The Wine of Solitude by Irène Némirovsky

Author:Irène Némirovsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409019954
Publisher: Random House

PART III

1

THE SLEIGH RUSHED towards a faint light that seemed to disappear then return, happily twinkling through the falling snow. The night was crystal clear and bitterly cold. The snowfields of Finland were endless, without a single rock, a single hill, just an enormous expanse of ice as far as the eye could see; at the horizon the ice seemed to curve slightly, as if it were embracing the entire world.

Hélène had left St Petersburg that morning. It was only the beginning of November, but here it was already the dead of winter. There was no wind, but an icy mist blew joyously from the ground, rushing towards the dark sky, towards the stars, making them flicker like candles in a breeze. For a while the stars looked duller, glimmering like mirrors when you breathe on them; but when the freezing mist dissolved they shone even more brightly and the snow took on a kind of bluish glow that seemed very close by. All you had to do was reach out and touch it … the horses were catching it up and you could grab it in your hand. But no, the sleigh continued on its way and the faint sparkle disappeared, then returned to shimmer, mockingly.

There was a turning in the road; the light on the horizon grew brighter; the horses shook the rows of little bells hanging from their necks so that each one rang out more joyously. Hélène felt the rushing wind whistle past her ears, then the horses slowed down again and the little bells became soft and languid once more.

Hélène was sitting between her parents and opposite Max, at the back of the sleigh. She leaned forward and opened the shawl that covered her face to breathe in the air slowly, as if it were ice-cold wine. For three years she had only smelled the faint odour of rotting water in St Petersburg; now she rediscovered the pleasure of feeling clean air flow freely into her nostrils, her open mouth, deep into her entire body, right down to her heart, she felt, her heart that beat with more strength and vigour.

Karol stretched out his hand and pointed to the light that was getting closer. ‘That must be the place, don’t you think?’

A lump of snow flew away from beneath the horses’ hooves and Hélène could smell the scent of pine trees, ice, earth and wind that seemed the very breath of the north, never to be forgotten. ‘This is nice,’ she thought.

They were getting closer; they could see it now. It was a simple two-storey house made of wood. A gate covered in snow creaked open.

‘Well, here we are!’ said Karol. ‘I’ll just have a glass of vodka and get going.’

‘What? Right now?’ cried Bella, her voice quivering with joy.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have to. It would be dangerous to wait. The border could be closed at any moment.’

‘But what’s going to happen to us?’ Bella protested.

He leaned forward and kissed her. But Hélène had seen none of this.

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