The Witch Page #14

"The Witch" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a haunting novella that explores the themes of love, obsession, and the supernatural. Set in a small Russian village, the story follows the enigmatic figure of a beautiful woman rumored to be a witch. As the protagonist becomes entranced by her mysterious allure, he navigates the boundaries between desire and despair, grappling with the darker aspects of human emotion and the consequences of his actions. Kuprin's lyrical prose and psychological depth create a compelling narrative that delves into the complexities of passion and the fear of the unknown.

• Novel

								

grimacing, thrusting out their tongues, showing their teeth, and
rolling their eyes. Then I entered into a confused and extraordinarily
complicated abstract dispute with Yarmola. Every minute the arguments
which we brought up against each other became subtler and more
profound: separate words and even individual letters of words suddenly
took on a mysterious and unfathomable meaning, and at the same time I
was seized by a revolting terror of the unknown, unnatural force that
wound out one monstrous sophism after another out of my brain, and
would not let me break off the dispute which had long been loathsome to
me....

It was like a seething whirlwind of human and animal figures,
landscapes, things of the most wonderful forms and colours, words
and phrases whose meaning was apprehended by every sense.... But the
strange thing was that I never lost sight of a bright regular circle
reflected on to the ceiling by the lamp with the scorched green shade.
And somehow I knew that within the indistinct line of that quiet circle
was concealed a silent, monotonous, mysterious, terrible life, yet more
awful and oppressive than the mad chaos of my dreams.

Then I awoke, or more truly did not awake, but suddenly forced myself
to sit up. Consciousness almost returned to me. I understood that I was
lying in bed, that I was ill, that I had just been in delirium, but the
bright circle on the ceiling still terrified me by its hidden, ominous
menace. With weak hands I slowly reached for the watch, looked at it,
and saw with melancholy perplexity that all the endless sequence of my
ghastly dreams had taken no longer than two or three minutes. ‘My God,
will the dawn ever come?’ I thought in despair, tossing my head over
the hot pillows and feeling my short heavy breathing burn my lips....
But again a slight drowsiness possessed me, and again my brain became
the sport of a motley nightmare, and again within two minutes I woke,
racked by a mortal anguish.

In six days my vigorous constitution, aided by quinine and an infusion
of buckthorn, overcame my disease. I rose from my bed completely
crushed, with difficulty standing upright on my legs. But my
convalescence passed with eager quickness. In my head, weary with six
days’ feverish delirium, I felt now an idle, pleasant absence of any
thought at all. My appetite returned with double force, and hourly my
body gathered strength, in each moment imbibing its particle of health
and of the joy of life. And with that a new and stronger craving came
upon me for the forest and the lonely, tumble-down hut. But my nerves
had not yet recovered, and every time that I called up Olyessia’s face
and voice in my memory, I wanted to cry.

X

Only five more days had passed, when I was so much recovered that I
reached the chicken-legged hut on foot without the least fatigue. As
I stepped on the threshold my heart palpitated with breathless fear.
I had not seen Olyessia for almost two weeks, and I now perceived how
near and dear she was to me. Holding the latch of the door, I waited
some seconds, breathing with difficulty. In my irresolution I even shut
my eyes for some time before I could push the door open....

It is always impossible to analyse impressions like those which
followed my entrance.... Can one remember the words uttered in the
first moment of meeting between a mother and son, husband and wife, or
lover and lover? The simplest, most ordinary, even ridiculous words
are said, if they were put down exactly upon paper. But each word is
opportune and infinitely dear because it is uttered by the dearest
voice in all the world.

I remember--very clearly I remember--only one thing: Olyessia’s
beautiful pale face turned quickly towards me, and on that beautiful
face, so new to me, were in one second reflected, in changing
succession, perplexity, fear, anxiety, and a tender radiant smile of
love.... The old woman was mumbling something, clattering round me,
but I did not hear her greetings. Olyessia’s voice reached me like a
sweet music:

‘What has been the matter with you? You’ve been ill? Ah, how thin
you’ve grown, my poor darling!’

For a long while I could make no answer, and we stood silent face
to face, clasping hands and looking straight into the depths of
each other’s eyes, happily. Those few silent seconds I have always
considered the happiest in my life: never, never before or since, have
I tasted such pure, complete, all-absorbing ecstasy. And how much I
read in Olyessia’s big dark eyes!--the excitement of the meeting,
reproach for my long absence, and a passionate declaration of love. In
that look I felt that Olyessia gave me her whole being joyfully without
doubt or reservation.

She was the first to break the spell, pointing to Manuilikha with a
slow movement of her eyelids. We sat down side by side, and Olyessia
began to ask me anxiously for the details of my illness, the medicines
I had taken, what the doctor had said and thought--he came twice to see
me from the little town; she made me tell about the doctor time after
time, and I could catch a fleeting, sarcastic smile on her lips.

‘Oh, why didn’t I know that you were ill!’ she exclaimed with impatient
regret. ‘I would have set you on your feet again in a single day....
How can they be trusted, when they don’t understand anything at all,
nothing at all? Why didn’t you send for me?’

I was at a loss for an answer.

‘You see, Olyessia ... it happened so suddenly ... besides, I was
afraid to trouble you. Towards the end you had become strange towards
me, as though you were angry with me, or bored.... Olyessia,’ I added,
lowering my voice, ‘we’ve got ever so much to say to each other, ever
so much ... just we two ... you understand?’

She quietly cast down her eyes in token of consent, and then whispered
quickly, looking round timidly at her grandmother:

‘Yes.... I want to, as well ... later ... wait----’

As soon as the sun began to set, Olyessia began to urge me to go home.

‘Make haste, be quick and get ready,’ she said, pulling my hand from
the bench. ‘If the damp catches you now, the fever will be on you
again, immediately.’

‘Where are you going, Olyessia?’ Manuilikha asked suddenly, seeing that
her granddaughter had thrown a large grey shawl hurriedly over her head.

‘I’m going part of the way with him,’ answered Olyessia.

She said the words with indifference, looking not at her grandmother
but at the window; but in her voice I could detect on almost
imperceptible note of irritation.

‘You’re really going?’ the old woman once more asked, meaningly.

Olyessia’s eyes flashed, and she stared steadily into Manuilikha’s face.

‘Yes, I am going,’ she replied proudly. ‘We talked it out and talked it
out long ago.... It’s my affair, and my own responsibility.’

‘Ah, you----’ the old woman exclaimed in reproach and annoyance. She
wanted to add more, but only waved her hand and dragged her trembling
legs away into the corner, and began to busy herself with a basket,
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