Father AlexyÉi's Story Page #3

"Father AlexyÉi's Story" is a poignant short story by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores themes of faith, redemption, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative follows Father AlexyÉi, a Russian Orthodox priest, as he reflects on his life, struggles, and the moral dilemmas he faces within his spiritual duties and personal interactions. Through rich character development and evocative prose, Turgenev delves into the internal conflicts of the protagonist, highlighting the often challenging interplay between spirituality and worldly concerns. The story offers a profound commentary on the nature of compassion and the search for meaning in a turbulent world.

								

"What does he look like?" I said.... "Is he green?"

"No, he is not green, but black."

"Has he horns?"

"No, he is like a man,--only all black."

As Yákoff speaks he displays his teeth in a grin and turns as pale as a
corpse, and huddles up to me in terror; and his eyes seem on the point
of popping out of his head, and he keeps staring at the corner.

"Why, it is a shadow glimmering faintly," I say. "That is the blackness
from a shadow, but thou mistakest it for a man."

"Nothing of the sort!--And I see his eyes: now he is rolling up the
whites, now he is raising his hand, he is calling me."

"Yákoff, Yákoff, thou shouldst try to pray; this obsession would
disperse. Let God arise and His enemies shall be scattered!"

"I have tried," says he, "but it has no effect."

"Wait, wait, Yákoff, do not lose thy courage. I will fumigate with
incense; I will recite a prayer; I will sprinkle holy water around
thee."

Yákoff merely waved his hand. "I believe neither in thy incense nor in
holy water; they don't help worth a farthing. I cannot get rid of him
now. Ever since he came to me last summer, on one accursed day, he has
been my constant visitor, and he cannot be driven away, Understand this,
father, and do not wonder any longer at my behaviour--and do not torment
me."

"On what day did he come to thee?" I ask him, and all the while I am
making the sign of the cross over him. "Was it not when thou didst write
about thy doubts?"

Yákoff put away my hand.

"Let me alone, dear father," says he, "don't excite me to wrath lest
worse should come of it. I'm not far from laying hands on myself, as it
is."

You can imagine, my dear sir, how I felt when I heard that.... I
remember that I wept all night. "How have I deserved such wrath from the
Lord?" I thought to myself.

At this point Father Alexyéi drew from his pocket a checked handkerchief
and began to blow his nose, and stealthily wiped his eyes, by the way.

A bad time began for us then [he went on]. I could think of but one
thing: how to prevent him from running away, or--which the Lord
forbid!--of actually doing himself some harm! I watched his every step,
and was afraid to enter into conversation.--And there dwelt near us at
that time a neighbour, the widow of a colonel, Márfa Sávishna was her
name; I cherished a great respect for her, because she was a quiet,
sensible woman, in spite of the fact that she was young and comely. I
was in the habit of going to her house frequently, and she did not
despise my vocation.[24] Not knowing, in my grief and anguish, what to
do, I just told her all about it.--At first she was greatly alarmed, and
even thoroughly frightened; but later on she became thoughtful. For a
long time she deigned to sit thus, in silence; and then she expressed a
wish to see my son and converse with him. And I felt that I ought
without fail to comply with her wish; for it was not feminine curiosity
which prompted it in this case, but something else.

On returning home I began to persuade Yákoff. "Come with me to see the
colonel's widow," I said to him.

He began to flourish his legs and arms!

"I won't go to her," says he, "not on any account! What shall I talk to
her about?" He even began to shout at me. But at last I conquered him,
and hitching up my little sledge, I drove him to Márfa Sávishna's, and,
according to our compact, I left him alone with her. I was surprised at
his having consented so speedily. Well, never mind,--we shall see. Three
or four hours later my Yákoff returns.

"Well," I ask, "how did our little neighbour please thee?"

He made me no answer. I asked him again.

"She is a virtuous woman," I said.--"I suppose she was amiable with
thee?"

"Yes," he says, "she is not like the others."

I saw that he seemed to have softened a little. And I made up my mind to
question him then and there....

"And how about the obsession?" I said.

Yákoff looked at me as though I had lashed him with a whip, and again
made no reply. I did not worry him further, and left the room; and an
hour later I went to the door and peeped through the keyhole.... And
what do you think?--My Yásha was asleep! He was lying on the couch and
sleeping. I crossed myself several times in succession. "May the Lord
send Márfa Sávishna every blessing!" I said. "Evidently, she has managed
to touch his embittered heart, the dear little dove!"

The next day I see Yákoff take his cap.... I think to myself: "Shall I
ask him whither he is going?--But no, better not ask ... it certainly
must be to her!"... And, in point of fact, Yákoff did set off for Márfa
Sávishna's house--and sat with her still longer than before; and on the
day following he did it again! Then again, the next day but one! My
spirits began to revive, for I saw that a change was coming over my son,
and his face had grown quite different, and it was becoming possible to
look into his eyes: he did not turn away. He was just as depressed as
ever, but his former despair and terror had disappeared. But before I
had recovered my cheerfulness to any great extent everything again broke
off short! Yákoff again became wild, and again it was impossible to
approach him. He sat locked up in his little room, and went no more to
the widow's.

"Can it be possible," I thought, "that he has hurt her feelings in some
way, and she has forbidden him the house?--But no," I thought ...
"although he is unhappy he would not dare to do such a thing; and
besides, she is not that sort of woman."

At last I could endure it no longer, and I interrogated him: "Well,
Yákoff, how about our neighbour?... Apparently thou hast forgotten her
altogether."

But he fairly roared at me:--"Our neighbour? Dost thou want him to
jeer at me?"

"What?" I say.--Then he even clenched his fists and ... got perfectly
furious.

"Yes!" he says; and formerly he had only towered up after a fashion, but
now he began to laugh and show his teeth.--"Away! Begone!"

To whom these words were addressed I know not! My legs would hardly bear
me forth, to such a degree was I frightened. Just imagine: his face was
the colour of red copper, he was foaming at the mouth, his voice was
hoarse, exactly as though some one were choking him!... And that very
same day I went--I, the orphan of orphans--to Márfa Sávishna ... and
found her in great affliction. Even her outward appearance had undergone
a change: she had grown thin in the face. But she would not talk with me
about my son. Only one thing she did say: that no human aid could effect
anything in that case. "Pray, father," she said,--and then she presented
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