Doctor Zhivago (47 page)

"
You don
'
t mean it!
"

"
I do indeed. But to go on with my story. After his wife
'
s death, Averkii Stepanovich married again. His second wife, Elena Proklovna, went straight from school to the altar. Naïve by nature, she also affects naïveté; and although she is still quite young, she already pretends to be younger still, prattles, twitters, plays the ingénue, the little foolish girl, the pure field lily. The moment she sees you, she puts you through an exam:
'
When was Suvorov born? Enumerate the conditions of equality of triangles.
'
And if she can trip you, she
'
s overjoyed. But you
'
ll see for yourself in a few hours.

"
The old man has his own peculiarities. He was going to be a sailor. He studied marine engineering. He
'
s clean-shaven, never takes his pipe out of his mouth, talks through his teeth in a slow, friendly voice, has the pipe smoker
'
s jutting lower jaw, and cold gray eyes. Oh, and a detail I almost forgot—he
'
s a Social Revolutionary and was elected regional deputy to the Constituent Assembly.
"

"
That is surely very important! So father and son are at swords
'
points? Political enemies?
"

"
In theory, of course they are. But in practice the Forest doesn
'
t make war against Varykino. However, to go on with the story. The three remaining Tuntsevas—Mikulitsyn
'
s sisters-in-law by his first marriage—live in Yuriatin to this day, all confirmed spinsters—but times have changed and so have the girls.

"
The oldest, Avdotia, is librarian at the public library. Dark, pretty, desperately shy, blushes scarlet at the slightest provocation. She has a terrible time at the library. It
'
s as quiet as the tomb, and the poor girl has a chronic cold—gets sneezing fits and looks as if she
'
d like to drop through the floor. All nerves.

"
The next one, Glafira Severinovna, is the family
'
s blessing. Terrific drive, a wonderful worker, doesn
'
t mind what she does. Livka, Comrade Forester, is supposed to take after her. One day she
'
s a seamstress or she
'
s working in a stocking factory, then before you know where you are she
'
s turned herself into a hair-dresser. You saw the woman at the switch, who shook her fist at us? Bless me, I thought, if it isn
'
t Glafira gone to work on the railway. But I don
'
t think it was Glafira, she looked too old.

"
And then there
'
s the youngest, Simushka. She
'
s their cross, she gives them no end of trouble. She
'
s an educated girl, well read, used to go in for poetry and philosophy. But since the revolution, what with all the general uplift, speeches, demonstrations, she
'
s become a bit touched in the head, she
'
s got religious mania. The sisters lock her up when they go to work, but she gets out of the window and off she goes down the street, collecting crowds, preaching the Second Coming and the end of the world. Well, it
'
s time I stopped talking, we
'
re nearly there. This is my station. Yours is next. You
'
d better get ready.
"

After Samdeviatov had gone Antonina Alexandrovna said:
"
I don
'
t know about you but I feel he
'
s a godsend. I think he
'
ll play some good sort of part in our lives.
"

"
Very possible, Toniechka. But it worries me that everybody recognizes you as Krueger
'
s granddaughter and that Krueger is so well remembered here. Even Strelnikov, the moment I said
'
Varykino,
'
asked me sarcastically if we were Krueger
'
s heirs.

"
I am afraid that after leaving Moscow to escape notice, we are going to be even more conspicuous here. Not that there is anything to be done about it, and there certainly isn
'
t any sense in crying over spilt milk. But we
'
d better stay in the background and keep quiet. Generally speaking, I
'
m not too happy about the whole thing.… But we must be nearly there. Let
'
s wake up the others and get ready.
"

Antonina Alexandrovna stood on the platform at the Torfianaia station counting her family and her luggage over and over to make sure that nothing had been left on the train. The well-trodden sand of the platform was firm under her feet, but the anxiety lest they miss the station remained with her and the clatter of the wheels was still in her ears although the train was standing motionless before her eyes. This prevented her from seeing, hearing, or thinking properly.

Passengers who were continuing their journey were calling out goodbye and waving to her from the car but she never noticed them. Nor did she notice that the train was leaving and realized that it had gone only when she found herself looking at the green fields and the blue sky across the empty track.

The station was built of stone and had benches on either side of the entrance. The Zhivagos were the only travellers who had got out at Torfianaia. They put their luggage down and sat on one of the benches.

They were struck by the silence, emptiness, and tidiness of the station. It seemed strange not to be surrounded by a milling, cursing mob. History had not caught up with this remote provincial life. It had not yet relapsed into savagery, as at the capitals.

The station nestled in a birch wood. When the train drew in, the cars were plunged into darkness. Now the shadows of the scarcely stirring trees moved lightly over their hands and faces, over the ground and the station walls and roofs, and over the platform with its clean, damp, yellow sand. It was cool in the grove, and the singing of the birds in it had an equally cool sound. Candid and pure as innocence, it pierced and carried through the wood from end to end. Two roads cut through the grove—the railroad and a country road—and both were shaded by branches, which swayed like long sleeves. Suddenly Antonina Alexandrovna
'
s eyes and ears opened. She became aware of everything at once—the ringing bird calls, the pure woodland solitude, and the flowing, unruffled stillness. She had prepared a speech in her mind:
"
I couldn
'
t believe that we would really get here safely. Your Strelnikov, you know, could quite easily have made a display of magnanimity, and then sent a telegram telling them to arrest all of us as soon as we got off the train. I don
'
t believe in their noble sentiments, my dear, it
'
s all a sham.
"
But quite different words broke from her at sight of the enchanting scene before her.
"
How lovely!
"
she cried out. She could not say any more. Tears choked her, and she began to weep.

At the sound of her crying a little old man in a station-master
'
s uniform came out and shuffled across to them. Touching the peak of his red-topped cap, he asked politely:

"
Would the young lady like a sedative? We have some in the station medicine chest.
"

"
It
'
s nothing. Thank you. She
'
ll be all right in a moment,
"
said Alexander Alexandrovich.

"
It
'
s the anxiety and the worry of the journey that does it, it
'
s well known. And then this African heat, which is so rare in this latitude. Not to mention the events in Yuriatin.
"

"
We saw the fire from the train as we went by.
"

"
You
'
re from Central Russia, if I
'
m not mistaken?
"

"
From the very heart of it.
"

"
From Moscow! Little wonder, then, that the lady
'
s nerves are upset. They say there isn
'
t a stone left standing.
"

"
Not quite as bad as that. People exaggerate. But we
'
ve certainly seen plenty. This is my daughter, and that
'
s her husband, and that
'
s their little boy. And this is his nurse, Niusha.
"

"
How do you do. How do you do. Delighted. I was rather expecting you. Anfim Efinovich Samadeviatov telephoned from Sakma. Dr. Zhivago is coming with his family from Moscow, he said, and would I please give them every possible assistance. So that
'
s who you are, am I right?
"

"
No, Dr. Zhivago is my son-in-law, there he is. I
'
m a professor of agronomy and my name is Gromeko.
"

"
Pardon me. My mistake. I am very glad to make your acquaintance.
"

"
So you know Samdeviatov?
"

"
Who doesn
'
t know him, the wonder-worker! I don
'
t know what we would have done without him—we
'
d have all been dead long ago. Give them every possible assistance, he said. Very good, I said. I promised I would. So if you need a horse or anything ...? Where are you bound for?
"

"
We want to get to Varykino. Is it far from here?
"

"
Varykino! That
'
s why I
'
ve kept wondering whom your daughter reminds me of! So it
'
s Varykino you want! That explains everything! Old man Krueger and I built this road together. I
'
ll see to the horse right away, I
'
ll call one of the men and we
'
ll see about a cart.—Donat! Donat! Take these things into the waiting room for the time being. And how about a horse? Run over to the tearoom and see what can be done. Bacchus was hanging around here this morning. See if he
'
s still there. Tell them four passengers for Varykino. They
'
re new arrivals. They
'
ve got hardly any luggage, tell them. And make it snappy. And now, lady, may I give you a piece of fatherly advice? I purposely didn
'
t ask you how closely you were related to Ivan Ernestovich. Be very careful what you say about it. You can
'
t talk too much with everyone in times like these.
"

At the mention of Bacchus the travellers looked at each other in amazement. They remembered Anna Ivanovna
'
s tales about the fabulous blacksmith who had made himself an indestructible set of iron guts and the many other local legends she had told them.

The horse was a white mare that had recently foaled, and their driver was a lop-eared old man with dishevelled white hair. For some reason everything about him was white: his new birch-bark shoes had not had time to grow dark, and his linen shirt and trousers had faded with age.

The foal, with a short, curly mane, and black as night, like a painted toy, ran after its mother kicking out its soft-boned legs.

The travellers clung to the sides of the cart as it jolted over the ruts. Their hearts were at peace. Their dream was coming true, they were almost at the end of their journey. The last hours of the clear day lingered generously, as though eager to prolong its splendor.

Their way led sometimes through woods and sometimes across open fields. Driving through the forest, each time they were jolted violently when the cart wheel hit a root; they scowled, hunched their shoulders, and pressed close to each other. Every time they came out into the open, where the space seemed exuberantly to toss its cap into the air, they sat up straight and more comfortably, and breathed sighs of relief.

It was hilly country. The hills, as always, had their own expression. They rose huge and dark in the distance, like proud shadows, silently scrutinizing the travellers. A comfortingly rosy light followed them across the fields, soothing them and giving them hope.