Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak [249]
“I’m shaken by the news of Pavel Pavlovich’s execution and can’t come to my senses. I’m having trouble following your words. But I agree with you. After Strelnikov has been dealt with, by our present-day logic, the lives of Larissa Fyodorovna and Katya are also in danger. One of us is certain to be deprived of freedom, and therefore, one way or the other, we’ll be separated. It’s true, then, that it’s better if you separate us and take them somewhere far away, to the ends of the earth. Right now, as I say this to you, things are going your way anyhow. I probably won’t be able to bear it and, surrendering my pride and self-love, will obediently come crawling to you to receive her from your hands, and life, and a way by sea to my family, and my own salvation. But let me sort it all out. The news you’ve reported has stunned me. I’m overwhelmed by suffering, which deprives me of the ability to think and reason. Maybe by obeying you I’m committing a fatal, irrevocable error that will horrify me all my life, but in the fog of pain that robs me of strength the only thing I can do now is mechanically agree with you and obey you blindly and will-lessly. And so, for the sake of her good, I’ll pretend now and tell her that I’m going to hitch up the horse and overtake you, and I’ll stay here alone by myself. Only one small thing. How are you going to go now, with night falling? It’s a forest road, there are wolves around, you must be careful.”
“I know. I have a rifle and a revolver. Don’t worry. And, incidentally, I brought a bit of alcohol along in case of cold. A good amount. Want some?”
13
“What have I done? What have I done? Given her away, renounced her, surrendered her. Run headlong after them, overtake them, bring her back. Lara! Lara!
“They can’t hear. The wind’s against me. And they’re probably talking loudly. She has every reason to be cheerful, calm. She’s let herself be deceived and doesn’t suspect the delusion she’s in.
“These are probably her thoughts. She’s thinking. Everything has turned out in the best possible way, just as she wanted. Her Yurochka, a fantastic and obstinate man, has finally softened, praise God, and is now setting out with her for some safe place, to people wiser than they, under the protection of law and order. Even if, to stand on his mettle and show his character, he turns pigheaded and refuses to get on their train tomorrow, Viktor Ippolitovich will send another one for him in the nearest future.
“And now, of course, he’s already in the stable hitching up Savraska, his confused, disobedient hands trembling with agitation and haste, and will immediately whip her up to full speed behind them, so as to overtake them while they’re still in the fields, before they get into the forest.”
That was probably what she was thinking. And they had not even said good-bye properly. Yuri Andreevich had only waved his hand and turned away, trying to swallow the pain that stuck like a lump in his throat, as if he were choking on a piece of apple.
The doctor, his coat thrown over one shoulder, was standing on the porch. With his free hand, not covered by the coat, he squeezed the neck of a turned porch post just under the ceiling with such force as if he were trying to strangle it. With all his consciousness he was riveted to a distant point in space. There, a short stretch of the road could be seen, going uphill between a few scattered birches. On that open space the light of the low, already setting sun was falling at that moment. There, into that lit-up strip, the racing sleigh should come at any moment out of the shallow depression they had dipped into for a short time.
“Farewell, farewell,” the doctor repeated soundlessly, senselessly, in anticipation of that moment, forcing the nearly breathless