The Witch | Page 8

be late,
anyway. . . ."

"We might be just in time," came a voice from the outer room. "All
days are not alike; the train may be late for a bit of luck."
The postman got up, and stretching lazily began putting on his coat.
Savely positively neighed with delight when he saw his visitors were
getting ready to go.
"Give us a hand," the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a mail-bag.
The sexton ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the yard.
The postman began undoing the knot in his hood. The sexton's wife
gazed into his eyes, and seemed trying to look right into his soul.
"You ought to have a cup of tea . . ." she said.
"I wouldn't say no . . . but, you see, they're getting ready," he assented.
"We are late, anyway."
"Do stay," she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by the
sleeve.
The postman got the knot undone at last and flung the hood over his
elbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by Raissa.
"What a . . . neck you've got! . . ." And he touched her neck with two
fingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck and
shoulders.
"I say, you are . . ."
"You'd better stay . . . have some tea."
"Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard outside.
"Lay it crossways."
"You'd better stay. . . . Hark how the wind howls."
And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to shake off
the intoxicating sleep of youth and fatigue, was suddenly overwhelmed
by a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal trains . . . and all
things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at the door in a frightened
way, as though he wanted to escape or hide himself, seized Raissa
round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put out the light,
when he heard the tramp of boots in the outer room, and the driver
appeared in the doorway. Savely peeped in over his shoulder. The
postman dropped his hands quickly and stood still as though irresolute.
"It's all ready," said the driver. The postman stood still for a moment,
resolutely threw up his head as though waking up completely, and
followed the driver out. Raissa was left alone.
"Come, get in and show us the way!" she heard.

One bell sounded languidly, then another, and the jingling notes in a
long delicate chain floated away from the hut.
When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and nervously
paced to and fro. At first she was pale, then she flushed all over. Her
face was contorted with hate, her breathing was tremulous, her eyes
gleamed with wild, savage anger, and, pacing up and down as in a cage,
she looked like a tigress menaced with red-hot iron. For a moment she
stood still and looked at her abode. Almost half of the room was filled
up by the bed, which stretched the length of the whole wall and
consisted of a dirty feather-bed, coarse grey pillows, a quilt, and
nameless rags of various sorts. The bed was a shapeless ugly mass
which suggested the shock of hair that always stood up on Savely's
head whenever it occurred to him to oil it. From the bed to the door that
led into the cold outer room stretched the dark stove surrounded by pots
and hanging clouts. Everything, including the absent Savely himself,
was dirty, greasy, and smutty to the last degree, so that it was strange to
see a woman's white neck and delicate skin in such surroundings.
Raissa ran up to the bed, stretched out her hands as though she wanted
to fling it all about, stamp it underfoot, and tear it to shreds. But then,
as though frightened by contact with the dirt, she leapt back and began
pacing up and down again.
When Savely returned two hours later, worn out and covered with snow,
she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but from the slight
tremor that ran over her face he guessed that she was not asleep. On his
way home he had vowed inwardly to wait till next day and not to touch
her, but he could not resist a biting taunt at her.
"Your witchery was all in vain: he's gone off," he said, grinning with
malignant joy.
His wife remained mute, but her chin quivered. Savely undressed
slowly, clambered over his wife, and lay down next to the wall.
"To-morrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are!"
he muttered, curling himself up.
Raissa turned her face to him and her