Ivan Bunin: Sunstroke. Sunstroke And Bunin Sunstroke

THE FIRST LOVE

From childhood memories

It would all be funny

Whenever it was so sad ...

Dmitry Alekseevich!

Pale-faced dog!

Get up, finally!

I was already awake, but I tried to show that I was terribly sleepy and did not understand what was the matter. Pulling the blanket that Petya and Lyova was pulling from me with all my might, I just hummed and kicked. But they did not let up and, jumping off the windowsill on which they were sitting (they climbed from the garden into the window), stopped by the bed.

That's what you are! - muttered Petya in indecision. - What to do with him? We will miss the dawn ...

Let's leave, '' Lyova said in his usual, sharp and abrupt tone. - He is not a friend, but a woman, an old prickly elk! Let's slap on the fist and leave!

I, brother, will slap so that you ... die! I shouted unexpectedly, standing up and swinging my fist as if there was something in it. At that moment it seemed to me that I was unusually formidable and wild.

But Petya and Lyova, to my surprise, burst out with the most good-natured laughter and held out their hands to me.

I, a little embarrassed, shook them, gloomily and reluctantly, and again fell on the pillow.

Well, let's go, let's go! - said Petya. “We will indeed miss the dawn.

This was said so sincerely and seriously that I myself was afraid of the thought of missing the dawn. What this dawn was for us, why we gave each other our word to guard it - I really won't explain well now. But then I thought it was necessary. We really liked leaving the house than the light, when the village, and the dark fields, and the distant dense forest are embraced dead sleep and only in the east is the sky covered with silver, light stripes. Then it seemed to us that we are completely alone and in the fresh semi-dark forest everything is really mysterious and primitive. We, like real Indians, climbed into the very thicket of the garden and, waiting for the sunrise, sat in a circle and smoked a "pipe of peace", or, in other words, a pipe stolen from my uncle. And although I was already twelve years old and perfectly understood that all this was a game, and even a completely childish game, I liked it so much that I could not help but enjoy it.

So I jumped up at once and began to pull on my stockings.

The sun hasn't risen yet, has it? I asked hastily.

You would have slept until lunchtime, - answered Lyova, - and then you would have asked.

“Scares! It's not too late, ”I thought, going up to the sink and shivering from the morning freshness that floated through the open window.

The cold stream of water made me shudder even more and finally wake up. Having washed my face hastily, I was ready to go. We had to set off today on a long journey, to the very end of the large meadow that was behind our garden. There a forest began, and a wide meadow turned into narrow ravines, rocky and dug by spring water. Today we intended to smoke the last "pipe of the world" there, to say goodbye until summer. It was the last day of the Easter holidays, and in two days I was supposed to go to Oryol, to the gymnasium.

Take it, - Leva commanded, - bows as soon as possible.

We immediately put on our bows and climbed out the window onto the dewy grass of the garden.

The sun was just rising. On the grass lay cold, dull silver dew, but along the paths the ground was damp and blackened. The light, mirrored pond smoked faintly. But the reflections of the tall, slender aspens were still motionless and clear; the nightingale snapped especially loudly in the young greenery. The morning was just beginning.

We walked down to the pond, along a wide coastal alley. Leva was the leader. He always loved to be the first, loved to command us, although he was two years younger than me and Petit. He looked still quite a boy; short-cropped white hair stuck out at the crown; the addition was still quite childish.

After dinner we left the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railings. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming in this little woman - and said:

- I'm completely drunk ... Actually, I'm completely out of my mind. Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?

There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness a strong, soft wind was blowing in the face, and the lights were rushing somewhere to the side: the steamer with Volga panache was abruptly describing a wide arc, running up to a small pier.

The lieutenant took her hand, raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And blissfully and terribly her heart sank at the thought of how strong and dark she was, probably, under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).

The lieutenant muttered:

- Let's get off ...

- Where to? She asked in surprise.

“On this pier.

He said nothing. She put her hand back to her hot cheek again.

- Crazy ...

“Let's get off,” he repeated dully. - I beg you…

“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.

The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit pier with a soft thud, and they nearly fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it flew backwards, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.

A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto the deep sand, up to the hub, and silently sat down in the dusty cab. The gentle uphill climb, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here is some kind of square, public places, watchtower, the warmth and smells of the night summer county town ... The cabman stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which the old wooden ladder, an old, unshaven footman in a pink blouse and frock coat took his things with displeasure and went forward on his trampled feet. We entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white lowered curtains on the windows and two unburned candles on the mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both of them gasped in a kiss so frenziedly that for many years they remembered this moment later: neither the one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire life.

At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and smelly smell of the Russian provincial town, she, this little nameless woman, and without telling her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.

- No, no, dear, - she said in response to his request to go on together, - no, you must stay until the next steamer. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has never happened to me, and there will never be any more. I was definitely eclipsed ... Or, rather, we both got something like a sunstroke ...

And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the dock, just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane, kissed her in front of everyone on deck and barely had time to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.

He returned to the hotel just as easily, carelessly. However, something has changed. The number without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was weird! She also smelled of good English cologne, her unfinished cup was still on the tray, but she was gone ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to smoke and, slapping his bootlegs with a stack, walked up and down the room several times.

- A strange adventure! He said aloud, laughing and feeling that tears were pouring into his eyes. - "I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might have thought ..." And already left ... Ridiculous woman!

The screen was pushed aside, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that there was simply no strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, shut the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, pulled down the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa ... Yes, this is the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now she is already far away, probably sitting in a glass white saloon or on the deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at this whole immense Volga expanse ... And I'm sorry, and already forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can't,” he thought, “I can't come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their accidental, such a fleeting meeting, and he never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, incredible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was seized by horror, despair.

"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... What is special about her and what actually happened? Indeed, as if some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this backwater? "

He still remembered all of her, with all the slightest of her features, he remembered the smell of her tan and gingham dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice ... The feeling of just experienced pleasures of all her feminine beauty was still extraordinary alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that did not exist at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was just an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! - “And the main thing,” he thought, “you will never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her! "

I had to save myself, occupy something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a young cab, in a dexterous coat, and calmly smoked a gypsy, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how is it possible to sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought as he walked towards the bazaar.

The bazaar was already leaving. For some reason, he walked through the fresh manure among carts, among carts with cucumbers, among new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground, vying to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, jingled their fingers, showing their good quality, men deafened him, shouted to him "Here are the first sort of cucumbers, your honor!" All this was so stupid, absurd, that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, over the immeasurable light-steel width of the river ... that it was impossible to touch them. The peg of the cap was wet with sweat inside, his face was flushed ... Returning to the hotel, he delightedly entered the large and empty cool dining room on the lower floor, took off his cap with delight and sat down at a table near the open window, which carried heat, but still air blew, and ordered botvinya with ice. Everything was good, there was immeasurable happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the bazaar smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old district hotel there was she, this joy, and at the same time my heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, eating lightly salted cucumbers with dill and feeling that he, without hesitation, would die tomorrow, if it were possible by some miracle to return her, spend one more day with her, - spend only then, only then, in order to express to her and prove with something, to convince how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her ... Why prove? Why convince? He didn't know why, but it was more necessary than life.

- The nerves have completely cleared! - he said, pouring the fifth glass of vodka.

He pushed the botvinya away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think intensely: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And suddenly he quickly got up again, took the cap and the stack and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of the telegram already ready in his head: "From now on, blowing my life forever, to the grave, yours, in your power." - But, having reached an old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lived, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know her surname or her name! He asked her about this several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:

- Why do you need to know who I am? I am Marya Marevna, the overseas princess ... Isn't that enough for you?

There was a photographic display case on the corner near the post office. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and the broadest chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, how ridiculous, scary everything everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, - yes, amazed, he understood it now, - with this terrible "sunstroke", too much love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple - a young man in a long frock coat and a white tie, cut by a hedgehog, stretched out in front of the arm with a girl in a wedding gas, - turned his eyes to a portrait of some pretty and perky young lady in a student cap on one side ... Then, languishing in a painful envy to all these unknown to him, not suffering people, began to look tensely along the street.

- Where to go? What to do?

The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-story, merchant houses, with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here it was as if aimless, the sun. In the distance, the street rose, hunched over and rested against the cloudless, grayish, with a reflection of the sky. There was something southern about it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. This was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with his head lowered, squinting from the light, looking intently at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to the spur with his spur, walked back.

He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. Gathering his last strength, he entered his large and empty room. The room had already been tidied up, stripped of the last traces of her — only one hairpin, which she had forgotten, lay on the night table! He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face, - an ordinary officer's face, gray with sunburn, with whitish mustache faded from the sun and bluish whiteness of eyes that seemed even whiter from the sun - now had an excited, crazy expression, and in a thin white shirt with a starchy stand-up collar, there was something youthful and deeply unhappy. He lay down on the bed, on his back, put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and a light breeze from time to time blew them in, blew into the room with the heat of heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent Volga world. He lay with his hands behind his head and gazed into the space in front of him. Then he gritted his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks - and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already turning reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, the room was stuffy and dry, like in an oven ... Both yesterday and this morning were remembered as if they were ten years ago.

He slowly got up, slowly washed his face, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cabman to be brought in, carried out his things, and, sitting down in the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, he gave the footman five rubles.

- And it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! - said the cabby cheerfully, taking up the reins.

When we went down to the pier, the blue over the Volga was already blue summer night, and already many colored lights were scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.

- Delivered exactly! Said the cabby ingratiatingly.

The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the dock ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on her dock and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the sound of boiling and running forward water under the wheels of a steamer leaning back a little ... And it seemed unusually friendly and good from the crowds of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.

The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multicolored reflected in the river, still here and there glowing trembling ripples in the distance below it, under this dawn, and the lights, scattered in the darkness around, floated and floated back.

The lieutenant was sitting under the awning on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Maritime Alps. 1925

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| collection website
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| Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
| Sunstroke
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After dinner we left the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railings. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming in this little woman - and said:
- I'm completely drunk ... Actually, I'm completely out of my mind. Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness a strong, soft wind was blowing in the face, and the lights were rushing somewhere to the side: the steamer with Volga panache was abruptly describing a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand, raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And blissfully and terribly her heart sank at the thought of how strong and dark she was, probably, under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's get off ...
- Where to? She asked in surprise.
“On this pier.
- What for?
He said nothing. She put her hand back to her hot cheek again.
- Crazy ...
“Let's get off,” he repeated dully. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit pier with a soft thud, and they nearly fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over our heads, then it flew backwards, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto the deep sand, up to the hub, and silently sat down in the dusty cab. The gentle uphill climb, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, public places, watchtower, the warmth and smells of a night summer county town ... The cabman stopped near a lighted entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old unshaven footman in in a pink shirt and in a frock coat, he took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. We entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white lowered curtains on the windows and two unburned candles on the mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both of them gasped in a kiss so frenziedly that for many years they remembered this moment later: neither the one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire life.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and smelly smell of the Russian provincial town, she, this little nameless woman, and without telling her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left.

We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
- No, no, dear, - she said in response to his request to go on together, - no, you must stay until the next steamer. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has never happened to me, and there will never be any more. I was definitely eclipsed ... Or, rather, we both got something like a sunstroke ...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the dock, just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane, kissed her in front of everyone on deck and barely had time to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.
He returned to the hotel just as easily, carelessly. However, something has changed. The number without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was weird! She also smelled of good English cologne, her unfinished cup was still standing on the tray, but it was gone ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to smoke and, slapping his bootlegs with a stack, walked up and down the room several times.
- A strange adventure! He said aloud, laughing and feeling that tears were pouring into his eyes. - "I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might have thought ..." And she already left ... Ridiculous woman!
The screen was pushed aside, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply did not have the strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, shut the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of the wheels, pulled down the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa ... Yes, this is the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she is far away, probably sitting in a glass white saloon or on the deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shoals, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immense Volga expanse ... And I'm sorry, and already forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can't,” he thought, “I can't come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their accidental, such a fleeting meeting, and he never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, incredible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was seized by horror, despair.
"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... But what is special about her and what actually happened? Indeed, as if some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this backwater? "
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest peculiarities, he remembered the smell of her tan and gingham dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice ... The feeling of just experienced pleasures of all her feminine beauty was still extraordinary alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that did not exist at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was just an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! “And the main thing,” he thought, “you will never tell again! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her! "
I had to save myself, occupy something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, walked quickly, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a young cabman, in a dexterous coat, and calmly smoked a gypsy, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in bewilderment and amazement: how is it possible to sit so calmly on the box, smoke, and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “Probably, I am the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, walking towards the bazaar.
The bazaar was already leaving. For some reason, he walked along the fresh manure among carts, among carts with cucumbers, among new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground, vying with each other, called him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, jingled fingers in them, showing their good quality, men deafened him, shouted to him "Here are the first sort of cucumbers, your honor!" All this was so stupid, absurd that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, over the immense light-steel width of the river ... The shoulder straps and buttons of his tunic were so stung that it was impossible to touch them. The rim of the cap was wet with sweat inside, his face was flushed ... Returning to the hotel, he delightedly entered the large and empty cool dining room on the lower floor, took off his cap with delight and sat down at a table near the open window, which carried heat, but still air blew, and ordered botvinya with ice. Everything was good, there was immeasurable happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the bazaar smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old district hotel there was she, this joy, and at the same time my heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, eating lightly salted cucumbers with dill and feeling that he, without hesitation, would die tomorrow, if it were possible by some miracle to return her, spend one more day with her, - spend only then, only then, in order to express to her and to prove with something, to convince how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her ... Why prove? Why convince? He didn't know why, but it was more necessary than life.
- The nerves have completely cleared! - he said, pouring the fifth glass of vodka.
He pushed the botvinya away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think intensely: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And suddenly he quickly got up again, took the cap and the stack and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of the telegram already ready in his head: "From now on, blowing my life forever, to the grave, yours, in your power." - But, having reached the old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lived, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know her last name or her first name! He asked her about this several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:
- Why do you need to know who I am? I am Marya Marevna, the overseas princess ... Isn't that enough for you?
There was a photographic display case on the corner near the post office. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and a broad chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, how ridiculous, scary everything everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, - yes, amazed, he understood it now, - with this terrible "sunstroke", too much love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple - a young man in a long frock coat and a white tie, cut by a hedgehog, stretched out to the front under the arm with a girl in a wedding gas, - turned his eyes to a portrait of some pretty and perky young lady in a student cap on one side ... Then, languishing in a painful envy to all these unknown to him, not suffering people, began to look tensely along the street.
- Where to go? What to do?
The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-story, merchant houses, with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here it was as if aimless, the sun. In the distance, the street rose, hunched over and rested against the cloudless, grayish, with a reflection of the sky. There was something southern about it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. This was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with his head bowed, squinting from the light, staring intently at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to the spur with his spur, walked back.
He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. Gathering his last strength, he entered his large and empty room. The room had already been tidied up, stripped of the last traces of her — only one hairpin, which she had forgotten, lay on the night table! He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face — an ordinary officer’s face, gray with sunburn, with whitish mustache bleached from the sun and bluish whiteness of eyes that seemed even whiter from the sun — now had an excited, crazy expression, and in a thin white shirt with a standing starched collar, there was something young and deeply unhappy. He lay down on the bed, on his back, put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and a light breeze from time to time blew them in, blew into the room with the heat of heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent Volga world. He lay with his hands behind his head and gazed into the space in front of him. Then he gritted his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks - and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already turning reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, the room was stuffy and dry, like in an oven ... Both yesterday and this morning were remembered as if they were ten years ago.
He slowly got up, slowly washed his face, lifted the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cabman to be brought in, carry out his things, and, sitting down in the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, gave the footman five rubles.
- And it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! Said the cabby cheerfully, taking hold of the reins.
When we went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already blue over the Volga, and many colored lights were already scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.
- Delivered exactly! Said the cabby ingratiatingly.
The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the pier ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on its pier and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the sound of boiling and running forward water under the wheels of a steamer that had leapt backwards ... And it seemed unusually friendly and good from the crowd of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.
A minute later they ran further, up, to the same place where she had been carried away this morning.
The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multi-colored reflected in the river, still here and there shining with trembling ripples in the distance below it, under this dawn, and the lights, scattered in the darkness around, floated and floated back.
The lieutenant was sitting under the awning on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Maritime Alps. 1925

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Stories -
Ivan Bunin
Sunstroke
After dinner we left the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railings. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming in this little woman - and said:
- I'm completely drunk ... Actually, I'm completely out of my mind. Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness a strong, soft wind was blowing in the face, and the lights were rushing somewhere to the side: the steamer with Volga panache was abruptly describing a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand, raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And blissfully and terribly her heart sank at the thought of how strong and dark she was, probably, under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's get off ...
- Where to? She asked in surprise.
“On this pier.
- What for?
He said nothing. She put her hand back to her hot cheek again.
- Crazy ...
“Let's get off,” he repeated dully. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit pier with a soft thud, and they nearly fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it flew backwards, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, went out into the deep sand, up to the hub, and silently sat down in the dusty cab. The slope uphill, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, public places, watchtower, the warmth and smells of a night summer county town ... The cabman stopped near a lighted entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old unshaven footman in in a pink blouse and in a frock coat, dissatisfied, took his things and walked forward on his trampled feet. We entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white lowered curtains on the windows and two unburned candles on the mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both of them gasped in a kiss so frenziedly that for many years they remembered this moment later: neither the one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire life.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and smelly smell of the Russian provincial town, she, this little nameless woman, and without telling her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
- No, no, dear, - she said in response to his request to go on together, - no, you must stay until the next steamer. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has never happened to me, and there will never be any more. I was definitely eclipsed ... Or, rather, we both got something like a sunstroke ...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the dock, just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane, kissed her in front of everyone on deck and barely had time to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.
He returned to the hotel just as easily, carelessly. However, something has changed. The number without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was weird! She also smelled of good English cologne, her unfinished cup was still on the tray, but she was gone ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to smoke and, slapping his bootlegs with a stack, walked up and down the room several times.
- A strange adventure! He said aloud, laughing and feeling that tears were pouring into his eyes. - "I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might have thought ..." And already left ... Ridiculous woman!
The screen was pushed aside, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that there was simply no strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, shut the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, pulled down the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa ... Yes, this is the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now she is already far away, probably sitting in a glass white saloon or on the deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at this whole immense Volga expanse ... And I'm sorry, and already forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can't,” he thought, “I can't come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their accidental, such a fleeting meeting, and he never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, incredible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was seized by horror, despair.
"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... What is special about her and what actually happened? Indeed, as if some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this backwater? "
He still remembered all of her, with all the slightest of her features, he remembered the smell of her tan and gingham dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice ... The feeling of just experienced pleasures of all her feminine beauty was still extraordinary alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that did not exist at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was just an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! - “And the main thing,” he thought, “you will never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her! "
I had to save myself, occupy something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a young cab, in a dexterous coat, and calmly smoked a gypsy, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how is it possible to sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought as he walked towards the bazaar.
The bazaar was already leaving. For some reason, he walked through the fresh manure among carts, among carts with cucumbers, among new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground, vying to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, jingled their fingers, showing their good quality, men deafened him, shouted to him "Here are the first sort of cucumbers, your honor!" All this was so stupid, absurd, that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, over the immeasurable light-steel width of the river ... that it was impossible to touch them. The peg of the cap was wet with sweat inside, his face was flushed ... Returning to the hotel, he delightedly entered the large and empty cool dining room on the lower floor, took off his cap with delight and sat down at a table near the open window, which carried heat, but still air blew, and ordered botvinya with ice. Everything was good, there was immeasurable happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the bazaar smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old district hotel there was she, this joy, and at the same time my heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, eating lightly salted cucumbers with dill and feeling that he, without hesitation, would die tomorrow, if it were possible by some miracle to return her, spend one more day with her, - spend only then, only then, in order to express to her and prove with something, to convince how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her ... Why prove? Why convince? He didn't know why, but it was more necessary than life.
- The nerves have completely cleared! - he said, pouring the fifth glass of vodka.
He pushed the botvinya away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think intensely: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And suddenly he quickly got up again, took the cap and the stack and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of the telegram already ready in his head: "From now on, blowing my life forever, to the grave, yours, in your power." - But, having reached an old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lived, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know her surname or her name! He asked her about this several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:
- Why do you need to know who I am? I am Marya Marevna, the overseas princess ... Isn't that enough for you?
There was a photographic display case on the corner near the post office. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and the broadest chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, how ridiculous, scary everything everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, - yes, amazed, he understood it now, - with this terrible "sunstroke", too much love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple - a young man in a long frock coat and a white tie, cut by a hedgehog, stretched out in front of the arm with a girl in a wedding gas, - turned his eyes to a portrait of some pretty and perky young lady in a student cap on one side ... Then, languishing in a painful envy to all these unknown to him, not suffering people, began to look tensely along the street.
- Where to go? What to do?
The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-story, merchant houses, with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here it was as if aimless, the sun. In the distance, the street rose, hunched over and rested against the cloudless, grayish, with a reflection of the sky. There was something southern about it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. This was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with his head lowered, squinting from the light, looking intently at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to the spur with his spur, walked back.
He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. Gathering his last strength, he entered his large and empty room. The room had already been tidied up, stripped of the last traces of her — only one hairpin, which she had forgotten, lay on the night table! He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face, - an ordinary officer's face, gray with sunburn, with whitish mustache faded from the sun and bluish whiteness of eyes that seemed even whiter from the sun - now had an excited, crazy expression, and in a thin white shirt with a starchy stand-up collar, there was something youthful and deeply unhappy. He lay down on the bed, on his back, put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and a light breeze from time to time blew them in, blew into the room with the heat of heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent Volga world. He lay with his hands behind his head and gazed into the space in front of him. Then he gritted his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks - and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already turning reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, the room was stuffy and dry, like in an oven ... Both yesterday and this morning were remembered as if they were ten years ago.
He slowly got up, slowly washed his face, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cabman to be brought in, carried out his things, and, sitting down in the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, he gave the footman five rubles.
- And it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! - said the cabby cheerfully, taking up the reins.
When we went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already blue over the Volga, and many colored lights were already scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.
- Delivered exactly! Said the cabby ingratiatingly.
The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the dock ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on her dock and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the sound of boiling and running forward water under the wheels of a steamer leaning back a little ... And it seemed unusually friendly and good from the crowds of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.
A minute later they ran further, up, to the same place where she had been carried away this morning.
The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multicolored reflected in the river, still here and there glowing trembling ripples in the distance below it, under this dawn, and the lights, scattered in the darkness around, floated and floated back.
The lieutenant was sitting under the awning on the deck, feeling ten years older.
Maritime Alps. 1925

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Ivan Bunin
Sunstroke

After dinner we left the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railings. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming in this little woman - and said:

- I'm completely drunk ... Actually, I'm completely out of my mind. Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?

There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness a strong, soft wind was blowing in the face, and the lights were rushing somewhere to the side: the steamer with Volga panache was abruptly describing a wide arc, running up to a small pier.

The lieutenant took her hand, raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And blissfully and terribly her heart sank at the thought of how strong and dark she was, probably, under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).

The lieutenant muttered:

- Let's get off ...

- Where to? She asked in surprise.

“On this pier.

He said nothing. She put her hand back to her hot cheek again.

- Crazy ...

“Let's get off,” he repeated dully. - I beg you…

“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.

The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit pier with a soft thud, and they nearly fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it flew backwards, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.

A minute later they passed the sleepy office, went out into the deep sand, up to the hub, and silently sat down in the dusty cab. The slope uphill, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, public places, watchtower, the warmth and smells of a night summer county town ... The cabman stopped near a lighted entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old unshaven footman in in a pink blouse and in a frock coat, dissatisfied, took his things and walked forward on his trampled feet. We entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white lowered curtains on the windows and two unburned candles on the mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both of them gasped in a kiss so frenziedly that for many years they remembered this moment later: neither the one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire life.

At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and smelly smell of the Russian provincial town, she, this little nameless woman, and without telling her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.

- No, no, dear, - she said in response to his request to go on together, - no, you must stay until the next steamer. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has never happened to me, and there will never be any more. I was definitely eclipsed ... Or, rather, we both got something like a sunstroke ...

And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the dock, just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane, kissed her in front of everyone on deck and barely had time to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.

He returned to the hotel just as easily, carelessly. However, something has changed. The number without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was weird! She also smelled of good English cologne, her unfinished cup was still on the tray, but she was gone ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to smoke and, slapping his bootlegs with a stack, walked up and down the room several times.

- A strange adventure! He said aloud, laughing and feeling that tears were pouring into his eyes. - "I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might have thought ..." And already left ... Ridiculous woman!

The screen was pushed aside, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that there was simply no strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, shut the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, pulled down the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa ... Yes, this is the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now she is already far away, probably sitting in a glass white saloon or on the deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at this whole immense Volga expanse ... And I'm sorry, and already forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can't,” he thought, “I can't come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their accidental, such a fleeting meeting, and he never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, incredible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was seized by horror, despair.

"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... What is special about her and what actually happened? Indeed, as if some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this backwater? "

He still remembered all of her, with all the slightest of her features, he remembered the smell of her tan and gingham dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice ... The feeling of just experienced pleasures of all her feminine beauty was still extraordinary alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that did not exist at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was just an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! - “And the main thing,” he thought, “you will never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her! "

I had to save myself, occupy something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a young cab, in a dexterous coat, and calmly smoked a gypsy, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how is it possible to sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought as he walked towards the bazaar.

The bazaar was already leaving. For some reason, he walked through the fresh manure among carts, among carts with cucumbers, among new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground, vying to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, jingled their fingers, showing their good quality, men deafened him, shouted to him "Here are the first sort of cucumbers, your honor!" All this was so stupid, absurd, that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, over the immeasurable light-steel width of the river ... that it was impossible to touch them. The peg of the cap was wet with sweat inside, his face was flushed ... Returning to the hotel, he delightedly entered the large and empty cool dining room on the lower floor, took off his cap with delight and sat down at a table near the open window, which carried heat, but still air blew, and ordered botvinya with ice. Everything was good, there was immeasurable happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the bazaar smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old district hotel there was she, this joy, and at the same time my heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, eating lightly salted cucumbers with dill and feeling that he, without hesitation, would die tomorrow, if it were possible by some miracle to return her, spend one more day with her, - spend only then, only then, in order to express to her and prove with something, to convince how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her ... Why prove? Why convince? He didn't know why, but it was more necessary than life.

- The nerves have completely cleared! - he said, pouring the fifth glass of vodka.

He pushed the botvinya away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think intensely: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And suddenly he quickly got up again, took the cap and the stack and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of the telegram already ready in his head: "From now on, blowing my life forever, to the grave, yours, in your power." - But, having reached an old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lived, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know her surname or her name! He asked her about this several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:

- Why do you need to know who I am? I am Marya Marevna, the overseas princess ... Isn't that enough for you?

There was a photographic display case on the corner near the post office. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and the broadest chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, how ridiculous, scary everything everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, - yes, amazed, he understood it now, - with this terrible "sunstroke", too much love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple - a young man in a long frock coat and a white tie, cut by a hedgehog, stretched out in front of the arm with a girl in a wedding gas, - turned his eyes to a portrait of some pretty and perky young lady in a student cap on one side ... Then, languishing in a painful envy to all these unknown to him, not suffering people, began to look tensely along the street.

- Where to go? What to do?

The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-story, merchant houses, with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here it was as if aimless, the sun. In the distance, the street rose, hunched over and rested against the cloudless, grayish, with a reflection of the sky. There was something southern about it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. This was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with his head lowered, squinting from the light, looking intently at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to the spur with his spur, walked back.

He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. Gathering his last strength, he entered his large and empty room. The room had already been tidied up, stripped of the last traces of her — only one hairpin, which she had forgotten, lay on the night table! He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face, - an ordinary officer's face, gray with sunburn, with whitish mustache faded from the sun and bluish whiteness of eyes that seemed even whiter from the sun - now had an excited, crazy expression, and in a thin white shirt with a starchy stand-up collar, there was something youthful and deeply unhappy. He lay down on the bed, on his back, put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and a light breeze from time to time blew them in, blew into the room with the heat of heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent Volga world. He lay with his hands behind his head and gazed into the space in front of him. Then he gritted his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks - and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already turning reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, the room was stuffy and dry, like in an oven ... Both yesterday and this morning were remembered as if they were ten years ago.

He slowly got up, slowly washed his face, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cabman to be brought in, carried out his things, and, sitting down in the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, he gave the footman five rubles.

- And it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! - said the cabby cheerfully, taking up the reins.

When we went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already blue over the Volga, and many colored lights were already scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.

- Delivered exactly! Said the cabby ingratiatingly.

The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the dock ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on her dock and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the sound of boiling and running forward water under the wheels of a steamer leaning back a little ... And it seemed unusually friendly and good from the crowds of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.

The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multicolored reflected in the river, still here and there glowing trembling ripples in the distance below it, under this dawn, and the lights, scattered in the darkness around, floated and floated back.

The lieutenant was sitting under the awning on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Maritime Alps. 1925