The Christmas Eve. Seraphim's Fife

Now she knew what emptiness meant. Before, everyone around her was afraid of emptiness, but she did not even know what it meant. Grebnev, the murdered playwright, was afraid of it, having written so many words about emptiness in that monologue that had been never heard to the end. Shtolman himself was afraid of it. With what passion he had said then: “Without you, my life would be empty!” He had said much more than she was then able to understand, but at that moment, she remembered only one thing: He had called her “Anya”. And why had she always expected something from him that everyone said? Shtolman had never been “everyone”, he was the one and only, and his confessions were also not about that at all.

Now she knew emptiness. She had not known this feeling before because Yakov Platonovich filled her entirely with his appearance. It seemed that Anna had not even lived until that moment when she saw in her dream the vague silhouette of a thin man in a bowler hat. Her entire previous life had been nothing but an expectation, a foretaste of the miracle that happened when she met him in reality. It was no accident that her gift awakened again that very day. With his appearance, Shtolman had given her life, passion, reason for being. And from that moment on, he had always been with her.

They could not see each other for weeks - it did not mean anything. Because he was somewhere there, in the city, and she imagined how they would meet again. Quite by chance, of course. They could quarrel, and then she was sulky with him for days. He did not let her forget about himself and the latest offense, and in this, he WAS too. She rushed headlong into another adventure without being afraid either of the dead, or spirits, or living villains. Because she had Shtolman, and he, of course, would not let her perish! And her gift gave him the necessary hint and help, at least sometimes. It did make sense; this was the work she desired. She discovered in herself that she liked to help people. And her heart was so full of him, full of the happiness that he gave her with his presence, that this happiness could be shared, scattered in handfuls. They both found something incredibly important in serving people; it brought them together despite all their quarrels. Vanya, a little orphan, snatched from the hands of swindlers and murderers – that was the point of life, their common cause!!

How angry with him she got when it seemed to her that he didn't take her seriously! How infuriated she was by this constantly repeated “I’ve heard you, Anna Viktorovna!” But he really did hear her. He took into account everything she brought him, while she longed for him saying something banal, so that she would feel important and needed. What if he simply didn't know how to say banalities? If he was able to say them only to others, those who meant nothing to him? But she was also the only one for him, and therefore he simply HEARD her.

Now all the insults seemed so petty, all the quarrels so wrong, all the expectations so stupid. Now he was gone. And she was floating in the void, finding nothing to cling to. The disappearance of her gift was a frightening confirmation of this vague discovery: he was gone, and no one needed this gift anymore. In the first days after Shtolman’s disappearance, this thought frightened her to the point of cold sweat, to numbness, when Anna was unable to make a single movement and sat, staring into the void, trying to remember everything that WAS between them.

The days passed, and nothing changed around her. There was still no news of Shtolman. How could this be, when she was still filled to the brim with him, and even her body knew him in itself now? They belonged to each other entirely, without exception; they were created to be together.
“Yakov Platonovich, you said it yourself!”
But the void did not give an answer, again and again.
“Please come back!”

Everything that had infuriated her so much about him previously, she was ready now to accept with delight: His constant imperturbability, his impossible mockery, and that seeming heartlessness of the “pharaoh” when he did not bother with politeness. And his charming smile, sharp as a razor, which he addressed to everyone who lied, behaved like a scoundrel, or tried to intimidate him. Now Anna remembered exactly that he always smiled at her in a completely different way. Now she was ready to accept him into her life entirely, with all his omissions and secrets, with all the dangers, with all the darkness that surrounded him. With everything he tried so hard to protect her from, desperately loving and pushing her away.

What did all the words mean, spoken and unspoken? How she now wanted to look into the hard face of her policeman, to see in this face answers to all the tormenting questions! Now she knew for sure that the answers had always been there, but she was simply afraid to see them for a long time, casting only timid, furtive glances. She accused Shtolman of mistrust, but she herself did not trust him to the same extent, fearing something that could not possibly happen between them. But, to understand him, she had to understand herself. Yakov Platonovich waited for this moment very patiently.

It took hearing the late Seraphim's fife to understand that Anna had never been an ordinary Zatonsk young lady, that she should not even try it. Balls, dances, beautiful dresses, spiritualist salons, Petersburg... Lieutenant Shumsky, lawyer Vishnevsky… how stupid, boring and flat they seemed to be in her life, where the impossible detective Shtolman reigned supreme! Everyone around her could consider her a witch, but for her there was only one thing important: What Yakov Platonovich thought of her. But she could not understand this until she felt that she herself was simply a holy fool, as the deceiver Ulla said. That all the absurdities in her life came from this misunderstanding. As soon as she began to play, try to flirt or sulk, it immediately plunged her into trouble. And the worst thing was that this trouble always hit Shtolman too. They suffered from it together, but it seemed to them that apart.

She herself was to blame, not fully understanding her essence. The secret was revealed to her by Seraphim's fife: She should not try to live by reason. Reason is Shtolman, this is the ineradicable essence of her man, who does not accept what he cannot break down into components with his mind, reassemble into a single whole and sum up. Anna is an inspiration, a feeling that can be as infallible as the thought of Yakov Platonovich, just happening differently. But once she had understood this, once she had obeyed the call of this mystical fife of the man of God, everything quickly fell into place. And Shtolman saw enlightenment in that what could have seemed madness. In this state, everything she did turned out to be right. There, in the cemetery, she kissed him as a husband, and then went straight into the arms of temptation and mortal danger, but it was right, because Yakov Platonovich rushed in and saved her again. Just steps away from death, they finally said to each other everything they had to, what their pride and their desire to keep up appearances and be like everyone else prevented them from saying.

Now, in this unthinkable separation, Shtolman knew that she had nowhere to go in this city - only to him. And Anna herself discovered that, in the hour of mortal danger, Yakov could confide only in her. She no longer needed explanations that he promised to give, looking at her yearningly, and silently hoping that, by some miracle, she would understand everything herself. Seraphim's fife made her heart able to see. They rushed to each other as quickly and recklessly as was necessary. They were alone on this earth, but life gave them a meeting. Living as before, indeed, turned out to be no longer possible. But she lived, for several days now. What if he died and she was doomed to eternal emptiness?

This morning, Papa conveyed to her greetings from Nikolay Vasilyevich Tregubov. It was an admission that she lived correctly all this time, spitting on external decency. At the police station, they didn't think badly of her, they were still waiting for her and loved her; it was just that Shtolman wasn't there now, so she couldn't go there. Running somewhere, searching, collecting evidence - that was probably all right, but that was not her path. Sweet Anton Andreyevich could handle that. But Seraphim's fife was playing to her again, calling on her to trust her feelings and not worry about the rest. Even if that meant just sitting still and waiting for something that would definitely happen soon. The man of God and her own essence had never deceived her.
* * *
In the late afternoon, Anton Andreyevich unexpectedly showed up at their house. Mama herself brought Anna this news, glowing with happiness and ablaze with enthusiasm. Her police friends never had been greeted so warmly in the Mironovs' house before. If Yakov Platonovich had shown up now, they would probably have carried him to her in their arms. Or not? Maybe, if he had returned, everything would have been as it had been before, when Mama could hardly bear him.

Seeing Korobeynikov, Anna wanted to get up to meet him, but Seraphim's fife suddenly began to sing so loudly that she froze on the sofa, staring into space, realizing that something incredibly important was about to happen, something that would end the unthinkable torture of waiting.

Anton Andreyevich must have understood something. It was strange, but he had never witnessed her trance when she communicated with spirits. Once he even asked her to show him how it happened. And now he froze, afraid to take a step. Mama quickly retreated, so as not to see her daughter's suffering, or her new oddities. Maria Timofeyevna wanted only one thing, for Anya to become at least as she once was, not realizing that this was no longer possible.

“Anna Viktorovna,” Korobeynikov called in a loud whisper, not daring to raise his voice, “have the spirits returned?”
Anna answered, listening to the distant call of the fife:
“Maybe,” it sounded completely lifeless. That was how almost everything she said all week sounded. “Have you brought news of Yakov Platonovich?”
“Maybe,” Korobeynikov repeated her words.
“I’m listening to you.”

Really, she would like to say it more warmly. But her whole being was carried away by a premonition wakened by the strange fife song.

Anton Andreyevich approached and pulled out from under his coat something that seemed familiar to her.
“Ah,” said Anna, seeing the muff.
“Have you been there, Anna Viktorovna?”
She only nodded silently.
“And... Yakov Platonovich?”
“He... was there too. It was he who shot the Master.”
“I thought so,” muttered Korobeynikov. “So it was before...”
Anna nodded again.
“Is that your only reason?”
“Yes. No... Not only.”
“I'm listening to you.”
“I can't understand,” said the assistant investigator with annoyance. “The Englishman’s murder, Master, murdered adept in the ravine…all that is somehow connected. Just I don't know how it's connected.”

The fife sobbed and fell silent.

“What did you say?” Anna asked, realizing: That's it!

Korobeynikov noticed this suddenly changed expression of her face and voice, which had become alive again. His ruddy face lit up despite the seriousness of what he was about to say.

“Do you know anything about this, Anna Viktorovna?”
She nodded:
“In general. And what did you find out?”
“Not much at all. In the Mikhailovsky estate, in the bunker at the back, they found four dead bodies: two soldiers from the garrison, a stabbed woman, and your dark Master. And on the road, traces of an attack were discovered. The Englishman who lived in the estate was killed, and with him two convoy soldiers. One of the attackers was also killed; it was the Master's man.”

“We didn't know that the Englishman was dead,” Anna said, and suddenly her chest warmed from this accidental “we”. “It seems that Yakov Platonovich had been conducting this case in secret from everyone for a long time. He knew about the estate and bunker. When the Master captured me, Yakov came and shot him. We managed to interrogate him: Shtolman, while he was alive, and me, when he was already dead. Someone from the Petersburg police department sent him here to capture the Englishman.”

“Did Lucifer’s adept serve in the police?” Korobeynikov was surprised.
“He did not serve,” Anna said with annoyance. “Someone there caught him in shady deals, and then sent him here to do something he himself could not dirty his hands with. It's obvious!”
“I'm afraid it's more obvious to you than to me. The inmost recesses of the soul are dark, Anna Viktorovna.”
Anna impatiently waved her hand:
“It turns out very simple. The Master was sent here to put together a gang to capture the English chemist without involving that man from Petersburg. For some time, he fooled those adepts with his ravings and hypnosis. They shot the beggars, just for training. He wanted to make me complicit, too… with blood.”

Her throat suddenly tightened as she remembered how close she had been to losing herself. But all the spell was instantly broken by that beloved voice. And the warmth she felt on her back.

Anton Andreyevich waited very patiently, but the silence dragged on.
“Yes, yes. I see,” he finally muttered.
“You must take them all,” Anna said, pulling herself together. “You have one of the adepts kept in jail, right?”
“Yes, Zakrevsky, the gun merchant. I think they called him the Shooter.”
“Do it! Make him give them all up. I don’t think the Master let them in on his secret affairs, but they have nothing to do in Zatonsk.”
“You’re right, Anna Viktorovna. How right you are! Here’s Mr. Rebushinsky’s black funnel for you. How long have they been in our city?”
“I don’t know. You should ask them yourself. And do you know what, Anton Andreyevich?” Anna's enthusiasm did not leave her, and Seraphim's fife sounded almost joyfully in her ears. “I'm almost sure that Nina Arkadyevna was involved in this story.”

She remembered her rival without the slightest jealousy. Now she trusted Shtolman completely. She had also to trust him in the last thing:
“Yes, Nina Arkadyevna Nezhinskaya. And the Prince.”

* * *
The Prince appeared that same night. And this was his revenge. Seeing the familiar silhouette of a thin-bodied man in a coat with a beaver collar and bowler hat near the window, Anna screamed terribly. Seraphim's fife was screaming in her ears, but she did not hear it, trying to come closer and touch... although it was impossible to touch...

The ghost turned around. It was not Shtolman!

When he disappeared, confirming the loss of her gift with his willfulness, Anna stood for a long time in the darkness at the window, trying to restrain a feverish tremor. The glass was covered with frosting; a chill crept from the window.
“How cruel...” she whispered.
And suddenly she heard the fife again.
“Seraphim!” Anna called timidly and hopelessly. “Seraphim, help me!”

Nothing happened. It was just that suddenly her eyes started spinning, and she imagined the Christmas tree standing in the living room: Toys, nuts and a silver star on top. Today was Christmas Eve, and the fife song promised her some kind of miracle, very familiar, even habitual, and completely simple.

The mirror standing on the dressing table suddenly fell over, but did not break. Anna mechanically picked it up - and at that very moment she understood what the spirit of the beggar wanted to tell her!

All this time she made the same mistake: She asked the dead about the living one. But she should have asked completely differently. And this was the very night when she would be able to do it easily and simply.

Girls always told fortunes on Christmastide. She herself had told fortunes about her betrothed a year ago. And she had even seen him in the mirrors. That time she had been offended and frightened by Ms. Nezhinskaya appearing behind Yakov. Good Lord! Let anyone appear there – she would agree to anything! If only she could see him alive, to make sure that they were still destined for each other.

Anna feverishly lit the candles and began to repeat the familiar ritual exactly. Intuition told her that today everything would definitely work out for her.
“My betrothed, my promised one, appear to me!”

As soon as she said it, the light in the mirrors disappeared, replaced by the image of a man's face. Anna's heart trembled and skipped a beat.

The beloved face was even more skinny than usual. The parched lips were tightly pressed together, the lower one split and bleeding. A bruise on the cheekbone. A thick shadow lay on the sunken cheeks and chin, stubble unshaven since the day of his disappearance. The eyes were closed. Anna peered at this face until it hurts, understanding only one thing: He is alive!

Yakov leaned his head against the log wall and sat awkwardly, leaning sideways.
“Where are you?” Anna called. “Show me! I’ll find you!”

Last time the vision lasted only a few moments, but today she was not afraid that it would be as short. From somewhere came the confidence that she would hold him as long as it was necessary.

Yakov shuddered and opened his eyes. Pain cut her heart at the sight of those eyes clouded with suffering.
“Where are you? Show me,” she repeated.

Suddenly the face in the mirror disappeared, but she saw a room. Rather, a hut, quite small. Chopped log walls, a low ceiling. An empty table at a dim window, a trestle bed with an unmade bed, a small oven further away. It seemed that it was the oven casting through its loosely closed door light patches which lit up Yakov's face. Something was hanging on the wall behind the trestle bed. It seemed like snares or traps. Anna was sure that she was looking through Shtolman’s eyes. And his gaze stubbornly lingered on these objects. It seemed to be important.

"I understand," she whispered, feeling her eyes clouded with tears. "Wait for me! I'll come!"

Anna angrily wiped away those bothering tears with her fist, but it took a second: Only the flame of her candle was reflected in the infinity of the mirrors pushed together.

* * *

Waiting for the morning was unthinkable. Sergei Stepanovich Evgrashin, who was on duty at the police office, greeted her with delight and began to give her tea and cheesecakes. It seemed she was trying to persuade him to call Korobeynikov or Tregubov.

Evgrashin spoke in a deep voice, embarrassed: “I can't, Anna Viktorovna, my dear. I'm on duty.” And he sighed guiltily.

Then Anna rushed aimlessly around the office where Evgrashin, of course, let her in. The minutes dragged on, each one an eternity long. Anna pulled herself together, sat down on Shtolman’s chair, and smoothed the green cloth of the table with her palms. Then, for some reason, she reached into the drawers and came across an empty bottle.

“Glad to see you, Anna Viktorovna!”
“Why is that?”
“I'm always glad to see you.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yes. No. But that's an idea. I'm not suggesting you...”
She giggled through the tears that suddenly welled up. Today, memories did not kill her with despair. Hope blazed inside her like a fire.

Korobeynikov showed up at the office only at nine. Anna did not remember how she waited for him, what she had been doing all this time. And how much time had passed, she did not remember either.

“Anna Viktorovna!” exclaimed the assistant investigator. And then he added in a suddenly hoarse voice: “Any news?”
“He’s in a log house. In the forest, I think. It looks like a hunter’s or forester’s hut. There are traps hanging on the wall, I saw it well. He’s badly beaten, maybe wounded too.”
“Alive?”
“Alive. Conscious, although I think he’s very weak.”

Korobeynikov pulled some papers out of the closet, stepping on them with his feet without noticing it.

“Where is it? Yes, here it is!” he spread a detailed map of Zatonsk and its surroundings on the table. The map was marked with crosses in many places. “In the summer, when we were looking for you, we learned all these huts by heart. But the forest is big. Where could it be? Didn’t you see it?”

Anna shook her head: “I saw what Yakov showed. And he’s inside.”
“Did you?” Korobeynikov asked in a trembling voice. “But that means he is…”
“No, of course not!” Anna exclaimed impatiently. “That’s something completely different. He’s alive and waiting for help! We have to look for him.”
“But where should we look?” Anton Andreyevich shouted at the top of his voice. “There’s forest for fifty miles around here!”

The fife in her ears sobbed and fell silent.
“Wait,” Anna said. “How would Shtolman search?”

Since she no longer has her gift, it means they must use a method that does not need it. Yakov Platonovich in his investigations got along freely without any visions and ghosts.

“Let's narrow down our search,” Korobeynikov said.
At that moment, he awfully reminded her of Shtolman, which seemed incredible with his snub nose, rosy cheeks and eternally cheerful expression. Anton Andreyevich felt a devoted apprentice love for Yakov Platonovich, and unconsciously copied him in everything.

“Let's do it,” Anna said. “Yakov disappeared around three o'clock in the morning.”
“Yes, the boy at the hotel indicated approximately that time.”
“At ten o'clock in the morning, I found a carriage with traces of blood at the Prince's estate. Whoever took him away, he managed to return back during that time.”
“There and back in seven hours. One way - at least three.” Korobeynikov drew a circle on the map. “So, no further than this. It's easier already. I'll report to Tregubov and leave immediately with a team.”
“I'm with you,” the girl said quickly. But Anton Andreyevich, who had refused her only a few times in his life, suddenly said: “No!”
“What do you mean with “no”?”
“Just what I said. Yakov Platonovich will take my head off if anything happens to you.”
“How afraid of him you are!”
“You should be afraid too,” Korobeynikov muttered. “Anna Viktorovna, I’ve heard you. We are starting the search. And you go home and wait for news.”

He was unconsciously copying Shtolman again. Anna realized that it was useless to beg him. Although she tried, of course.

They turned her out of the police station, and she walked down the street without the slightest goal, realizing that she had done everything she could at that moment. Never before had this waiting and detachment been so painful for her. Even when Shtolman himself had send her out, and she wandered home, mortally offended. She would never be offended by him again. Honestly, honestly! Let him just come back alive...

The fife suddenly began to whine in her ears. Anna looked around. Festivities were starting in the square, guisers were scurrying about, and it smelled of fresh kalatch breads. And yet, her back felt as if it were chilled by someone's unkind gaze. The girl turned around abruptly and saw the Frenchman in the distance. He was standing near a dry goods store, not trying to hide from her gaze. He looked the same as when he had been stalking her a week ago.

Her reason demanded to run away from him as fast as she could, but intuition, contrary to the obvious, commanded her to stop. Even more, to go towards him. Anna obeyed her intuition and respectfully moved towards him. That was right!

Отредактировано J.H.Watson (26.04.2025 19:52)