The Master in Café Morphine by Dan T. Ghetu

Author:Dan T. Ghetu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ex Occidente Press
Published: 2023-10-06T00:00:00+00:00

Kolesnikov read the message several times, examining it a sentence at a time. He was struck by the arrogance—bordering on carelessness, given the way the letter had been delivered—with which it referred to some imminent elopement. This was characteristic of Simonov. And the “K” mentioned was obviously himself Even as he considered this, he did not feel anything like anger, only a great sadness. He could think of no way to address this feeling, and he began to dread Marya’s return.

For a long time Kolesnikov sat staring at the message, then he carefully tore it into shreds. He threw the remains away and took a book of English poems from the shelf, which he flipped through distractedly until he heard Marya ascending the stairs.

“Where did you go today?” he asked when she entered the study.

“Don’t you remember? I had lunch with Tatiana.”

“That’s all?” Kolesnikov said.

“And in the afternoon we went to the park.” She took off her coat. “I hope you weren’t in here reading all day.”

“No,” Kolesnikov said.

Marya sensed his mood, and she looked at him uncertainly.

“Simonov,” Kolesnikov said. “Do you love him?”

Marya paused for a moment, but only to collect her thoughts; she did not seem surprised by this abrupt question.

“He’s an extraordinary young man.”

“Yes, he is,” Kolesnikov said. “But do you love him?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to…”

“No, it’s nothing,” Kolesnikov cut in. He spoke more rapidly. “I seem to have failed you somehow, but maybe I failed myself first. I know that I can’t… I know that I’m not like I once was…”

“Vasily…” Marya said. “If you’ve changed at all, it’s only that you’ve become even more sentimental than you used to be.”

“Maybe I have.”

“You told me you wouldn’t do this. You remember—no jealousy. That you thought of him like a son.”

“You know I never said that.”

“But you should,” Marya said. “It’s how I think of him, so often. You know I always wanted a son.”

“I’m sorry that I—”

“No, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Vasily, don’t you see that he’s learned so much from you? You should be proud of that. He’s capable of so much.”

The word “capable”, with all its implications, stirred in Kolesnikov a sudden hatred; at last he felt his emotions flaring. But outwardly he displayed no change. He stood and walked to the door.

“I’m taking a bath,” he said.

As Kolesnikov stepped into the hall, he felt the cold pressing against his skin.

Later, as he slipped into the water, an idea took shape in his mind. But rather than consider its implications, Kolesnikov forced himself to think of sentimental scenes from his past. Briefly he recalled the pine grove outside his childhood home; the face of his brother, now long dead; and the white of Marya’s wedding dress. There seemed nothing remarkable about these memories other than that they remained with him, and as they passed before him he realized that all of them had taken place in the nineteenth century. The past twenty years seemed to have passed instantaneously.

Lost in thought, Kolesnikov paid no attention to the time.

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