Lover's Prayer Page #7

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at Thursday morning at ten o'clock.

I promised to pay a call on

a friend here in Moscow.

I would have to leave straight away.

- I thought you wanted a commission.

- I do, as I've said.

One might keep one's appointments at the

admiralty in that case, may I suggest.

Captain Nirmansky.

Admiral Nirmansky, Monsieur Woldemar.

You are aware, I take it, of the very

real possibility of war in the Crimea.

Yes, sir. Indeed I am.

The course of your studies at University

does not lead to a Naval

appointment in an obvious fashion.

It says here you are responsible

for your mother who was widowed.

Are you the only child?

Yes, Lord Admiral.

But she would not object.

- If you knew, I take as your meaning?

- Correct.

What if, under the circumstances,

we agreed to offer you

a commission as an ensign?

- What would you say to that?

- God save the Czar.

You will find a very good

military tailor for your uniform

at Savilev's here in Petersburg.

I can recommend them.

Report for duty in

Kronstadt in two weeks.

Yes, sir.

Better?

Yes, these are correct.

When can you have these ready?

- Very quick, sir. Four days.

- No. Not sooner?

I'm sorry, sir. So many

gentlemen ahead of you.

This delay will oblige me to stay

in Petersburg waiting, you see.

I live in Moscow.

I regret it so much, sir. But I

cannot do better than four days.

Very well.

My card.

Ensign what? Who?

Give that to Madame Dolsky.

She will know me.

Impossible.

- How can it be?

- Looshin!

- But it might be good for her.

- What is the matter?

Come in quickly and be quiet.

Stay here. I'll fetch you.

I think it's good you've come.

That sword, that sword, take it off!

You are not Dolsky.

You are not Dolsky at all.

Because where is our Dolsky? Lost in

the center of town, the idiot. Again!

Isn't that typical of him,

wouldn't you say?

I'm afraid that we've never met.

Her child was breached and

stillborn. She hasn't long.

Don't look like that. I'm

quite serious. Follow me.

Monsieur Woldemar, how kind of you.

No, Vladimir. Listen to me.

You were our neighbor's son

one summer in the country.

We had a friendship there, you and I,

long ago. And once, you won my kiss.

- No, twice.

- But that is all.

The rest must never be spoken of.

It must not be remembered by anyone.

I must not be connected to what

happened and to your poor father.

It is happening to me now.

God is justice. He is just. I see it.

But promise me you will

never speak of it. Never.

I will never speak of it.

I assure you, it will be all forgotten.

Thank you. But if one day hence, not soon,

you wish to write some words about me

in a poem or a novel,

I would like that.

And people would not

entirely hate me then.

They would love me a little

too, wouldn't they?

- Wouldn't they?

- They would.

The past rose and stood before me.

So that was to be

the final answer to it all.

So that was the final goal

towards which this young life

all glitter and ardor and

excitement, went hurrying along.

Here, not far from me,

who was still living

and perhaps only a few steps

from where my father lay.

And so I took my leave from the

brief phantom of my first love.

And what has become of it all?

Of all that I had hoped for?

And now when the shades of evening

are beginning to close in upon my life

what have I left that

is fresher, dearer to me

than the memories of that brief storm

that came and went so quickly

one morning in the spring.

How handsome you are in your uniform.

By the time you get to Kronstadt, you'll

be all wrinkled and covered in dust.

I have a clean one. I'll change

before I report. Don't worry.

I shall not worry. Do you know what?

I'm sorry Zinaida never saw

how fine you are, how brave.

- Am I brave?

- Yes.

I look at you and I think, now

there is a man. Voila un home.

Goodbye.

But I was not brave.

Lord, forgive me my sins,

forgive me my sins.

Forgive me my sins,

forgive me my sins.

Forgive me my sins. Lord.

Please forgive me my Lord.

And I remember that there by the

deathbed of that poor beautiful girl,

I grew afraid, afraid for Zinaida.

And I wanted to say a prayer for her,

and for my father,

and for myself.

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