Chekhonte

INNOCENCE / GUILT by ANTOSHA CHECKHONTE, (with extensive additional material by Grigori Shologanov) is a novella of love, deception, jealousy and murder set in Russia at the end of the nineteenth century.＂I reflected on thoughts of dissolution, of disillusion, of ravished beauty; of purity and innocence depraved and destroyed, of ruined youth... ＂An affable stranger presents himself to a newspaper editor with the manuscript he has written, a manuscript which causes the editor to believe it contains a terrible secret about the stranger.Olenka did not seem to rejoice. She was as pale as the plain linen of her dress - I noted it was neither silk or satin; was she disappointed at the realisation that her land-owning aristocrat could not, or would not, afford finer material? It was a very beautiful dress, which she, in turn beautified by wearing it, filling it with her small, so alive, frame. Her face was so serious that it was impossible to read anything there. There was an almost grim fixedness to her expression. She was not nervous nor unhappy or outright morose, but her face appeared too serious for even this, the most solemn of occasions; this commitment, before God, of an enduring bond that lives on beyond death. Although this is the true content of the marriage ceremony many enter into marriage in a frivolous state. This was not how Olenka appeared though; being so fixed. her face did not indicate joy or happiness, or thrill in the ceremony, or of future married life either....For Nadia I now feel a mature pity for how I treated her, but I never felt the gut-twisting desire for her that was inspired by young, glorious Olga. Our secret love, commissioned in those circumstances, make her appear like a pitiful puppet of youthful and ill-considered impulse. I was a more than willing participant, of course. In truth, life grinds us, and every fine impulse we carry with us into adulthood and everything else, down to dust without asking permission or requiring any aid from us. It is slow but it is remorseless.I also feared Olga would appear at my house - as though I had promised her anything, or promised her ’forever’. How long would ’forever’ last? I thought. Love declared in our circumstances always promises a happiness which can’t be fulfilled. Reason stated that I had to stay away, but my body was pulled frantically to her. I yearned for another meeting, as I had encountered her in the grotto. I saw it all in my mind’s eye, I rehearsed the meeting in the garden; longing never left my mind for a moment. I would drift out of fitful sleep of ’the girl in red’ into a daydream-fantasy about Olga...As I was crossing the garden I was met by Nadia Kalenin who emerged from a shady avenue. Was it just by chance, or had she been waiting for me?’Sergei Petrovich, ’ she said. I ignored her and continued walking. In an unnaturally deep voice she said, ’Stop!’ The suddenness and unexpectedness of her peremptory command halted me.’May I detain you, for a moment. You have tried to avoid seeing me all day. I decided to speak to you. I know that I am proud, some would say I can be egotistical, I know, and that some can find that to be overbearing, but once in a lifetime one can sacrifice pride. The question is humiliating, it is difficult for me.’ Nadia looked at me, her upper lip trembled. ’Sergei, I always think you have been separated from me by some misunderstanding, some caprice. If only I knew. I am so unhappy... all this uncertainty. I always thought I would be straightforward but... your conduct towards me is so incomprehensible that it is impossible to arrive at a conclusion.’ I will admit that I thought her pallor was terrible....new ventures in recycled fiction/ FICTIONfaction, through The Gutter Press.Series Editor; James Scobie.