Tales of Chekhov 03-The Lady with the Dog and Other Stories

service, or he would go into a chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting and thinking....

Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door creaked cautiously and his maman came into the room.

'Aren't you asleep?' she asked, yawning. 'Go to sleep; I have only come in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops....'

'What for?'

'Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your examination's to-morrow....'

She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, read the label, and went away.

'Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!' Volodya heard a woman's voice, a minute later. 'That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is your son asleep? Ask him to look for it....'

It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door.

'Do you understand? Morphine,' Nyuta explained in a whisper. 'There must be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it.'

Maman opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and dark in the half-light....

'Why, Volodya is not asleep,' she said. 'Volodya, look in the cupboard for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has always something the matter.'

Maman muttered something, yawned, and went away.

'Look for it,' said Nyuta. 'Why are you standing still?'

Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing.

'I believe maman has gone,' he thought. 'That's a good thing ... a good thing....'

'Will you be quick?' said Nyuta, drawling.

'In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine,' said Volodya, reading on one of the labels the word 'morph....' 'Here it is!'

Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked absent- mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the bottle and said:

'How wonderful you are!'

'What?'

She came into the room.

'What?' she asked, smiling.

He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would happen next.

'I love you,' he whispered.

She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said:

'Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!' she said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the passage. 'No, there is no one to be seen....'

She came back.

Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and himself—all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had happened.

'I must go away, though,' said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. 'What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!'

How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed to Volodya now!...

''Ugly duckling' ...' he thought after she had gone away. 'I really am ugly ... everything is ugly.'

The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? Volodya had never heard a word of it from his maman or any of the people round about him.

When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to be asleep....

'Bother it! Damn it all!' he thought.

He got up between ten and eleven.

Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, pale from his sleepless night, he thought:

'It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!'

When maman saw him and was horrified that he was not at his examination, Volodya said:

'I overslept myself, maman.... But don't worry, I will get a medical certificate.'

Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his maman) file into lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who had just arrived.

Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them—so it seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that she was not aware of the presence at table of the 'ugly duckling.'

At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his maman. Foul memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, the stings of conscience—all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy anger. He looked at maman's sharp profile, at her little nose, and at the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered:

'Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!'

He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, flung up her hands, and whispered in horror:

'What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything.'

'I don't love you ... I don't love you!' he went on breathlessly. 'You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags....'

'Control yourself, my child,' maman wept; 'the coachman can hear!'

'And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always blush.'

In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment because