over to Martin’s room, and soon Archibald Moon arrived, and Sonia asked Darwin softly why the professor’s nose was powdered. Moon started to speak in his mellow Russian, flaunting rare and rich proverbs. The girl’s conduct, thought Martin, was decidedly reprehensible. She would sit with stonelike countenance, or laugh for noreason at all as her eyes met Darwin’s. The latter sat with crossed legs, tamping the tobacco in his pipe.
“I wonder why Vadim hasn’t shown up yet,” said Martin uneasily, and touched the teapot’s full cheek.
“Oh, go ahead and pour,” said Sonia, whereupon Martin busied himself with the teacups. They all grew silent, watching him. Moon smoked a tan-tinted cigarette belonging to the kind referred to as Russian in England.
“Does your mother write to you often?” asked Mrs. Zilanov.
“Every week,” answered Martin.
“She must miss you,” said Mrs. Zilanov, and blew on her tea.
“Well, I don’t see the national lemon,” Moon subtly observed, in Russian again. Darwin, lowering his voice, asked Sonia to translate. Moon gave him a sidelong glance and switched to English; deliberately and maliciously imitating the average Cambridge manner, he said that there had been some rain, but that now it had cleared, and most likely would not rain any more; he mentioned boat races; he gave a detailed version of the well-known joke about the student, the closet, and the girl cousin. Darwin kept smoking and murmuring, “Very good, sir, very good. That’s your authentic, sober Briton at moments of leisure.”
17
A pounding of feet came from the stairs, the door flew open, and Vadim appeared. Simultaneously his bicycle, which he had left in the lane with one pedal lowered and propped against the edge of the sidewalk, tumbled with a jingling noise, which easily reached the low second story. Vadim’s small hands had bitten nails, and were red from holdingthe handlebars in the cold. His face, suffused with an extraordinarily delicate and uniform rosiness, bore an expression of dazed confusion, which he tried to conceal by panting as if he were out of breath and making sniffling sounds with his nose which was habitually humid inside. He had on wrinkled pale-gray flannel trousers, an excellently tailored brown jacket, and an old pair of pumps that he wore at all times and in all kinds of weather. Still sniffling and smiling a bewildered smile, he said hello to everybody and sat down beside Darwin, whom he liked very much and for some reason called
“Mamka
” (wet-nurse). Vadim had one inevitable jingle, with a limerick arrangement of Russian rhymes:
Priyátno zret’, kogdá bol’shóy medvéd’ vedyót pod rúchku málen’kuyu súchku, chtob eyó poét’
(What fun to stare when a great big bear walks home arm in arm with a tiny bitch to lay her there). His rapid, staccato manner of speaking was accompanied by all kinds of hissing, trumpeting, and squeaking sounds like the speech of a child short both of ideas and words but incapable of keeping still. When embarrassed he would grow even more disjointed and absurd, and would seem like a cross between a shy, tongue-tied adult and a whimsical infant. Otherwise, he was a nice, chummy, attractive fellow, always ready for a laugh and capable of subtle perception (once, at a much later date, out for a row on the river with Martin one spring evening, when a chance breath of air brought a vague odor of myrtle from Heaven knows where, Vadim said “Smells like the Crimea,” which was perfectly true). He was a great hit with English people. His college tutor, a fat, asthmatic old man, specialist in mollusks, pronounced his name with guttural tenderness and treated his perfect idleness with perfect indulgence. One dark night Martin and Darwin helped Vadim take the sign off a tobacco shop, and that sign had graced his room ever since. Vadim also procured a policehelmet, by means of a simple but ingenious trick: for half-a-crown that he flashed in the
“I wonder why Vadim hasn’t shown up yet,” said Martin uneasily, and touched the teapot’s full cheek.
“Oh, go ahead and pour,” said Sonia, whereupon Martin busied himself with the teacups. They all grew silent, watching him. Moon smoked a tan-tinted cigarette belonging to the kind referred to as Russian in England.
“Does your mother write to you often?” asked Mrs. Zilanov.
“Every week,” answered Martin.
“She must miss you,” said Mrs. Zilanov, and blew on her tea.
“Well, I don’t see the national lemon,” Moon subtly observed, in Russian again. Darwin, lowering his voice, asked Sonia to translate. Moon gave him a sidelong glance and switched to English; deliberately and maliciously imitating the average Cambridge manner, he said that there had been some rain, but that now it had cleared, and most likely would not rain any more; he mentioned boat races; he gave a detailed version of the well-known joke about the student, the closet, and the girl cousin. Darwin kept smoking and murmuring, “Very good, sir, very good. That’s your authentic, sober Briton at moments of leisure.”
17
A pounding of feet came from the stairs, the door flew open, and Vadim appeared. Simultaneously his bicycle, which he had left in the lane with one pedal lowered and propped against the edge of the sidewalk, tumbled with a jingling noise, which easily reached the low second story. Vadim’s small hands had bitten nails, and were red from holdingthe handlebars in the cold. His face, suffused with an extraordinarily delicate and uniform rosiness, bore an expression of dazed confusion, which he tried to conceal by panting as if he were out of breath and making sniffling sounds with his nose which was habitually humid inside. He had on wrinkled pale-gray flannel trousers, an excellently tailored brown jacket, and an old pair of pumps that he wore at all times and in all kinds of weather. Still sniffling and smiling a bewildered smile, he said hello to everybody and sat down beside Darwin, whom he liked very much and for some reason called
“Mamka
” (wet-nurse). Vadim had one inevitable jingle, with a limerick arrangement of Russian rhymes:
Priyátno zret’, kogdá bol’shóy medvéd’ vedyót pod rúchku málen’kuyu súchku, chtob eyó poét’
(What fun to stare when a great big bear walks home arm in arm with a tiny bitch to lay her there). His rapid, staccato manner of speaking was accompanied by all kinds of hissing, trumpeting, and squeaking sounds like the speech of a child short both of ideas and words but incapable of keeping still. When embarrassed he would grow even more disjointed and absurd, and would seem like a cross between a shy, tongue-tied adult and a whimsical infant. Otherwise, he was a nice, chummy, attractive fellow, always ready for a laugh and capable of subtle perception (once, at a much later date, out for a row on the river with Martin one spring evening, when a chance breath of air brought a vague odor of myrtle from Heaven knows where, Vadim said “Smells like the Crimea,” which was perfectly true). He was a great hit with English people. His college tutor, a fat, asthmatic old man, specialist in mollusks, pronounced his name with guttural tenderness and treated his perfect idleness with perfect indulgence. One dark night Martin and Darwin helped Vadim take the sign off a tobacco shop, and that sign had graced his room ever since. Vadim also procured a policehelmet, by means of a simple but ingenious trick: for half-a-crown that he flashed in the
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