Love and Youth Read online

‘Crazy joker that you are!’ he said finally. Then he took off his hat and began crossing himself. ‘A joker as ever was,’ he added, turning to me with a beaming face. ‘Well, he must be a good man, for sure. Go-go-go, my little ones! Round you go! You’ll live! We’ll all live! And it was him that wouldn’t let us past, he was their driver. What a crazy joker! Go-go-go-go-o-o-o! God be with us!’

  I said nothing; but I was light at heart. ‘We’ll live!’ I said to myself, and stretched out on the hay. ‘We got off lightly!’

  I even felt a bit guilty at having recalled that line of Zhukovsky’s.

  Suddenly something struck me.

  ‘Filofey!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Got any children?’

  ‘Yes, children too.’

  ‘How was it you didn’t think of them? You were sorry about the horses—but what about your wife and children?’

  ‘Why feel sad about them? The robbers weren’t going to get them. But I had them in my mind all the time—and I’ve got them there now. That’s how it was.’ Filofey paused. ‘Perhaps … perhaps the Lord God had mercy on us two because of them.’

  ‘But if they weren’t robbers after all?’

  ‘Who knows? Can you see into someone else’s soul? You know the proverb—another’s soul is a dark place. But it’s always best to remember God. No … I always think of my family … Gee up, my little ones, and God be with us!’

  It was almost dawn as we drew near to Tula. I was lying in a doze, half asleep …

  ‘Hey, mister,’ said Filofey all of a sudden. ‘Look—there they are, by the inn. That’s their cart.’

  I looked up. And sure enough, that was them—their cart, and their horses. And suddenly our friend the giant in the sheepskin jacket appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Your Honour!’ he called out, waving his cap. ‘We’re drinking up your money! Well, driver,’ he added, jerking his head at Filofey, ‘I bet you got a fright back there, eh?’

  ‘What a joker,’ remarked Filofey, after driving on fifty yards or so.

  We finally reached Tula, where I bought some shot, and some tea and vodka while I was about it, and even a horse from the dealer. At noon we set off on our way back. When we passed the spot where we had first heard the sound of the cart’s rattling wheels, Filofey (who’d had a few drinks at Tula, and now turned out to be a very chatty fellow—he’d already told me a whole lot of tall stories) suddenly burst out laughing.

  ‘Remember, mister, how I kept telling you—the rattling, the rattling …!’

  He made a backhanded gesture … He seemed to find that word very funny.

  That evening we arrived back at his village.

  I told Yermolay what had happened to us. Being sober at the time, he expressed no concern for us, but just gave a snigger—of approval or disapproval, I couldn’t say, and I’m sure he couldn’t either. But two days later he was delighted to inform me that on that very night when Filofey and I were driving to Tula, a certain merchant had been robbed and murdered on the same road. At first I didn’t believe the story, but later I had to, because the police captain sent to investigate the crime confirmed it. So, could that have been the ‘wedding’ our brave fellows had attended? And could the merchant have been that ‘young man of ours’ whom they had seen ‘put to bed’, as the joking giant expressed it? I stayed on another five days in Filofey’s village, and whenever I met him, I would say ‘Hey! hear that rattling?’

  ‘What a joker!’ he’d answer every time, and roar with laughter.

  THE DISTRICT DOCTOR

  One day in autumn I was on my way back from a distant hunting expedition when I caught a feverish cold. Luckily I was staying at an inn in the district town when I fell ill, so I sent for the local doctor. Half an hour later he was there—a short, slight man with dark hair. He prescribed the usual remedy to induce perspiration, and a mustard plaster, and very deftly slipped my five-rouble note up his sleeve, while looking away with a dry cough. He was just about to set off home again, but somehow we got into conversation and he stayed on. My fever had tired me out, and I foresaw a sleepless night, so I was glad of a chat with a pleasant companion. Tea was served, and my doctor began talking. He was a sensible young man, with a vigorous and amusing turn of speech. Life can be strange: sometimes you live for ages with someone you’re friendly with, but never have a sincere, heartfelt talk together; and yet when you meet someone you scarcely know, lo and behold, either you’re baring your innermost soul to him, or he’s doing the same to you, as though you were in the confessional. I have no idea what I had done to deserve my new friend’s trust, but however it was, and for no apparent reason, he started telling me about a rather strange experience he’d had. So let me now pass on his story to you, gentle reader, and I’ll do my best to tell it in the doctor’s own words.

  ‘You don’t happen to know,’ he began in a weak, quavering voice (such is the effect of unblended Berezovsky tobacco), ‘you don’t happen to know Mylov, Pavel Lukich, the local judge? You don’t? Well, never mind.’ (He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.) ‘Anyway, look, this is how it happened, how can I put it—I don’t want to get it wrong—it was during Lent, just when the snows were melting. So there we were, this judge and I, at his place, playing a hand of Preference. Our judge is a fine fellow, and a keen Preference player. And suddenly …’ (my doctor friend was fond of that word suddenly) ‘I was told: “Your man is here asking for you.” I asked what he wanted, and they said he had brought a note with him, no doubt from a patient. “Let’s have it,” I said. And so it was—from a patient … Ah, well—you must realize, that’s what we live on … But here’s what it was: a local small landowner, a widowed lady, writing to say that her daughter was dying, and would I please come at once, in the name of God Almighty, and she had sent horses for me. Now, that was all very well, but … she lived twenty versts out of town, and it was dark outside, and the roads were dreadful. And the woman herself was poor, I couldn’t expect more than two silver roubles, if that, or more likely a roll of linen or a bag of groats. But duty calls, you know, here was someone dying. So I passed my hand over to Kalliopin right away, he’s always there, and set off home. And what did I see but a little trap drawn up by the porch, with peasant’s horses, fat as butter, with shaggy coats like felt, and the driver sitting there bareheaded out of respect. Well, my friend, I thought, no question about it, your people aren’t rolling in money … You’re smiling, sir, but let me tell you, people like us who aren’t well off, we have to take account of everything … If a coachman sits there like a prince, and doesn’t doff his cap, and he’s laughing into his beard at you, and flicking his whip—well then, go for it, hold out for a couple of banknotes! But there wasn’t a whiff of that here. Anyway, I said to myself, there’s no help for it, duty calls. So I snatched up all the essential medicines and we set off. Believe me, we barely made it through. The road was infernal—streams running across it, and snow, and mud, and gullies full of floodwater, and in one place a dyke had broken through—terrible! Anyway, we got there. So it’s a little house with a thatched roof, and lights in the windows—that means they’re waiting up for me. And in I go. And a venerable old lady in a cap comes to meet me. “Save her,” she begs me, “she’s dying.” And I tell her, “Please don’t worry … Where’s the patient?” “Would you come this way?” So I look in, and it’s a clean room, with a lamp in the corner, and a girl of about twenty lying on the bed unconscious. You could feel the heat coming off her, she’s breathing heavily, she’s in a high fever. And two other girls are there, her sisters, scared out of their wits, in floods of tears. “Listen,” they tell me, “she was perfectly well yesterday, enjoying her food, and this morning she complained of a headache, and by evening she was like this …” So I tell them again, “Please don’t worry”—we doctors, you know, we have to say that—and I go over to her. I bled her, and ordered a mustard plaster, and prescribed a mixture.
And all the while I’m looking at her, looking, you know—honest to God, I’d never in my life seen a face like hers—what a beauty, I mean! I felt so sorry for her, unbearably sorry! She had such sweet features, and those eyes … By now she had become easier, thank God; she’d broken into a sweat, and seemed to come to herself; she looked round, and smiled, and passed her hand over her face … Her sisters bent over her and asked, “How are you?”—“All right,” she says, and turns her face away … And when I look, she’s fallen asleep. Well, I say, now we have to leave the patient to rest. And we all tiptoed out of the room, only the maid stayed behind, just in case. And in the parlour the samovar was waiting on the table, and a bottle of rum beside it. In our business, you can’t get on without that. I was served a glass of tea, and invited to stay the night … I accepted—how could I have left, at that hour! The old lady went on sighing. “What is it?” I asked. “She’ll live, please don’t worry. You’d better get some rest yourself—it’s gone one o’clock.”—“But you’ll get them to wake me if anything happens?”—“Yes, of course.” The old lady went out, and the girls went to their own room. A bed had been made up for me in the parlour. I lay down, but I couldn’t get to sleep, strangely enough—though I was worn out. I couldn’t get my patient out of my head. Eventually I couldn’t help myself, and got up. I’ll go and see how my patient is getting on, I thought. Her room was next door to the parlour. So I quietly went and opened her door. My heart was pounding. I found the maid fast asleep, with her mouth wide open; she was actually snoring, the brute! The sick girl was lying there facing me, her arms outspread, poor thing! I stepped closer … Suddenly she opened her eyes and fixed them on me! … “Who is it? Who are you?” I was embarrassed. “Don’t be frightened, young lady,” I said. “I’m the doctor, come to see how you are.”—“You’re a doctor?”—“Yes, that’s right … Your mother sent to town to fetch me. We’ve let some blood, and now you have to get some sleep, and in a day or two, God willing, we’ll have you on your feet again.”—“Oh yes, Doctor, please don’t let me die … please, please don’t!”—“For heaven’s sake, what are you thinking of!” But she’s got her fever back again, I thought. I felt her pulse: yes, I was right, the fever was back. She looked at me—and suddenly gripped my hand very hard. “I’ll tell you why I don’t want to die, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you … we’re on our own now; but please don’t you tell anyone … listen …” I bent over her and she brought her lips right up to my ear—her hair was touching my neck—I must tell you, my own head was spinning—and she started whispering something … I couldn’t make out a thing … she must be delirious, I thought … she whispered on and on, so fast, and it didn’t sound like Russian, and then she finished, and gave a start, and let her head fall back on the pillow, and held up a warning finger. “Remember, Doctor, not a word …” Somehow or other I managed to reassure her, gave her something to drink, woke the maid and went out.’

  The doctor helped himself to more snuff, sniffed furiously, and seemed to freeze for an instant.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘next day, unexpectedly for me, my patient was no better. I thought and thought, and suddenly decided to stay there, although I had other patients waiting … You know, you can’t ignore that sort of thing, or your practice suffers. But for one thing, the sick girl was really in a desperate state, and for another, I have to say, I myself felt strongly drawn to her. And I liked the whole family, too. Although they weren’t well off, they were uncommonly cultured people. The father had been a learned man, a writer; he had died poor, but he’d managed to give his children an excellent education, and left a lot of books too. It might have been because I took such trouble over the sick girl, or perhaps for some other reason, but I venture to say that the family came to love me as one of their own … Meanwhile the roads had become appalling, all communications cut off, you might say—it was very difficult to get medicines from town, even. The invalid showed no improvement, day after day, day after day … Well now … that was when …’ (The doctor fell silent for a while.) ‘Honestly, I don’t know how to tell you this …’ (He took another pinch of snuff, coughed and drank a mouthful of tea.) ‘I won’t beat about the bush. My patient … how can I put it … well, fell in love with me, didn’t she … or no, not exactly fell in love … though actually … honestly, I mean, really …’ (the doctor blushed and lowered his eyes).

  ‘No,’ he went on quickly, ‘in love, indeed! I mustn’t be giving myself ideas. She was a cultured girl, intelligent and well-read, while I myself had even forgotten my Latin, completely forgotten it. And even my appearance …’ (he looked down at himself and smiled), ‘I don’t think I’m anything to boast about. But the good Lord didn’t make me a fool either, I know the difference between black and white, I understand a thing or two. For instance, I could see perfectly well that Alexandra Andreyevna, that was her name, felt something for me that wasn’t love, it was what you might call a feeling of friendship, or respect—or whatever. Though she herself might have been wrong about that—I mean, just think of her situation … Anyway,’ the doctor added—he had been uttering all these disjointed sentences in a single breath, evidently highly embarrassed—‘I seem to have got a bit carried away … you won’t be understanding me … Listen, I’ll tell you everything as it happened.’

  He finished his glass of tea and went on in a calmer voice.

  ‘Well then. My patient was getting worse all the time, worse and worse. You’re not a doctor, sir—you can’t understand what one of us doctors feels like, especially at the start, when it dawns on him that the disease is getting the better of him. What happens to his self-belief? You get so scared—I can’t tell you. You feel you’ve forgotten everything you ever knew, and that the patient doesn’t trust you any more, and everyone else is beginning to notice that you haven’t a clue, and they don’t like to keep you informed about the patient’s symptoms, and they look suspiciously at you and whisper to one another … oh, it’s nasty! And you think, there has to be a medicine for this disease, all I have to do is find it. Mightn’t it be this one? You try it out—no, that isn’t it! You don’t even give the medicine time to work properly … you clutch at one thing and then another. You might pick up your compendium of medicines … here it is, you think, this is the one! Honestly, I tell you, sometimes you just let the book fall open at random, and leave it to chance … And all the time, there’s a person dying there, and another doctor could have saved him. So you say there has to be a consultation, I can’t take this responsibility on myself alone. What an idiot that makes you look! But you’ll get over it in time, it doesn’t matter too much. If the person dies, it’s not your fault; you stuck to the rules. But there’s a different thing that torments you as well: you see that someone has blind faith in you, and at the same time you feel you can’t help. And Alexandra Andreyevna’s family had just that kind of blind faith in me. They stopped thinking that their girl was in danger. I myself kept reassuring them that everything was fine, though my heart was in my boots. To make everything even worse, the roads had become so awful that the coachman was away for days on end, getting medicines. And I myself never left my patient’s room, I couldn’t tear myself away, I kept telling her funny stories, or playing cards with her. And sat by her bedside all night. The old woman was thanking me with tears in her eyes, while I thought to myself, “I don’t deserve your thanks.” I frankly admit to you—there’s no point hiding it any more—I was in love with my patient. And Alexandra Andreyevna had got fond of me too: there were times when she wouldn’t let anybody but me into her room. She’d start talking with me, asking me where I had studied, and what my life was like, and what family I had, and whom I visited. And I felt that it wasn’t right for her to be talking, but forbidding her, you know, outright, like that—I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I’d clutch my head in my hands, and ask myself, what are you up to, you villain? And sometimes she’d take my hand and hold it, and look at me, on and on, and never take her eyes off me, and then turn her he
ad away and sigh, and say “How kind you are!” Her hands were so warm, and she had such big, languid eyes. “Yes,” she’d say, “you’re a kind, good man, you’re not like our neighbours … no, you’re not like them, not like them … Why didn’t I know you before?”—“Alexandra Andreyevna,” I’d say, “do please keep calm … believe me, I’ve no idea what I’ve done to deserve … only please keep calm, for God’s sake, keep calm … everything’s going to be all right, you’re going to get well again.” But I have to tell you,’ the doctor went on, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows, ‘they had very little to do with their neighbours. The ordinary ones weren’t up to their level, and they were too proud to mix with the rich ones. I tell you, they were an exceptionally cultured family; and that, you know, flattered me. She wouldn’t take her medicine from anyone but me … she’d raise herself up, poor little thing, with me helping her, and swallow it, and look at me … I felt as if my heart was bursting. And all the time she was getting worse and worse. She’s going to die, I thought, she’s bound to die. Believe me, I’d rather have lain down in my grave myself. And there were her mother and sisters watching me, looking into my eyes … and their confidence draining away. “Well? How is she?”—“Just fine! Don’t worry!” Don’t worry indeed—when I was almost out of my mind. And one night, there I was, watching by her bedside, all on my own again. And the maid was sitting there too, snoring her head off … Well, I couldn’t hold it against her, she was exhausted too. Alexandra Andreyevna had been feeling very ill all evening, the fever was draining her. She went on tossing and turning till midnight; at last she seemed to fall asleep, or at least she was lying there not moving. There was a lamp in the corner, burning in front of the holy icon. I’m sitting there, you know, with my eyes down, dozing myself. And suddenly it was as though someone had prodded me in my side, and I turned round … Oh my God! Alexandra was staring at me … her lips parted, her cheeks burning. “What’s wrong?”—“Doctor, I’m going to die, aren’t I?”—“God forbid!”—“No, Doctor, no, please don’t say I’m going to live … Don’t say that … If you knew … Listen to me, for God’s sake don’t hide anything from me.”—Her breathing was coming so fast. “If I know for certain that I have to die, I’ll tell you everything—everything!”—“Alexandra Andreyevna, I beg you!”—“Listen, I haven’t been asleep at all, I’ve been watching you for ages … for God’s sake … I trust you, you’re a kind man, an honest man, I beg you by all that’s holy on earth—tell me the truth! If you knew how important that is for me! … Doctor, tell me for God’s sake, am I in danger?”—“What can I tell you, Alexandra Andreyevna, for pity’s sake?”—“For God’s sake, I implore you!”—“I can’t hide it from you, Alexandra Andreyevna, yes, you are in danger, but God is merciful …”—“So I’m dying, I’m dying …” And she seemed to cheer up, her face became so bright, I was scared. “No, don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” she says, “I’m not at all afraid of death.” All at once she raised herself and leaned on her elbow. “Now … well, now I can tell you that I’m grateful to you from the bottom of my heart, you’re a kind, good man, and I love you …” I stared at her as if I was out of my mind, I felt so terrible, you know … “Do you hear—I love you …”—“Alexandra Andreyevna, what have I done to deserve that?”—“No, you don’t understand! My darling, you don’t understand!” And suddenly she held out her arms to me and drew my head to hers and kissed me … Believe me, I almost cried out … I fell to my knees and hid my face in her pillows. She wasn’t saying anything, her fingers were trembling in my hair, I could hear her weeping. I tried to soothe her, to reassure her … I really don’t know what I said to her. “You’ll wake the girl, Alexandra Andreyevna,” I said, “thank you … believe me … keep calm.” “No, stop saying that,” she kept repeating, “never mind about all of them; what if they do wake up, what if they come in—it doesn’t matter, I’m going to die anyway … What are you worried about, what are you afraid of, my darling? Lift your head up … Or perhaps you don’t love me at all, perhaps I’ve made a mistake … if that’s how it is, please forgive me.”—“Alexandra Andreyevna, what are you saying? I love you, Alexandra Andreyevna!” She looked me full in the eyes, and opened her arms. “Well then, take me in your arms …” I’ll tell you honestly, I’ve no idea how I got through that night without going mad. I could feel that my invalid was ruining herself; I could see she wasn’t really herself; and I realized that if she hadn’t felt she was on the point of death, she’d never have thought of me. But say what you like, it’s dreadful to die at twenty-five without ever having loved anyone—that’s what was tormenting her, that’s why despair had driven her to seize on me—do you understand now? She wouldn’t let me out of her arms. “Have pity on me, Alexandra Andreyevna, have pity on yourself too,” I said. “What is there to be sorry for? I’ve got to die anyway!” She never stopped repeating those words. “If I knew that I was going to live, and become a proper young lady again, I’d be ashamed of myself, yes, ashamed … but now, so what?”—“But who’s told you you’re going to die?”—“Oh, no, you can’t fool me, you’re no good at lying, just look at yourself.”—“You’re going to live, Alexandra Andreyevna, I’m going to cure you, and we’ll ask your mother to give us her blessing … we’ll be united, we’ll be happy.”—“No, no, you’ve given me your word, I’m going to die … you promised me … you said it …” That was a bitter time for me, bitter for many reasons. And just think how things sometimes turn out, you think they don’t matter, and yet they hurt. She took it into her head to ask me my name, I mean my Christian name. Wasn’t it just my luck to be called Trifon. Yes, sir, yes, Trifon, Trifon Ivanich. Back home everyone just called me Doctor. But there was nothing for it, I had to tell her, “Trifon, my lady.” She screwed up her eyes, shook her head and whispered something in French—something unpleasant—and then laughed, unpleasantly too. And that was how I spent almost the whole of that night with her. Next morning I left her room, feeling I had gone mad. I didn’t go back to her room till the afternoon, after tea. Oh my God, my God, I would never have recognized her—people look better when they’re laid in their grave. I swear to you honestly, I don’t understand, I absolutely don’t understand how I lived through that torture. Three more days, and three more nights, my sick girl struggled on … And what nights they were! What things she said to me! And on her last night, just picture it to yourself—I’m sitting by her side and praying to God for just one thing—“Take her to yourself, quickly, and me with her …” Suddenly her old mother turns up in the room, unexpectedly. I had told her the day before, the mother I mean, that there wasn’t much hope, and it would be a good idea to send for a priest. And the sick girl, as soon as she saw her mother, she says “That’s good, that you’ve come … take a look at us, we love each other, we’ve given each other our word.”—“What’s she saying, Doctor, what’s all that?” I just froze. “Her mind’s wandering,” I say, “it’s her fever …”—And she goes, “Stop that, enough of that, you’ve just been telling me something quite different, and taken a ring from me … what are you pretending for, my darling? Mother is kind, she’ll forgive us, she’ll understand, and I’m dying—there’s no reason for me to lie; give me your hand …” I jumped up and ran out of the room. The old lady had guessed, naturally.