Читать книгу The Pobratim - Jones P. - Страница 7

"Milenko," said Uros, "have you the least idea how people that are in love feel?"

Milenko arched his eyebrows and smiled.

"No, not exactly, for I've never been spoony myself." Then, after pondering for a moment, he added: "I should think it's like being slightly sea-sick; don't you?"

Uros looked amused. He thought over the simile for a while, then said:

"Well, perhaps you are not quite wrong."

"But why do you ask? You are surely not in love, are you?"

Uros sighed. "Well, that's what I don't exactly know; only I feel just a trifle squeamish. I'm upset; my head is muddled."

"And you are afraid it's love?"

Uros made a sign of assent.

"It's not nice, is it?"

"No."

"And you'd like to get out of it?" asked Milenko.

"Yes."

"Well, then, take a deep plunge. Make love to her heart and soul, as if you were going to marry her to-morrow. Then, I daresay, you'll soon get over it. You see, the worst thing with sea-sickness is to mope, to nurse yourself, and fancy every now and then that you are going to throw up. It's better to be sick like a dog for a day or two, as we were, and then it's all over. I think it must be the same thing with love."

"I daresay you are right, but——"

"But what?"

"I can't follow your advice."

"Why not?"

"Because—because——" and thereupon he began to scratch his head. "I can't make love to her."

"Can't make love to a girl?"

"No; for, you see, she's not a girl."

Milenko opened his eyes and stared.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Uros looked gloomy. He hesitated for an instant; then he whispered:

"Milena!"

Milenko started back.

"Not Milena Radonic?"

Uros nodded gravely.

"You are right," said Milenko seriously; "you can't make love to a married woman. It's a crime, first of all; then you might get her into trouble, and find yourself some day or other in a mess."

"You are right."

The two friends were silent for a moment; then Milenko, thinking to have caught the dilemma by its horns, said:

"Wouldn't it be the same thing if you made love to some other pretty damsel?"

Uros shook his head doubtfully.

"Darinka, our neighbour Ivo's daughter, is a very nice girl."

"Very."

"Well, don't you think you might fall in love with her?" asked

Milenko, coaxingly.

"No, I don't think I could."

"Then there is Liepa, for instance; she is as lovely as her name; moreover, I think she looks a little like Milena."

"No; no woman has such beautiful eyes. Why, the first time I saw Milena, I felt her glances scorching me; they sank into my flesh," and he heaved a deep sigh.

There was another pause; both the friends were musing.

"Well, then, I'll tell you what," said Milenko, after a while; "we'll just go off to sea again. It's a pity, but it can't be helped."

"And the harvest?"

"They'll have to manage without us; that's all."

After having discussed the subject over and over again, it was agreed that they were to sail as soon as they could find a decent vessel that could take them both. In the meanwhile, Uros promised to avoid Milena as much as possible, which was, indeed, no easy matter.

The day of Milena Zwillievic's marriage had, indeed, been a Black Friday to her. First, she knew that she was being sold to pay her father's debts; secondly, Radonic was old enough to be her father. Added to all this, he was a heavy, rough, uncouth kind of a fellow, the terror of all seamen, and, as he treated his crew as if they had been slaves, no man ever sailed with him if he could possibly get another berth.

Two or three days after the wedding, Radonic brought his girlish bride to live with his mother, the veriest old shrewish skinflint that could be imagined. She disliked her daughter-in-law before she knew her; she hated her the first moment she saw her. Milena was handsome and penniless, two heinous sins in her eyes, for she herself had been ugly and rich. She could not forgive her son for having made such a silly marriage at his age, and not a day passed without her telling him that he was an old fool.

During the first months poor Milena was to be pitied, and, what was worse, everybody pitied her. She never ate a morsel of bread without hearing her mother-in-law's taunts. If she cried, she was bullied by the one, cuffed by the other.

A month after the wedding, Radonic, however, went off with his ship, and shortly afterwards his vixen of a mother died, and Milena was then left sole mistress of the house. Her life, though lonesome, was no more a burden to her, as it had hitherto been, only, having nothing to do the whole day, time lay heavy on her hands.

Handsome and young as she was, with a slight inborn tendency to flirtation; living, moreover, quite alone; many a young man had tried to make love to her; but, their intentions being too manifest, all, hitherto, had been repulsed. On seeing Uros, however, she felt for him what she had, as yet, never felt for any man, for her husband less than anybody else.

She tried not to think of Uros, and the more she tried the more his image was before her eyes; so the whole of the live-long day she did nothing else but think of him. She decided to avoid him, and still —perhaps it was the devil that tempted her, but, somehow or other, she herself could not explain how it happened—she was always either at the door or at the window at the time he passed, and then what could she do but nod in a friendly way to him?

If she went to pay his mother a visit, she would hurry away before he came home, and then she was always unlucky enough to meet him on her way. Could she do less than stop and ask him how he was; besides, after all, he was but a boy, and she was a married woman.

Soon she began to surmise that Uros was in love with her; then she thought herself foolish to believe such a thing, and she rated herself for being vain. And then, again, she thought: "If he cares for me more than he ought, it is but a foolish infatuation, of which he will soon get rid when he goes again to sea." Thereupon she heaved a deep sigh, and a heaviness came over her heart, at which she almost confessed to herself that she did love that boy.

Milena, after the conversation Uros had had with his friend, seeing herself shunned, felt nettled and sorry. At the same time she was glad to see that he did not care for her, and then her heart yearned all the more for him.

But if he shunned her, was it a sign that he did not care for her? she asked herself.

Puzzled, as she was, she wanted to find out the truth, merely out of curiosity, and nothing more.

Thus it came to pass that, standing one day on her doorstep, she beckoned to the young man, as soon as she saw him, to come up to her. It was a bold thing to do, nor did she do so without a certain trepidation.

"Uros," said she to him, "come here; I have something to ask you."

"What is it?" said the young man, looking down rather shyly.

"You that have travelled far and wide, can you tell me who speaks all the languages of this world?"

"Who speaks all the languages of this world?" echoed Uros, lifting up his eyes, astonished, and then lowering them, feeling Milena's glances parch up his blood.

"Who can it be?" said he, puzzled.

He tried to think, but his poor head was muddled, and his heart was beating just as if it would burst. He had never been good at guessing, but now it was worse than ever.

"I've heard of people speaking three, four, and five languages, but

I've never heard of anyone speaking more than five."

"What! You've been in foreign countries," quoth she, smiling archly, and displaying her pearly teeth, "and still you cannot answer my question?"

"I cannot, indeed. There was a man who said he spoke twenty-five languages, but, of course, he was a humbug. First, there are not twenty-five languages in the world, and then he couldn't even speak Slav."

"Well, well; think over it till to-morrow."

"And then?"

"Perhaps you'll be able to guess."

"But if I don't?"

"Well, I shall not eat you up as the dragon, that Marko Kraglievic killed, used to do, if people couldn't answer the questions he put them."

"And you'll tell me?" Thereupon he lifted up his eyes yearningly towards her.

"Perhaps," she replied, blushing, "but then, you must promise not to ask Milenko."

"I promise."

She stretched forth her hand. He pressed it lingeringly.

"Nor anybody else?"

"No."

"Then I'll tell you to-morrow."

He bade her good-bye, and went off with a heavy heart; she saw him disappear with a sigh.

That whole day Uros thought a little of the riddle, and a great deal of Milena's sparkling eyes; moreover, he felt the pressure of her soft hand upon his palm. But the more he pondered over her question, the more confused his brain grew, so he gave up thinking of the riddle, and continued thinking of the young woman. On the morrow his excitement increased, as the time of hearing the answer drew near.

Milena, as usual, was on the watch for him, leaning on the door-post, looking more beautiful than ever. As soon as he saw her, he hurried up to her without being called.

"Well," said she, with a nervous smile, "have you guessed?"

"No."

"Oh, you silly fellow! Who speaks all the languages of the world?"

"It's useless to ask me; I don't know."

"What will you give me if I tell you?" said she, in a low, fluttering voice, and with a visible effort.

He would willingly have made her a present, but he did not know what she would like, and, as he looked up into her eyes to guess, he felt his blood rising all up to his head.

"Do you want me to bring you something from abroad—a looking-glass from Venice, or a coral necklace from Naples?"

No, she did not want anything from abroad.

"Then a silk scarf?"

"No, I was only joking. I'll tell you for nothing. Why, who but the echo speaks all the languages of this world?"

"Dear me, how stupid not to have thought of it. Tell me, do you think me very stupid?"

Milena smiled. She did think him rather dull, but not in the way he meant.

"You see how good I am. I tell you for nothing. Now, if you had put me a riddle, and I could not have answered, you surely would have asked"—here there was a catch in her voice—"a kiss from me."

Uros blushed as red as a damask-rose; he tried to speak, but did not know what to say.

"Oh! don't say no; you men are all alike."

The young man looked up at her with an entreating look, then down again; still he did not speak. Milena remained silent, as if waiting for an answer; she fidgeted and twisted the fringe of her apron round her fingers, then she heaved a deep sigh. After a few minutes' pause:

"Do you know any riddles?" she asked.

"Oh, yes! I know several."

"Well, then, tell me one."

Uros thought for a while; he would have liked to ask her a very difficult one, but the thought of the kiss he might have for it, gave him a strong nervous pain at the back of his head.

"Well," said he, after a few moments' cogitation—"Who turns out of his house every day, and never leaves his house?"

She looked at him for a while with parted lips and eyes all beaming with smiles; nay, there was mischief lurking in her very dimples as she said:

"Why, the snail, you silly boy; everybody knows that hackneyed riddle." Then with the prettiest little moue: "It was not worth while leaving your country to come back with such a slight stock of knowledge. I hope you were not expecting a kiss for the answer?"