Isolde

by Irena Odoevtseva

  Cromwell absent-mindedly watched the stretcher and the crying woman accompanying it. It was nothing to do with him. It was someone else’s grief. Whereas he—he had found Isolde!

  He turned away. Of course, it was a pity. A terrible pity. But he didn’t feel it. He was overwhelmed, blinded, crushed with joy.

  He heard a door slam somewhere in the bathhouse. Liza emerged from one of the cabins. Cromwell looked at her intently, taking in her legs in their silk stockings, her painted lips and her loose hair.

  “No, you’re not Isolde. You shouldn’t wear your hair down if you wear lipstick.”

  She blushed.

  “You don’t like me like this? Hand me your handkerchief.” She quickly wiped her mouth, staining the handkerchief red. “You’re an Englishman after all, a Puritan, a Quaker.” She laughed. “But it’s all right. I want you to like me. Is this better?”

  II

  A TATTERED WHITE CLOUD was slowly floating across the dark, empty sky. Liza lifted her face to it.

  “Look, it looks just like an angel.” She paused. “Po nyébu polúnochi ángel letél,”* she recited. “You don’t understand, do you?”

  He was concentrating on the road, overtaking as often as he could.

  “I don’t. I’ll bet it’s Russian, no?”

  “Aren’t you interested in what it means? The poem is Russian, but the author was Scottish by birth, just like you.”

  “It’s not that I’m not interested. I just don’t care for poetry, even in English.”

  Liza was sitting next to him. Her hair was blowing in the wind.

  “The smell of your hair! It’s all in my eyes. I can’t see the road. We’re going to break our necks because of your hair. No, don’t fix it back, I beg you! That smell!”

  Liza laughed quietly.

  “It smells of the sea. I’m having such fun! I’m not frightened at all.”

  They fell silent once again. Her knee brushed his. She leant into his shoulder.

  “Well, here we are in Biarritz. Do you really want to say goodbye? If you like, we could go to the Château Basque…”

  “No!” she said, suddenly alarmed. “We can’t go there!”

  “Why not?”

  “We just can’t,” she said. “My… A relative of mine is performing there tonight,” she added shyly.

  But he was English, so he didn’t ask any more questions.

  “So, where shall we go?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t feel like going to any restaurants. What about the lighthouse, shall we go there? Lovers always go to the lighthouse, and you’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

  He looked at her earnestly.

  “Yes, I’m in love with you, Isolde.”

  “Really?”

  The car was cruising along the dark ring road. It was deserted and quiet. The street lamps were unlit. The houses, with their shutters closed, seemed asleep.

  “Are you really in love with me? How nice! I’m so happy!”

  Her face grew pensive, almost sad.

  “But you know, if you’re really in love with me, I have to tell you something. I have a boyfriend. He’s in Paris right now.”

  Cromwell recoiled.

  “Oh, I see…”

  But Liza quickly took his hand.

  “You’ve got it all wrong. It’s nothing. You can still be in love with me. I like you a lot.” She looked at him shyly. “Kiss me.”

  He shook his head.

  “But it doesn’t even mean anything! You’re being so silly. Kissing is so lovely.”

  She put her arm around his neck.

  “Please, kiss me.”

  The car drew to a halt.

  “Look, here’s the lighthouse.”

  He helped her out of the car.

  She walked along beside him, trying to peer into his eyes.

  “You’re angry, aren’t you? Don’t be angry with me.”

  The lighthouse momentarily lit up her blonde hair and pale face, the edge of a bench, someone’s knee, someone’s lips.

  Cromwell and Liza walked on in silence. She stopped and stood right by the edge. The wind blew out her long skirt and loose hair. Her lips were ever so slightly parted. She looked out at the waves with a sad, melancholy air, as if she were expecting something.

  “Now you look like Isolde again!”

  She kept looking out to sea. It was as if she hadn’t heard him. Her skirt was beating noisily in the wind, like a flag. She stretched out her arms. The thought crossed his mind that she might take off with the wind. But she lowered her arms helplessly, as if she were folding her wings.

  “What have I done wrong?” she said, with a note of sadness in her voice. “I haven’t done anything. Please, don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  She gave him her hand and he squeezed her cold fingers.

  “Kiss me,” she pleaded.

  He bent down and kissed her on her cold lips. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

  “I just wanted to show you that I’m not a child any more,” she said shyly.

  * Po nyébu… letél: The opening line from Mikhail Lermontov’s poem ‘Angel’ (1831): “Across the midnight sky an angel flew…”

  III

  LIZA OPENED the door to Nikolai’s room.

  “Kolya! Kolya, it’s time for coffee!”

  Nikolai was standing in front of the mirror, doing up his tie. He turned to face his sister, visibly annoyed.

  “What time did you get in last night?”

  “Not at all late. Anyway, you should be pleased with me, not cross. Feel free to congratulate me—I have my own motor car now!”

  “And where did you come by that?”

  “An Englishman has fallen in love with me. He has his own Buick. And what’s his is mine. He’s rich. You should see how much cash he carries in his wallet!”

  “You’re not lying now, are you, Liza?”

  “No. I’ll introduce you today, if you’re nice to me. Anyway, let’s go!” And she ran ahead, clearing two steps at a time.

  They drew to a halt in front of a large white door.

  “Listen, Kolya, don’t say anything to her, will you?”

  “As if I would!”

  Liza knocked on the door and immediately, without waiting for an answer, flung it open. She ran into the room and jumped on the bed.

  “Good morning, Natasha!”

  Natalia Vladimirovna freed her arms from under the embroidered sheets and embraced her. “Good morning, my little bird! Good morning, Kolya.”

  She kissed them both tenderly. Liza kicked her feet up in the air, threw back the cover and got into bed beside Natalia Vladimirovna.

  “I want to go to beddy-byes!” she said in a babyish voice and kissed Natalia Vladimirovna. “I want to go to sleep next to Mummy!”

  Natalia Vladimirovna looked around her in alarm, but the door was closed.

  “Can I?” shouted Kolya. “Nobody can hear us. I want to sleep next to you too, Mummy!” He got onto the bed too and threw his arms around her neck. “Liza gets everything, what’s left for me?”

  Natalia Vladimirovna was laughing and protesting.

  “Oh! Be quiet! Won’t you be quiet, my little darlings! Please!”

  But they paid her no heed and carried on clambering all over her, kissing her. Only when the maid brought in the coffee did Liza and Nikolai move over to sit on the edge of the bed. Natalia Vladimirovna poured for them.

  “Mama, I want the coffee froth,” Liza said in a babyish voice and Natalia Vladimirovna spooned some out for her, smiling contentedly.

  “Here you go, my little bird, you can drink it now.”

  “Mama, give me your biscuit! Yours is nicer.”

  Natalia Vladimirovna laughed and gave up her biscuit.

  “How are you, my little darlings?” she said, patting Kolya on the head. “Do you like it here? Have you been doing lots of running around and catching crabs on the beach?”

  “Mmm hmm, catc
hing lots,” he said, his mouth full.

  Someone should really have explained to their mother that there was no crab-catching to be done in Biarritz, for there were no crabs. But she never went to the beach and her understanding of how her little children spent their time there invariably involved them catching crabs. Her little children, who always went to bed at nine on the dot, right after reading Andersen’s fairy tales. And yet, they were really monstrously big, her little children. They aged her terribly. She could never for the world admit that they were her own. No, they were orphans and she was their cousin. That’s why she was raising them.

  Liza reached out for the sugar bowl and accidentally knocked her arm on the table.

  “I’ve hurt my elbow, Mummy, it really hurts!”

  Natalia Vladimirovna stroked her arm and kissed it better.

  “There you are! Now it doesn’t hurt any more, Liza darling. Your elbow doesn’t hurt any more. As for that table, let’s spank it, so it doesn’t dare hurt my little Liza again!”

  On the armchair beside the bed, Liza spotted a pink nightdress. She held it in her hands and stroked the delicate, rustling silk, quite lost in thought. Her eyes narrowed with pleasure.

  “Mummy, can I have this?” she asked haltingly.

  “You want the nightdress? But whatever for?”

  Liza blushed.

  “Please, Mummy, I really want it!”

  “But what do you want it for?” said Natalia Vladimirovna. “Do you want it to sew a dress for your dolly?”

  “Yes, yes!” Liza agreed happily. “A dress for my dolly! One with lace.”

  “Have it if it pleases you.”

  They heard a knock at the door.

  “May I come in, Natasha?”

  Natalia Vladimirovna quickly glanced at her children and conspiratorially held a finger to her lips.

  “Come in, Tanya!” she said.

  Tanya Solntseva strode in. She was a friend of Natalia Vladimirovna’s.

  “You haven’t forgotten, have you, Natasha? We’re having lunch with Grünfeld today, and Boris will be there too. He asked me to tell you—”

  “Tell me later!” Natalia Vladimirovna interrupted, casting a pointed glance at Liza.

  “Oh, your little cousin.” Solntseva patted Liza on the head. “Such a graceful little thing, like a young gazelle! If I were you, I’d definitely put her into the ballet school. Look at that little face!”

  “Nonsense, stop it,” said Natalia Vladimirovna, screwing up her face in annoyance. “Liza shall finish school and then marry. No ballet.”

  “As you wish, you strict cousin! Let her marry.” Solntseva sat down in the armchair, crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. “By the way, Liza, how is that little friend of yours, the good-looking one, with a falcon-like air about him?”

  Liza blushed.

  “Andrei? He’s in Paris.”

  “A pity. He’s charming. You must know it, of course. I’m sure you’re in love with him.”

  Natalia Vladimirovna nudged her friend.

  “Tanya, what ever are you saying! Liza is a child!”

  “Oh, please! Look at this child’s eyes!”

  As though afraid that her eyes might betray her thoughts, Liza quickly lowered her eyelashes and gazed at the pattern on the rug.

  “He’s delightful, your little falcon-boy. So wild, so melancholy. It’s a pity he’s so young. How old is he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Ah, yes, too young. A couple of years from now, perhaps.” Solntseva stood up, laughing. “Two years from now I’ll definitely try to steal him away from you. But you’ll have left him long before then anyway.” She gave Natalia Vladimirovna a kiss. “I must be off. Goodbye, Liza darling. Goodbye, Kolya.”

  Natalia Vladimirovna sighed.

  “Thank God she’s gone. Don’t listen to what she says, Liza darling. She’s quite unhinged. It’s too maddening—I only get to see you two for an hour in the mornings and even then we’re constantly interrupted.”

  A car horn sounded outside. Liza ran up to the window.

  “Natasha, it’s Bunny.”

  “Bunny? Pass me my mirror, Liza darling,” Natalia Vladimirovna hurriedly fixed her hair and applied some powder. “He’s the last thing I need first thing in the morning. Go, let him in, Kolya. I do hate when he starts scratching at the door.”

  Abraham Vikentievich Rochlin, who went by the nickname Bunny, was already making his way up the garden path. He was uncommonly short. His stumpy little legs, clad in dainty yellow boots, took cautious, uncertain steps along the sandy path. His pale round eyes bulged and glinted behind his pince-nez. The look they had was at the same time cunning and somehow abashed.

  “May I come in? She isn’t asleep, is she? She isn’t angry with me?” he asked shyly.

  “Good morning, Bunny dear!” Liza offered him her hand. “Natasha is already awake.”

  He shuffled in sideways, holding his hat and a cigar in his hands.

  “Good morning, Natalia Vladimirovna, did you sleep well?”

  Natalia Vladimirovna sat up, making herself more comfortable on the pillows.

  “Oh, it’s you!” she said, in a cruel, mocking voice. “And where were you yesterday? Did you bring it?”

  “I did, I did!” As he gingerly reached for his wallet, he dropped his cigar on the floor.

  “Stop making a mess.” Natalia Vladimirovna frowned. “Throw that cigar out the window. Give me the wallet. Children, go out and play.”

  “That’s not all of it.” Bunny wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. His clean-shaven round face convulsed fearfully. “She’s angry. Please God, have mercy,” he whispered.

  “Out, children!”

  Kolya and Liza left. Liza ran to the terrace, stomping her feet as hard as she could. She stood there for a minute before creeping back to the bedroom door on her tiptoes. The key was in the lock and she couldn’t see a thing. She placed her ear to the keyhole. Natalia Vladimirovna was saying something very quickly and angrily. Then something made a loud noise. What was it? The wallet hitting the wall or a hard slap?

  “You! You! No, it’s you!” Bunny squealed in a high-pitched, womanish voice.

  Liza clasped her hand over her mouth and ran out into the garden, laughing.

  “Bunny’s getting it in the neck!” she shouted, laughing uncontrollably.

  Nikolai was sitting on the swing next to Liza’s friend Odette. Odette turned to Liza. She had a suspicious look in her eyes.

  “What’s this Kolya’s telling me? Who were you with last night?”

  Liza shrugged.

  “What’s it to you? Are you jealous?”

  “Not in the least. But who is this Englishman? Where did he come from?”

  Liza hopped and turned on one leg.

  “If you know too much, you’ll grow old too soon.”

  Odette bit her bottom lip in disappointment. Liza nudged her.

  “Don’t be cross. We’re going out tonight. I’ll take you with me and you can ask him all your questions, all right?”

  Odette nodded, but her brow was knitted.

  “Come on, cheer up! Kiss her, Kolya, she’s in love with you.”

  “Nonsense. You’re imagining things.”

  “Cromwell’s already waiting for us. I have to change out of this get-up.” Liza lifted up her leg and showed them the short stockings and sandals she was wearing. “Come on, Odette, help me get changed.”

  “Don’t put too much slap on! It looks ridiculous with your hair. You’ll look obscene!” Nikolai shouted after them.

  “That’s none of your concern, you’d better look after yourself,” Liza snapped back.

  Nikolai remained in the garden and thought about the one thing he always thought about when left to his own devices—where and how to get his hands on some money. He needed money to have fun. Without money, life just wasn’t worth living.

  Having fun meant going out to restaurants, buying ties, playing cards. Having fun meant living.
Without money, life just wasn’t worth living.

  But there was no money. The fifty francs’ pocket money he received was hardly money. But now that Liza had found this Englishman… Well, that could be interesting.

  Nikolai pushed himself off with his foot and swayed there slowly.

  “What’s taking them so long?” he thought irritably.

  IV

  CROMWELL WAS WAITING for them on the beach.

  Liza introduced them: “This is my brother, and this is Odette.”

  Cromwell shook Nikolai’s hand heartily, baring his white teeth in a broad grin.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance. Wasn’t it splendid weather for swimming today?”

  “Indeed,” said Nikolai.

  “I played tennis this morning.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I won six–two.”

  Nikolai tried to look interested.

  “There’s polo tomorrow,” Cromwell persisted. “Do you play?”

  “No.”

  “What about cricket?”

  “No.”

  “Basketball?”

  “That’s also a no.”

  “Well, football, then. You must play football.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t play football either.”

  Cromwell looked crestfallen.

  But the disappointment soon passed. After all, Nikolai was Isolde’s brother. Of course, had he been an Englishman… But he was Isolde’s brother, a creature almost as mysterious and magical as she. So he could be forgiven for not even playing football.

  The four of them went to the casino. But Liza wasn’t allowed in.

  “No children.”

  “This always happens with you.” Nikolai was angry. “You always ruin everything.”

  Liza felt guilty.

  “You can go on your own, or with Odette. We’ll wait.”

  “Go on my own?” he retorted in Russian, scoffing at the very idea. “With what money? It’s all because of your hair. And I was sure to win today. You won’t be let into the restaurant either, mark my words.”

  They sat out on the terrace of the casino. A waiter approached them.

  “I’ll have a cocktail,” said Liza. “Which one? I don’t mind which, so long as it has straws.”