A story by Anton Chekhov Translated from the Russian by Najati Sidqi

Nadia took my arm on that bitter winter day, the snowflakes heaped on the down of her upper lip and on the locks of hair coiled at her temples. We were standing at the top of a lofty mountain clothed in snow, its face become like a great mirror into which the eye of the sun gazed; beside us stood a small sled covered with a piece of wool dyed red.

I said to the girl imploringly: Let us slide down, Nadia Petrovna, if only once. I assure you we shall come to no harm and shall reach the foot in safety.

She hesitated to grant my plea. The distance stretching from her shoes to the foot of the mountain seemed to her fathomless, without bottom; when she cast a glance from on high downward she felt her soul freeze within her body, and it seemed to her that if she granted my request and sat beside me in the sled she was bound for madness or certain destruction.

I said: Nadia... come along... I beg you to sit in the sled; there is no cause for all this fear. Don't you understand that this hesitation of yours can be explained only as faintheartedness and cowardice?

After some hesitation the girl relented, the marks of one risking her life drawn upon her face, and she sat beside me in the sled, pale of color, trembling with fright. I put my arm around her, and we plunged into the deep abyss.

The sled shot off with us like the flight of an arrow. The torn air slapped our faces, roared and whistled in our ears, all but wrenching our heads from our shoulders in the violence of its rage and fury... Its pressure was so fierce that it denied us breath, so that it seemed to us as if a demon had seized hold of us and was dragging us down to the depths of hell. The things around us merged one into another in a single long straight line racing the wind in its blowing. Only moments passed before we felt that death stood within a bow's length of us, or nearer. And when we were halfway down I said to the girl in a low voice: I love you, Nadia!

The sled began little by little to slacken in its rush; the roar and whistle of the wind grew fainter; our natural breathing came back to us; and at last we reached the foot of the mountain. Nadia was pale of color and slow of breath, more like the dead than the living, so I took her arm and helped her to rise.

She said to me, staring into my face with wide

eyes filled with terror: It is impossible that I should ever slide again; no one in the world could force me to ride that sled. I very nearly perished.

A little while later she came back to herself and looked at me questioningly: Was it you who uttered those three words, or did I only fancy I heard them amid the wind and its whistling?

I stood beside her, smoking, examining my glove; then I took her arm and we went strolling near the mountain. The riddle troubled her not a little. Had she understood the truth of those words or not... yes or no? Yes or no?

This question touched her self-respect, her honor, her life and her happiness; it was a very important question, indeed the most important question in life!

And Nadia kept eyeing me deliberately, turning upon me a sad, piercing look, expecting me to say something.

Ah, that bright face — how lovely it was! I could see her struggling with herself; she had something she longed to utter, she wanted to ask about something that troubled her mind, but she could not find the words needed to express what stirred within her. It was a dreadful perplexity, crossed by a wave of gladness and delight.

Then she said, without looking at my face: Do you know? I said: What? She said: Let us slide once more.

We climbed the high wooden stairway built upon the mountain, and I seated Nadia — her color drained, her limbs trembling — upon the sled once more. And we plunged into the deep abyss as before; the wind roared and whistled, and just when the sled was at its swiftest rush and its loudest din, I addressed Nadia in a low voice: I love you, Nadia.

When we reached the foot, the girl cast a glance at the mountain we had slid down, then stared long into my face and listened to my voice — which was calm, cool, unconcerned — while she was wholly sunk in an intense perplexity, not grasping what had happened. And who had uttered those words? Her companion, or an illusion?

This obscurity distressed the poor girl and drove her past the bounds of her patience. I would talk to her while she sat still, troubled, absent, the tears almost starting from her eyes.

Then she said, her face flushing: I do delight in this sliding!.. Come, let us slide a third time!

When we sat down for the third time the girl's face went white, as it had the time before; her breath caught, and her limbs shook with the violence of her dread. And as we rushed downward she began scrutinizing my face and my lips; so I made haste, drew my handkerchief from my pocket, put it to my mouth, and coughed,

and no sooner were we halfway down the mountain than I said to her from behind the handkerchief, in a low voice: I love you, Nadia!..

The girl kept silence and sank into deep thought,