Doctor Zhivago (70 page)

Yuri Andreevich did not try to dissuade her. Their return to town in the heat of the arrests there after their recent disappearance was completely foolhardy. But it was scarcely more reasonable to sit there alone and unarmed in the midst of this dreadful winter desert, full of its own menace.

Besides that, the last armloads of hay, which the doctor had raked up in the nearby sheds, were coming to an end, and there were no more to be expected. Of course, had it been possible to settle here more permanently, the doctor would have made the rounds of the neighborhood and seen to replenishing the stock of fodder and provisions. But for a brief and problematic stay, it was not worthwhile starting such reconnoitering. And, waving his hand at it all, the doctor went to harness up.

He was not skillful at it. Samdevyatov had taught him how. Yuri Andreevich kept forgetting his instructions. With inexperienced hands he nevertheless did all that was needed. Having fastened the bow to the shafts with a studded leather strap, he tied its metal-tipped end in a knot on one of the
shafts, winding it around several times, then, placing his leg against the horse’s side, he pulled and tightened the ends of the collar, after which, having finished the rest, he brought the horse to the porch, tethered her, and went to tell Lara that they could make ready.

He found her in extreme disarray. She and Katenka were dressed to leave, everything was packed, but Larissa Fyodorovna was wringing her hands and, holding back tears and asking Yuri Andreevich to sit down for a moment, throwing herself into the armchair, then getting up, and—frequently interrupting herself with the exclamation “Right?”—spoke very quickly, in an incoherent patter, on a high, singsong, and plaintive note:

“It’s not my fault. I myself don’t know how this came about. But we really can’t go now. It will be dark soon. Night will find us on the road. There in your dreadful forest. Right? I’ll do what you tell me, but myself, of my own will, I can’t decide on it. Something’s holding me back. My heart isn’t in it. Do as you know best. Right? Why are you silent, why don’t you say something? We lolled around all morning, spent half the day on God knows what. Tomorrow it won’t be the same, we’ll be more careful, right? Maybe we should stay one more day? We’ll get up early tomorrow and set out at daybreak, at seven or even six in the morning. What do you think? You’ll heat the stove, do some writing here for one extra evening, we’ll spend one more night here. Ah, it would be so incomparable, so magical! Why don’t you answer? Again I’m at fault for something, wretch that I am!”

“You’re exaggerating. It’s still long before dark. It’s quite early. But let it be your way. Very well. Let’s stay. Only calm yourself. Look how agitated you are. Really, let’s unpack, take our coats off. Here Katenka says she’s hungry. We’ll have a bite to eat. You’re right, leaving today would be too unprepared, too sudden. Only don’t fret and don’t cry, for God’s sake. I’ll start the stove right now. But first, since the horse is harnessed and the sleigh is at the porch, I’ll go and fetch the last firewood from the Zhivagos’ shed, there’s not a stick left here. Don’t cry. I’ll be back soon.”

In the snow in front of the shed there were several circles of sleigh tracks from Yuri Andreevich’s former comings and turnings. The snow by the porch was trampled and littered from his carrying wood two days earlier.

The clouds that had covered the sky in the morning had scattered. It became clear. Cold. The Varykino park, which surrounded these parts at various distances, was close to the shed, as if in order to peer into the doctor’s face and remind him of something. The snow lay deep that winter,
higher than the doorstep of the shed. It was as if the lintel lowered itself, the shed seemed to be hunched over. A slab of accumulated snow hung from the roof almost down to the doctor’s head, like the cap of a giant mushroom. Directly above the slope of the roof, its sharp end as if stuck into the snow, burning with a gray heat all around its semicircular outline, stood the young, just-born crescent moon.

Though it was daytime and quite light, the doctor had a feeling as if he were standing on a late evening in the dark, dense forest of his life. There was such gloom in his soul, so sad he felt. And the young moon, a foreboding of separation, an image of solitude, burned before him almost on the level of his face.

Yuri Andreevich was falling off his feet with fatigue. Flinging wood through the door of the shed into the sleigh, he seized fewer pieces at a time than he usually did. In such cold, to touch the icy logs with snow clinging to them was painful, even through mittens. His brisk movements did not warm him up. Something had stopped inside him and snapped. He roundly cursed his talentless fate and prayed to God to keep and safeguard the life of this wondrous beauty, sad, submissive, and simple-hearted. And the crescent moon went on standing over the shed, burning without heat and shining without light.

Suddenly the horse, turning in the direction she had been brought from, raised her head and neighed, first softly and timidly, then loudly and confidently.

“What’s she doing?” the doctor wondered. “Why on earth? It can’t be from fear. Horses don’t neigh from fear, what stupidity. She’s not such a fool as to give herself away to the wolves with her voice, if she can scent them. And so cheerfully. It must be in anticipation of home. She wants to go home. Wait, we’ll set off at once.”

In addition to the load of firewood, Yuri Andreevich took some chips from the shed for kindling and a big piece of birch bark that fell whole from a log, rolled up like a boot top. He covered the wood pile with a bast mat, tied it down with rope, and, striding beside the sleigh, drove it all back to the Mikulitsyns’ shed.

The horse neighed again, in response to the clear neigh of a horse somewhere in the distance, in the other direction. “Where is that from?” the doctor wondered, rousing himself. “We thought Varykino was deserted. It means we were mistaken.” It could not have entered his head that they had visitors, that the horse’s neighing was coming from the direction of the Mikulitsyns’ porch, from the garden. He led Savraska in a roundabout way through backyards, towards the outbuildings of the factory’s farmsteads,
and from behind the hillocks, which hid the house, could not see the front part.

Without haste (why should he be in a hurry?), he dumped the firewood in the shed, unhitched the horse, left the sleigh in the shed, and led the horse to the cold, empty stable beside it. He put her in the right corner stall, where it was less drafty, and bringing several armloads of the remaining hay from the shed, piled it onto the slanted grating of the manger.

He walked towards the house with a troubled soul. By the porch stood a well-fed black stallion hitched to a very wide peasant sleigh with a comfortable body. An unfamiliar fellow in a fine jacket, as smooth and well-fed as the horse, strolled around the horse, patting him on the sides and examining his fetlocks.

Noise could be heard in the house. Unwilling to eavesdrop and unable to hear anything, Yuri Andreevich involuntarily slowed his pace and stood as if rooted to the spot. He could not make out the words, but he recognized the voices of Komarovsky, Lara, and Katenka. They were probably in the front room, by the entrance. Komarovsky was arguing with Lara, and, judging by the sound of her replies, she was agitated, weeping, and now sharply objected to him, now agreed with him. By some indefinable sign, Yuri Andreevich imagined that Komarovsky had just then brought the talk around precisely to him, presumably in the sense that he was an untrustworthy man (“a servant of two masters,” Yuri Andreevich fancied), that it was not clear who was dearer to him, his family or Lara, and that Lara could not rely on him, because by entrusting herself to him, she would be “chasing two hares and falling between two stools.” Yuri Andreevich went into the house.

In the front room, indeed, still in a floor-length fur coat, stood Komarovsky. Lara was holding Katenka by the collar of her coat, trying to pull it together and failing to get the hook through the eye. She was cross with the girl, shouting that she should stop fidgeting and struggling, while Katenka complained: “Gently, mama, you’re choking me.” They all stood dressed and ready to leave. When Yuri Andreevich came in, Lara and Viktor Ippolitovich rushed simultaneously to meet him.

“Where did you disappear
to? We need you so much!”

“Greetings, Yuri Andreevich! Despite the rudenesses we exchanged last time, I’ve come again, as you see, without invitation.”

“Greetings, Viktor Ippolitovich.”

“Where did you disappear to for so long? Listen to what he says and decide quickly for yourself and me. There’s no time. We must hurry.”

“Why are we standing? Sit down, Viktor Ippolitovich. Where did I disappear to, Larochka? But you know I went to fetch wood, and then I saw to the horse. Viktor Ippolitovich, I beg you to sit down.”

“Aren’t you struck? How is it you don’t show any surprise? We were sorry that this man left and we hadn’t seized upon his offers, and now he’s here before you and you’re not surprised. But still more striking is his fresh news. Tell him, Viktor Ippolitovich.”

“I don’t know what Larissa Fyodorovna has in mind, but for my part I’ll say the following. I purposely spread the rumor that I had left, and stayed for a few more days, to give you and Larissa Fyodorovna time to rethink the questions we had touched upon and on mature reflection perhaps come to a less reckless decision.”

“But we can’t put it off any longer. Now is the most convenient time for leaving. Tomorrow morning—but better let Viktor Ippolitovich tell you himself.”

“One moment, Larochka. Excuse me, Viktor Ippolitovich. Why are we standing here in our coats? Let’s take them off and sit down. This is a serious conversation. We can’t do it harum-scarum. Forgive me, Viktor Ippolitovich. Our disagreement touches upon certain delicate matters. To analyze these subjects is ridiculous and awkward. I never even thought of going with you. Larissa Fyodorovna is another matter. On those rare occasions when our anxieties were separable and we remembered that we were not one being but two, with two different destinies, I thought that Lara should consider your plans more attentively, especially for Katya’s sake. And she constantly did just that, coming back again and again to those possibilities.”

“But only on condition that you come, too.”

“We have the same difficulty imagining our separation, but perhaps we must overcome ourselves and make this sacrifice. Because there can be no talk of my going.”

“But you don’t know anything yet. First listen. Tomorrow morning … Viktor Ippolitovich!”

“Clearly, Larissa Fyodorovna has in mind the information I brought and have already told her. An official train of the Far Eastern government is standing under steam on the tracks at Yuriatin. It arrived yesterday from Moscow and tomorrow it continues on its way. It’s the train of our Ministry of Transportation. It is half made up of international sleeping cars.

“I must be on that train. Places have been put at my disposal for persons invited to join my working team. We’ll roll along in full comfort. Such an occasion will not present itself again. I know you don’t throw words to the wind and will not change your refusal to come with us. You’re a man of firm decisions, I know. But all the same. Bend yourself for Larissa Fyodorovna’s
sake. You heard, she won’t go without you. Come with us, if not to Vladivostok, at least to Yuriatin. And there we’ll see. But in that case we have to hurry. We mustn’t lose a minute. I have a man with me, I’m a poor driver. The five of us, counting him, won’t fit into my sleigh. If I’m not mistaken, you have Samdevyatov’s horse. You said you drove her to fetch firewood. Is she still harnessed up?”

“No, I unhitched her.”

“Then hitch her up again quickly. My driver will help you. Though, you know … Well, devil take the second sleigh. We’ll make it in mine somehow. Only for God’s sake be quick. Take the most necessary things for the road, whatever you’ve got at hand. Let the house stay as it is, unlocked. We must save the child’s life, not go looking for locks and keys.”

“I don’t understand you, Viktor Ippolitovich. You talk as if I had agreed to come. Go with God, if Lara wants it that way. And don’t worry about the house. I’ll stay, and after your departure I’ll tidy things and lock up.”

“What are you saying, Yura? Why this deliberate nonsense, which you don’t believe yourself? ‘If Larissa Fyodorovna has decided.’ He himself knows perfectly well that without his participation in the trip, there is no Larissa Fyodorovna in the works and none of her decisions. Then what are these phrases for: ‘I’ll tidy the house and take care of everything.’ ”

“So you’re implacable. Then I have another request. With Larissa Fyodorovna’s permission, may I have a couple of words with you in private, if possible?”

“Very well. If it’s so necessary, let’s go to the kitchen. You don’t object, Larusha?”

“Strelnikov has been seized, given a capital sentence, and the sentence has been carried out.”

“How terrible. Can it be true?”

“So I’ve heard. I’m sure of it.”

“Don’t tell Lara. She’ll go out of her mind.”

“Of course I won’t. That’s why I invited you to another room. After this execution, she and her daughter are in direct, imminent danger. Help me to save them. Do you flatly refuse to accompany us?”

“I told you so. Of course.”

“But she won’t go without you. I simply don’t know what to do. In that case I’ll ask you for help of another sort. Pretend in words, deceitfully, that you’re ready to give in, that you may be persuaded. I can’t picture your parting
to myself. Neither here on the spot, nor at the station in Yuriatin, if you really were to go to see us off. We must make it so that she believes you’re also coming. If not now, along with us, then sometime later, when I offer you a new opportunity, which you will promise to make use of. You must be able to give her a false oath on it. But these are not empty words on my part. I assure you on my honor that, at the first expression of your desire, I will undertake to deliver you from here to us and send you further on, wherever you like. Larissa Fyodorovna must be certain that you’re accompanying us. Convince her of it with all your power of persuasion. Let’s say you pretend that you’re running to hitch up the horse and insist that we set out at once, without waiting, while you harness up and overtake us on the road.”