Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [211]
put into the soup and the fish was not boiled too long. It will be said that she was perhaps ashamed to be shown up before a stranger as incompetent in such a matter as housekeeping on which her vanity and activity were concentrated. Very well. But why was it that before, she could hardly keep her eyes open at eight o’clock in the evening, and after having put the children to bed and seen that the fire had been put out in the kitchen stove, the flues closed, and everything put away, she used to go to bed at nine, and a cannon could not have wakened her till six o’clock in the morning? But now, if Oblomov went to the theatre or stayed a little longer at Ivan Gerasimovich’s and was late in coming home, she could not sleep, turned over from side to side, crossed herself, sighed, closed her eyes – but could not fall asleep in spite of everything! The moment there was a knocking in the street, she raised her head and sometimes even jumped out of bed, opened the little ventilating window and listened – was it he? If there was a knock at the gate, she threw on her skirt and rushed to the kitchen, roused Zahkar or Anisya and sent them to open the gate. It will be said perhaps that this merely showed that she was a conscientious housewife who did not like to have any disorder in her house and to have her lodger wait in the street at night till the drunken caretaker heard him and opened the gate and, last but not least, that she was afraid that any prolonged knocking might awaken the children. Very well. But why, when Oblomov fell ill, did she not let anyone into his room? Why did she cover the floor in it with felt and rugs, draw the curtains, and fly into a rage – she who was so kind and gentle – if Vanya or Masha uttered the least shout or laughed loudly? Why did she sit by his bedside all night, not trusting Zakhar and Anisya, without taking her eyes off him, till early Mass, and then, throwing on her coat and writing‘Ilya’ in big letters on a piece of paper, run to the church, put the paper on the altar so that a prayer might be offered up for his recovery, and withdrawing to a corner, kneel down and lie for a long time with her face on the ground; then she hurried off to the market, and returning home fearfully, threw a glance at the door and asked Anisya in a whisper: ‘Well, how is he?’ It will be said that it was nothing more than pity and compassion, which are the predominant elements of a woman’s heart. Very well. But why was it that when Oblomov, while convalescing from his illness, was gloomy all winter, hardly spoke to her, did not look into her room, was not interested in what she was doing, did not joke or laugh with her, she grew thin and cold and indifferent to everything: she might be grinding coffee and not know what she was doing, or she would put in such a lot of chicory that no one could drink it, but she could not taste the difference, as though she had no palate. If Akulina did not cook the fish properly and her brother grumbled and left the table, she did not seem to hear anything, just as though she had been turned to stone. Before, no one had ever seen her thoughtful, which, indeed, did not suit her at all, for she was a very active person who never missed anything, but now she sat motionless with the mortar on her knees, just as if she were asleep; then she would suddenly begin pounding with the pestle so loudly that the dog barked, thinking someone was knocking at the gate. But no sooner did Oblomov come to life, no sooner did he begin to smile kindly, no sooner did he start looking at her as before, looking into her room affectionately and joking, than she put on weight again, and she set to work again in her old active, cheerful, and gay manner, but with one little – though significant – difference: in the old days she used to be moving about all day, like a well-constructed machine, smoothly and regularly, she walked with a light step, spoke neither too loud nor too low; she ground coffee, chopped up a sugar loaf, sieved, sat down to her sewing, her needle moving as regularly as a pendulum; then she