A Tripping Tongue
NATALYA MIHALOVNA, a young married
lady who had arrived in the morning from Yalta, was having her dinner, and in a
never-ceasing flow of babble was telling her husband of all the charms of the
Crimea. Her husband, delighted, gazed tenderly at her enthusiastic face,
listened, and from time to time put in a question.
"But they say living is
dreadfully expensive there?" he asked, among other things.
"Well, what shall I say? To my
thinking this talk of its being so expensive is exaggerated, hubby. The devil
is not as black as he is painted. Yulia Petrovna and I, for instance, had very
decent and comfortable rooms for twenty roubles a day. Everything depends on
knowing how to do things, my dear. Of course if you want to go up into the
mountains . . . to Aie-Petri for instance . . . if you take a horse, a guide,
then of course it does come to something. It's awful what it comes to! But,
Vassitchka, the mountains there! Imagine high, high mountains, a thousand times
higher than the church. . . . At the top--mist, mist, mist. . . . At the bottom
--enormous stones, stones, stones. . . . And pines. . . . Ah, I can't bear to
think of it!"
"By the way, I read about those
Tatar guides there, in some magazine while you were away . . . . such
abominable stories! Tell me is there really anything out of the way about
them?"
Natalya Mihalovna made a little
disdainful grimace and shook her head.
"Just ordinary Tatars, nothing
special . . ." she said, "though indeed I only had a glimpse of them
in the distance. They were pointed out to me, but I did not take much notice of
them. You know, hubby, I always had a prejudice against all such Circassians,
Greeks . . . Moors!"
"They are said to be terrible
Don Juans."
"Perhaps! There are shameless
creatures who . . . ."
Natalya Mihalovna suddenly jumped up
from her chair, as though she had thought of something dreadful; for half a
minute she looked with frightened eyes at her husband and said, accentuating
each word:
"Vassitchka, I say, the im-mo-ral
women there are in the world! Ah, how immoral! And it's not as though they were
working-class or middle-class people, but aristocratic ladies, priding
themselves on their _bon-ton!_ It was simply awful, I could not believe my own
eyes! I shall remember it as long as I live! To think that people can forget
themselves to such a point as . . . ach, Vassitchka, I don't like to speak of
it! Take my companion, Yulia Petrovna, for example. . . . Such a good husband,
two children . . . she moves in a decent circle, always poses as a saint--and
all at once, would you believe it. . . . Only, hubby, of course this is _entre
nous_. . . . Give me your word of honour you won't tell a soul?"
"What next! Of course I won't
tell."
"Honour bright? Mind now! I
trust you. . . ."
The little lady put down her fork,
assumed a mysterious air, and whispered:
"Imagine a thing like this. . .
. That Yulia Petrovna rode up into the mountains . . . . It was glorious
weather! She rode on ahead with her guide, I was a little behind. We had ridden
two or three miles, all at once, only fancy, Vassitchka, Yulia cried out and
clutched at her bosom. Her Tatar put his arm round her waist or she would have
fallen off the saddle. . . . I rode up to her with my guide. . . . 'What is it?
What is the matter?' 'Oh,' she cried, 'I am dying! I feel faint! I can't go any
further' Fancy my alarm! 'Let us go back then,' I said. 'No, _Natalie_,' she
said, 'I can't go back! I shall die of pain if I move another step! I have
spasms.' And she prayed and besought my Suleiman and me to ride back to the
town and fetch her some of her drops which always do her good."
"Stay. . . . I don't quite
understand you," muttered the husband, scratching his forehead. "You
said just now that you had only seen those Tatars from a distance, and now you
are talking of some Suleiman."
"There, you are finding fault
again," the lady pouted, not in the least disconcerted. "I can't
endure suspiciousness! I can't endure it! It's stupid, stupid!"
"I am not finding fault, but .
. . why say what is not true? If you rode about with Tatars, so be it, God
bless you, but . . . why shuffle about it?"
"H'm! . . . you are a queer
one!" cried the lady, revolted. "He is jealous of Suleiman! as though
one could ride up into the mountains without a guide! I should like to see you
do it! If you don't know the ways there, if you don't understand, you had
better hold your tongue! Yes, hold your tongue. You can't take a step there
without a guide."
"So it seems!"
"None of your silly grins, if
you please! I am not a Yulia. . . . I don't justify her but I . . . ! Though I
don't pose as a saint, I don't forget myself to that degree. My Suleiman never
overstepped the limits. . . . No-o! Mametkul used to be sitting at Yulia's all
day long, but in my room as soon as it struck eleven: 'Suleiman, march! Off you
go!' And my foolish Tatar boy would depart. I made him mind his p's and q's,
hubby! As soon as he began grumbling about money or anything, I would say 'How?
Wha-at? Wha-a-a-t?' And his heart would be in his mouth directly. . . .
Ha-ha-ha! His eyes, you know, Vassitchka, were as black, as black, like coals,
such an amusing little Tatar face, so funny and silly! I kept him in order,
didn't I just!"
"I can fancy . . ."
mumbled her husband, rolling up pellets of bread.
"That's stupid, Vassitchka! I
know what is in your mind! I know what you are thinking . . . But I assure you
even when we were on our expeditions I never let him overstep the limits. For
instance, if we rode to the mountains or to the U-Chan-Su waterfall, I would
always say to him, 'Suleiman, ride behind! Do you hear!' And he always rode
behind, poor boy. . . . Even when we . . . even at the most dramatic moments I
would say to him, 'Still, you must not forget that you are only a Tatar and I am
the wife of a civil councillor!' Ha-ha. . . ."
The little lady laughed, then,
looking round her quickly and assuming an alarmed expression, whispered:
"But Yulia! Oh, that Yulia! I
quite see, Vassitchka, there is no reason why one shouldn't have a little fun,
a little rest from the emptiness of conventional life! That's all right, have
your fling by all means--no one will blame you, but to take the thing
seriously, to get up scenes . . . no, say what you like, I cannot understand
that! Just fancy, she was jealous! Wasn't that silly? One day Mametkul, her
_grande passion_, came to see her . . . she was not at home. . . . Well, I
asked him into my room . . . there was conversation, one thing and another . .
. they're awfully amusing, you know! The evening passed without our noticing
it. . . . All at once Yulia rushed in. . . . She flew at me and at Mametkul
--made such a scene . . . fi! I can't understand that sort of thing,
Vassitchka."
Vassitchka cleared his throat,
frowned, and walked up and down the room.
"You had a gay time there, I
must say," he growled with a disdainful smile.
"How stu-upid that is!"
cried Natalya Mihalovna, offended. "I know what you are thinking about!
You always have such horrid ideas! I won't tell you anything! No, I
won't!"
The lady pouted and said no more.
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Short Stories
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