Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [182]
‘All right, all right,’ Oblomov said, waving her out of the room impatiently.
‘How do you expect me to talk of something that doesn’t exist, sir?’ Anisya concluded as she was going out of the room. ‘And if Nikita did say something of the kind, he is too big a fool to be taken any notice of. I’m sure it would never have occurred to me – slaving away all day long as I am, and I have other things to think of. Why, such a thing, indeed! There’s the icon on the wall – –’ With these words the speaking nose disappeared behind the door, but it went on talking for another minute behind the door.
‘So that’s what it is! Anisya too says that it is hardly possible,’ Oblomov said in a whisper, clasping his hands. ‘Happiness, happiness! How fragile you are, how uncertain! The veil, the wreath of orange-blossom, love, love! And where is the money? And what are we to live on? You, too, have to be bought, love, pure and lawful blessing!’
From that moment Oblomov’s peace of mind and dreams were gone. He slept badly, ate little, and looked at everything absent-mindedly and morosely. He had wanted to frighten Zakhar, but had frightened himself more when he grasped the practical aspect of marriage and saw that it was not only a poetical but also a practical and official step to important and serious reality and a whole series of stern duties. His conversation with Zakhar turned out differently from what he had imagined. He recalled how solemnly he had intended to break the news to Zakhar, how Zakhar would have shouted with joy and fallen at his feet, how he would have given him twenty-five roubles and Anisya ten….
He remembered everything – his thrill of happiness, Olga’s hand, her passionate kiss – and his heart sank: ‘It’s gone, faded away!’ a voice inside him said.
‘So what now?’
5
OBLOMOV did not know how he would face Olga, what she would say to him and what he would say to her, and decided not to go to see her on Wednesday, but to put off their meeting till Sunday, when there would be many visitors there and they would have no chance of talking alone. He did not want to tell her about the stupid stories of the servants so as not to worry her with what could not be remedied. Not to tell her would also be difficult, for he would not be able to pretend to her: she would be sure to get out of him everything he had hidden in the deepest recesses of his heart.
Having arrived at this decision, he calmed down a little and wrote another letter to the neighbour to whom he had entrusted the care of his affairs, in which he asked him to reply as soon as possible, adding that he hoped that his reply would be satisfactory. Then he began thinking how he could spend that long and unendurable day, which would otherwise have been filled with Olga’s presence, the invisible communion of their souls, and her singing. And Zakhar suddenly had to worry him at such an inopportune moment! He decided to dine at Ivan Gerasimovich’s so as to notice that unendurable day as little as possible. By Sunday he would be able to prepare himself and perhaps by then he would already have received the letter from the country.
The next day came. He was awakened by the furious barking of the dog and its desperate jumping on the chain. Someone had come into the yard and was asking for someone. The caretaker called Zakhar: Zakhar brought Oblomov