The Darling Page #4

"The Darling" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of identity, dependence, and the nature of love. The narrative follows the life of Olga Semyonovna, a woman who effortlessly adapts her identity to fit the men in her life, from her first husband to her subsequent lovers. As she loses herself in their passions and dreams, her own individuality becomes increasingly obscured. Chekhov's subtle yet sharp commentary reveals the emotional cost of such self-abnegation and raises questions about the complexities of human relationships and the search for genuine selfhood. Through rich characterization and a delicate touch, the story unveils the fragility of both love and personal identity.

								

account. Besides, it's time for my boy to go to school. He's a big boy.
I am reconciled with my wife, you know."

"Where is she?' asked Olenka.

"She's at the hotel with the boy, and I'm looking for lodgings."

"Good gracious, my dear soul! Lodgings? Why not have my house? Why
shouldn't that suit you? Why, my goodness, I wouldn't take any rent!"
cried Olenka in a flutter, beginning to cry again. "You live here, and
the lodge will do nicely for me. Oh dear! how glad I am!"

Next day the roof was painted and the walls were whitewashed, and
Olenka, with her arms akimbo walked about the yard giving directions.
Her face was beaming with her old smile, and she was brisk and alert as
though she had waked from a long sleep. The veterinary's wife arrived--a
thin, plain lady, with short hair and a peevish expression. With her was
her little Sasha, a boy of ten, small for his age, blue-eyed, chubby,
with dimples in his cheeks. And scarcely had the boy walked into the
yard when he ran after the cat, and at once there was the sound of his
gay, joyous laugh.

"Is that your puss, auntie?" he asked Olenka. "When she has little ones,
do give us a kitten. Mamma is awfully afraid of mice."

Olenka talked to him, and gave him tea. Her heart warmed and there was a
sweet ache in her bosom, as though the boy had been her own child. And
when he sat at the table in the evening, going over his lessons, she
looked at him with deep tenderness and pity as she murmured to herself:

"You pretty pet! . . . my precious! . . . Such a fair little thing, and
so clever."

"'An island is a piece of land which is entirely surrounded by water,'"
he read aloud.

"An island is a piece of land," she repeated, and this was the first
opinion to which she gave utterance with positive conviction after so
many years of silence and dearth of ideas.

Now she had opinions of her own, and at supper she talked to Sasha's
parents, saying how difficult the lessons were at the high schools, but
that yet the high school was better than a commercial one, since with a
high-school education all careers were open to one, such as being a
doctor or an engineer.

Sasha began going to the high school. His mother departed to Harkov to
her sister's and did not return; his father used to go off every day to
inspect cattle, and would often be away from home for three days
together, and it seemed to Olenka as though Sasha was entirely
abandoned, that he was not wanted at home, that he was being starved,
and she carried him off to her lodge and gave him a little room there.

And for six months Sasha had lived in the lodge with her. Every morning
Olenka came into his bedroom and found him fast asleep, sleeping
noiselessly with his hand under his cheek. She was sorry to wake him.

"Sashenka," she would say mournfully, "get up, darling. It's time for
school."

He would get up, dress and say his prayers, and then sit down to
breakfast, drink three glasses of tea, and eat two large cracknels and a
half a buttered roll. All this time he was hardly awake and a little
ill-humoured in consequence.

"You don't quite know your fable, Sashenka," Olenka would say, looking
at him as though he were about to set off on a long journey. "What a lot
of trouble I have with you! You must work and do your best, darling, and
obey your teachers."

"Oh, do leave me alone!" Sasha would say.

Then he would go down the street to school, a little figure, wearing a
big cap and carrying a satchel on his shoulder. Olenka would follow him
noiselessly.

"Sashenka!" she would call after him, and she would pop into his hand a
date or a caramel. When he reached the street where the school was, he
would feel ashamed of being followed by a tall, stout woman, he would
turn round and say:

"You'd better go home, auntie. I can go the rest of the way alone."

She would stand still and look after him fixedly till he had disappeared
at the school-gate.

Ah, how she loved him! Of her former attachments not one had been so
deep; never had her soul surrendered to any feeling so spontaneously, so
disinterestedly, and so joyously as now that her maternal instincts were
aroused. For this little boy with the dimple in his cheek and the big
school cap, she would have given her whole life, she would have given it
with joy and tears of tenderness. Why? Who can tell why?

When she had seen the last of Sasha, she returned home, contented and
serene, brimming over with love; her face, which had grown younger
during the last six months, smiled and beamed; people meeting her looked
at her with pleasure.

"Good-morning, Olga Semyonovna, darling. How are you, darling?"

"The lessons at the high school are very difficult now," she would
relate at the market. "It's too much; in the first class yesterday they
gave him a fable to learn by heart, and a Latin translation and a
problem. You know it's too much for a little chap."

And she would begin talking about the teachers, the lessons, and the
school books, saying just what Sasha said.

At three o'clock they had dinner together: in the evening they learned
their lessons together and cried. When she put him to bed, she would
stay a long time making the Cross over him and murmuring a prayer; then
she would go to bed and dream of that far-away misty future when Sasha
would finish his studies and become a doctor or an engineer, would have
a big house of his own with horses and a carriage, would get married and
have children. . . . She would fall asleep still thinking of the same
thing, and tears would run down her cheeks from her closed eyes, while
the black cat lay purring beside her: "Mrr, mrr, mrr."

Suddenly there would come a loud knock at the gate.

Olenka would wake up breathless with alarm, her heart throbbing. Half a
minute later would come another knock.

"It must be a telegram from Harkov," she would think, beginning to
tremble from head to foot. "Sasha's mother is sending for him from
Harkov. . . . Oh, mercy on us!"

She was in despair. Her head, her hands, and her feet would turn chill,
and she would feel that she was the most unhappy woman in the world. But
another minute would pass, voices would be heard: it would turn out to
be the veterinary surgeon coming home from the club.

"Well, thank God!" she would think.

And gradually the load in her heart would pass off, and she would feel
at ease. She would go back to bed thinking of Sasha, who lay sound
asleep in the next room, sometimes crying out in his sleep:

"I'll give it you! Get away! Shut up!"
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