The Witch Page #20

"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

								

at the noise of the opening door.

Manuilikha was squatting on the floor by her side. When she saw me she
rose with effort to her feet and shook her hand at me.

‘Sh! Don’t make a noise, curse you!’ she said in a menacing whisper,
coming close to me. She glanced with her cold, faded eyes straight into
mine and hissed malignantly: ‘Yes! You’ve done that beautifully, my
darling!’

‘Look here, granny!’ I answered sternly. ‘This isn’t the time to settle
our account and abuse each other. What’s the matter with Olyessia?’

‘Sh.... Sh! Olyessia’s lying there unconscious; that’s what’s the
matter with Olyessia! If you hadn’t poked your nose in where you had
no business, and talked a pack of nonsense to the girl, nothing wrong
would have happened. And I just looked on and indulged it, blind fool
that I am.... But my heart scented misfortune.... It scented misfortune
from the very first day when you broke into our house, almost by force.
Do you mean to say that it wasn’t you who persuaded her to go trailing
off to church?’ Suddenly the old woman looked at me with her face
distorted with hatred. ‘Wasn’t it you, you cursed gentleman! Don’t
lie--don’t put me off with your cunning tricks, you shameless hound!
What did you go enticing her to church for?’

‘I didn’t entice her, granny.... I give you my word. She wanted to,
herself.’

‘Ah, my grief, my misfortune!’ Manuilikha clasped her hands. ‘She came
running back from there--with no face left at all, and all her skirt in
rags ... without a shawl to her head.... She tells me how it happened
... then she laughs, or cries.... Just possessed simply.... She lay on
the bed ... weeping all the while, and then I saw that she’d fallen
into a sleep, I thought.... And I was happy like an old fool. “She’ll
sleep it all away now, for good,” I thought. I saw her hand hanging
down, and I thought I’d better put it right, or it would swell....
I felt for the darling’s hand and it was burning, blazing.... That
meant the fever had begun.... For an hour she never stopped speaking,
fast, and so pitifully.... She only stopped this very minute, a moment
ago.... What have you done? What have you done to her?’

Suddenly her brown face writhed into a monstrous, disgusting grimace of
weeping. Her lips tightened and drooped at the corners: all the muscles
of her face stiffened and trembled, her eyelids lifted and wrinkled her
forehead into deep folds, and from her eyes came a quick rain of big
tears, big as peas. She held her head in her hands, and with her elbows
on the table began to rock her whole body to and fro and to whine in a
low, drawn-out voice.

‘My little daught-er! My darling grand-daught-er! Oh, it is so hard for
me, so bit-te-r!’

‘Don’t roar, you old fool!’ I coarsely broke in on Manuilikha. ‘You’ll
wake her!’

The old woman kept silence, but with the same terrible contortion of
her face she went on swinging to and fro, while the big tears splashed
on to the table.... About ten minutes passed in this way. I sat by
Manuilikha’s side and anxiously listened to a fly knocking against the
window-pane with a broken yet monotonous buzzing....

‘Granny!’ suddenly a faint, barely audible voice came from Olyessia:
‘Granny, who’s here?’

Manuilikha hastily hobbled to the bed, and straightway began to whine
once more.

‘Oh, my granddaughter, my own! Oh, it is so hard for me, so bit-t-e-r!’

‘Ah, stop, granny, stop!’ Olyessia said with complaining entreaty and
suffering in her voice. ‘Who’s sitting here?’

Cautiously, I approached the bed on tip-toe, with the awkward, guilty
conscience of my own gross health which one always feels by a sick bed.

‘It’s me, Olyessia,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘I’ve just come from
the village on horseback.... I was in the town all the morning....
You’re ill, Olyessia?’

Without moving her face from the pillow, she stretched out her bare
hand, as though she were feeling for something in the air. I understood
the movement and took her hot hand into mine. Two huge blue marks, one
on the wrist, the other above the elbow, stood out sharp on her tender
white skin.

‘My darling,’ Olyessia began to speak slowly, with difficulty
separating one word from another. ‘I want ... to look at you ... but
I cannot.... They’ve maimed me.... All over, my whole body.... You
remember.... You loved my face, so much.... You loved it, darling,
didn’t you?... It made me so glad, always.... And now it will disgust
you ... even to look at me.... That is why ... I do not want----’

‘Forgive me, Olyessia!’ I whispered, bending down to her ear.

Her burning hand pressed mine hard and held it long.

‘But what are you saying? Why should I forgive you, my darling? Aren’t
you ashamed to think of it even? How could it be your fault? It’s all
my own--stupid me.... Why did I go?... No, my precious, don’t blame
yourself....’

‘Olyessia, will you let me.... Promise me first, that you will----’

‘I’ll promise, darling ... anything you want----’

‘Let me send for a doctor.... I implore you.... Well, you needn’t do
anything he tells you, if you like.... But say “yes”--only for my sake,
Olyessia.’

‘Oh ... you’ve caught me in a terrible trap! No, you’d better let
me free of my promise. Even if I were really ill, dying--I wouldn’t
let the doctor come near me. And am I ill now? It’s only fright that
brought it on; it will go off when the evening comes. If it doesn’t,
granny will give an infusion of lilies or make some raspberry-tea.
What’s the good of the doctor? You--you’re my best doctor. You’ve only
just come--and I feel better already.... Ah, there’s only one thing
wrong, I want to look at you, even if it were only with one eye, but
I’m afraid....’

With a gentle effort I lifted Olyessia’s head from the pillow. Her face
blazed with feverish redness; her dark eyes shone unnaturally bright;
her dry lips trembled nervously. Long, red scratches ploughed her
forehead, cheeks, and neck. There were dark bruises on her forehead and
under her eyes.

‘Don’t look at me.... I implore you.... I’m ugly now,’ Olyessia
besought me in a whisper, trying to cover my eyes with her hand.

My heart overflowed with pity. I nestled my lips on Olyessia’s hand,
which lay motionless on the blanket, and began to cover it with long,
quiet kisses. In the time before I used to kiss her hands too, but she
always would draw them away from me in hasty, bashful fright. But now
she made no resistance to my caress and with her other hand she gently
smoothed my hair.

‘You know it all?’ she asked in a whisper.

I bent my head in silence. It is true I had not understood everything
from Nikita Nazarich’s story. Only I did not want Olyessia to be
agitated by having to recall the events of the morning. Suddenly a wave
of irrepressible fury overwhelmed me at the idea of the outrage to
which she had been subjected.

‘Oh, why wasn’t I there!’ I cried, holding myself straight and
clenching my fists. ‘I would ... I would have----’

‘Well, don’t worry ... don’t worry.... Don’t be angry, darling....’
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes