The Schoolmaster and Other StoriesChekhov, Anton Pavlovich
General
The Schoolmaster and Other Stories
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich, 1860-1904 -- Translations into English; Russia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Nadya tried to say something, but could not. Then Sasha helped Nadya
in and covered her feet with a rug. Then he sat down beside her.
"Good luck to you! God bless you!" Granny cried from the steps.
"Mind you write to us from Moscow, Sasha!"
"Right. Good-bye, Granny."
"The Queen of Heaven keep you!"
"Oh, what weather!" said Sasha.
It was only now that Nadya began to cry. Now it was clear to her
that she certainly was going, which she had not really believed
when she was saying good-bye to Granny, and when she was looking
at her mother. Good-bye, town! And she suddenly thought of it all:
Andrey, and his father and the new house and the naked lady with
the vase; and it all no longer frightened her, nor weighed upon
her, but was naïve and trivial and continually retreated further
away. And when they got into the railway carriage and the train
began to move, all that past which had been so big and serious
shrank up into something tiny, and a vast wide future which till
then had scarcely been noticed began unfolding before her. The rain
pattered on the carriage windows, nothing could be seen but the
green fields, telegraph posts with birds sitting on the wires flitted
by, and joy made her hold her breath; she thought that she was going
to freedom, going to study, and this was just like what used, ages
ago, to be called going off to be a free Cossack.
She laughed and cried and prayed all at once.
"It's a-all right," said Sasha, smiling. "It's a-all right."
VI
Autumn had passed and winter, too, had gone. Nadya had begun to be
very homesick and thought every day of her mother and her grandmother;
she thought of Sasha too. The letters that came from home were kind
and gentle, and it seemed as though everything by now were forgiven
and forgotten. In May after the examinations she set off for home
in good health and high spirits, and stopped on the way at Moscow
to see Sasha. He was just the same as the year before, with the
same beard and unkempt hair, with the same large beautiful eyes,
and he still wore the same coat and canvas trousers; but he looked
unwell and worried, he seemed both older and thinner, and kept
coughing, and for some reason he struck Nadya as grey and provincial.
"My God, Nadya has come!" he said, and laughed gaily. "My darling
girl!"
They sat in the printing room, which was full of tobacco smoke, and
smelt strongly, stiflingly of Indian ink and paint; then they went
to his room, which also smelt of tobacco and was full of the traces
of spitting; near a cold samovar stood a broken plate with dark
paper on it, and there were masses of dead flies on the table and
on the floor. And everything showed that Sasha ordered his personal
life in a slovenly way and lived anyhow, with utter contempt for
comfort, and if anyone began talking to him of his personal happiness,
of his personal life, of affection for him, he would not have
understood and would have only laughed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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