Easter Day Page #2

"Easter Day" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant short story that explores themes of faith, renewal, and the complexities of human emotion. Set against the backdrop of the Orthodox Easter celebration, the narrative delves into the lives of its characters as they navigate moments of joy, despair, and introspection. Through vivid imagery and rich characterizations, Kuprin captures the essence of springtime rebirth and the profound impact of spiritual rituals on the human spirit. The story invites readers to reflect on the interplay of tradition and personal belief, making it a compelling piece within Kuprin's body of work.

• Novel

								


The other first-class passenger also came down for tea. Voznitsin threw
a passing glance at her. She was neither young nor beautiful, but she
had a tall, well-preserved, rather stout figure, and was well and
simply dressed in an ample light-coloured cloak with silk collar and
cuffs. Her head was covered with a light-blue, semi-transparent gauze
scarf. She drank her tea and read a book at the same time, a French
book Voznitsin judged by its small compact shape and pale yellow cover.

There was something strangely and remotely familiar about her, not
so much in her face as in the turn of her neck and the lift of her
eyebrows when she cast an answering glance at him. But this unconscious
impression was soon dispersed and forgotten.

The heat of the saloon soon sent the passengers on deck, and they sat
down on the seats on the sheltered side of the boat. The lady continued
to read, though she often let her book fall on to her knee while she
gazed upon the sea, on the dolphins sporting there, on the distant
cliffs of the shore, purple in colour or covered with a scant verdure.

Voznitsin began to pace up and down the deck, turning when he
reached the cabin. Once, as he passed the lady, she looked up at him
attentively with a kind of questioning curiosity, and once more it
seemed to him that he had met her before somewhere. Little by little
this insistent feeling began to disquiet him, and he felt that the lady
was experiencing the same feelings. But try as he would he could not
remember meeting her before.

Suddenly, passing her for the twentieth time, he almost involuntarily
stopped in front of her, saluted in military fashion, and lightly
clicking his spurs together said:

"Pardon my boldness ... but I can't get rid of a feeling that I know
you, or rather that long ago I used to know you."

She was quite a plain woman, of blonde almost red colouring, grey
hair--though this was only noticeable at a near view owing to its
original light colour--pale eyelashes over blue eyes, and a faded
freckled face. Her mouth only seemed fresh, being full and rosy, with
beautifully curved lips.

"And I also," said she. "Just fancy, I've been sitting here and
wondering where we could have met. My name is Lvova--does that remind
you of anything?"

"I'm sorry to say it doesn't," answered he, "but my name is Voznitsin."

The lady's eyes gleamed suddenly with a gay and familiar smile, and
Voznitsin saw that she knew him at once.

"Voznitsin, Kolya Voznitsin," she cried joyfully, holding out her hand
to him. "Is it possible I didn't recognise you? Lvova, of course, is my
married name.... But no, no, you will remember me in time.... Think:
Moscow, Borisoglebsky Street, the house belonging to the church....
Well? Don't you remember your school chum, Arkasha Yurlof...?"

Voznitsin's hand trembled as he pressed hers. A flash of memory
enlightened him.

"Well, I never!... It can't be Lenotchka? I beg your pardon, Elena ...
Elena...."

"Elena Vladimirovna," she put in. "You've forgotten.... But you,
Kolya, you're just the same Kolya, awkward, shy, touchy Kolya. How
strange for us to meet like this! Do sit down.... How glad I am...."

"Yes," muttered Voznitsin, "the world is really so small that everyone
must of necessity meet everyone else"--a by no means original thought."
But tell me all that has happened. How is Arkasha--and Alexandra
Millievna--and Oletchka?"

At school Voznitsin had only been intimate with one of his
companions--Arkasha Yurlof. Every Sunday he had leave he used to visit
the family, and at Easter and Christmas-time he had sometimes spent his
holidays with them. Before the time came for them to go to college,
Arkasha had fallen ill and had been ordered away into the country. And
from that time Voznitsin had lost sight of him. Many years ago he had
heard by chance that Lenotchka had been betrothed to an officer having
the unusual surname of Jenishek, who had done a thing at once foolish
and unexpected--shot himself.

"Arkasha died at our country house in 1890," answered the lady, "of
cancer. And mother only lived a year after. Oletchka took her medical
degree and is now a doctor in the Serdobsky district--before that she
was assistant in our village of Jemakino. She has never wished to
marry, though she's had many good offers. I've been married twenty
years," said she, a gleam of a smile on her compressed lips. "I'm quite
an old woman.... My husband has an estate in the country, and is a
member of the Provincial Council. He hasn't received many honours, but
he's an honest fellow and a good husband, is not a drunkard, neither
plays cards nor runs after women, as others do.... God be praised for
that!..."

"Do you remember, Elena Vladimirovna, how I was in love with you at one
time?" Voznitsin broke in suddenly.

She smiled, and her face at once wore a look of youth. Voznitsin saw
for a moment the gleam of the gold stopping in her teeth.

"Foolishness!... Just lad's love.... But you weren't in love with me
at all; you fell in love with the Sinyelnikofs, all four of them, one
after the other. When the eldest girl married you placed your heart at
the feet of the next sister, and so on."

"Ah-ha! You were just a little jealous, eh?" remarked Voznitsin with
jocular self-satisfaction.

"Oh, not at all!... You were like Arkasha's brother.... Afterwards,
later, when you were about seventeen perhaps, I was a little vexed
to think you had changed towards me.... You know, its ridiculous,
but girls have hearts like women. We may not love a silent adorer,
but we are jealous if he pays attentions to others.... But that's all
nonsense. Tell me more about yourself, where you live, and what you do."

He told her of his life--at college, in the army, about the war, and
his present position. No, he had never married--at first he had feared
poverty and the responsibility of a family, and now it was too late. He
had had flirtations, of course, and even some serious romances.

The conversation ceased after a while, and they sat silent, looking
at one another with tender, tear-dimmed eyes. In Voznitsin's memory
the long past of thirty years ago came swiftly again before him. He
had known Lenotchka when he was eleven years old. She had been a
naughty, fidgetty sort of girl, fond of telling tales and liking to
make trouble. Her face was covered with freckles, she had long arms
and legs, pale eyelashes, and disorderly red hair hanging about her
face in long wisps. Her sister Oletchka was different; she had always
kept apart, and behaved like a sensible girl. On holidays they all went
together to dances at the Assembly Rooms, to the theatre, the circus,
to the skating rink. They got up Christmas parties and children's plays
together; they coloured eggs at Easter and dressed up at Christmas.
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