Lights Page #13

"Lives" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores the complexities of human emotion and relationships. Set against the backdrop of ordinary life, the narrative delves into the introspections of its characters, revealing their innermost thoughts and struggles. Chekhov masterfully employs his signature style, blending subtle humor with deep pathos, as he examines themes of love, loss, and the fleeting nature of happiness. The story invites readers to reflect on the intricacies of human connections and the quiet moments that define our existence.

								

Both faces looked preoccupied with workaday cares.

"What use are your cauldrons to me," shouted Ananyev. "Am I to put them
on my head, or what? If you can't find Tchalisov, find his assistant,
and leave us in peace!"

Seeing me, the student probably recalled the conversation of the
previous night. The workaday expression vanished from his sleepy face
and a look of mental inertia came into it. He waved the peasant off and
walked away absorbed in thought.

It was a cloudy morning. On the line where the lights had been gleaming
the night before, the workmen, just roused from sleep, were swarming.
There was a sound of voices and the squeaking of wheelbarrows. The
working day was beginning. One poor little nag harnessed with cord was
already plodding towards the embankment, tugging with its neck, and
dragging along a cartful of sand.

I began saying good-bye. . . . A great deal had been said in the night,
but I carried away with me no answer to any question, and in the
morning, of the whole conversation there remained in my memory, as in a
filter, only the lights and the image of Kisotchka. As I got on the
horse, I looked at the student and Ananyev for the last time, at the
hysterical dog with the lustreless, tipsy-looking eyes, at the workmen
flitting to and fro in the morning fog, at the embankment, at the little
nag straining with its neck, and thought:

"There is no making out anything in this world."

And when I lashed my horse and galloped along the line, and when a
little later I saw nothing before me but the endless gloomy plain and
the cold overcast sky, I recalled the questions which were discussed in
the night. I pondered while the sun-scorched plain, the immense sky, the
oak forest, dark on the horizon and the hazy distance, seemed saying to
me:

"Yes, there's no understanding anything in this world!"

The sun began to rise. . . .
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes