Many years ago, when I lived in Petersburg, every time I took a carriage ride, I always had to make small talk with the coachman.
I especially like to talk to the coachmen who rush to the car at night, they are poor peasants in the suburbs, driving their ochre snowmobiles and skinny ponies to the capital to do business, trying to earn their food and rent back their master's land.
One day I hired a driver's car like this... He was a twenty-year-old young man, tall, burly, and a beautiful lad. He had blue eyes, red cheeks, his narrow torn hat draped over his eyebrows, his tan hair curled up in small circles under the hat, his broad shoulders unexpectedly wearing a coat so narrow.
The coachman's beautiful beardless face showed a depressed, frustrated look.
I talked to him. His voice was also sad.
"Dude, what's the matter?" I asked him, "Why aren't you happy?" What's not to like about you? ”
He didn't answer me at first. Later he said, "Lord, yes, there is nothing more unfortunate than this." I died wife. ”
"You love her... Love your wife? ”
The young man did not turn his head to look at me. He only lowered his head slightly.
"Lord, I love her. It's been eight months... But I can't forget it yet. It's true...... My heart eats up for it day by day... Why should she die? She was young and strong. In just one day's effort, she took cholera away. ”
"Is she treating you well?"
"Oh, sir!" The poor man sighed deeply, "How happy I am with her!" She died before I could get home! You know I just heard the news here that they had buried her, and I rushed back to the village and back to my home. I got there—it was past midnight. I walked into my cabin and stood alone in the middle of the room whispering, "Martha, hey, Martha!" There was no answer, and all I heard was crickets wailing. I sat down on the ground and hit the ground with my fist, and I said, 'You gluttonous land, you swallowed her... Swallow me too! 'Ah! Martha. ......”
"Martha!" He suddenly lowered his voice and called again. He still held on to the reins and did not relax, but while using his sleeve to wipe away the tears in the corners of his eyes, he waved his sleeve and shrugged his shoulders, and then stopped making a sound.
When I got out of the car, I gave him fifteen more kopecks. He bowed deeply to me with his hat in both hands, and then slowly drove away in the fog of the cold new moon in the snow of the desolate street.
И. С. Turgenev's "Martha"
Ba Jin 丨 translation (with changes)
