Agafya Page #3

"Agafya" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that delves into themes of love, sacrifice, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative centers around Agafya, a young woman who faces the challenges of her unremarkable life and the emotional turmoil of unrequited love. Through Chekhov's nuanced portrayal of his characters, the story captures the subtleties of their aspirations and disappointments, ultimately reflecting on the nature of happiness and the quiet struggles of the heart. As with much of Chekhov's work, "Agafya" combines realism with deep psychological insight, inviting readers to contemplate the intricacies of everyday existence.

								

Some night bird flew low down close to the ground and, noticing us, was
startled, fluttered its wings and flew across to the other side of the
river.

Soon the nightingale was silent, but Savka did not come back. Agafya got
up, took a few steps uneasily, and sat down again.

"What is he doing?" she could not refrain from saying. "The train's not
coming in to-morrow! I shall have to go away directly."

"Savka," I shouted. "Savka."

I was not answered even by an echo. Agafya moved uneasily and sat down
again.

"It's time I was going," she said in an agitated voice. "The train will
be here directly! I know when the trains come in."

The poor woman was not mistaken. Before a quarter of an hour had passed
a sound was heard in the distance.

Agafya kept her eyes fixed on the copse for a long time and moved her
hands impatiently.

"Why, where can he be?" she said, laughing nervously. "Where has the
devil carried him? I am going! I really must be going."

Meanwhile the noise was growing more and more distinct. By now one could
distinguish the rumble of the wheels from the heavy gasps of the engine.
Then we heard the whistle, the train crossed the bridge with a hollow
rumble... another minute and all was still.

"I'll wait one minute more," said Agafya, sitting down resolutely. "So
be it, I'll wait."

At last Savka appeared in the darkness. He walked noiselessly on the
crumbling earth of the kitchen gardens and hummed something softly to
himself.

"Here's a bit of luck; what do you say to that now?" he said gaily. "As
soon as I got up to the bush and began taking aim with my hand it left
off singing! Ah, the bald dog! I waited and waited to see when it would
begin again, but I had to give it up."

Savka flopped clumsily down to the ground beside Agafya and, to keep his
balance, clutched at her waist with both hands.

"Why do you look cross, as though your aunt were your mother?" he asked.

With all his soft-heartedness and good-nature, Savka despised women. He
behaved carelessly, condescendingly with them, and even stooped to
scornful laughter of their feelings for himself. God knows, perhaps this
careless, contemptuous manner was one of the causes of his irresistible
attraction for the village Dulcineas. He was handsome and well-built; in
his eyes there was always a soft friendliness, even when he was looking
at the women he so despised, but the fascination was not to be explained
by merely external qualities. Apart from his happy exterior and original
manner, one must suppose that the touching position of Savka as an
acknowledged failure and an unhappy exile from his own hut to the
kitchen gardens also had an influence upon the women.

"Tell the gentleman what you have come here for!" Savka went on, still
holding Agafya by the waist. "Come, tell him, you good married woman!
Ho-ho! Shall we have another drop of vodka, friend Agasha?"

I got up and, threading my way between the plots, I walked the length of
the kitchen garden. The dark beds looked like flattened-out graves. They
smelt of dug earth and the tender dampness of plants beginning to be
covered with dew.... A red light was still gleaming on the left. It
winked genially and seemed to smile.

I heard a happy laugh. It was Agafya laughing.

"And the train?" I thought. "The train has come in long ago."

Waiting a little longer, I went back to the shanty. Savka was sitting
motionless, his legs crossed like a Turk, and was softly, scarcely
audibly humming a song consisting of words of one syllable something
like: "Out on you, fie on you... I and you." Agafya, intoxicated by the
vodka, by Savka's scornful caresses, and by the stifling warmth of the
night, was lying on the earth beside him, pressing her face convulsively
to his knees. She was so carried away by her feelings that she did not
even notice my arrival.

"Agasha, the train has been in a long time," I said.

"It's time--it's time you were gone," Savka, tossing his head, took up my
thought. "What are you sprawling here for? You shameless hussy!"

Agafya started, took her head from his knees, glanced at me, and sank
down beside him again.

"You ought to have gone long ago," I said.

Agafya turned round and got up on one knee.... She was unhappy.... For
half a minute her whole figure, as far as I could distinguish it through
the darkness, expressed conflict and hesitation. There was an instant
when, seeming to come to herself, she drew herself up to get upon her
feet, but then some invincible and implacable force seemed to push her
whole body, and she sank down beside Savka again.

"Bother him!" she said, with a wild, guttural laugh, and reckless
determination, impotence, and pain could be heard in that laugh.

I strolled quietly away to the copse, and from there down to the river,
where our fishing lines were set. The river slept. Some soft, fluffy-
petalled flower on a tall stalk touched my cheek tenderly like a child
who wants to let one know it's awake. To pass the time I felt for one of
the lines and pulled at it. It yielded easily and hung limply--nothing
had been caught.... The further bank and the village could not be seen.
A light gleamed in one hut, but soon went out. I felt my way along the
bank, found a hollow place which I had noticed in the daylight, and sat
down in it as in an arm-chair. I sat there a long time.... I saw the
stars begin to grow misty and lose their brightness; a cool breath
passed over the earth like a faint sigh and touched the leaves of the
slumbering osiers....

"A-ga-fya!" a hollow voice called from the village. "Agafya!"

It was the husband, who had returned home, and in alarm was looking for
his wife in the village. At that moment there came the sound of
unrestrained laughter: the wife, forgetful of everything, sought in her
intoxication to make up by a few hours of happiness for the misery
awaiting her next day.

I dropped asleep.

When I woke up Savka was sitting beside me and lightly shaking my
shoulder. The river, the copse, both banks, green and washed, trees and
fields--all were bathed in bright morning light. Through the slim trunks
of the trees the rays of the newly risen sun beat upon my back.

"So that's how you catch fish?" laughed Savka. "Get up!"

I got up, gave a luxurious stretch, and began greedily drinking in the
damp and fragrant air.

"Has Agasha gone?" I asked.

"There she is," said Savka, pointing in the direction of the ford.

I glanced and saw Agafya. Dishevelled, with her kerchief dropping off
her head, she was crossing the river, holding up her skirt. Her legs
were scarcely moving....

"The cat knows whose meat it has eaten," muttered Savka, screwing up his
eyes as he looked at her. "She goes with her tail hanging down.... They
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