Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak [264]
“Help yourself, we won’t miss it. There’s no syrup, but as much water as you like. It’s free. We don’t deal in it.”
The people at the table guffawed.
When Yuri Andreevich came for the third time, for his fifth and sixth bucketful, the tone had changed slightly and the talk went differently.
“My sons-in-law are asking who you are. I tell them—they don’t believe me. Go ahead, take the water, don’t hesitate. Only don’t spill it on the floor, you gawk. See, the doorstep’s wet. It’ll freeze, and it won’t be you who breaks it up with a crowbar. And shut the door tighter, you lummox—there’s a draft from outside. Yes, I tell my sons-in-law who you are, and they don’t believe me. So much money gone to waste on you! You studied and studied, and what was the use?”
When Yuri Andreevich came for the fifth or sixth time, Markel frowned:
“Well, once more, if you please, and then basta. You’ve got to know the limits, brother. Marina here, our youngest one, defends you, otherwise I’d pay no attention to what a noble Freemason you are and lock the door. Do you remember Marina? There she is, at the end of the table, the dark-haired one. See, she’s getting red in the face. Don’t offend him, papa, she says. As if anybody’s bothering you. Marina’s a telegraph girl at the central telegraph, she understands when it’s foreign words. He’s miserable, she says. She’ll go through fire for you, she pities you so much. But is it my fault if you didn’t turn out? You shouldn’t have gone off to Siberia and abandoned your home in a time of danger. It’s your own fault. Here we sat out all this famine, all this White blockade, we didn’t waver, and we survived. The blame’s on you. You didn’t keep Tonka, so she’s wandering abroad. What is it to me? It’s your business. Only don’t get offended if I ask what you need all this water for. Were you hired to make a skating rink in the courtyard? Eh, I can’t even get angry at a sad sack like you.”
Again there was guffawing at the table. Marina glanced around at her family with a displeased look, blushed, and started reprimanding them. Yuri Andreevich heard her voice, was struck by it, but did not understand its secret yet.
“There’s a lot of cleaning to be done in the house, Markel. I have to tidy up. Wash the floors. Do some laundry.”
There was surprise at the table.
“Aren’t you ashamed even to say such things, let alone do them, as if you’re a Chinese laundry or something!”
“Yuri Andreevich, if you’ll allow me, I’ll send my daughter to you. She’ll come to your place, do the laundry, the scrubbing. If you need, she can mend things. Don’t be afraid of the gentleman, dear daughter. You see how well-breeded he is, not like some others. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“No, what are you saying, Agafya Tikhonovna, there’s no need. I’ll never agree that Marina should dirty and soil herself for me. Why should she work for me? I’ll see to it all myself.”
“You can dirty yourself, and I can’t? You’re so intractable, Yuri Andreevich. Why do you wave me away? And if I invite myself as a guest, will you really drive me out?”
Marina might have become a singer. She had a pure, melodious voice of great pitch and strength. Marina spoke softly, but in a voice that was stronger than conversation required and that did not merge with Marina, but could be conceived as separate from her. It seemed to come from another room, to be located behind her back. This voice was her defense, her guardian angel. One does not want to insult or sadden a woman with such a voice.
With this Sunday water carrying the doctor’s friendship with Marina began. She often came to help him around the house. One day she stayed with him and never went back to the porter’s lodge. Thus she became the third, not officially registered, wife