Russian Short Stories from Pushkin to Buida (Penguin Classics)

by Chandler, Robert

  Filipp watched the wedding party with interest. He didn’t know these people – they weren’t locals, they were going to visit somebody. One guy in a hat was pulling out all the stops, trying to attract attention to himself. It looked as though he was the one who’d managed to get the cars. He wanted everything to come off in a big way, with some dash to it. He made the accordion player perform on the ferry and he was the first one to break into a dance – he shouted, tapped out a beat with his feet and looked at everybody with the proud gaze of an eagle. But it made them uncomfortable. It was embarrassing. And it was embarrassing for the bride and groom – they were more sober than the others, more self-conscious. No matter how much that fellow in the hat showed off, he didn’t infect anybody with his fake gaiety, and he soon got tired. The ferry made it to the other side, the cars drove off, and the wedding party rolled away down the road.

  And Filipp began thinking about his own life. Here’s how his marriage had come about when he was in his youth. There had been a girl in the village, Marya Yermilova, a beauty, round-faced, rosy, friendly. She took your breath away. She was the kind of bride you could only dream about at home, while lying on your sleeping bench. Filipp loved her very much, and Marya also loved him – it looked like they’d end up marrying. But Filipp got involved with the Komsomol3 workers. And it was the same story then as later: he wasn’t a member of the Komsomol himself, but he shouted and worked to overturn things just as much as they did. Filipp liked the fact that the Komsomol workers had risen up against the old villagers, against their hold on power. There was one conflict in particular: all the young, politically aware people declared their opposition to church weddings. The unheard-of happened. The village elders couldn’t do anything. They got angry, reached for their whips, meaning to set those upstarts back on the straight and narrow with their whips alone if need be, but instead only succeeded in making them all the more dogged in their resistance. It was an exhilarating time. Filipp, of course, was all on the side of the Komsomol: he was also against church weddings. But that wasn’t the case with Marya – she wasn’t against them at all. Marya’s mother and father were tough as flint on that issue and she herself had bowed out of the ranks of the progressive-minded once and for all: she wanted to have a church wedding. Filipp found himself in a very difficult position.

  He tried to persuade Marya in every possible way (he was a masterful talker, which was probably why Marya loved him – it was a rare talent in the village). He tried to convince her, to thwart her peasant ignorance. He read her various articles, instructional and satirical. He made fun of her, but with a pain in his heart. Marya wouldn’t budge an inch: it was a church wedding or nothing. Now, looking back on his life, Filipp knew that he’d been hopelessly stupid. He and Marya ended up parting ways. Filipp didn’t change later on. He had never been sorry and wasn’t sorry now that he had been able to participate to the best of his abilities in the restructuring of life in the village. But he was sorry about Marya. All his life his heart bled and ached. Not a day went by without him remembering Marya. At first it was so hard on him that he wanted to do away with himself. And as the years passed, the pain didn’t disappear. He already had a family – it had been a civil marriage – and kids. But his heart longed and longed for Marya. When his wife, Fyokla Kuzovnikova, detected in Filipp this constant sorrow of his, she came to hate him. And that deep-seated, quiet hatred also took up permanent residence in her. For his part, Filipp didn’t hate Fyokla. No. But during the war, for instance, whenever they were told ‘You are defending your mothers and your wives,’ instead of Fyokla, Filipp would picture Marya. And if he had ended up getting killed in the war, he’d have died thinking about Marya.

  The ache didn’t go away as the years went by, but of course, it didn’t burn any more the way it had burned those first years of his marriage. By the way, he’d also stopped talking so much around then. He was an activist, as he’d been before; he spoke out because people had to be convinced, but all along it seemed as if all of his talk had less to do with politics than with his bitter thoughts about Marya. He’d be ever so pensive, then he’d suddenly snap out of it and once again he’d be trying to make people understand, once again trying to open their eyes to the new and the unprecedented. As for Marya… Marya was taken away from the village at that time. Some guy came to see her (not just some guy, later on Filipp met him many times), a rich fellow from Krayushkino. They came, made the match, and took her away. Of course, they had a church wedding. After a year had gone by, Filipp asked Pavel, Marya’s husband, ‘Weren’t you ashamed? Draggin’ yourself into a church…?’ Pavel acted surprised, then said: ‘And why should I be ashamed?’ ‘You gave in to the old folks.’ ‘I didn’t give in,’ Pavel said, ‘I wanted a church wedding myself.’ ‘That’s what I’m asking,’ said Filipp, now at a loss. ‘Weren’t you ashamed? The old folks can be pardoned, you know, but what about you? We’ll never crawl out of the dark that way.’ At that, Pavel started cussing. ‘Get the hell outta here!’ And he wouldn’t talk with Filipp any more. But here’s what Filipp noticed: when they’d meet, Pavel would look at him with some sort of suppressed rage, with pain even, as if he wanted to understand something and just couldn’t. Rumour had it that Pavel and Marya weren’t getting along well, that Marya was unhappy. This was the last straw for Filipp. He even went on a drinking binge to quell the new pain welling up inside him, but afterwards he quit drinking and learned to live with his pain. He looked at his pain as if it were a snake that he constantly carried inside himself, and no matter how much it bit him, he put up with it.

  These were the melancholy thoughts that the wedding party on wheels had resurrected. These were the thoughts Filipp ferried from shore to shore, back and forth, and it occurred to him that he’d probably need a glass of vodka with his lunch – the wind cut to the bone and his soul had begun to whimper for some reason. It started to ache outright; it became alarmed and anxious.

  ‘I’ll do two more turns, then I’ll have lunch,’ Filipp decided.

  As he approached ‘their’ bank (for Filipp, there was ‘our’ bank, where his native village was, and ‘their’ bank opposite), he saw a covered truck and a small group of people by the truck. Filipp’s experienced eye immediately guessed what kind of vehicle it was and who was being transported in it: a dead person. People transport their dead in exactly the same fashion. Waiting to board the ferry they always climb out of the truck, away from the coffin, and somehow just stand there like that and stare at the river and keep quiet, so that it’s clear from the start what kind of group it is.

  ‘Who could it be?’ Filipp wondered, peering at the people. ‘They’re from some village upriver, seeing as we haven’t heard about anybody dying round here. But why on earth are they bringin’ the body here from somewhere else? Maybe the person didn’t die at home, and so they’re bringin’ him home to bury?’

  When the ferry came closer to shore, Filipp recognized one of the men beside the truck – it was Pavel, Marya’s husband. And suddenly Filipp realized who they were bringing… They were bringing Marya. He remembered that in the beginning of the summer Marya had gone to visit her daughter in town. She and Filipp had talked while they rode on the ferry. Marya said that her daughter in town had had a baby and that she needed to help her out for the time being. They’d had a nice chat back then. Marya told him that they were doing fine, quite well, that the children (there were three of them) were all settled, she herself was getting a pension, Pavel was also getting a pension, but he still worked, he did a little cabinet-making at home. They didn’t keep a lot of livestock, but somehow they had everything they needed. They’d gotten into breeding turkeys. Last year they’d taken their house apart and replaced the bad logs; their sons had come and helped. Filipp also said that they too were doing well for the time being, he was also getting a pension and he had no complaints about his health, though his head would ache a bit when the weather was about to change. And Marya said there was something the matter with her hear
t. She was suffering from some sort of heart problem. Sometimes she’d be feeling just fine and then suddenly her heart would constrict and feel so heavy. It would happen at night: it would squeeze so bad, it was enough to make you cry. And now, Marya clearly had met her end. As soon as Filipp saw Pavel, he moaned under his breath. He felt a sudden rush of heat.

  The ferry bumped up against the rickety dock. They threaded the chains for the ferry through the rings on the dock and secured them with metal bars. The front wheels of the covered truck were already touching the logs of the dock; the logs shook, creaked, and moaned.

  Filipp stood by his rudder as if bewitched, looking at the truck. Oh God, it’s Marya they’re bringing, Marya… Filipp was supposed to show the driver how to park his truck because two more were rolling up from behind, but he’d become rooted to the spot, he kept looking at the truck, at the back of the truck.

  ‘Where do you want me to put it?’ the driver shouted.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I said, where do you want me to put it?’

  ‘Put it over there,’ Filipp gestured vaguely. It just would not completely sink in that they were transporting Marya’s body. His mind was all in a whirl, his thoughts were disjointed and couldn’t focus on this one sorrowful turn of events. First he remembered how Marya told him – right here, on the ferry – that they were doing well. Then he saw her as a young woman, when… Oh, God… Marya… Is it really you?

  At last Filipp tore himself away from the place where he’d been standing and went up to Pavel.

  Life had bent Pavel over. His face was fresh, his eyes were intelligent and clear, but his bearing was very poor. And there was a great, peaceful sorrow in his intelligent eyes.

  ‘What happened, Pavel?’ Filipp asked.

  Pavel glanced momentarily at him, as if he didn’t understand the question, and again he began looking down at the planks of the ferry. Filipp felt awkward about asking again. He turned back to his rudder. And as he went, he walked around to the back of the covered truck, glanced in and saw the coffin. And his heart started aching openly, and his thoughts came together: yes, this was Marya.

  They floated along. Filipp mechanically steered the rudder and kept thinking: ‘Maryushka, Marya…’ The dearest person in the world to him was making her last crossing with him… All those thirty years that he’d been a ferry operator, he knew exactly how many times Marya had ridden on the ferry. Basically, she’d keep going to town to see her children: either when they were studying there or when they were setting up house or when they had kids. And now – Marya was no more.

  He steamed up to the shore. Once again the chains rattled, the engines roared. Once again Filipp stood by the rudder and looked at the covered truck. It was incomprehensible. Never in all his life had he thought what it would be like if Marya died. Not once had he ever thought about that. This was the one thing he hadn’t been ready for, her death. When the covered truck began to drive off the ferry, Filipp felt an unbearable anguish in his chest. He was seized by anxiety: shouldn’t he do something? After all, they were taking her away right now. For good. He couldn’t just let it go at that; he couldn’t just see her off with his eyes and that’s all. What was he thinking? And anxiety took hold of him all the more, but he didn’t budge, and because of that, he became altogether out of sorts.

  ‘Why, I should have said goodbye!’ he realized, when the covered truck was already climbing up the slope. ‘If only I could say goodbye! If only I could take one last look. The coffin hasn’t been nailed shut yet, I could still take a look!’ And it seemed to Filipp that these people, who had driven Marya past him, well, that they shouldn’t have done that – just driven by and that’s all. After all, if it was anybody’s grief, then more than anybody else’s, it was his grief. Marya was in the coffin. Where were they taking her? Everything that life had not wiped out, that was unravaged by time, that was unforgotten and painfully dear came crashing down on Filipp. His whole long life passed before his eyes – the most important part, the most necessary part, what had kept him alive. He didn’t notice that he was weeping. His eyes kept following that monstrous truck where the coffin was. The truck made it to the top of the slope and turned into the street and disappeared.

  And now life would go on differently somehow. He had been used to the fact that Marya was here on the earth with him. When things were difficult, when times were hard, he’d remember Marya and wouldn’t feel so alone in the world. How on earth would he get along now? Oh God, what emptiness, what pain!

  Filipp quickly got off the ferry: the last truck off the boat was still lingering close to the dock for some reason. Filipp went up to the driver.

  ‘Catch up with that covered truck… the one with the coffin,’ he said, climbing into the cab.

  ‘How come? What for?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  The driver looked at Filipp, didn’t ask anything else and took off.

  While they were driving through the village, the driver levelled several sidelong glances at Filipp.

  ‘Those are Krayushkinites,4 right?’ he asked, nodding at the covered truck up ahead.

  Filipp nodded in silence.

  ‘A relative of yours?’ the driver asked again.

  Filipp said nothing at that. Once again his eyes were glued to the covered truck. From where he was, you could see the coffin in the middle of the truck bed. The people who were seated along the sides of the truck bed suddenly seemed alien to Filipp – both to him and to this coffin. What in the heck were they there for? After all, it was Marya who was in the coffin.

  ‘Want me to go around, or what?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Pass it, and let me out.’

  They passed the vehicle. Filipp climbed out of the cab and raised his hand. And his heart began pounding, as if right here and now something was going to happen that would make it clear to everybody, Filipp included, who Marya had been to him. He didn’t know what would happen, he didn’t know what words he’d say when the truck with the coffin stopped. He just wanted to see Marya so badly, it had become something necessary and important. It was impossible for her to go off like that – after all, his life had also passed by and now there wouldn’t be anybody for him any more.

  The truck stopped.

  Filipp got in at the back. He grabbed on to the side and climbed up that little set of iron steps which was at the base of the truck bed.

  ‘Pavel…’ he said pleadingly, not recognizing his own voice. He hadn’t planned on speaking so pleadingly. ‘Let me say goodbye to her. Let me at least have a look.’

  Pavel suddenly stood up abruptly and stepped towards him. Filipp managed to see his face up close. It was a changed face. The eyes, which had not long ago been filled with sorrow, had now suddenly turned malevolent.

  ‘Get outta here!’ Pavel said quietly and harshly. And he shoved Filipp in the chest. Filipp hadn’t expected that. He almost fell. He grabbed on to the side of the truck and held on. ‘Go!’ shouted Pavel. And he shoved him again and again – he shoved him hard. Filipp hung on to the truck with all his might. He looked at Pavel. He didn’t recognize him. And he didn’t understand a thing.

  ‘Hey, hey, what’s the matter?’ The others in the back were alarmed. A young man – the son, probably – took Pavel by the shoulders and dragged him away from the rear of the truck. ‘What are you doing! What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘He’d better clear outta here!’ Pavel said, dripping with venom. ‘He’d better clear out now! I’ve got my eye on you! He comes slitherin’ up… the snake! Get outta here! Outta here!’ Pavel stomped his foot. It was as if he’d gone mad with grief.

  Filipp climbed down from the truck bed. Now he understood what the matter was with Pavel. He looked malevolently back up at him. And he spoke, not aware himself what it was he was saying, and yet, as it turned out, saying the very words that he’d been carrying inside him, words that had been waiting to come out.

  ‘What, feelin’ a little bitter? You snatched up what
didn’t belong to you and now you’re all bitter about it. Were you happy about it back then?’

  ‘As if you were any happier!’ said Pavel from the back of the truck. ‘Or maybe I don’t know how happy you were!’

  ‘That’s what happens when you try to build your whole life on somebody else’s misfortune,’ Filipp continued, not listening to what was being said to him from the back of the truck. It was important to get everything out, very important. ‘Did you think you were going to live in clover? No-o, it doesn’t happen that way. Now I see what it was you got for your pains.’

  ‘So, did you live in clover? You? Yourself? Then how come you’re so old and bent over yourself? If you did live well – how come you’re so bent over? From livin’ the good life?’

  ‘Were you happy back then? Well, now you can see what that happiness has brought you. You’re just a beggar! A lousy beggar!’

  ‘What’s the matter with you two?’ The young man became angry. ‘Have you lost your minds? A fine time you’ve picked!’

  The truck started up. Pavel still managed to shout from the back, ‘I’m a beggar? You spent your whole life whining like a dog at the gate! I’m not the one who’s a beggar, you are!’

  Filipp slowly started back.

  ‘Marya,’ he thought, ‘oh, Marya, Marya… Here’s how you bent all our lives out of shape. A coupla fools snarlin’ at each other… Both of us are beggars, Pavel, so don’t get so shook up. If you aren’t a beggar, then why are you so angry? What should you be angry at? You carved out a piece of happiness in your youth – so live and be happy. But you didn’t know joy either. She didn’t love you, that’s why the grief came rushin’ out of you like that. There was nothing for you to snatch up back then. You just showed up and took her away… and everybody was overjoyed about it.’