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Clara Militch – A Tale
by
He could not remain in bed. He softly dressed himself and paced his chamber until daylight. And strange to say! He did not think about Clara for a single minute,–and he did not think about her because he had made up his mind to set off for Kazan that very day!
He thought only of that journey, of how it was to be made, and what he ought to take with him,–and how he would there ferret out and find out everything,–and regain his composure.
“If thou dost not go,” he argued with himself, “thou wilt surely lose thy reason!” He was afraid of that; he was afraid of his nerves. He was convinced that as soon as he should see all that with his own eyes, all obsessions would flee like a nocturnal nightmare.–“And the journey will occupy not more than a week in all,” he thought…. “What is a week? And there is no other way of ridding myself of it.”
The rising sun illuminated his room; but the light of day did not disperse the shades of night which weighed upon him, did not alter his decision.
Platosha came near having an apoplectic stroke when he communicated his decision to her. She even squatted down on her heels … her legs gave way under her. “To Kazan? Why to Kazan?” she whispered, protruding her eyes which were already blind enough without that. She would not have been any more astounded had she learned that her Yasha was going to marry the neighbouring baker’s daughter, or depart to America.–“And shalt thou stay long in Kazan?”
“I shall return at the end of a week,” replied Aratoff, as he stood half-turned away from his aunt, who was still sitting on the floor.
Platosha tried to remonstrate again, but Aratoff shouted at her in an utterly unexpected and unusual manner:
“I am not a baby,” he yelled, turning pale all over, while his lips quivered and his eyes flashed viciously.–“I am six-and-twenty years of age. I know what I am about,–I am free to do as I please!–I will not permit any one…. Give me money for the journey; prepare a trunk with linen and clothing … and do not bother me! I shall return at the end of a week, Platosha,” he added, in a softer tone.
Platosha rose to her feet, grunting, and, making no further opposition, wended her way to her chamber. Yasha had frightened her.–“I have not a head on my shoulders,” she remarked to the cook, who was helping her to pack Yasha’s things,–“not a head–but a bee-hive … and what bees are buzzing there I do not know! He is going away to Kazan, my mother, to Ka-za-an!”
The cook, who had noticed their yard-porter talking for a long time to the policeman about something, wanted to report this circumstance to her mistress, but she did not dare, and merely thought to herself: “To Kazan? If only it isn’t some place further away!”–And Platonida Ivanovna was so distracted that she did not even utter her customary prayer.–In such a catastrophe as this even the Lord God could be of no assistance!
That same day Aratoff set off for Kazan.
XII
No sooner had he arrived in that town and engaged a room at the hotel, than he dashed off in search of the widow Milovidoff’s house. During the whole course of his journey he had been in a sort of stupor, which, nevertheless, did not in the least prevent his taking all proper measures,–transferring himself at Nizhni Novgorod from the railway to the steamer, eating at the stations, and so forth. As before, he was convinced that everything would be cleared up there, and accordingly he banished from his thoughts all memories and speculations, contenting himself with one thing,–the mental preparation of the speech in which he was to set forth to Clara Militch’s family the real reason of his trip.–And now, at last, he had attained to the goal of his yearning, and ordered the servant to announce him. He was admitted–with surprise and alarm–but he was admitted.