Please, like him; he is still shy, but he has a good
heart. Show him Neskutchny gardens, go walks with
him, take him under your protection. You’ll
do that, won’t you? you’re so good, too!’
She laid both her hands affectionately on my shoulders,
and I was utterly bewildered. The presence of
this boy transformed me, too, into a boy. I looked
in silence at the cadet, who stared as silently at
me. Zinaida laughed, and pushed us towards each
other. ’Embrace each other, children!’
We embraced each other. ’Would you like
me to show you the garden?’ I inquired of the
cadet. ‘If you please,’ he replied,
in the regular cadet’s hoarse voice. Zinaida
laughed again.... I had time to notice that she
had never had such an exquisite colour in her face
before. I set off with the cadet. There was
an old-fashioned swing in our garden. I sat him
down on the narrow plank seat, and began swinging
him. He sat rigid in his new little uniform of
stout cloth, with its broad gold braiding, and kept
tight hold of the cords. ‘You’d better
unbutton your collar,’ I said to him. ’It’s
all right; we’re used to it,’ he said,
and cleared his throat. He was like his sister.
The eyes especially recalled her, I liked being nice
to him; and at the same time an aching sadness was
gnawing at my heart. ’Now I certainly am
a child,’ I thought; ‘but yesterday....’
I remembered where I had dropped my knife the night
before, and looked for it. The cadet asked me
for it, picked a thick stalk of wild parsley, cut a
pipe out of it, and began whistling. Othello whistled
too.
But in the evening how he wept, this Othello, in Zinaida’s
arms, when, seeking him out in a corner of the garden,
she asked him why he was so depressed. My tears
flowed with such violence that she was frightened.
‘What is wrong with you? What is it, Volodya?’
she repeated; and seeing I made no answer, and did
not cease weeping, she was about to kiss my wet cheek.
But I turned away from her, and whispered through
my sobs, ’I know all. Why did you play with
me?... What need had you of my love?’
‘I am to blame, Volodya ...’ said Zinaida.
’I am very much to blame ...’ she added,
wringing her hands. ’How much there is bad
and black and sinful in me!... But I am not playing
with you now. I love you; you don’t even
suspect why and how.... But what is it you know?’
What could I say to her? She stood facing me,
and looked at me; and I belonged to her altogether
from head to foot directly she looked at me....
A quarter of an hour later I was running races with
the cadet and Zinaida. I was not crying, I was
laughing, though my swollen eyelids dropped a tear
or two as I laughed. I had Zinaida’s ribbon
round my neck for a cravat, and I shouted with delight
whenever I succeeded in catching her round the waist.
She did just as she liked with me.
