First loves -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
Polozov waddled into the room and again established himself in the
arm-chair. He was speechless as before; but from time to time a queer
smile puffed out his colourless and already wrinkled cheeks. He looked
like an old man, though he was only three years older than Sanin.
The dinner with which he regaled his guest would of course have
satisfied the most exacting gourmand, but to Sanin it seemed endless,
insupportable! Polozov ate slowly, “with feeling, with judgment, with
deliberation,” bending attentively over his plate, and sniffing at
almost every morsel. First he rinsed his mouth with wine, then
swallowed it and smacked his lips…. Over the roast meat he suddenly
began to talk—but of what? Of merino sheep, of which he was intending
to order a whole flock, and in such detail, with such tenderness, using
all the while endearing pet names for them. After drinking a cup of
coffee, hot to boiling point (he had several times in a voice of
tearful irritation mentioned to the waiter that he had been served the
evening before with coffee, cold—cold as ice!) and bitten off the end
of a Havannah cigar with his crooked yellow teeth, he dropped off, as
his habit was, into a nap, to the intense delight of Sanin, who began
walking up and down with noiseless steps on the soft carpet, and
dreaming of his life with Gemma and of what news he would bring back to
her. Polozov, however, awoke, as he remarked himself, earlier than
usual—he had slept only an hour and a half—and after drinking a glass
of iced seltzer water, and swallowing eight spoonfuls of jam, Russian
jam, which his valet brought him in a dark-green genuine “Kiev” jar,
and without which, in his own words, he could not live, he stared with
his swollen eyes at Sanin and asked him wouldn’t he like to play a game
of “fools” with him. Sanin agreed readily; he was afraid that Polozov
would begin talking again about lambs and ewes and fat tails. The host
and the visitor both adjourned to the drawing-room, the waiter brought
in the cards, and the game began, not,—of course, for money.
At this innocent diversion Maria Nikolaevna found them on her return
from the Countess Lasunsky’s. She laughed aloud directly she came into
the room and saw the cards and the open card-table. Sanin jumped up,
but she cried, “Sit still; go on with the game. I’ll change my dress
directly and come back to you,” and vanished again with a swish of her
dress, pulling off her gloves as she went.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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