Part Seven: Chapter 19

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Stepan Arkadyevitch was about to go away when Korney came in toannounce:

　　"Sergey Alexyevitch!"

　　"Who's Sergey Alexyevitch?" Stepan Arkadyevitch was beginning,but he remembered immediately.

　　"Ah, Seryozha!" he said aloud. "Sergey Alexeitch! I thought itwas the director of a department. Anna asked me to see him too,"he thought.

　　And he recalled the timid, piteous expression with which Anna hadsaid to him at parting: "Anyway, you will see him. Find outexactly where he is, who is looking after him. And Stiva...ifit were possible! Could it be possible?" Stepan Arkadyevitchknew what was meant by that "if it were possible,"--if it werepossible to arrange the divorce so as to let her have her son....Stepan Arkadyevitch saw now that it was no good to dream of that,but still he was glad to see his nephew.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch reminded his brother-in-law that they neverspoke to the boy of his mother, and he begged him not to mentiona single word about her.

　　"He was very ill after that interview with his mother, which wehad not foreseen," said Alexey Alexandrovitch. "Ideed, wefeared for his life. But with rational treatment, andsea-bathing in the summer, he regained his strength, and now, bythe doctor's advice, I have let him go to school. And certainlythe companionship of school has had a good effect on him, and heis perfectly well, and making good progress."

　　"What a fine fellow he's grown! He's not Seryozha now, but quitefull-fledged Sergey Alexeitch!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch,smiling, as he looked at the handsome, broad-shouldered lad inblue coat and long trousers, who walked in alertly andconfidently. The boy looked healthy and good-humored. He bowedto his uncle as to a stranger, but recognizing him, he blushedand turned hurriedly away from him, as though offended andirritated at something. The boy went up to his father and handedhim a note of the marks he had gained in school.

　　"Well, that's very fair," said his father, "you can go."

　　"He's thinner and taller, and has grown out of being a child intoa boy; I like that," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "Do you rememberme?"

　　The boy looked back quickly at his uncle.

　　"Yes, mon oncle," he answered, glancing at his father, and againhe looked downcast.

　　His uncle called him to him, and took his hand.

　　"Well, and how are you getting on?" he said, wanting to talk tohim, and not knowing what to say.

　　The boy, blushing and making no answer, cautiously drew his handaway. As soon as Stepan Arkadyevitch let go his hand, he glanceddoubtfully at his father, and like a bird set free, he darted outof the room.

　　A year had passed since the last time Seryozha had seen hismother. Since then he had heard nothing more of her. And in thecourse of that year he had gone to school, and made friends amonghis schoolfellows. The dreams and memories of his mother, whichhad made him ill after seeing her, did not occupy his thoughtsnow. When they came back to him, he studiously drove them away,regarding them as shameful and girlish, below the dignity of aboy and a schoolboy. He knew that his father and mother wereseparated by some quarrel, he knew that he had to remain with hisfather, and he tried to get used to that idea.

　　He disliked seeing his uncle, so like his mother, for it calledup those memories of which he was ashamed. He disliked it allthe more as from some words he had caught as he waited at thestudy door, and still more from the faces of his father anduncle, he guessed that they must have been talking of his mother.And to avoid condemning the father with whom he lived and on whomhe was dependent, and, above all, to avoid giving way tosentimentality, which he considered so degrading, Seryozha triednot to look at his uncle who had come to disturb his peace ofmind, and not to think of what he recalled to him.

　　But when Stepan Arkadyevitch, going out after him, saw him on thestairs, and calling to him, asked him how he spent his playtimeat school, Seryozha talked more freely to him away from hisfather's presence.

　　"We have a railway now," he said in answer to his uncle'squestion. "It's like this, do you see: two sit on a bench--they're the passengers; and one stands up straight on the bench.And all are harnessed to it by their arms or by their belts, andthey run through all the rooms--the doors are left openbeforehand. Well, and it's pretty hard work being theconductor!"

　　"That's the one that stands?" Stepan Arkadyevitch inquired,smiling.

　　"Yes, you want pluck for it, and cleverness too, especially whenthey stop all of a sudden, or someone falls down."

　　"Yes, that must be a serious matter," said Stepan Arkadyevitch,watching with mournful interest the eager eyes, like hismother's; not childish now--no longer fully innocent. And thoughhe had promised Alexey Alexandrovitch not to speak of Anna, hecould not restrain himself.

　　"Do you remember your mother?" he asked suddenly.

　　"No, I don't," Seryozha said quickly. He blushed crimson, andhis face clouded over. And his uncle could get nothing more outof him. His tutor found his pupil on the staircase half an hourlater, and for a long while he could not make out whether he wasill-tempered or crying.

　　"What is it? I expect you hurt yourself when you fell down?"said the tutor. "I told you it was a dangerous game. And weshall have to speak to the director."

　　"If I had hurt myself, nobody should have found it out, that'scertain."

　　"Well, what is it, then?"

　　"Leave me alone! If I remember, or if I don't remember?...whatbusiness is it of his? Why should I remember? Leave me inpeace!" he said, addressing not his tutor, but the whole world.