you did when you came here?
Surely you were driven here for some purpose!
But--to stay here--you would simply drop into the cesspool.
As for me, I--I--I will try.
Why don't you say anything?
« Grim silence again, in which could be heard the beating of two hearts--one rapid, hurried, excited; the other hard and slow, strongely slow.
»Would you be shamed to go back with such as me?
« A stern prolonged silence, and then a reply, solid and inflexible as unpolished rock: »I am not going back.
I don't want to be fine.
« Silence.
Then presently: »They are gentlemen,« he said, and his voice sounded solitary and strained.
»Who?
« she asked, dully.
»They--Those who were.
« A long silence--this time as though a bird had thrown itself down and was falling, whirling through the air on its pliant wings, but unable to reach the earth, unable to strike the ground and lie at rest.
In the dark he knew that Liuba, silently, carefully, making the least stir possible, passed over him; was busying herself with something.
»What are you doing?
« »I don't like lying there like that.
I want to get dressed.
« Then she must have put something on and sat down; for the chair creaked ever so little; and it became so still--as silent as though the room were empty.
The stillness lasted a long time; and then the calm, serious voice spoke: »I think, Liuba, there is still one cognac left on the table.
Take a drink and come and lie down again.
« * * * * * Day was already dawning, and in the house all was as quiet as in any other house, when the police appeared.
After long arguments and hesitations Mark had been dispatched to the police station with the revolver and cartridges and a circumstantial account of the strange visitor.
The police at once guessed who he was.
For three days they had had him on their nerves.
They had been seeing him here, there, and everywhere; but finally, all trace of him had been lost.
Somebody had suggested searching the brothels of the district; but just then somebody else got another false clue, so the public resorts were forgotten.
The telephone tinkled excitedly.
Half an hour later, in the chill of the October morning, heavy boots were scrunching the hoar-frost and along the empty streets moved in silence a company of policemen and detectives.
In front of them, feeling in every inch of his body what a mistake it was to take the risks of such exposure, marched the district superintendent, an elderly man, very tall, in a thick official overcoat, the shape of a sack.
He was yawning, burying his flabby red nose in his grey whiskers; and he was thinking that he ought to wait for the military; that it was nonsense to go for such a man without soldiers, with nothing but stupid drowsy policemen who didn't know how to shoot.
More than once he reached the point of calling himself the slave of duty, yawning every time long and heavily.
The superintendent was a drunkard, a regular debauchee of the resorts of his district; and they paid him heavily for the right to exist.
He had no desire to die.
When they called him from his bed, he had nursed his revolver for a long time from one greasy palm to the other, and although there was little time to spare he had ordered them to clean his jacket, as though for a review.
That very night at the police station, he remembered, conversation had turned on this same man who had been dodging them all, and the superintendent, with the cynicism of an old sot, had called the man a hero and himself an old police trollop.
When his assistants laughed, he had assured them that such heroes must exist, if only to be hanged.
»You hang him--and it pleases you both: him because he is going straight to the Kingdom of Heaven, and you as a demonstration that brave men still exist.
Don't snigger--it's true.
« On that chill October morning, marching along the cold streets, he appreciated clearly that the talk of yesterday was lies; that the man was nothing but a rascal.
He was ashamed of his own boyish extravagance.
»A hero, indeed!
« the superintendent prayerfully recanted.
»Lord, if he so much as stirs a finger, the blackguard, I'll kill him like a dog.
By God, I will!
« And that set him thinking why he, the superintendent, an old man full of gout, so much desired to live.
Because there was hoar frost on the streets?
He turned round and shouted savagely: »Quick march, there!
Don't go like sheep!
« The wind blew into his overcoat.
His jacket was too wide and his whole body quivered in it like the yolk of an egg in a stirring basin.
He felt as if he was suddenly shrinking.
The palms of his hands, despite the cold, were still sweaty.
They surrounded the house as though they had come to take not one sleeper but a host in ambush.
Then some of them crept along the dark corridor on tiptoe to the fearsome door.
A desperate knock--a shout--threats to shoot through the door.
And when, almost knocking Liuba, half naked, off her feet, they burst into the little room in close formation and filled it with their boots and cloaks and rifles--then they saw him--sitting on the bed in his shirt, with his bare hairy legs hanging down--sitting there silent.
No bomb--nothing terrible--nothing but the ordinary room of a prostitute, filthy and repulsive in the early morning light, with its stretch of tattered carpet and scattered clothes, the table smeared and stained with liquor--and sitting on the bed a man, clean shaven and with drowsy eyes, high cheekbones, a swollen face, hairy legs--silent.
»Hands up!
« shouted the superintendent, holding his revolver tighter in his damp hand.
But the man neither raised his arms nor made any answer.
»Search him!
« the superintendent ordered.
»There's nothing to search!
I took his revolver away.
Oh, my God!
« Liuba cried, her teeth chattering with fear.
She had nothing on but a crumpled chemise; among the others, all wrapped in their cloaks, the two, man and woman, both half naked, roused feelings of shame, disgust, and contempt.
They searched his clothing, ransacked the carpet, peered into the corners, into the cupboard, and found nothing.
»I took his revolver from him,« Liuba thoughtlessly insisted.
»Silence Liubka!
« the superintendent shouted.
He knew the girl well, had spent two or three nights with her.
He believed her; but his relief was so unexpected that out of sheer pleasure he wanted to shout and command and show his authority.
»Your name?
« »I shall not say.
I shall not answer any questions at all.
« »All right, sir, all right,« the superintendent replied ironically, but somewhat abashed.
Then he looked again at the naked hairy feet and at the girl shuddering in the corner, and suddenly became suspicious.
»Is this the right man?
« he said, taking a detective aside.
»Something seems....
« The detective went and stared closely in the man's face, then nodded his head decisively.
»Yes.
It's he.
He's only shaved his beard.
You can recognise him by his cheekbones.
« »A brigand's cheekbones, sure enough.
« »And look at the eyes, too.
I could pick him out of a thousand by his eyes.
« »His eyes?
Let me see the photograph.
« He took a long look at the unfinished proof photograph of a man, very handsome, wonderfully pure and young, with a long bushy Russian beard.
The expression on the face was the same.
Not grim, but very calm and bright.
The cheekbones were not markedly prominent.
»You see!
His cheekbones don't stand out like....
« »They are concealed by the beard, but if you feel under it with the eye....
« »It may be, but....
Is he a hard drinker?
« The detective, tall and thin, with a yellow face and sparse beard, himself a hard drinker, smiled patronizingly.
»There's no drinking among them.
« »I know there isn't but still....
« The superintendent approached the man.
»Listen!
Were you an accomplice in the murder of N----?
« It was a very important and well known name.
But the man remained silent and only smiled and fidgeted with one hairy leg; the toes were bent and distorted by boots.
»You are being examined!
« »You may as well leave him alone.
He won't reply.
We'd better wait for the captain and prosecutor.
They'll make him talk.
« The superintendent smiled, but in his heart for some reason he felt the shrinking again.
They had been tearing up the carpet; they had upset something, and there was a very unpleasant smell in the ill-ventilated room.
»What filth!
« thought the superintendent, though in the matter of cleanliness he was by no means nice.
And he looked with disgust at that naked swinging foot.
»So he is still fidgeting with his foot,« he thought.
He turned round; a young policeman, with pure white eye-lashes and eyebrows, was sneering at Liuba, holding his rifle with both hands as a village night watchman holds his staff.
»Well, Liubka,« the superintendent cried, approaching her.
»Why didn't you report at once who you had with you, you bitch?
« »Oh, I was....
« The superintendent smacked her face twice, quite neatly, first on one cheek then on the other.
»Take that then!
I'll show you!
« The man's brows went up and the foot ceased swinging.
»So you don't like that, young fellow?
« The contempt of the superintendent was growing apace.
»What are you going to do about it?
You kissed this face, didn't you, and we'll do what we damn well....
« He laughed, and the policeman smiled in some agitation.
And what was more surprising, even the downtrodden Liuba laughed.
She looked at the old superintendent in a friendly way, as though she enjoyed his jokes and jollity.
From the moment of the arrival of the police she had never looked at the man, betraying him naturally and openly; and this he saw, and was silent and smiled half scoffingly, a strange smile--as a gray stone in the forest, sunk into the ground and mossgrown, might smile.
Half dressed women were crowding about the door, amongst them some of those who had visited them.
But they looked at him indifferently, with a dull curiosity, as though this was the first time they had seen him.
Apparently they remembered nothing of the night.
They were soon hustled away.
It was now daylight, and the room was more bleak and repulsive than ever.
Two officers who evidently had not had their full sleep came in, their faces ruffled, but properly dressed and clean.
»It's no good, gentlemen, really,« the superintendent said with a spiteful glance at the man.
The officers approached, looked him up and down from his crown to his naked feet with those bent toes, surveyed Liuba, and casually exchanged observations.
»Yes--he's good looking,« said the young one, the one who had invited them all to the cotillion.
He had splendid white teeth and silky whiskers and soft eyes with girlish lashes.
He looked at the arrested man with disdainful compassion, and wrinkled his eyes as if he were going to cry.
There was a corn on the left little toe ...
somehow it was horrible and disgusting to see that little yellow mound.
And the legs were dirty.
»This is a fine pass for you to come to, sir,« he said, shaking his head and painfully contracting his brows.
»So that's how it is, Mr. Anarchist?
You're no better than us sinners with the girls?
The flesh was weak, eh?
« jeered the other, the elder.
»Why did you give up your revolver?
You might at least have had a shot for it.
I understand that you found yourself here, as anyone might find himself; but why did you give up your revolver?
A poor example to set your comrades!
« said the little officer, hotly; and then explained to the elder: »He had a Browning with three cartridge clips.
Just think of it!
Stupid!
« But the man, smiling contemptuously from the height of his new, unmeasured, and terrible truth, looked on the little excited officer and indifferently kept on swinging his leg.
The fact of his being nearly naked, of having dirty hairy legs with bent and crooked toes, gave him no sense of shame.
Had they taken him just as he was and planted him in the most populous square of the city, in front of all the men and women and children, he would have gone on dangling that hairy leg with the same equanimity, smiling the same disdainful smile.
»Do they know what comradeship is?
« said the superintendent.
He was savagely looking askance at that swaying leg, and indolently trying to dissuade the officers.
»It's no good talking to him, gentlemen, I swear!
No good!
You know the kind of thing--instructions!
« Other officers entered quite freely, surveyed the scene and chatted together.
One of them, evidently an old acquaintance of the superintendent, shook hands with him.
Liuba was already coquetting with the officers.
»Just imagine!
A Browning with three clips and, like a fool, he gave it up!
« the little officer was relating.
»I can't understand that!
« »You, Misha, will never understand this.
« »For, after all, they are no cowards!
« »You, Misha, are an idealist, and the milk has not yet dried on your lips.
« »Samson and Delilah,« one short snuffling officer said ironically; he had a little drooping nose and thin whiskers combed back and upwards.
»Oh Delilah!
What a smiler!
« They laughed.
The superintendent, smiling pleasantly and rubbing his flabby red nose downwards, suddenly approached the man and stood as if to screen him from the officers with his own carcase encased in the loose hanging coat; and he murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes wildly: »Shameful, sir!
You might at least have put your drawers on, sir!
Shameful!
And a hero, too?
Involved with a prostitute ...
with this carrion-flesh?
What will your comrades say of you,--eh, you cur?
« Liuba, stretching her naked neck, heard him.
They were together now, side by side, these three plain truths of life, the corrupt old drunkard who yearned for heroes, the dissolute woman into whose soul some scattered seeds of purpose and self-denial had fallen--and the man.
After the superintendent's words, he paled slightly, and seemed to wish to say something--but changed his mind and smiled, and went on swinging that hairy leg.
The officers wandered off; the police accommodated themselves to the situation, to the presence of the half naked couple, and stood about sleepily, with that absence of visible thought which renders the faces of all guards alike.
The superintendent put his hands on the table and pondered deeply and sadly--that he would not get a nap today, that he would have to go to the station and set matters on foot.
But something else made him even more melancholy and weary.
»May I dress myself?
« asked Liuba.
»No!
« »I'm cold.
« »Never mind--sit as you are!
« The superintendent didn't even look at her.
So she turned away, and, stretching out her thin neck, whispered something to the man, softly, with her lips only.
He raised his brows in enquiry, and she repeated: »Darling!
My Darling!
« He nodded and smiled affectionately.
Then seeing him smile to to her so gently, though plainly forgetting nothing--seeing him, who was so handsome and proud, now naked and despised by all, with his dirty bare legs, she was suddenly flushed with a feeling of unbearable love and demoniac blind wrath.
She gasped, and flung herself on her knees on that damp floor, and embraced those cold hairy feet.
»Dress yourself, darling!
« she murmured in an ecstasy.
»Dress yourself!
« »Liubka, stop this!
« The superintendent dragged her away.
»He's not worth it!
« The girl sprang to her feet.
»Silence, you old profligate!
He's better than the whole lot of you put together!
« »He's a swine!
« »You're a swine!
« »What?
« The superintendent promptly lost his temper.
»Tackle her, my man!
Hold her down.
Leave your rifle alone, you block-head!
« »Oh, darling, why did you give up your revolver?
« the girl moaned, struggling with the policeman.
»Why didn't you bring a bomb?
We might have ...
might have ...
them all to....
« »Gag her!
« The panting woman struggled desperately, trying to bite the rough fingers that were holding her.
The policeman with the white eye-lashes, disconcerted, not knowing how to fight a woman, was seizing her by her hair, by her breasts, trying to fling her on the ground and sniffing in his desperation.
From the corridor new voices were heard, loud, unconcerned, and the jangle of a police officer's spurs.
A sweet, sincere, barytone voice was leading, as though a star was making his entrance and now at last the real and serious opera was about to commence.
The superintendent pulled his coat straight.
* * * * * THE HOGARTH PRESS
HOGARTH HOUSE, PARADISE ROAD, RICHMOND
RECENT PUBLICATIONS
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Translated from the Russian by D. H.
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»I. A.
Bunin is a well known Russian writer, but his short stories have not hitherto been published in an English translation.
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