The Witch Page #16

"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

								

a wandering life ever touched my soul. I was a pagan god or a strong,
young animal, delighting in the light and warmth and conscious joy of
life, and in calm, pure, sensuous love.

After my recovery old Manuilikha became so intolerably snappish, met
me with such undisguised malice, and, while I was sitting in the hut,
moved the pots on the stove with such noisy exasperation, that Olyessia
and I preferred to meet in the forest every evening.... And the stately
green beauty of the pine-forest was the precious setting which adorned
our tranquil love.

Every day with deeper and deeper wonder I discovered that Olyessia, the
child of the forest who could not even read, showed in many things of
life a delicate sensitiveness and a peculiar native refinement. There
are always horrible sides to love, in its direct and coarser meaning,
which are a torment and a shame to nervous artistic natures. But
Olyessia could avoid them with such naïve chastity that our love was
never once spoiled by a single ugly thought, or one moment of cynicism.

Meanwhile the time of my departure was approaching. To tell the truth,
all my official business at Perebrod was already at an end; but I had
deliberately delayed my return to town. I had not yet breathed a word
of this to Olyessia, for I was afraid even to imagine to myself how
she would receive the news that I must go away. Habit had taken roots
too deep in me. To see Olyessia every day, to hear her dear voice and
musical laughter, to feel the tender beauty of her caresses, had come
to be more than a necessity for me. On the rare days when stress of
weather prevented us from meeting I felt exactly as though I had been
lost, and deprived of what was chief and all-important in my life.
Every occupation was tedious and useless to me, and my whole being
craved for the forest, the warmth and the light, and Olyessia’s dear
familiar face.

The idea of marrying Olyessia entered my head more and more
insistently. At first it had only presented itself to me but rarely as
a possible, and in extremities an honest, issue to our relationship.
Only one thing alarmed and checked me. I dared not even imagine to
myself what Olyessia would be like, fashionably dressed, chatting to
the wives of my colleagues in the drawing-room, snatched away from the
fascinating setting of the old forest, full of legends and mysterious
powers.

But the nearer came the time for me to depart, the greater was the
anguish and horror of loneliness which possessed me. My resolution to
marry grew daily stronger in my soul, and finally I could no longer
see it as a bold defiance of society. ‘Decent, well-educated men marry
dressmakers and servant-maids,’ I consoled myself, ‘and they live
happily together, and to the day of their death they thank the fate
which urged them to this resolution. Shall I be unhappier than the
others?’

Once in mid-June, towards evening, I was waiting for Olyessia,
according to my habit, at the turn of a narrow forest path among the
flowering whitethorn bushes. When she was far in the distance I made
out the easy, quick sound of her steps.

‘How are you, my darling?’ Olyessia said, embracing me and breathing
heavily. ‘Have I kept you waiting too long?... It was so hard to get
away at the last.... Fighting with granny all the while.’

‘Isn’t she reconciled yet?’

‘Never! She says to me: “He’ll ruin you.... He’ll play with you at his
pleasure and then desert you.... He doesn’t love you at all----”’

‘So that’s what she says about me?’

‘Yes, darling, about you.... But I don’t believe a single word of it
all the same....’

‘Does she know everything?’

‘I couldn’t say for sure.... But I believe she knows.... I’ve never
spoken to her about it--she guesses. But what’s the good of thinking
about that.... Come.’

She plucked a twig of whitethorn with a superb spray of blossom and
thrust it into her hair. We walked slowly along the path which showed
faintly rosy beneath the evening sun.

The night before I had decided that I would speak out at all costs
this evening. But a strange timidity lay like a weight upon my tongue.
‘If I tell Olyessia that I am going away and going to marry her,’ I
thought, ‘will she not think that my proposal is only made to soothe
the pain of the first wound?... But I’ll begin the moment we reach
that maple with the peeled trunk,’ I fixed in my mind. We were already
on a level with the maple. Pale with agitation I had begun to draw a
deep breath to begin to speak, when my courage suddenly failed, and
ended in a nervous painful beating of my heart and a chill on my lips.
‘Twenty-seven is my number,’ I thought a few moments later. ‘I’ll count
up to twenty-seven, and then!...’ I began to count to myself, but when
I reached twenty-seven I felt that the resolution had not yet matured
in me. ‘No,’ I said to myself, ‘I’d better go on counting to sixty ...
that will make just a minute, and then without fail, without fail----’

‘What’s the matter with you to-day?’ Olyessia suddenly asked. ‘You’re
thinking of something unpleasant. What has happened to you?’

Then I began to speak, but with a tone repugnant to myself, with an
assumed unnatural carelessness, just as though it were a trifling
affair.

‘Yes, it really is rather unpleasant.... You have guessed it,
Olyessia.... You see, my service here is finished, and the authorities
have summoned me back to town.’

I took a quick side-glance at Olyessia. The colour died away from her
face and her lips quivered. She said not a word in reply. Some minutes
I walked in silence by her side. The grasshoppers chattered noisily
in the grass, and the strained monotonous note of a corncrake sounded
somewhere afar.

‘Of course you understand, yourself, Olyessia,’ I again began, ‘that
it’s no good my staying here, besides there’s nowhere to stay.... And I
can’t neglect my duty----’

‘No ... why ... what’s the good of talking?’ Olyessia said, in a voice
outwardly calm, but so deep and lifeless that terror seized me. ‘If
it’s your duty, of course ... you must go----’

She stopped by the tree and leaned against the trunk, her face utterly
pale, her hands hanging limply by her body, a poignant pitiful smile
on her lips. Her pallor frightened me. I rushed to her and pressed her
hands vehemently.

‘What’s the matter, Olyessia ... darling!’

‘Nothing ... forgive me.... It will pass--now.... My head is dizzy.’
She controlled herself with an effort and went on, leaving her hand in
mine.

‘You’re thinking ill of me, Olyessia,’ I said reproachfully. ‘You
should be ashamed. Do you think, as well, that I could cast you off and
leave you? No, my darling. That’s why I began this conversation--so
that you should go this very day to your grandmother and tell her you
will be my wife.’

Quite contrary to my expectation, Olyessia showed hardly a trace of
surprise at my words.

‘Your wife?’ She shook her head slowly and sadly. ‘No, it’s impossible,
Vanichka dear.’

‘Why, Olyessia? Why?’

‘No, no.... You can see yourself, it’s funny to think of it even.
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