Николай Лесков – Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk and Other Stories / Леди Макбет Мценского уезда и другие повести. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 3)

But she kept at it: “Let him go, let him go.”

“In that case,” said Boris Timofeich, “here’s what you’ll get: once your husband comes, you honest wife, we’ll whip you in the stable with our own hands, and I’ll send that scoundrel to jail tomorrow.”

So Boris Timofeich decided; but his decision was not to be realized.

Chapter Five

In the evening, Boris Timofeich ate a bit of buckwheat kasha with mushrooms and got heartburn; then suddenly there was pain in the pit of his stomach; he was seized with terrible vomiting, and towards morning he died, just as the rats died in his storehouses, Katerina Lvovna having always prepared a special food for them with her own hands, using a dangerous white powder entrusted to her keeping.

Katerina Lvovna delivered her Sergei from the old man’s stone larder and, with no shame before people’s eyes, placed him in her husband’s bed to rest from her father-in-law’s beating; and the father-in-law, Boris Timofeich, they buried without second thoughts, according to the Christian rule. Amazingly enough, no one thought anything of it: Boris Timofeich had died, died from eating mushrooms, as many had died from eating them. They buried Boris Timofeich hastily, without even waiting for his son, because the weather was warm, and the man sent to the mill for Zinovy Borisych had not found him there. He had had the chance to buy a woodlot cheaply another hundred miles away: he had gone to look at it and had not properly told anyone where he was going.

Having settled this matter, Katerina Lvovna let herself go entirely. She had not been a timid one before, but now there was no telling what she would think up for herself; she strutted about, gave orders to everyone in the house, and would not let Sergei leave her side. The servants wondered about it, but Katerina Lvovna’s generous hand managed to find them all, and the wondering suddenly went away. “The mistress is having an intriguery with Sergei, that’s all,” they figured. “It’s her business, she’ll answer for it.”

Meanwhile, Sergei recovered, unbent his back, and, again the finest of fellows, a bright falcon, walked about beside Katerina Lvovna, and once more they led a most pleasant life. But time raced on not only for them: the offended husband, Zinovy Borisych, was hurrying home after his long absence.

Chapter Six

In the yard after lunch it was scorching hot, and the darting flies were unbearably annoying. Katerina Lvovna closed the bedroom shutters, covered the window from inside with a woolen shawl, and lay down to rest with Sergei on the merchant’s high bed. Katerina Lvovna sleeps and does not sleep, she is in some sort of daze, her face is bathed in sweat, and her breathing is hot and heavy. Katerina Lvovna feels it is time for her to wake up, time to go to the garden and have tea, but she simply cannot get up. At last the cook came and knocked on the door: “The samovar’s getting cold under the apple tree,” she said. Katerina Lvovna turned over with effort and began to caress the cat. And the cat goes rubbing himself between her and Sergei, and he’s so fine, gray, big, and fat as can be… and he has whiskers like a village headman. Katerina Lvovna feels his fluffy fur, and he nuzzles her with his nose: he thrusts his blunt snout into her resilient breast and sings a soft song, as if telling her of love. “How did this tomcat get here?” Katerina Lvovna thinks. “I’ve set cream on the windowsill: the vile thing’s sure to lap it up. He should be chased out,” she decided and was going to grab him and throw him out, but her fingers went through him like mist. “Where did this cat come from anyway?” Katerina Lvovna reasons in her nightmare. “We’ve never had any cat in our bedroom, and look what a one has got in!” She again went to take hold of him, and again he was not there. “Oh, what on earth is this? Can it really be a cat?” thought Katerina Lvovna. She was suddenly dumbstruck, and her drowsiness and dreaming were completely driven away. Katerina Lvovna looked around the room – there is no cat, there is only handsome Sergei lying there, pressing her breast to his hot face with his powerful hand.

Katerina Lvovna got up, sat on the bed, kissed Sergei, kissed and caressed him, straightened the rumpled featherbed, and went to the garden to have tea; and the sun had already dropped down quite low, and a wonderful, magical evening was descending upon the thoroughly heated earth.

“I slept too long,” Katerina Lvovna said to Aksinya as she seated herself on the rug under the blossoming apple tree to have tea. “What could it mean, Aksinyushka?” she asked the cook, wiping the saucer with a napkin herself.

“What’s that, my dear?”

“It wasn’t like in a dream, but a cat kept somehow nudging into me wide awake.”

“Oh, what are you saying?”

“Really, a cat nudging.”

Katerina Lvovna told how the cat was nudging into her.

“And why were you caressing him?”

“Well, that’s just it! I myself don’t know why I caressed him.”

“A wonder, really!” the cook exclaimed.

“I can’t stop marveling myself.”

“It’s most certainly about somebody sidling up to you, or something else like that.”

“But what exactly?”

“Well, what exactly – that’s something nobody can explain to you, my dear, what exactly, only there will be something.”

“I kept seeing a crescent moon in my dream and then there was this cat,” Katerina Lvovna went on.

“A crescent moon means a baby.”

Katerina Lvovna blushed.

“Shouldn’t I send Sergei here to your honor?” Aksinya hazarded, offering herself as a confidante.

“Well, after all,” replied Katerina Lvovna, “you’re right, go and send him: I’ll have tea with him here.”

“Just what I say, send him here,” Aksinya concluded, and she waddled duck-like to the garden gate.

Katerina Lvovna also told Sergei about the cat.

“Sheer fantasy,” replied Sergei.

“Then why is it, Seryozha, that I’ve never had this fantasy before?”

“There’s a lot that never was before! Before I used just to look at you and pine away, but now – ho-ho! – I have your whole white body.”

Sergei embraced Katerina Lvovna, spun her in the air, and playfully landed her on the fluffy rug.

“Oh, my head is spinning!” said Katerina Lvovna. “Seryozha, come here; sit beside me,” she called, lying back and stretching herself out in a luxurious pose.

The young fellow, bending down, went under the low apple tree, all bathed in white flowers, and sat on the rug at Katerina Lvovna’s feet.

“So you pined for me, Seryozha?”

“How I pined!”

“How did you pine? Tell me about it.”

“How can I tell about it? Is it possible to describe how you pine? I was heartsick.”

“Why is it, Seryozha, that I didn’t feel you were suffering over me? They say you can feel it.”

Sergei was silent.

“And why did you sing songs, if you were longing for me? Eh? Didn’t I hear you singing in the gallery?” Katerina Lvovna went on asking tenderly.

“So what if I sang songs? A mosquito also sings all his life, but it’s not for joy,” Sergei answered drily.

There was a pause. Katerina Lvovna was filled with the highest rapture from these confessions of Sergei.

She wanted to talk, but Sergei sulked and kept silent.

“Look, Seryozha, what paradise, what paradise!” Katerina Lvovna exclaimed, looking through the dense branches of the blossoming apple tree that covered her at the clear blue sky in which there hung a fine full moon.

The moonlight coming through the leaves and flowers of the apple tree scattered the most whimsical bright spots over Katerina Lvovna’s face and whole recumbent body; the air was still; only a light, warm breeze faintly stirred the sleepy leaves and spread the subtle fragrance of blossoming herbs and trees. There was a breath of something languorous, conducive to laziness, sweetness, and obscure desires.

Receiving no answer, Katerina Lvovna fell silent again and went on looking at the sky through the pale pink apple blossoms. Sergei, too, was silent; only he was not interested in the sky. His arms around his knees, he stared fixedly at his boots.

A golden night! Silence, light, fragrance, and beneficent, vivifying warmth. Far across the ravine, beyond the garden, someone struck up a resounding song; by the fence, in the bird-cherry thicket, a nightingale trilled and loudly throbbed; in a cage on a tall pole a sleepy quail began to rave, and a fat horse sighed languidly behind the stable wall, and outside the garden fence a merry pack of dogs raced noiselessly across the green and disappeared into the dense black shadow of the half-ruined old salt depots.

Katerina Lvovna propped herself on her elbow and looked at the tall garden grass; and the grass played with the moonbeams, broken up by the flowers and leaves of the trees. It was all gilded by these intricate bright spots, which flashed and trembled on it like live, fiery butterflies, or as if all the grass under the trees had been caught in a lunar net and were swaying from side to side.

“Ah, Seryozhechka, how lovely!” Katerina Lvovna exclaimed, looking around.

Sergei looked around indifferently.

“Why are you so joyless, Seryozha? Or are you already tired of my love?”