“We spent a whole twenty-five minutes on those fish! Last Thursday I went round the entire Louvre in forty minutes. And if I’d had proper shoes on, I could have done it in thirty.”
Liza nodded to her friends.
“Goodbye then, I have to catch the tram.” And with that, she scooped up her satchel and ran to the stop.
V
LIZA TOOK OUT her keys and unlocked the front door. The spacious hallway was dark and silent. She took off her coat and quietly tiptoed into the drawing room. The door to Natalia Vladimirovna’s bedroom lay wide open, exposing the orphaned, empty space beyond.
“Has Natasha gone out?” Liza peered into the bedroom. The bed hadn’t been made and the sheets were in disarray, hanging off it. A crumpled silk slip lay draped over the armchair.
The familiar smell of her perfume hung in the stale air.
“She’s not here.” Liza screwed up her face in disappointment and yawned. “I’m so dreadfully tired. And so dreadfully bored.”
She went up to her room and laid out her textbooks and exercise book on the desk.
Nikolai’s voice carried from the room next door:
“What an idiot! That Cromwell is such an idiot!”
“To hell with him.” She heard Andrei’s irritated reply.
“Andrei is here!” Liza fixed her hair in front of the mirror, smoothed down her short gingham dress and went through to her brother’s room.
“You two are quiet. I didn’t realize you were home!”
Nikolai was smoking angrily.
“Oh, we’re home all right. Where else can we go? We’ll be at home from now on. All thanks to your Cromwell.”
Liza sat down in the armchair by the window.
“Oh, Kolya, why are you so angry? It isn’t his fault that he’s run out of money. He took us out for two months in a row.”
“And I developed a taste for it in those two months! I’m sick of sitting at home.”
Andrei shrugged.
“I don’t care. At least he’s not going to be hanging around here now.”
“Oh, give it a rest.” Nikolai threw his cigarette on the floor.
Liza felt intensely bored.
“I’m going to go and do my homework.”
“What’s the hurry?” Nikolai looked at his sister mockingly. “It’s not as if you’re going out tonight.”
Liza sat down at her desk and opened her algebra book. No matter how hard she tried, the problem wouldn’t come out. Finally, she cracked it.
“There, I’ve figured you out, you stupid problem! You shouldn’t have resisted. I said I’d solve you, and I did!”
“Dinner!” she heard Nikolai call from downstairs.
She ran down.
A large light hung low over the table. Plates and glasses stood unsteadily atop a creased tablecloth. The knives and forks lay piled up in the middle.
“What service!” said Nikolai sarcastically. “It’s no restaurant, is it?”
Liza sat down at the table and unfolded her napkin. The maid kicked the door open with her foot and walked in with a tureen full of soup. Liza dished out the soup for everyone before trying some.
“I don’t like it.”
“Just eat it, don’t talk about it,” Nikolai said. “You won’t get anything nice here anyway.”
Liza set her spoon to one side.
Andrei ate in silence, hunched over his bowl.
“We don’t even have any beer in the house,” complained Nikolai.
The meat was overcooked.
“Well, it’s no Café de Paris,” Nikolai said again. “That bloody Cromwell!”
“What’s for dessert?”
“There’s no dessert. Madame left only ten francs today. I don’t even know how I managed to stretch dinner out of that, never mind dessert.”
Liza drew her shoulder back irritably.
“Go back to the kitchen, Dasha.”
“Perhaps you’d care for some tea? We have tea.”
“All right, bring us some tea then.”
Liza moved over to the divan.
“What on earth are we going to do now?”
“What are we going to do? Nothing.” Nikolai shrugged. “You can sit around like a bobble head, nodding. And you can sing along to entertain yourself if you like:
My head is nodding, nodding, nodding
And my tongue is twisting, twisting, twisting…
There’s nothing else to do.”
Andrei stirred sugar into his tea.
“Of course, that isn’t much fun.”
Liza looked up.
“But why shouldn’t we have some fun? Can’t we go out and entertain ourselves? If we’re bored with being at home, we can go to the boulevards and sit at a café.”
“Not worth the candle. That’ll cost you about fifteen francs, with the metro. Do you have fifteen francs, Liza?”
Liza shook her head.
“No.”
“So put up or shut up.” He paused. “That damned Cromwell. He’s run out of money. He’s pawned his own car. He says all that, but I remember him telling me that his mother keeps all her cash in an unlocked safe and that she can’t even remember how many diamonds she owns!”
Liza looked at her brother.
“So? What of it?”
Nikolai said nothing. Liza looked at the mess on the table, at the leftovers on the plates, at Andrei’s glowering angry face. The door to the drawing room was wide open. Trees were swaying noisily in the darkness outside.
Andrei yawned.
“It’s a bore.”
Liza yawned too.
“Yes, it’s a bore. It’s so boring that my nose hurts. Goodnight, I’m going to bed.”
She got up.
“Come and say goodnight to me, Andrei.”
Andrei placed a cushion under his head.
“I can’t be bothered. I’m much too comfortable here.”
“Up to you. Goodnight.”
She walked through to the hallway and, without switching on the light, began climbing the staircase. A pale moon shone through the skylight. Black shadows of swaying branches ran up and down the white stairs. Liza gripped the banister and looked down at the hallway. It was silent and dark. A narrow sliver of yellow light streamed from underneath the drawing-room door. The large mirror on the wall glimmered duskily, like water—dark, silent, moonlit water, not with shadows, but with large, sleepy fish swimming in it, just like there had been at the fish museum. Liza suddenly felt an urge to have Andrei with her again, to have him kiss her lips. To kiss and kiss until she grew dizzy.
“Andrei,” she called out to him. “Andrei!”
“What? What do you want?” she heard him call out lazily in reply.
“Nothing. Nothing!” she shouted back. “Goodnight!” She paused to listen for his footsteps, but everything was still and silent. She let out a sigh and, feeling an uncomfortable lump in her throat that made it painful to breathe, slowly walked up to her room.
“Is this what love is?” she thought, locking her door. “Is life worth living if this is love?”
She undressed, removed the blue velvet cover from the divan and lay down, pulling the cover over herself.
The sooner she fell asleep, the better.
The divan felt too wide, wider than usual. The cold, heavy sheets weighed down on her breast. Maybe lying across it would be better, but she found it difficult to move. She lay still, pressing her cheek into the cold pillow.
Why was she so sad? Essentially, nothing had happened. Was it Andrei? Tomorrow he’ll be kind and loving again. But what then?
Everything was fine. Everything was just splendid. Yet her anxiety was growing. What was it?
Wasn’t she doing just fine? Didn’t she have a fun life? She was so pretty and everyone was in love with her and she was the school’s star pupil. What else was there? They were bored today because they had drunk too much the night before. Tomorrow they’d be having fun again. And everything was going to be all r
ight.
But her heart was beating palpably and heavily. What was happening? Her blood was pumping slowly and heavily around her body. Her throat constricted with anxiety and fear. She opened her eyes. Dull moonlight was streaming in through the shutters. She looked at the desk, the textbooks, the uniform hanging up on the chair. It all looked so ordinary, just as it always did. It was dependable, familiar. “At school tomorrow, maybe I’ll get called up to the front in the geography lesson.” She forced herself to think of comforting childish things. “I’ll go and play tennis with Odette.”
But still her anxiety grew. The fear made her feet turn cold. What was happening to her?
The fear grew and grew. It was standing beside her, over her bed, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe. Then she heard a thin, shrill, piercing voice ring, like a mosquito, in her ear.
“The poor girl! The poor girl! What’ll become of her? What’s lying in store for her? She’s asleep, she has no idea!”
With some difficulty, Liza managed to cast off the covers, grope for the light switch on the wall and turn on the light.
“What’ll become of her?” she said. “Everything will be all right. I’ll leave school and marry Andrei. But now I must sleep.”
She switched the light back off and laid her head on the pillow again. But the fear and anxiety were still there!
“Sleep, sleep! I must sleep and tomorrow I’ll wake up happy,” she whispered.
She thought she felt the divan slowly creep upwards and dip back down again. “Like a rollercoaster,” she thought. “I’m falling asleep, I must hurry.” To hasten sleep, she pictured a flock of sheep on a riverbank. “Here I am taking one of them by the horns and leading it across the bridge. Here I am taking a second one by the horns…”
She felt uncomfortable. The air was stale and her hand pressed awkwardly into her cheek. But she mustn’t move. She just had to wait until she fell asleep. Suddenly the river tilted and shot upwards like a mountain. The white rams started swimming rapidly through the green water. “Fish,” Liza could just make out her thoughts. “I’m asleep,” she whispered in blissful release.
VI
BUNNY WAS SITTING at a table in a restaurant, waiting for Natalia Vladimirovna. She had promised to be there at one, but it was already half past; Bunny was worried. He was just the same as always—he hadn’t changed one bit, only now, instead of a cigar, he had a pipe, his bowler hat was dusty and a light summer coat replaced his long fur affair with the beaver collar.
In his pocket, Bunny had three hundred francs—three hundred francs that had been so difficult to obtain.
“One hundred francs for lunch and two hundred francs—for her.”
It was all because of her. Because of Natasha. If only he could make her care! Oh, then everything would be very, very different. But she’s heartless. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t take any notice. Seething with hatred, he stared at the chequered tablecloths, at the low square windows, at the walls daubed with lambs and piglets, at the whole faux-Normandy set-up. But his hatred wasn’t really aimed at the restaurant. It was aimed at Natasha. He hated her. He hated himself, too. He hated her because she had ruined him and brought him to poverty and disgrace. “Poverty and disgrace”—those were his exact words. And he hated himself because he’d let himself be ruined.
A waiter carrying a menu came over to his table for the second time. Bunny waved him away in irritation.
“I’m waiting for a lady.” He turned his head away.
But the waiter leant down to speak to him.
“Monsieur Rochlin, there’s a telephone call for you.”
“For me?”
Bunny leapt out of his seat.
“Where is your telephone? Where?”
Natasha’s voice sounded through the receiver—loud and harsh.
“Hello, is that you? I can’t join you for lunch.”
“But… but why?”
“I can’t.”
He heard a click.
“Natalia Vladimirovna, Natasha!” Bunny cried out in a high-pitched voice.
There was no answer. He paused for a moment before dialling her number.
“Madame is not at home,” the maid said. “Madame left an hour ago.”
He threw down the receiver and raced back to his table. Without a word, he wrenched his coat from the stand, put on his dusty bowler at a tilt and bounded towards the exit, right past the startled waiter, who was looking at him reproachfully.
“I must find her!” The thought ran through his head.
VII
THAT DAY, Liza returned from school early. There was nobody at home—no Natasha, no Kolya, no maid even.
Liza went through to her room and sat down on the light blue divan. Outside, wet auburn leaves spun silently down—like wet dead butterflies. The trees’ thin, dark branches quivered pitifully. Rain hit the windows at an angle and ran down the panes in thin streams. The wet, shiny glass made this familiar scene appear strange—cruel and hopeless.
Liza sighed. How sad it was to sit in an empty house all alone. Even the street was empty. She was all alone. Like a castaway on a deserted island.
She reached out and plucked a book from the shelf. The Devils. She’d read it already. Oh well, it didn’t matter.
She tucked her feet under herself and bent over the book.
‘The Adventuress’ was the chapter title. “It’s when Shatov’s wife comes back to him,” she remembered. “I think it’s a good one.”
She read for a long time. Then she suddenly lifted her head.
“Nikolai Stavrogin is a scoundrel,” she said out loud, and tears began to stream down her face. “Goodness, how beautiful! How can he write like that? How did I not realize this before?”
She clutched her hands to her chest. Everything had changed. Life had changed and she had changed. Life was beautiful and frightening, heartbreaking and poignant. And she, Liza, was now a grown woman, not the little girl she had been a moment ago. She was a grown woman who had shed tears for the first time—tears of pity, kindness and rapture.
“How beautiful!”
Liza got down on her knees and cried even harder, pressing her face against the silk upholstery of the armchair.
Her heart was breaking from gratitude, from too much love. Her head was full of confused, bewildering thoughts, and her hands were shaking.
“I have to do something. What though? I have to do something… not for myself—for others. I’ll throw myself under a train, or walk into a tiger’s cage. I must sacrifice myself and die. I must die.”
She clasped her hands. “Yes, that’s right. Not for myself—for others.” She didn’t want anything for herself, she just wanted others to be happy. She picked the book up off the floor and kissed it.
“Thank you, Dostoevsky, thank you!” she said aloud and wiped away her tears, so that she could carry on reading.
Amid the silence, she heard the click of a lock and the sound of rapid footsteps.
“Natasha’s back.”
She set the book down on the desk, ran downstairs and knocked on her mother’s bedroom door.
“Let me in, Natasha.”
“Later, Liza darling. I’m busy.” Natalia Vladimirovna said in a rasping, hoarse voice.
What was the matter with her? Liza tiptoed to the dressing room. The glass door that led to the bedroom was covered by a heavy voile. Liza carefully drew the muslin aside.
Natalia Vladimirovna was sitting on the bed. A silver fox fur was draped over her shoulder. Her hat, shoes and gloves were lying in front of her on the rug.
Her face was not visible. She looked so sad. She must have been crying.
The fox’s glass eyes were looking straight up at its owner. And with each passing moment, the fox looked sadder and sadder. Any second now it too would start to whine pitifully.
Natalia Vladimirovna turned her head. The light shone on her pale, miserable face. Tears were streaming from her large, painted eyes.
&n
bsp; Liza stared at her in horror. Never before had her mother looked so pitiful, or felt so dear to her.
“Mama,” she whispered in despair, as if she had only just realized that this beautiful, unhappy woman was her mother. “Mama.”
She wanted to burst in and run to her mother, to console her.
She didn’t yet know what she was going to say, but surely all her love and tenderness would be enough consolation.
Liza placed her hand on the doorknob, but just then someone rang at the front door.
“Dasha isn’t here,” she realized, and ran to open the door.
Solntseva was wearing a red waterproof cape. She walked straight in.
“Liza darling? Oh, this rain… Is Natasha at home?”
Liza looked at her with hostility.
“Yes, but I don’t know if…”
But Solntseva wasn’t listening. She quickly folded her umbrella and shook the raindrops off her hair, like a wet poodle.
“Is she in her bedroom?” she said, before marching on without waiting for an answer.
Liza watched in disbelief.
“Surely, she won’t be allowed in, just as I wasn’t.”
Solntseva was already knocking on the door.
“It’s me—Tanya.”
The key turned almost immediately in the lock and a sobbing voice cried out: “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Liza clenched her teeth bitterly.
“She shooed me away but she’s happy to see her! I’m nobody to her.”
She crept back to the dressing room, parted the voile and set about watching the goings-on in the bedroom.
Solntseva was now sitting on the bed, next to Natalia Vladimirovna.
“Calm down, calm down, Natasha.”
Natalia Vladimirovna was sobbing on her friend’s shoulder.
“He said to me, ‘What would I want you for—you’re old and have no money. Men don’t love women like you.’”
“Now stop that, Natasha, don’t mention him. Forget him.”
“Forget him! How could I ever forget him! I love him. He’s loathsome. He’s stupid and nasty. He tells me to ‘sling my hook’. Today he hit me… Right in the face.”
Isolde Page 8