The White Guard - Mikhail Bulgakov [129]
Myshlaevsky returned to the dining-room, followed by Nikolka, whose eyelids were puffy and red. They had just come from Alexei's room. As Nikolka returned to the dining-room he said to his companions:
'He's dying . . ,' and took a deep breath.
'Look,' said Myshlaevsky, 'hadn't we better call a priest? Don't you agree, Nikol? Otherwise he may die without confession . . .'
'I shall have to tell Lena', Nikolka replied anxiously. 'I can't do it without her. And something seems to be the matter with her now . . .'
'What does the doctor say?' asked Karas.
'What is there to say? There's no more to say', said Myshlaevsky hoarsely.
For a long time they spoke in uneasy whispers, punctuated by the sighs of the pale, worried Lariosik. Again they consulted Doctor Brodovich, who came out into the lobby, lit a cigarette and whispered that the patient was in the terminal stage and that of course they could call a priest if they wanted to, he had no objec-
tion since the patient was in any case unconscious and it could do him no harm.
'Silent confession . . .'
They whispered and whispered but could not decide whether it was yet time to send for the priest. They knocked on Elena's door, and in a dull voice she replied:
'Don't come in yet . . . I'll come out later . . .'
And they went away.
From her knees Elena looked up at the fretted halo above the dark face with its clear eyes and she stretched out her arms and said in a whisper:
'Holy Mother of God, intercede for us. You have sent us too much sorrow. In one year you have destroyed this family. Why? You have taken our mother away from us, my husband has gone and will not come back, I know, I see that clearly now. And now you are taking away our eldest. Why? How will Nikolka and I survive, the two of us alone? Look and see what is happening all around . . . Mother of God, intercede for us and have mercy on us . . . Perhaps we are sinful people, but why should we be punished like this?'
She bowed down once more, fervently touching the floor with her forehead, crossed herself and stretching out her arms, prayed again:
'You are our only hope, Immaculate Virgin, you alone. Pray to your Son, pray to the Lord God to perform a miracle ...'
Elena's whispering grew more passionate, she stumbled over the words, but her prayer flowed on like an unbroken stream. More and more often she bowed her forehead to the ground, shaking her head to throw back the lock of hair that escaped from its comb and fell over her eyes. Outside the square window-panes the daylight disappeared, the white falcon disappeared, the tinkling gavotte which the clock played as it struck three went unheard, as unheard as the coming of the One to whom Elena prayed through the intercession of the dark Virgin. He appeared beside the open grave, arisen, merciful and barefoot. Elena's breast seemed to have grown broader, feverish patches had spread over her cheeks, her
eyes were filled with light, brimming with unshed tears. She pressed her forehead and cheek to the floor, then, yearning with all her soul she stretched toward the ikon lamp, oblivious to the hard floor under her knees. The lamp flared up, the dark face within the fretted halo grew more and more alive and the eyes inspired Elena to ceaseless prayer. Outside there was complete silence, darkness was setting in with terrible speed and another momentary vision filled the room - the hard, glassy light of the sky, unfamiliar yellowish-red sandstone rocks, olive trees, the cold and the dark silence of centuries within the sanctuary of the temple.
'Holy Mother, intercede for us', Elena muttered fervently. 'Pray to Him. He is there beside you. What would it cost you? Have mercy on us. Have mercy. Your day, the festival of the birth of your Son is approaching. If Alexei lives he will do good for others, and I will