Polinka Page #2

"Polinka" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of love, longing, and the complexity of human relationships. The narrative revolves around the character of Polinka, who embodies the innocence and purity of youth. Through a subtle and poignant portrayal of her interactions with others, Chekhov delves into the emotional nuances and unspoken sentiments that permeate everyday life. The story captures the bittersweet nature of affection and the inevitable passage of time, reflecting Chekhov's mastery in depicting the intricacies of the human experience.

								


"Pretend to be looking at the things," Nikolay Timofeitch whispers,
bending down to Polinka with a forced smile. "Dear me, you do look pale
and ill; you are quite changed. He'll throw you over, Pelagea Sergeevna!
Or if he does marry you, it won't be for love but from hunger; he'll be
tempted by your money. He'll furnish himself a nice home with your
dowry, and then be ashamed of you. He'll keep you out of sight of his
friends and visitors, because you're uneducated. He'll call you 'my
dummy of a wife.' You wouldn't know how to behave in a doctor's or
lawyer's circle. To them you're a dressmaker, an ignorant creature."

"Nikolay Timofeitch!" somebody shouts from the other end of the shop.
"The young lady here wants three yards of ribbon with a metal stripe.
Have we any?"

Nikolay Timofeitch turns in that direction, smirks and shouts:

"Yes, we have! Ribbon with a metal stripe, ottoman with a satin stripe,
and satin with a moiré stripe!"

"Oh, by the way, I mustn't forget, Olga asked me to get her a pair of
stays!" says Polinka.

"There are tears in your eyes," says Nikolay Timofeitch in dismay.
"What's that for? Come to the corset department, I'll screen you --it
looks awkward."

With a forced smile and exaggeratedly free and easy manner, the shopman
rapidly conducts Polinka to the corset department and conceals her from
the public eye behind a high pyramid of boxes.

"What sort of corset may I show you?" he asks aloud, whispering
immediately: "Wipe your eyes!"

"I want . . . I want . . . size forty-eight centimetres. Only she wanted
one, lined . . . with real whalebone . . . I must talk to you, Nikolay
Timofeitch. Come to-day!"

"Talk? What about? There's nothing to talk about."

"You are the only person who . . . cares about me, and I've no one to
talk to but you."

"These are not reed or steel, but real whalebone. . . . What is there
for us to talk about? It's no use talking. . . . You are going for a
walk with him to-day, I suppose?"

"Yes; I . . . I am."

"Then what's the use of talking? Talk won't help. . . . You are in love,
aren't you?"

"Yes . . ." Polinka whispers hesitatingly, and big tears gush from her
eyes.

"What is there to say?" mutters Nikolay Timofeitch, shrugging his
shoulders nervously and turning pale. "There's no need of talk. . . .
Wipe your eyes, that's all. I . . . I ask for nothing."

At that moment a tall, lanky shopman comes up to the pyramid of boxes,
and says to his customer:

"Let me show you some good elastic garters that do not impede the
circulation, certified by medical authority . . ."

Nikolay Timofeitch screens Polinka, and, trying to conceal her emotion
and his own, wrinkles his face into a smile and says aloud:

"There are two kinds of lace, madam: cotton and silk! Oriental, English,
Valenciennes, crochet, torchon, are cotton. And rococo, soutache,
Cambray, are silk. . . . For God's sake, wipe your eyes! They're coming
this way!"

And seeing that her tears are still gushing he goes on louder than ever:

"Spanish, Rococo, soutache, Cambray . . . stockings, thread, cotton,
silk . . ."
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes