Caucasus -- Fiction; Russia -- History -- Nicholas I, 1825-1855 -- Fiction
But her face, her shining eyes, her swelling bosom, her shapely legs,
said something quite different. It seemed to him that she understood
how petty were all things he had said, but that she was superior to
such considerations. It seemed to him she had long known all he wished
and was not able to tell her, but wanted to hear how he would say it.
“And how can she help knowing,” he thought, “since I only want to tell
her all that she herself is? But she does not wish to understand, does
not wish to reply.”
“Hullo!” suddenly came Ústenka’s high voice from behind the vine at no
great distance, followed by her shrill laugh. “Come and help me, Dmítri
Andréich. I am all alone,” she cried, thrusting her round, naïve little
face through the vines.
Olénin did not answer nor move from his place.
Maryánka went on cutting and continually looked up at Olénin. He was
about to say something, but stopped, shrugged his shoulders and, having
jerked up his gun, walked out of the vineyard with rapid strides.
Chapter XXXII
He stopped once or twice, listening to the ringing laughter of Maryánka
and Ústenka who, having come together, were shouting something. Olénin
spent the whole evening hunting in the forest and returned home at dusk
without having killed anything. When crossing the road he noticed her
open the door of the outhouse, and her blue smock showed through it. He
called to Vanyúsha very loud so as to let her know that he was back,
and then sat down in the porch in his usual place. His hosts now
returned from the vineyard; they came out of the outhouse and into
their hut, but did not ask him in. Maryánka went twice out of the gate.
Once in the twilight it seemed to him that she was looking at him. He
eagerly followed her every movement, but could not make up his mind to
approach her. When she disappeared into the hut he left the porch and
began pacing up and down the yard, but Maryánka did not come out again.
Olénin spent the whole sleepless night out in the yard listening to
every sound in his hosts’ hut. He heard them talking early in the
evening, heard them having their supper and pulling out their cushions,
and going to bed; he heard Maryánka laughing at something, and then
heard everything growing gradually quiet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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