"If I were a countrywoman it would all be quite simple," she said, spitting out the stone.
"I have often heard the words: native land, Russia, the people, but I have never before seen for myself what they mean."
She ate the other cherry, glancing at Alexei Ivanovich, at his beard, golden in the sunlight, at his jacket open over the chest, at his strong legs, his terrible weapons.
"The people," he echoed, getting more, and more embarrassed. "We're nothing much, of course. But we don't mean to give up what's our own."
He held firmly to a paling sticking out of the wattle fence, testing it to see if it would hold.
"We'll fight ruthlessly, if we have to fight the whole world. You ought to listen to our anarchists, Ekaterina Dmitrevna, not to me—they're great hands at talking.... Only...." (His brows twitched, his gaze flitting searchingly over Katya.) "They're a bad lot, hopeless sots, drunkards.... They mustn't be allowed to set eyes on you...."
"Nonsense," said Katya.
"What d'you mean, nonsense?"
"I mean I'm not a child, I wouldn't let anyone get away with that sort of thing...."
"I'm glad to hear you say that...."
Katya's lips quivered—smiling, she stretched out her hand again to the cherry-laden branch.
She could feel the hot sunshine penetrating, caressing, her whole body.
And this, too, was a waking dream.
"But still," she said, "what is there I could do here, Alexei Ivanovich?"
"Well, there's education.... The Old Man's getting up a political department. They say he means to bring out his own newspaper."
"And what about you?"
"Me?" (Again he turned his attention to the paling, giving the fence a shake.) "I'm just a fighting man, a driver of a machine-gun carrier. My place is in battle.... Have a look round first, Ekaterina Dmitrevna, you mustn't make up your mind all at once.
I'll take you to my sister-in-law—Matryona, my brother's wife.
We might take you into the family, you know...."
"Makhno told me to be ready to do his nails for him this evening."
"What?"
Alexei's two hands flew to his belt, his very nose seemed to have become sharp.
"His nails?
And what did you say?"
"I told him I was a prisoner," said Katya calmly.
"Very well.
If he sends for you—go.
But I shall be there...."
Just then the fat Alexandra came running out of the hut, waving her apron.
"They're coming! They're coming!" she cried, rushing to open the gate.
Cheers, shots, the thud of hoofs could be heard in the distance.
It was Makhno returning at the head of his army.
Katya and Alexei went out into the street.
Clouds of dust were rising above the path.
Horsemen and carts drawn by three horses, were galloping over the mounds, past the windmills.
The foremost units were already in the village.
Little boys were jumping about, young girls ran hither and thither.
The sides of the sweating, frothing horses were distended.
Makhno's men galloped by, their caps atilt, standing up in their carts, covered with dust and sweat.
Makhno drove past in the cart with the Persian carpet on its floor.
Seated on an ammunition box, he swayed from side to side, holding his sheepskin cap against his thigh.
His face was pale and tense, his dry lips compressed.
In the cart which came after him sat six men who looked, with their short jackets, their felt hats, their straw yachting caps, like townsfolk. They all had long hair, beards, and spectacles. These were the anarchists from headquarters and the political department.
* VIII *
Dasha stayed all by herself in the empty rooms for five months.
Before leaving for the front, Ivan Ilyich had given her a. thousand rubles, but this did not last long.
Fortunately the flat below, from which an important Petersburg official had fled with his family, was taken by an enterprising foreigner by the name of Matte, who bought up pictures, furniture and anything he could lay his hands on.
Dasha sold him a double bed, a few engravings, and some porcelain knicknacks.
She parted with these possessions, redolent as they were of old memories, without a pang.
She had severed herself entirely from her past.