Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk and Other Stories / Леди Макбет Мценского уезда и другие повести. Книга для чтения на английском языке
Only Katerina Lvovna’s branded young friend somehow became very reserved towards her: he did not so much talk as snap at her; his secret meetings with her, for which, not thinking of food or drink, she gave the necessary twenty-five kopecks from her lean purse, he did not value very highly; and more than once he even said:
“You’d do better to give me the money you gave the soldier, instead of us rubbing against corners in the corridor.”
“All I gave him was twenty-five kopecks, Seryozhechka,” Katerina Lvovna tried to excuse herself.
“As if twenty-five kopecks isn’t money? Did you pick up a lot of these twenty-five kopecks on the way, that you hand them out so freely?”
“That’s how we could see each other, Seryozha.”
“Well, where’s the joy of seeing each other after such suffering! I could curse my whole life, not just these meetings.”
“And for me it makes no difference, as long as I get to see you.”
“That’s all foolishness,” replied Sergei.
Katerina Lvovna sometimes bit her lips until they bled hearing such replies, and sometimes her eyes, not given to weeping, filled with tears of anger and vexation in the darkness of their nighttime meetings; but she endured it all, kept silent, and wished to deceive herself.
Thus, in these new relations with each other, they reached Nizhny Novgorod. Here their party merged with another party that was going to Siberia from the Moscow highway.
In this big party, among a multitude of people of all sorts in the women’s section, there were two very interesting persons. One was Fiona, a soldier’s wife from Yaroslavl, a splendid, magnificent woman, tall, with a thick black braid and languorous brown eyes, curtained as with a mysterious veil by thick eyelashes; and the other was a sharp-faced seventeen-year-old blonde with tender pink skin, a tiny little mouth, dimples on her fresh cheeks, and golden blonde locks, which stubbornly strayed across her forehead from under her convict’s kerchief. In the party they called this girl Sonetka.
The beautiful Fiona was of a soft and lazy disposition. Everyone in her party knew her, and no one among the men rejoiced especially at achieving success with her, and no one was upset at seeing her grant the same success to another suitor.
“Our Aunt Fiona is a kindly woman, she doesn’t offend anybody,” the convicts all joked unanimously.
But Sonetka was of a completely different sort.
Of her they said:
“An eel: slips through your fingers, and never lingers.”
Sonetka had taste, chose her dishes, and maybe even chose very strictly; she wanted passion to be offered to her, not blandly, but with a piquant, spicy seasoning, with sufferings and sacrifices; while Fiona was Russian simplicity, who is even too lazy to say “Go away,” and who knows only one thing, that she is a woman. Such women are very highly valued in robber bands, convict parties, and the social-democratic communes of Petersburg.
The appearance of these two women in one combined party with Sergei and Katerina Lvovna had tragic consequences for the latter.
Chapter Fourteen
From the first days of the combined party’s movement from Nizhny Novgorod to Kazan, Sergei openly began to seek the favors of the soldier’s wife Fiona and suffered no lack of success. The languid beauty Fiona did not make Sergei languish, as, in her kindness, she did not make anyone languish. At the third or fourth halting place, in the early dusk, Katerina Lvovna set up a meeting with Seryozhechka by means of bribery, and lay there without sleeping: she kept waiting for the guard on duty to come at any moment, nudge her slightly, and whisper “Run quickly.” The door opened once, and a woman darted out to the corridor; the door opened again, and another woman prisoner quickly jumped up from another cot and also disappeared after the guard; finally there came a tug at the coat with which Katerina Lvovna covered herself. The young woman hurriedly got up from the cot, well-polished by the sides of convicts, threw the coat over her shoulders, and gave a push to the guard standing before her.
As Katerina Lvovna went down the corridor, in one place faintly lit by a dim lamp, she came across two or three couples who could not be made out from a distance. As Katerina Lvovna passed the male convicts’ room, she seemed to hear restrained laughter through the little window cut out in the door.
“Having fun,” Katerina Lvovna’s guard growled, and, taking her by the shoulders, he pushed her into the corner and withdrew.
Katerina Lvovna felt a coat and a beard with her hand; her other hand touched the hot face of a woman.
“Who’s that?” Sergei asked in a half whisper.
“And what are you doing here? Who is that with you?”
In the darkness, Katerina Lvovna pulled the head cloth from her rival. The woman slipped aside, rushed off, stumbled against someone in the corridor, and fell.
From the men’s quarters came a burst of guffawing.
“Villain!” Katerina Lvovna whispered and hit Sergei across the face with the ends of the kerchief she had torn from the head of his new girlfriend.
Sergei raised his hand; but Katerina Lvovna flitted lightly down the corridor and took hold of her door. The guffawing from the men’s quarters that followed her was repeated so loudly that the guard, who had been standing apathetically next to the lantern and spitting at the toe of his boot, raised his head and barked:
“Quiet!”
Katerina Lvovna lay down silently and went on lying like that until morning. She wanted to say to herself: “I don’t love him” and felt that she loved him still more ardently. And now before her eyes she keeps picturing again and again how his palm trembled under that woman’s head, how his other arm embraced her hot shoulders.
The poor woman wept and unwillingly called upon the same palm to be under her head that minute and his other arm to embrace her hysterically trembling shoulders.
“Well, give me back my kerchief anyhow,” the soldier’s wife Fiona woke her up in the morning.
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