First loves -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
I returned to my own room, took out of the writing-table an English
knife I had recently bought, felt its sharp edge, and knitting my brows
with an air of cold and concentrated determination, thrust it into my
pocket, as though doing such deeds was nothing out of the way for me,
and not the first time. My heart heaved angrily, and felt heavy as a
stone. All day long I kept a scowling brow and lips tightly compressed,
and was continually walking up and down, clutching, with my hand in my
pocket, the knife, which was warm from my grasp, while I prepared
myself beforehand for something terrible. These new unknown sensations
so occupied and even delighted me, that I hardly thought of Zinaïda
herself. I was continually haunted by Aleko, the young gipsy—“Where art
thou going, young handsome man? Lie there,” and then, “thou art all
besprent with blood…. Oh, what hast thou done?… Naught!” With what a
cruel smile I repeated that “Naught!” My father was not at home; but my
mother, who had for some time past been in an almost continual state of
dumb exasperation, noticed my gloomy and heroic aspect, and said to me
at supper, “Why are you sulking like a mouse in a meal-tub?” I merely
smiled condescendingly in reply, and thought, “If only they knew!” It
struck eleven; I went to my room, but did not undress; I waited for
midnight; at last it struck. “The time has come!” I muttered between my
teeth; and buttoning myself up to the throat, and even pulling my
sleeves up, I went into the garden.
I had already fixed on the spot from which to keep watch. At the end of
the garden, at the point where the fence, separating our domain from
the Zasyekins,’ joined the common wall, grew a pine-tree, standing
alone. Standing under its low thick branches, I could see well, as far
as the darkness of the night permitted, what took place around. Close
by, ran a winding path which had always seemed mysterious to me; it
coiled like a snake under the fence, which at that point bore traces of
having been climbed over, and led to a round arbour formed of thick
acacias. I made my way to the pine-tree, leaned my back against its
trunk, and began my watch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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