City Folk and Country Folk by Sofia Khvoshchinskaya

Author:Sofia Khvoshchinskaya
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC019000, Fiction/Literary, LCO014000, Literary Collections/Russian & Former Soviet Union
Publisher: Columbia University Press
Published: 2017-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

The next morning Olenka did not show up to walk. Returning alone and annoyed after finding disorder at Beryozovka, Ovcharov saw that a carriage stood by the entrance to the manor house. Approximately an hour and a half later, the carriage left. Olenka appeared in the garden. She was wandering around with her customary aimlessness.

“Why didn’t you come today?” Ovcharov asked, stepping outside to join her.

Olenka walked right up to him. She was angry.

“You abuse us, and I’m expected to take walks with you?” she replied. “That’s a fine thing. What were you scribbling there?”

“Olga Nikolayevna!”

“And you hurt Mama’s feelings. Putting on a long face won’t help.”

“Olga Nikolayevna, but why do you take it personally? Such is the fate of us writers. If we say something, we lose friends, and if we don’t…”

“Fine, fine, that’s enough,” Olenka interrupted him, sounding weary. “Do you think I don’t know that writers are angry on purpose? Take the Mademoiselles Malinnikov. Everyone says they’re nice, but they’re forever angry. Well, I’ve had enough of you!”

“Yes, you have it almost right,” Ovcharov replied, “But I will explain to you the process by which…”

“Oh, no, please don’t! I don’t understand anything,” Olenka exclaimed, covering her ears. “I’ve got other things on my mind right now. Did you see that a lady came to visit us?”

“Yes, a carriage passed by.”

“She wants to make a match between me and some young man. It’s all ridiculous: I won’t do it. The awful thing is that I’ll have to spend time there, and it’s deathly boring. She’s the one with the governess, the one who tutored me. I know why she’s always making a fuss over us. For five years she’s owed Mama a thousand rubles and she’s not paying her back. Mama is too nice: no sooner does she get ready to say something, than she loses her nerve. It’s stupid. She should at least ask. Even if they get into an argument over it, we won’t be any worse off than we are now. As it is, I’m constantly having to go there. You see, I can’t turn down an invitation from a distinguished lady!”

“Your neighbor?”

“Yes. Repekhova-Dolgovskaya, Katerina Petrovna.”

“Katerina Petrovna!” Ovcharov exclaimed. “Is she really here? Since when?”

“You know her?”

“I should say so! We’ve known each other a hundred years.”

“She’s probably a relative of yours, and here I’ve been talking…”

“Nothing of the sort! Katerina Petrovna…Yes, I remember now. She has an estate here.”

“Yes, about fifteen versts away.”

“Has she been here long?”

“About three weeks, they say. But why on earth?…” Olenka seemed suddenly puzzled. “Why did she pretend she doesn’t know you?”

“She pretended not to know me?”

“Yes. Mama said that our neighbor, Erast Sergeyich, was living with us, and so on and so forth. Katerina Petrovna didn’t say anything. Yes, I definitely remember, she kept silent. Then she saw your case. Please don’t be angry, Erast Sergeyich.”

“About what?”

“She opened it, read something, and made a face.”

“I don’t understand,” Ovcharov responded, shrugging his shoulders. “You probably misheard.”

“Oh, I heard right! But maybe it’s the fashion nowadays to pretend not to know people.

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