“Yes, yes, she will live—and I suppose you will think how clever you are to have cured her. Horses, cows, women—you can cure them all—can’t you? And I suppose you think how clever you are. But I’ll tell you what I think. I say that you never did a worse day’s work than when you brought her to this house, and if we don’t all live to be sorry for it, my name’s not Akulina.”
She heard Stephen laugh.
“Yes, she’ll live,” he said.
Akulina broke in with her angry grumble.
“And that’s all you care about! Why didn’t you leave her in the snow? Not that you need think I believe that story! But wherever you did pick her up, it’s a pity you didn’t leave her there.”
“Come, come!”
She gave a sort of snort.
“Do you think I’m blind and deaf? Look at her hands and feet! Look at the underclothes she had on! Rags, to be sure, but silk. Either she’s no better than she ought to be, or she’s a bourzhui—and the one’s bad enough for you, and the other’s likely enough to get us all into trouble.” She raised her voice to a high pitch of scorn. “Varvara indeed! And what was it you called her last night? And what kind of outlandish way were you talking to her? That’s what I want to know!”
“Do you know the saying they have on the other side of the mountains, little grandmother?” said Stephen lazily.
Akulina snorted again.
“How should I know? Decent women stay at home and don’t go where they’re not wanted!”
“Well, they say there that when the devil wants a fine new crop of lies he sends round an old woman asking questions.”
“Meaning I’ll get lies for an answer—and from my own grandson too!”
Stephen’s voice dropped to a warm, kind tone.
“You’ll never have anything but good from me, little grandmother—don’t you worry about that. But take care how your tongue wags outside, because—” he paused and a spice of malice crept into his tone—“because it would be very exciting for the village if you and I and grandfather were all stood up in a row in the yard and shot. But it wouldn’t be quite so amusing for us.”
Elizabeth fell asleep again and dreamed that she was standing against a white-washed wall to be shot. Her hands were tied behind her, and she felt cold and ashamed because she was in her night-gown and it was made of pink crêpe-de-chine with a low neck and no sleeves. It had slipped off one shoulder, and she could not pull it up again because her hands were tied. Someone called her name, and she saw the Commissar Petroff standing between her and the levelled rifles. He said, “Tell me the formula and I will save you.” Then he smiled, and his smile was worse than his frown. She tried to scream, and suddenly the dream changed. She was running over the snow, and something was running after her. She heard the pad, pad, pad of its feet, and she knew that it was a wolf. But when she looked over her shoulder it wasn’t a wolf at all, but the Commissar Petroff, in a dark fur cap with two pointed ears. He caught her by the arm, and she woke screaming.
Everything was dark, and she didn’t know where she was. Then Stephen’s hand came out of the darkness and touched her. Afterwards she thought how strange it was that she should have known at once that it was Stephen who touched her. She caught his hand in both of hers and whispered confusedly,
“Has he gone? He frightened me—so.”
Stephen’s hand was very comforting to hold. He whispered back,
“Ssh! It’s only Stephen.”
She held his hand very tight.
“Has he gone?”
“There’s no one here except Yuri and Akulina, and they’re both fast asleep.”
“I thought he was here,” said Elizabeth faintly.
His other hand smoothed back her hair.
“There’s no one here. I’m taking care of you.”
“Oh … then it was a dream.…” And then, “Where am I?”
“This is Yuri’s house. It’s the middle of the night. You’ve been ill.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. Then she shuddered a little. “He hasn’t really been here? It was only a dream?”
“It was only a dream. Who were you dreaming about?”
“Petroff,” said Elizabeth. “He wants me to give him the formula. But I can’t—can I?”
“Of course you can’t. Would you like something to drink?”
She drank what he brought her and went to sleep again, still holding his hand.
When she woke, it was daylight and her head was clear. She raised herself on her elbow and looked about her. A bed had been made for her on the lower part of the huge two-decker stove which occupied nearly half the floor-space of the hut. She had heard that Russian peasants slept upon their stoves, and she had wondered what it would be like. There was straw under her, covered by a cloth. A blanket was over her. It was very warm and comfortable. The house had a partition running across it, but from where she lay she could see the door which led into the street, and on either side of it funny lop-sided windows, filled with clouded glass. Against the wall was a bench and what looked like an old-fashioned loom. In the corner above it an ikon, and in front of the ikon a small unlighted lamp. From the other side of the stove voices reached her—Stephen’s voice and the old woman’s.
“Came to the door as bold as brass!” That was Akulina on a high, angry note.
“And why shouldn’t she?” said Stephen placidly. From the sounds, he appeared to be stoking the stove.
“Why shouldn’t she?” Akulina became very shrill indeed. “In my young days a girl who thought anything of herself didn’t go running after married men! Stood there in that doorway not half an hour ago when you were out getting in the wood, and ‘I hear Stefan is back,’ says she. ‘Oh yes, he’s back,’ I said, and in she comes and shuts the door, which she might have done before if she was going to. ‘And what can I do for you, Irina Alexievna?’ I said. ‘Is Stefan at home?’ she says, and I said, ‘No, he’s not,’ and looked for her to go, but she didn’t budge. Mercy on us, Stefan, how do you suppose the wood is going to last the winter if you’re so free with it?’”
Stephen laughed.
“I’ll get you some more, little grandmother. Did Irina ask any more questions?”
Akulina snorted.
“She asked me if it was true that you were married, and I said it was. And then she asked after your wife, and I said she was ill, so then she stood over there and looked at her, and I could see she didn’t think much of her. There she was, still asleep, but it was easy enough to see she wouldn’t have been much more use if she was awake.”
“Did she say anything?” Stephen’s voice was a little hurried.
“How could she say anything when she was asleep?”
“No—Irina. Did Irina say anything?”
Akulina chuckled.
“Not she—not a word. Just stood there and looked. It’s not very often that she hasn’t got plenty to say, but just for once in a way she was as dumb as a calf.”
“She didn’t ask any questions?”
“I’m telling you she didn’t. Just looked and turned round and went out of the house again. You may well be surprised, but that’s what she did.” She chuckled again. “Her that’ll talk your head off any other time telling everybody how to do the jobs that they were doing before she was born or thought of! Why, last time she was here she as good as told me I’d get more eggs from my hens if I took up with some new-fangled notions she’d got hold of! I told her to go and talk to the hens, and see what they thought about it. ‘They’re fine talkers too,’ I said, and she got red behind the ears and stuck her chin in the air and went off about my taking down the blessed ikon and putting a picture of Lenin in its place! Yes, she’s got plenty to say for herself as a rule has Irina!”
Elizabeth felt suddenly giddy and lay down again. It troubled her to think that this Irina had stood there looking at her in her sleep. It was strange that she had not wakened. Strange? What was there that was not strange in this new life into which she had been
plunged?
Presently Akulina went out of the house. As soon as she had gone Stephen came round the stove. Elizabeth raised herself again upon her elbow, and when he saw that she was awake he fetched her a wooden bowl of milk with an egg broken in it. She wondered how he had wrung these delicacies from Akulina. It troubled her, but she drank and felt stronger.
Stephen put away the bowl and sat down on the edge of the stove beside her.
“You’re better,” he said.
And Elizabeth said, “Yes.”
He smiled very kindly.
“It was just shock, and cold, and not having enough to eat. You’ll soon be all right. Now I want to talk to you before Akulina comes back, because there are things we must settle. She won’t be very long, so we’d better get on with it. You needn’t worry to talk—I’ll do the talking. I only want you to listen and say yes, and no, and a few things like that. You’re strong enough for that, aren’t you?”
Elizabeth felt as if she were about five years old. She said “Yes,” meekly, and when she had said it, her lips kept the faint shadow of a smile. He looked so large, sitting there with his blouse open at the neck so that the strong column of the throat showed. The bright chestnut hair which had given him his nickname curled vigorously. He looked the embodiment of cheerful health.
“All right,” he said. “Now this is the first thing I want to say. There hasn’t got to be any more of this dying business. It’s no use, because I’m not going to let you die. You’ve had a good try at it, and it’s got to stop.”
“I didn’t,” said Elizabeth between tears and laughter. The calm way in which he was lecturing her, the kind look with its sudden embarrassing glint of tenderness, the very bright blue of his eyes, and those big square hands—she could have laughed, or she could have cried. How stupid to be so weak! But it was true that she had tried to die. His eyes accused her of lying. The lashes dropped over her own.
“I didn’t.”
“Oh yes, you did.”
“It would save a lot of trouble,” murmured Elizabeth.
“No, it wouldn’t. You know, you’re wasting time being obstinate like this. Akulina will come back before we’ve got anything settled. Now just listen to me. You want to die because you’re feeling weak. That old Petroff woman starved you, didn’t she?”
Elizabeth made no reply. It was all too bitter and too near. Bread of insult and water of servitude—bitter water and bitter bread.
“Now that’s all over,” said Stephen. “It’s all over, and you’ve not got to think about it again. As soon as you feel stronger you’ll want to live all right. You’re not really a coward.”
A tear crept down amongst the dark lashes.
“Perhaps I am.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve got plenty of grit, and I want you to show it. You see—” his voice changed and became warm and friendly—“you see, I want you to help me, and the very first thing I want you to do is to get well, because staying here isn’t going to be very safe, and we can’t get away till you’re well enough. Am I tiring you?”
Elizabeth blinked away the tear.
“No. I’m stupid—I’ll try and get well.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
He took her hand, held it for a minute, and then laid it gently down again.
“That’s right! You’re ever so much better, you know. Now listen! You can’t be dumb here. For one thing, it’ll make people talk too much. You know what villages are—everyone buzzing round and saying, ‘Fancy—Stefan Ivanovitch has picked up a dumb wife!’ And half the men asking me where you came from, and whether there are any more to be had.” He laughed a little. “And then, apart from the gossip, it’s no go, because you talked in your sleep and Akulina heard you.”
“What did I say?” said Elizabeth, her eyes wide and startled.
“Nothing to matter.”
“Did I speak English?”
“Akulina wouldn’t know what it was. Besides, she won’t talk. But I don’t think you’d better be dumb—it isn’t necessary. The talk here is a good bit mixed up anyhow. We’re over the Ukrainian border, you know.”
“Akulina talks Russian to you—”
“Yes. She’s a Ruthenian, from White Russia. She was born and bred on the Darensky estate, and her daughter Katinka went back there when she married. Yuri is a Ukrainian. Are you any good at acting?”
Her lips moved into that faint smile.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Very well then, here’s your part. You come from East Russia. Your father and mother are dead, and you were trying to find your brother, who is in the Red Army. Your name is Varvara. You don’t need to talk about any of this, but you’ve got to know it so as to have a proper background in your own mind. Whilst you’re lying here, make pictures of your father and mother and the brother you’re looking for. Your mother’s name was Marya, and your father was Mikhail. Your brother is Ivan—you haven’t seen him for two years. There aren’t any more of you. Your mother’s house was like this, only there was no partition and the stove was on the other side. Get it all into your head, and then talk as little as possible. You’re very shy, and a little weak in the head.”
Elizabeth’s sudden faint laughter took him quite by surprise. He explained earnestly,
“I’m just thinking of what will be easiest for you.”
Her laughter came with a rush. After a moment he laughed too.
“I say, I didn’t mean it like that! Of course it sounds funny. But you see what I mean, don’t you? It’s an easy part to play really. You’ve just to say yes and no, and try to look as if part of you was somewhere else.”
The laughter went out of Elizabeth and left her shaken. She said, “I’ll try,” and Stephen nodded encouragingly.
“It isn’t the village people who matter so much,” he said—“It’s Irina. You’ll have to be most awfully careful.”
“Who is Irina?” said Elizabeth.
The question had been burning on her lips. They trembled a little when she had spoken, and she was angry with them for trembling. What did it matter to her who Irina was? She had come here and asked for Stephen. And why shouldn’t she? That was what Stephen had said—why shouldn’t she?
Stephen did not answer for a moment. Then he said, “We shall have to look out for her—she’s clever.”
“Who is she?”
He laughed.
“You might call her a sort of Communist missionary. She goes round amongst the villages trying to convert the old people and hotting up the enthusiasm of the young. I was hoping she wouldn’t be here just now—we’ve had rather more than our share of her lately. Not but what we’re very good friends and all that—” He broke off rather suddenly.
Elizabeth raised herself on her elbow. She looked at him, and he was looking away.
“What is she like? Is she young?”
He turned back, laughing.
“Oh yes, she’s young—and most awfully good-looking at that. She’s got the whole bag of tricks—brains, and looks, and most of the virtues. And that’s why we’ve got to be careful. I’ve a great respect for Irina.”
“You said you were friends.”
He nodded.
“Oh yes.”
With a little flush of effort she said,
“Wouldn’t you like to tell her—we’re not married?”
When Stephen stared, his eyes looked quite extraordinarily blue.
“Good Lord, no! I beg your pardon—but she’s the very last person on earth. I say, what put that into your head? Did you think I was in love with her?”
“Why shouldn’t you be?”
He frowned, and said with unexpected gravity,
“I’m not. Put it out of your head.” Then he smiled again, a wide, amused smile. “I said we were good friends—not friends. There’s a difference, you know. She’s intelligent, and it’s a God-send to have someone intelligent to talk to in a place like this—only I have to keep on taking care not to b
e too intelligent myself, and that’s a bit wearing. We’re not pals. We’ve really only got the colour of our opinions in common. I didn’t get called Red Stefan just on account of my hair. No—we’re fellow enthusiasts, and red-hot Communists. So if you hear me getting things off my chest like ‘universal socialist materialistic ideology,’ try and look as edified as you can, will you?—the dumb upward look of the neophyte in fact. Would you like to wash your face and hands? There’s some hot water if you would.”
CHAPTER VI
They were alone again in the afternoon, when Yuri was in the barn and Akulina was milking the cow. He asked her how she was, and she said, “Nearly well.” All day the tides of strength which had ebbed so low had been flowing. She had slept a good deal and waked each time refreshed.
“To-morrow,” said Stephen, “you must go out. They mustn’t think we’re hiding you. Are you quite warm?”
“Yes, quite,” said Elizabeth.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed which had been made for her. The warmth of the stove struck pleasantly upwards through the earthenware platform and the straw that had been piled upon it. She felt weak, but relaxed and at peace. The terrible bitter strain of the past twelve months had been lifted from her.
Stephen was standing with his back to the door. The sole furniture of the room consisted of the bench and loom which she had seen when she first waked, together with a table and four, rude but solid stools. He took one of these stools and planted himself down upon it in front of her with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He appeared to be in deep thought. Presently he said,
“I ought to practise calling you Varvara.”
Elizabeth’s smile came quite easily. The lips that had been stiff and frozen were soft again. She looked down at him and asked,
“Is it difficult?”
“Yes,” said Stephen, and plunged in thought again.
This was a new mood to her. If he had not wanted to talk to her, why had he sat down in front of her like this? But if he did want to talk to her, why didn’t he begin? She couldn’t really imagine that he lacked either words or assurance.
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