Forty Stories - Anton Chekhov [44]
“I do understand it, Yegor Vlassich.”
“You obviously don’t understand, seeing that you’re about to cry.”
“I … I’m not crying,” Pelageya said, turning her head away. “It’s a sin, Yegor Vlassich! You ought to come and spend a bit of time with me. I’m so miserable! We’ve been married for twelve years … never once was there any love between us.… I … I’m not crying.”
“Love,” Yegor muttered, scratching his arm. “There couldn’t be any love between us. It’s only on paper we’re husband and wife—the truth is we are really nothing at all, eh? You think of me as a wild sort of fellow, and I think of you as a simple peasant girl who doesn’t understand anything. We are not much of a pair! I’m a free man, and I’ve been spoiled, and I go where I please. And you’re a laboring woman wearing bast shoes, living in filth, and your back is bent low to the ground. I know all about myself—I know I’m the best huntsman around, and you look at me with pity.… There’s a fine pair for you!”
“We were married in church, Yegor Vlassich,” sobbed Pelageya.
“It wasn’t my fault we got married.… Have you forgotten? You have Count Sergey Pavlich to thank for it … and you had some responsibility, too. He was full of envy for me because I was a better shot than he was, and he kept me drinking for a whole month, and when a fellow is drunk, you can make him do anything—get married, change his religion, anything! Out of revenge he married me to you when I was drunk.… A huntsman marrying a cow girl! You saw I was drunk, so why did you marry me? You were not a serf—you could have refused! Sure, it is a lucky thing for a cow girl to marry a huntsman, but you have to use your brains. Now you are making yourself miserable, and crying. The count thought it was a joke, but you went right on crying … beating your head against a wall.…”
Silence followed. Three wild ducks flew over the clearing. Yegor watched them, following them until they became three barely perceptible dots, and then they vanished on the other side of the forest far away.
“How do you live?” he asked, no longer looking at the ducks, but at Pelageya.
“This time of year I go out and work, and in the winter I take a baby from the foundling hospital and bring it up on the bottle. For that they give me a ruble and a half a month.”
“So …”
Again there was silence. From a field which had been reaped there came the first soft notes of a song, which broke off abruptly. It was too hot for singing.
“They say you built a new hut for Akulina,” said Pelageya.
Yegor was silent.
“Are you fond of her?”
“It’s just your luck, it’s fate!” said the huntsman, stretching himself. “You have to suffer, poor orphan! Good-by! I’ve been chattering too much!… I have to reach Boltovo by evening.”
Yegor rose, stretched himself, and threw his gun over his shoulder. Pelageya got up.
“When are you coming to the village?” she asked softly.
“No reason for me to come. I won’t come sober, and I won’t be much use to you if I come drunk. I’m mean when I’m drunk. Good-by!”
“Good-by, Yegor Vlassich.”
Yegor put his cap on the back of his head, made a clicking noise with his tongue to summon the dog, and went on his way. Pelageya stood there and watched him going. She followed the movement of his shoulder blades, the vigorous young neck, the lazy and careless gait, and her eyes were full of melancholy and tender affection.… Her eyes ran over the tall, lean figure of her husband, and caressed and fondled him. As though he felt the force of her gaze, he stopped and looked back.… He did not speak, but from his face and the thrust of his shoulders Pelageya knew he wanted to say something to her. She went up to him timidly, gazing at him imploringly.
“Take it,” he said, and he turned away.
He gave her a crumpled-up ruble note, and walked on quickly.
“Good-by, Yegor Vlassich,” she said, mechanically