Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [231]
‘I suppose,’ he said, looking questioningly at her, ‘you’ve guessed what I want to talk to you about.’
He was sitting with his back to the wall so that his face was in shadow, while the light from the window fell straight upon her, and he could read what she had in mind.
‘How am I to know?’ she replied softly.
Confronted by this dangerous opponent, she no longer possessed the will-power, strength of character, penetration, and self-control she had always displayed with Oblomov. She realized that if she had so far been successful in concealing herself from Stolz’s keen eyes and in carrying on the war against him, it was not due to her own powers, as in her struggle with Oblomov, but to Stolz’s obstinate silence and his reserve. In the open field the odds were not in her favour; by her question she therefore merely wanted to gain an inch of ground and a minute of time so as to force the enemy to show his hand more clearly.
‘You don’t know?’ he said ingenuously. ‘All right, I’ll tell you – –’
‘No, don’t!’ she cried involuntarily.
She seized him by the hand and looked at him as though imploring for mercy.
‘You see, I guessed that you knew!’ he said. ‘But why “don’t”?’ he added sadly afterwards.
She made no answer.
‘If you had foreseen that I should declare myself one day, you must have known, of course, what your answer would be, mustn’t you?’
‘Yes, I have foreseen it and it made me so unhappy!’ she said, leaning back in her chair and turning away from the light, offering up a silent prayer for the dusk to come to her aid so that he could not read the struggle of embarrassment and anguish in her face.
‘Unhappy? That is a terrible word,’ he said almost in a whisper. ‘It is Dante’s “Abandon all hope!” I have nothing more to say: it is all there! But I thank you for it, all the same,’ he added with a deep sigh. ‘I’ve come out of the confusion and the darkness, and I know at any rate what I have to do. My only salvation is to run away as soon as possible!’
He got up.
‘No, for God’s sake, no!’ she cried imploringly, in alarm, rushing up to him and seizing him again by the hand. ‘Have pity on me – what is to become of me?’
He sat down and so did she.
‘But I love you, Olga,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘You’ve seen what has been happening to me in the last six months. What more do you want: complete triumph? Do you want me to waste away or go off my head? Thank you very much!’
She turned pale.
‘You can go!’ she said with the dignity of suppressed injury and deep sorrow she was unable to conceal.
‘I am awfully sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Here we have already quarrelled without knowing what it is all about. I know that you cannot wish it, but you cannot enter into my position, and that is why you think that my impulse to run away is strange. A man sometimes unconsciously becomes an egoist.’
She shifted her position in the arm-chair, as though she were uncomfortable, but she said nothing.
‘Well, suppose I did stay – how would it help matters?’ he went on. ‘You will, of course, offer me your friendship, but it is mine as it is. If I were to go away and return in a year or two, it would still be mine. Friendship is a good thing, Olga, when it is love between a young man and a young woman or the memory of love between old people. But heaven help us if it is friendship on one side and love on the other. I know that you are not bored with me, but what do you think I feel when I am with you?’
‘Well, if that’s how you feel, you had better go!’ she murmured in a hardly audible whisper.
‘To stay?’ he reflected aloud. ‘To walk on the edge of a knife – some friendship!’
‘And do you think it is better for me?’ she retorted unexpectedly.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked quickly. ‘You – you don’t love.…’
‘I don’t know; I swear I don’t! But if you – I mean, if there should be some change in my present life, what’s going to happen to me?’ she added sombrely, almost