Red Stefan (5 page)

“A wife, eh? Where did you get her from?”

“Picked her up in a snowdrift,” said Stephen with a laugh. Then, as the old woman made an angry sound, “Well, she looks like it, doesn't she?”

“What's her name?”

“Varvara.”

Elizabeth started slightly. She was Stephen's wife, and her name was Varvara, and he had picked her up in a snowdrift.… What an odd dream to be having. But the hut was warm. Nothing else mattered very much. Her body felt light and strange, as if it might quite easily rise up and float away like a bubble rising in water. The hut was dark. Stephen and the old woman seemed a long way off. And then the darkness was full of coloured lights, out of the midst of which the Commissar Petroff's face appeared, looking angrily at her. She threw out her hands to ward him off, and knew no more.

Afterwards she could not remember very much about the next few days. She knew that she was ill, and that Stephen and the old woman were tending her. Sometimes she thought that she was dying, and once she heard the old woman say that it would be a kindness to let her die, and that for her part she didn't believe in flying in the face of Providence.

It was then that Stephen knelt beside her and took both her hands in his. He said in English, “Elizabeth—do you hear me?” and much against her will her eyelids opened and she looked at him. She couldn't see at all clearly. She wanted to shut her eyes and slip back into the shadows again, but Stephen wouldn't let her. She had to feel the strong clasp of his hands and to listen to what he was saying.

“Elizabeth—you're not going to die. Did you think I would let you? If you did, you were making a very big mistake. You are going to get well. Now drink this up and go to sleep.”

She drank what he gave her, and slept.

When she woke again she was stronger. She lay with her eyes closed and heard the old woman talking to Stephen.

“Yes, yes, she will live—and I suppose you will think how clever you are to have cured her. Horses, cows, women—you can cure them all—can't you? And I suppose you think how clever you are. But I'll tell you what I think. I say that you never did a worse day's work than when you brought her to this house, and if we don't all live to be sorry for it, my name's not Akulina.”

She heard Stephen laugh.

“Yes, she'll live,” he said.

Akulina broke in with her angry grumble.

“And that's all you care about! Why didn't you leave her in the snow? Not that you need think I believe that story! But wherever you did pick her up, it's a pity you didn't leave her there.”

“Come, come!”

She gave a sort of snort.

“Do you think I'm blind and deaf? Look at her hands and feet! Look at the underclothes she had on! Rags, to be sure, but silk. Either she's no better than she ought to be, or she's a
bourzhui
—and the one's bad enough for you, and the other's likely enough to get us all into trouble.” She raised her voice to a high pitch of scorn. “Varvara indeed! And what was it you called her last night? And what kind of outlandish way were you talking to her? That's what I want to know!”

“Do you know the saying they have on the other side of the mountains, little grandmother?” said Stephen lazily.

Akulina snorted again.

“How should I know? Decent women stay at home and don't go where they're not wanted!”

“Well, they say there that when the devil wants a fine new crop of lies he sends round an old woman asking questions.”

“Meaning I'll get lies for an answer—and from my own grandson too!”

Stephen's voice dropped to a warm, kind tone.

“You'll never have anything but good from me, little grandmother—don't you worry about that. But take care how your tongue wags outside, because—” he paused and a spice of malice crept into his tone—“
because
it would be very exciting for the village if you and I and grandfather were all stood up in a row in the yard and shot. But it wouldn't be quite so amusing for us.”

Elizabeth fell asleep again and dreamed that she was standing against a white-washed wall to be shot. Her hands were tied behind her, and she felt cold and ashamed because she was in her night-gown and it was made of pink crêpe-de-chine with a low neck and no sleeves. It had slipped off one shoulder, and she could not pull it up again because her hands were tied. Someone called her name, and she saw the Commissar Petroff standing between her and the levelled rifles. He said, “Tell me the formula and I will save you.” Then he smiled, and his smile was worse than his frown. She tried to scream, and suddenly the dream changed. She was running over the snow, and something was running after her. She heard the pad, pad, pad of its feet, and she knew that it was a wolf. But when she looked over her shoulder it wasn't a wolf at all, but the Commissar Petroff, in a dark fur cap with two pointed ears. He caught her by the arm, and she woke screaming.

Everything was dark, and she didn't know where she was. Then Stephen's hand came out of the darkness and touched her. Afterwards she thought how strange it was that she should have known at once that it was Stephen who touched her. She caught his hand in both of hers and whispered confusedly,

“Has he gone? He frightened me—so.”

Stephen's hand was very comforting to hold. He whispered back,

“Ssh! It's only Stephen.”

She held his hand very tight.

“Has he gone?”

“There's no one here except Yuri and Akulina, and they're both fast asleep.”

“I thought he was here,” said Elizabeth faintly.

His other hand smoothed back her hair.

“There's no one here. I'm taking care of you.”

“Oh … then it was a dream.…” And then, “Where am I?”

“This is Yuri's house. It's the middle of the night. You've been ill.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. Then she shuddered a little. “He hasn't really been here? It was only a dream?”

“It was only a dream. Who were you dreaming about?”

“Petroff,” said Elizabeth. “He wants me to give him the formula. But I can't—can I?”

“Of course you can't. Would you like something to drink?”

She drank what he brought her and went to sleep again, still holding his hand.

When she woke, it was daylight and her head was clear. She raised herself on her elbow and looked about her. A bed had been made for her on the lower part of the huge two-decker stove which occupied nearly half the floor-space of the hut. She had heard that Russian peasants slept upon their stoves, and she had wondered what it would be like. There was straw under her, covered by a cloth. A blanket was over her. It was very warm and comfortable. The house had a partition running across it, but from where she lay she could see the door which led into the street, and on either side of it funny lop-sided windows, filled with clouded glass. Against the wall was a bench and what looked like an old-fashioned loom. In the corner above it an ikon, and in front of the ikon a small unlighted lamp. From the other side of the stove voices reached her—Stephen's voice and the old woman's.

“Came to the door as bold as brass!” That was Akulina on a high, angry note.

“And why shouldn't she?” said Stephen placidly. From the sounds, he appeared to be stoking the stove.

“Why shouldn't she?” Akulina became very shrill indeed. “In my young days a girl who thought anything of herself didn't go running after married men! Stood there in that doorway not half an hour ago when you were out getting in the wood, and ‘I hear Stefan is back,' says she. ‘Oh yes, he's back,' I said, and in she comes and shuts the door, which she might have done before if she was going to. ‘And what can I do for you, Irina Alexievna?' I said. ‘Is Stefan at home?' she says, and I said, ‘No, he's not,' and looked for her to go, but she didn't budge. Mercy on us, Stefan, how do you suppose the wood is going to last the winter if you're so free with it?'”

Stephen laughed.

“I'll get you some more, little grandmother. Did Irina ask any more questions?”

Akulina snorted.

“She asked me if it was true that you were married, and I said it was. And then she asked after your wife, and I said she was ill, so then she stood over there and looked at her, and I could see she didn't think much of her. There she was, still asleep, but it was easy enough to see she wouldn't have been much more use if she was awake.”

“Did she say anything?” Stephen's voice was a little hurried.

“How could she say anything when she was asleep?”

“No—
Irina
. Did Irina say anything?”

Akulina chuckled.

“Not she—not a word. Just stood there and looked. It's not very often that she hasn't got plenty to say, but just for once in a way she was as dumb as a calf.”

“She didn't ask any questions?”

“I'm telling you she didn't. Just looked and turned round and went out of the house again. You may well be surprised, but that's what she did.” She chuckled again. “Her that'll talk your head off any other time telling everybody how to do the jobs that they were doing before she was born or thought of! Why, last time she was here she as good as told me I'd get more eggs from my hens if I took up with some new-fangled notions she'd got hold of! I told her to go and talk to the hens, and see what they thought about it. ‘They're fine talkers too,' I said, and she got red behind the ears and stuck her chin in the air and went off about my taking down the blessed ikon and putting a picture of Lenin in its place! Yes, she's got plenty to say for herself as a rule has Irina!”

Elizabeth felt suddenly giddy and lay down again. It troubled her to think that this Irina had stood there looking at her in her sleep. It was strange that she had not wakened. Strange? What was there that was not strange in this new life into which she had been plunged?

Presently Akulina went out of the house. As soon as she had gone Stephen came round the stove. Elizabeth raised herself again upon her elbow, and when he saw that she was awake he fetched her a wooden bowl of milk with an egg broken in it. She wondered how he had wrung these delicacies from Akulina. It troubled her, but she drank and felt stronger.

Stephen put away the bowl and sat down on the edge of the stove beside her.

“You're better,” he said.

And Elizabeth said, “Yes.”

He smiled very kindly.

“It was just shock, and cold, and not having enough to eat. You'll soon be all right. Now I want to talk to you before Akulina comes back, because there are things we must settle. She won't be very long, so we'd better get on with it. You needn't worry to talk—I'll do the talking. I only want you to listen and say yes, and no, and a few things like that. You're strong enough for that, aren't you?”

Elizabeth felt as if she were about five years old. She said “Yes,” meekly, and when she had said it, her lips kept the faint shadow of a smile. He looked so large, sitting there with his blouse open at the neck so that the strong column of the throat showed. The bright chestnut hair which had given him his nickname curled vigorously. He looked the embodiment of cheerful health.

“All right,” he said. “Now this is the first thing I want to say. There hasn't got to be any more of this dying business. It's no use, because I'm not going to let you die. You've had a good try at it, and it's got to stop.”

“I didn't,” said Elizabeth between tears and laughter. The calm way in which he was lecturing her, the kind look with its sudden embarrassing glint of tenderness, the very bright blue of his eyes, and those big square hands—she could have laughed, or she could have cried. How stupid to be so weak! But it was true that she had tried to die. His eyes accused her of lying. The lashes dropped over her own.

“I didn't.”

“Oh yes, you did.”

“It would save a lot of trouble,” murmured Elizabeth.

“No, it wouldn't. You know, you're wasting time being obstinate like this. Akulina will come back before we've got anything settled. Now just listen to me. You want to die because you're feeling weak. That old Petroff woman starved you, didn't she?”

Elizabeth made no reply. It was all too bitter and too near. Bread of insult and water of servitude—bitter water and bitter bread.

“Now that's all over,” said Stephen. “It's all over, and you've not got to think about it again. As soon as you feel stronger you'll want to live all right. You're not really a coward.”

A tear crept down amongst the dark lashes.

“Perhaps I am.”

“No, you're not. You've got plenty of grit, and I want you to show it. You see—” his voice changed and became warm and friendly—“you see, I want you to help me, and the very first thing I want you to do is to get well, because staying here isn't going to be very safe, and we can't get away till you're well enough. Am I tiring you?”

Elizabeth blinked away the tear.

“No. I'm stupid—I'll try and get well.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He took her hand, held it for a minute, and then laid it gently down again.

“That's right! You're ever so much better, you know. Now listen! You can't be dumb here. For one thing, it'll make people talk too much. You know what villages are—everyone buzzing round and saying, ‘Fancy—Stefan Ivanovitch has picked up a dumb wife!' And half the men asking me where you came from, and whether there are any more to be had.” He laughed a little. “And then, apart from the gossip, it's no go, because you talked in your sleep and Akulina heard you.”

“What did I say?” said Elizabeth, her eyes wide and startled.

“Nothing to matter.”

“Did I speak English?”

“Akulina wouldn't know what it was. Besides, she won't talk. But I don't think you'd better be dumb—it isn't necessary. The talk here is a good bit mixed up anyhow. We're over the Ukrainian border, you know.”