“He can see her,” said Wilfred, complacently.
“What do you mean?”
“He has been cured of his blindness by an application of Chinese medicine. And it is not surprising. Doctors all over the world are appreciating more and more the truths underlying the Chinese science of medicine.”
“Has he speaked that he can see?” asked Anna.
“My dear lady, I was present at the cure. I was, in fact, responsible for the cure, though Saggay Saggayitch made the actual application. At once your husband said—in Russian, of course—My goodness, I can see perfectly clearly.”
“Ah, tschah! he is being at his old trick again,” said Anna, crossly. “It is all lie, this blindness … he never has been blind, I think.”
The offended Wilfred turned quite pink. “You are a lady of little faith, Mrs. Malinin, like in the Gospel. If you had been present at the miracle of the Gadarene swine, you would have said that the poor creatures had been suffering from hydrophobia all along.”
“Well, perhaps they was,” snapped Anna, still ruffled. Regretting her daring pronouncement at once, however, she recalled it ungraciously. “Oi, no—of course, Mr. Chew, I know these pigs have not been—I know my husband has been blind—it is a blindness of nerve—of hysterics, the doctor speaks. One time before, he has been seeing for a few minutes.”
“This time the cure is entirely permanent,” said Wilfred, firmly.
Meanwhile the two groups had been drawing nearer to each other, and now Old Sergei called to his wife, “Look, Annitchka, I can see. I am walking alone!” He had been rather dazzled by the light in the open streets, but now in this avenue of crested spears he could open his eyes bravely and feel whole again.
“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Wilfred.
“Magnificent!” shouted Anna, half ironically—and then was penitent, hearing again that unsympathetic reservation in her own voice. “Magnificent,” she said again, yet still, she knew, her voice was not quite right. As the two halves of the family met, she threw her arms roughly round her husband’s neck and gave him a loud kiss on the corner of his mouth. That was better, she thought, though not perfect. And suddenly she realized for the first time that nothing terrible had happened or need happen at all—on the contrary, they might all be happy together now forever. Although Seryozha had come home at last, she had not, till now, looked forward to serenity. Her mind had been adjusted to mistrust of the future. Now, naive anticipation of endless flawless happiness rushed into her heart. “Let’s have a party tonight,” she said, giggling with pleasure. “The Malinin wedding-feast. We can ask your cousin Andryusha, my darling, and Mitya Nikitin with his balalaika. …”
“Excuse me,” said Wilfred. “I will wait here and guide the carter with the luggage to your house.” He wanted time to think of some subterfuge that might excuse him from presence at the feast. He had eaten and drunk one Russian feast too many, and the thought of another made his Chinese stomach turn.
Old Sergei was timidly and hopefully peering at his daughter-in-law’s shining face. “You are welcome, daughter,” he said, after a moment. “God be blessed, who brought you to us. God bless your father and mother. …”
As they walked home, Korean and Chinese neighbors who had known of Old Sergei’s blindness, stood gaping and shouting good-natured questions and comments. Seryozha, taking these as personal congratulations on the success of his magic, stepped proudly along.
The house, as soon as they entered it, began to shake with the tread of Anna walking confusedly about, talking of the party, her volatile mind continually drawing red herrings across the trail her feet were set on. The air was haunted with murmurings—“If I had a few young carrots I might … then there’s that tin of asparagus that the missionaries … or one ought, strictly speaking, to whisk a spoonful of olive oil round the … but sardines for zakuska wouldn’t be good enough … spring onions standing in the cut-glass tumbler. …” Each thought called her back empty-handed from the last uncompleted search.
“I might help, perhaps,” said Tatiana, following her about, a little puzzled.
“Your Marfa might help, perhaps,” said Anna, irritably. “She behaves as if no one ever had a blistered heel before. Ointment perhaps might soothe. …” She launched herself on a new course. “But there won’t be enough dessert plates for both plums and walnut cake. …”
This unobtrusive pursuit by the anxiously helpful Tatiana shamed Anna, by imperceptible degrees, into some kind of effort at organization. “Well, we might at least begin to mix the pie,” she said in a firm reproachful voice, suddenly dashing a pie-dish down on to the table. “And I’ll go now and get the little Lai boy next door to run and invite our guests for a copper or two. I suppose now, Tanya, your mother has everything to match—plates—little plates—dishes—everything … The samovar, I dare say, is much finer than mine …”
“It is more proud-looking, perhaps,” admitted Tatiana. “But its face is not so kind.”
Old Sergei and his son were at last left in peace in the living-room, but they could find no more subjects for pleasant talk. All Seryozha’s experiences seemed to have become twice-told tales in the course of seventy minutes.
“You ought to see that Mr. Chew is given his money when he comes in, Seryozha,” said Old Sergei, and directly he had uttered the words “you ought,” Seryozha knew at last that he was in the same old home again, with the same old nagging father. Seryozha’s face hardened, and he adjusted his wits to the old game of inventing irritating retorts. “I will leave that to you now, Seryozha,” continued the old man. “For you must begin to take a little responsibility—not expect me to do everything. I think you might give Mr. Chew a little more than we arranged. We do not want to be mean, and he has certainly done well
