Entry 26

 
 Baroness B.


26


When I returned from the Princess, tired and worried about the absence
of news from Moscow and about the whole "organization" so badly and
unsystematically managed, I found a dark figure sitting on my bed. A
woman was attempting to light a candle. But even before I understood
who was on my bed, the odor of a woman, fine perfume, burned hair and
soap -- struck me very strongly. I had quite forgotten during all
this time of hardships this side and these agreeable ingredients of
civilized life. I took my pistol, closed the door, and always sharply
following the movements of the dark figure, approached her, pointing
the Browning. She put her hands up.

When I finally saw the woman, -- I almost fainted: it was the BaronessB., friend or enemy, but she.

She did not recognize me at first. Then:

"For God's sake!" she muttered, as if to herself, and swallowing the
words, "you are Syvorotka? My God, what a horror!... How are you?"

"Madame," I said, kissing her hand,--"it certainly is a surprise,--I
hope for both of us! How can I explain your presence here? Who and
what brought you here?"

"It does not matter -- they went away," she answered. She was looking at
me with wide-open eyes, in which I noticed the sincerest amazement, if
not stupefaction. "Syvorotka, you! How perfectly crazy you look with
this beard! If you only knew!" and silvery laughter unexpectedly
sounded in my poor quarters--in this place of mourning and sorrow--for
the first time since I have come here.

"Oh, you must shave it!"

"Let my beard alone, pray," I said. "It really is not the time for any
personal remarks. Besides--look at yourself; there is more paint on
your cheeks than flesh. And this wig! To tell the truth I like your
own hair far better. Your wig is outrageous. You look like a bad
girl."

"Exactly. That's what I am now. Lucie de Clive, Monsieur, a vaudeville
actress. That's me."

"A nice party, isn't it?" she said. "Syvorotka and Lucie?" "But--tell
me before everything else, can I stay here?"

"Stay here? Pardon me, Baroness...."

"Call me Lucie, please...."

"Pardon me, Lucie, but really I don't quite comprehend. In these
times, of course, everything has changed; but still I wish I could
understand it correctly...."

"Oh, yes, you will not be bad to a poor girl, Alex, will you? I simply
have to stay here--I have no other place to go."

To show her resoluteness, she took off her shabby overcoat and started
to arrange her belongings, an impossible suitcase and something heavy
rolled in a yellow and red blanket, looking to me from time to time
with curiosity and doubt.

"Lucie de Clive! A woman certainly could not think of anything less
snobbish even in these circumstances. You look like a real Russian
Katka-Chort in this outfit."

"That's what is required. How did you happen to pick out your name?"

We both laughed. Indeed, if our meeting were compared to all the
luxury and brilliance of the Cote d'Azur, or Petrograd--it was
laughable. "Have we anything to eat?" she asked.

"I came home for my supper," I said. "I have some trash in the
pantry."

While I was preparing in the so-called kitchen something nice out of
a piece of frozen pilmeni--hashed meat and an old can of sardines (my
pride) she began to arrange the room. She acted as if she were trying
to justify her presence, it was clear. But with all the pleasure of
seeing someone around my house, I simply could not think what had
happened to her. Baroness B.--a lady who would not hesitate in olden
times to play a thousand pounds on a horse or order ten dresses at
Paquin's,--here, asking my hospitality! If she were a Russian--I could
understand it,--wives of Privy Counsellors and Ambassadors are selling
cheese in Petrograd now. But she--a Foreign Lady?... It was clear, she
was in some intrigue as usual, and it had led her too far.

Possibly she is after me.... And besides--her very presence would
affect my work, and endanger myself. "I must give her something to
eat, and then get out of here. The L. would keep me for a while,
and then I shall go away. Let her stay in this house with all of her
strange intrigues, for I cannot throw her out."

Thus trying to understand, I finished my cooking and asked her to the
salle-a-manger--the same little kitchen.

But no matter how proud I felt of my housekeeping, the Baroness found
fault with everything. "Don't we have a table cloth? Or napkins?
What are these daggers for?"

"Good God, Syvorotka," she said, "we cannot live in such a miserable
way. I'll have to change it. There are no reasons why we should
revert to cannibalism!"

Talking in that manner, jumping from one subject to another and always
very nervously, she arranged the table more or less decently, and even
put the salt in the lid of a little powder box. "Now," she said, "I
want you to wash your hands, and comb your hair, and brush your khaki,
and ..." until I got almost civilized.

When we were through with the meal and a half of bottle of beer (they
call "beer" this indecent looking beverage in Tumen) I asked her what
brought her to Tumen?

She told me some story--of which I believed only the fact that she
was here, in my house, and that a great embarrassment had fallen on my
shoulders.

"I'm glad," I said, "you did not change at all, Lucie. It is just
as true--all this story of yours, as the one you told me in Petrograd.
But I have no use for reforming you. Now--take me as an example of
sincerity: in me, my dear lady, you see now, nothing but a poor man
in hiding. All for me is in the past.... And you,--I see it--are still
plotting, nothing could persuade me that you and I are here by mere
coincidence. You come to me--have time to curl your hair--and you even
don't tell me whether your intrigue could reveal my existence to
those that persecute me. You wouldn't hesitate to pass over my dead
body--for the sake of your affairs.... Again,--please do not feel
offended,--there is another side. I am a working man. Tomorrow I
must be at my job early in the morning. The night is growing old. So,
regardless of other things,--what would you advise me to do now?"

"I have nothing to say," she answered sadly and in a low voice, "You
are the Lord here."

"What do you advise me to do?" I repeated growing angry.

"I'll do anything you say," she answered blushing and lowering her
head, "I am ready."

"Lucie," I said, "It is not a question of that. You see I cannot put
you out on the streets. A good master would not do it to his dog. But,
on the other hand they have not yet built the Ritz here."

"I am not asking you to go from your house, Alex. I had for a
moment,--when I saw who Syvorotka was--a little ray of sunshine. I see
I am mistaken. Could you take me to the depot, then?"

"I shall do nothing of the kind," I answered. "Nobody warned me you
might come here. I was not ready. So--please stay here for to-night.
I have a place where I can find an abode, and tomorrow we can decide
what to do. There is some frozen milk in the pantry and if I don't
return--right where you are sitting in the mattress there is some
money. Good night, Lucie."

"Alex, are you really going?" she asked taking me by the arm, "Are you
really going out just not to be with me? Is it a pose? Or are you
serious? Please don't do it...."

"Good night," I said and went out.