Upon a Long-Familiar Street (Bunin)
Division into chapters is editorial.
A Parisian evening and poetic memories
One spring evening, the narrator was walking along a Parisian boulevard beneath the fresh greenery. He felt young and light-hearted as poetic lines about a familiar street and an ancient house came to his mind. These verses evoked memories of his student days in Moscow, when he lived in the Presnya district with its snowy streets and modest wooden houses.
Upon a long-familiar street
An ancient house I know,
It had a staircase, dark and steep,
A curtain at its windowβ¦
Visits to the sextons daughter in Moscow
The narrator recalled his relationship with a young woman who had left her impoverished family in Serpukhov to study in Moscow. She was the daughter of a sexton. During snowy winter evenings, he would visit her modest dwelling, pulling a jangling wire at the entrance that would ring a bell inside. She would rush down the steep wooden staircase to greet him, her shawl and white blouse sprinkled with snow from the blizzard.
Together they would hurry up the cold, dark staircase to her small room. The narrator remembered vividly how the wind would blow snow off the wooden roof, creating swirls like smoke, while a red cotton curtain hung at her window with a light glowing behind it. These sensory details from his past merged with the poetic lines that had triggered his memories.
The blizzard swirled, and the wind blew the snow off the wooden roof and whisked it about like smoke, and there was a light from upstairs in the mezzanine, behind a red cotton curtainβ¦
Intimate moments in her small room
The narrator remembered the intimate details of their time together in her small room. Upon entering, he would toss his greatcoat and cap aside, then take her onto his knees as they sat on the iron bed. He could feel her body and bones through her skirt. Contrary to the romantic poetry in his mind, she did not have loosened hair but rather a modest light-brown plait. Her face showed signs of hunger, with transparent peasant eyes and gentle lips characteristic of weak girls.
Their passionate moments together were filled with youthful ardor. Her lips burned as if with fever as he unbuttoned her blouse and kissed her milky-white breasts with their hardening tips. The poetry that echoed in his mind spoke of her whispering wildly about fleeing together, though the narrator acknowledged this was merely romantic fantasyβthere was no talk of fleeing in their actual relationship.
How ardently, not like a child,
Her lips so close to me,
She'd whisper, all atremble, wild:
"Now listen, come let's flee!"
After their passionate encounters, she would leap up to light a spirit lamp and warm some weak tea. They would drink it with white bread and red-rinded cheese, talking endlessly about their future while listening to the snow being sprinkled against the window. The cold winter air seeped in beneath the curtain, creating a cozy contrast to their warmth inside. These moments of simple intimacy remained vivid in the narrator's memory decades later.
The final farewell at Kursk Station
The narrator's memories concluded with their final parting in spring at the Kursk Station. He recalled hurrying alongside her on the platform as she carried a willow basket and a red blanket bundled and strapped together. They ran along a train that was prepared for departure, looking into the crowded green carriages filled with passengers.
Eventually, she managed to climb into one of the train doorways. They said their goodbyes, kissing each other's hands and exchanging promises. The narrator assured her he would come to Serpukhov in two weeks' time. However, he poignantly noted that he remembered nothing beyond this farewell sceneβthere was nothing else to their story. The memory ended there, with the date of his reminiscence recorded as May 25, 1944.
I remember her finally clambering up into the doorway... talking, saying goodbye and kissing one another's hands, promising her I'd come to Serpukhov in two weeks' time⦠I don't remember anything else.
The story ended with this abrupt conclusion to their relationship, leaving the reader to wonder whether the narrator ever did visit Serpukhov as promised, or if this parting at the train station was truly their final meeting. The brevity of the statement "There was nothing else" suggested a relationship cut short, perhaps by circumstances beyond their control, leaving only these vivid memories decades later.