Sawt al-Mara — page 20

and that sweet phrase remained a riddle of riddles, troubling her and occupying her mind. When the time came to go back home, Nadia walked beside me with slow steps, deliberately lagging in her walk, cherishing the hope that I would let her hear those words; and I glimpsed her agitated and pained, trying to persuade herself that it was not the wind that had been whispering the talk of love in her ears.

The next day I received a note from her that said: "If you have made up your mind to go sliding today, call at our house and we shall go together. — N."

From that time on I accompanied her daily to the sliding mountain, and every time we slid I would repeat in her ears, in a low voice, those familiar words: I love you, Nadia!..

The girl soon grew accustomed to hearing this phrase as one grows accustomed to drinking wine or to injections of morphine, and she could no longer bear life without it... True, the plunge into the abyss still struck panic and terror into her heart as it had before... yet those sweet words that had so long caressed her hearing lent her panic and her fright a delicious tinge of magic and allure.

In vain did the girl try to discover the source of that voice which courted her; her suspicion fell upon me and upon the wind... Which of us would be the first to confess his love to her?.. It made no difference to her which came first, since she cared less about the cup she drank from than about remaining drunk with the intoxication of love.

Once I went alone to the sliding mountain and mingled with the crowd of sliders, and I saw Nadia drawing near the summit, looking all about her for me... She seemed frightened, her face white and pale, trembling with alarm as though she were being led to the scaffold; but she walked toward the sled with steady, slow steps, having made up her mind to

test for herself whether she could hear those sweet words without my being there!.. I could see her sitting in the sled, confused, her mouth agape with dread; she hid her eyes with her palms and bade the world farewell forever... and she was off.

I do not know whether the girl heard what she longed to hear, but I saw her step out of the sled weary and drained of strength, and her face betrayed her uncertainty as to whether anything had reached her ears during her descent of the mountain, for terror, it seems, had robbed her of the power of hearing, of understanding, of telling one sound from another.

Then came the month of March, and spring arrived, and the sun came out in pride and coquetry; our snowy mountain began to blacken and lose its gleam and luster; then the snow melted altogether and we stopped sliding. So poor Nadia was deprived of hearing that sweet phrase, for the winds had departed... and I was making ready to travel to Petersburg... for a long time... perhaps forever.

Two days before my departure, one evening, I sat in my garden, which was separated from Nadia's house by some high wooden palings. The weather was cold, the frost still lurked beneath the dung, and the trees looked dead despite the fragrance of spring wafting from them, while the rooks filled the air with clamor and din on their way to their nests. I drew near the fence and looked through one of its gaps, and I saw Nadia come out onto the balcony of her house, sad and downcast, casting an absent glance at the sky while the spring breeze blew upon her pale, dejected face, reminding her of those winds that used to blow upon the snowy mountain, carrying with them those sweet words; and her face darkened, and the tears ran down her cheeks; then she stretched out her arms as if

asking the breeze to bring back to her ears what she had grown used to hearing while sliding... And when the breeze blew strong I seized the chance and said in a low voice: I love you, Nadia!..

Good Lord, what has come over the girl?.. She is crying out, glad and merry, smiling, joyous and happy, stretching out her arms once more to welcome the breeze.

And I left the garden to pack my bags.

All this happened long ago. As for now,

Nadia is married; they married her off — or she married — the steward of a noble family's