The Witch - Anton Chekhov

Anton Chekhov was born in Russia in 1860 to a religious but violent father and a loving but very unhappy mother. He had a difficult childhood but went on to become a doctor, paying for his studies himself by doing part-time work. All his life, Chekhov, one of the best-known writers of short stories in any language, thought of himself, first and foremost, as a doctor.

Chekhov’s plays were never as successful in his lifetime as his short stories, although they are now seen as the first examples of modern drama. In fact, people hated his first play. Even on his deathbed, Chekhov believed his stories would last only seven years after his death. He passed away at the age of forty-four of tuberculosis.

The Witch

It was nearly nightfall. Savily Gykin was lying in his huge bed in the hut next to the church. He was awake, although it was his habit to go to sleep at the same time as the chickens. His dirty red hair was just visible from under one end of the dirty blanket, while his big unwashed feet showed at the other. He was listening.

His hut was built next to the wall that went round the church and the only window in it looked out over the countryside. There was a storm over the fields, in the forest and on the church roof, beating spitefully on the windows, while something was crying and moaning. . . . It did not sound like a call for help, but like a cry of misery, an awareness that it was too late, that there was no hope. The snow was covered with thin ice; tears hung on the trees; dark mud and melting snow flowed along the roads and paths. But the wind staggered like a drunk. It would not let the snow rest on the ground, and blew it round in the darkness.

Savily listened to all this and frowned. The fact was that he knew, or at least suspected, what all this noise outside the window was and who was making it.

"I know!" he muttered, shaking his finger under the blankets; "I know all about it."

His wife, Raissa Nilovna, sat by the window. A lamp threw a dim light on her broad shoulders, on the handsome shape of her body and on her thick hair, which reached to the floor. She was making sacks. Her hands moved quickly, while her whole body, her eyes, her eyebrows, her full lips, her white neck were as still as though they were asleep, concentrated on the monotonous work.

Only from time to time she raised her head to rest her tired neck, glanced for a moment at the snowstorm, and bent again over her sack. There was nothing in her beautiful face, just as a fountain shows nothing when there is no water playing in it.

But at last she finished the sack. She threw it on one side and rested her staring eyes on the window. The glass was swimming with raindrops, and white with short-lived snowflakes which fell on the window, glanced at Raissa, and melted. . . ."Come to bed!" growled Savily. Raissa did not say a word. But suddenly her eyelashes moved and there was the light of attention in her eyes. Savily, always watching her from under the blanket, put out his head and asked:

"What is it?"

"Nothing. . . . I think someone's coming," she answered quietly.

Savily threw off the blanket with his arms and legs, sat up in bed, and looked blankly at his wife. The light of the lamp showed his hairy, pock-marked face and fell on his rough dirty hair.

"Do you hear?" asked his wife.

"It's the post," muttered Savily.

A road ran two miles from the church. In windy weather, when the wind was blowing from the road to the church, you could hear the sound of bells in the hut.

"Imagine people wanting to drive about in this weather," said Raissa.

"It's government work. You have to go whether you like it or not."

The sound died away.

"It has driven by," said Savily, getting into bed.

But before he had time to cover himself up with the blankets he heard the clear sound of the bell. Savily looked anxiously at his wife, jumped out of bed and walked to the stove. The bell went on ringing for a little, then died away again as though it had stopped."I don't hear it," he said, stopping and looking at his wife.

But at that moment the wind beat on the window again and a high note, almost like music, came with it. Savily turned pale and ran around the floor.

"The postman is lost in the storm," he shouted out, glancing spitefully at his wife. "Do you hear? The postman has lost his way! . . I . . . I know! Do you suppose I . . don't understand? " he muttered. "I know all about it!"

"What do you know?" Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes on the window.

"I know that it's all your doing, you devil! Your doing! This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you've done it all – you!"

"You're mad," his wife answered calmly.

"I've been watching you for a long time and I've seen it. From the first day I married you I noticed that you'd bitch's blood in you! A witch is a witch," Savily said, hurriedly blowing his nose on his shirt; "though you are my wife, though you come from a religious family, I'll tell you what you are . . . . Last year, there was a snowstorm and what happened then? A workman came in to warm himself. Then on St. Alexey's Day the ice broke on the river and a policeman turned up, and he was chatting with you all night! And when he came out in the morning and I looked at him, he had black rings under his eyes! Eh? During August, there were two storms and each time the huntsman turned up. I saw it all! Oh, she’s going red now!"

"You didn't see anything."

"Didn't I! And this winter before Christmas, when the storm lasted for a whole day and night – do you remember? – a clerk was lost, and arrived here, the dog. . . . ! To want a clerk! It was worth playing with God's weather for him! If he were good-looking, anyway - but he … he was as ugly as Satan!"

Savily stopped for breath and listened. The bell was gone, but the wind hit the roof, and again there came a musical note in the darkness.

"And it's the same thing now!" Savily went on. "That’s why the postman is lost! He’s looking for you! The Devil will turn him round and round and bring him here. I know, I see! You can't hide it, you bitch! As soon as the storm began, I knew what you were up to."

"You're a fool!" smiled his wife. "Why, do you suppose, you idiot, that I make the storm?"

"Go on …. Smile! Whether it's your doing or not, I only know that when your blood's on fire there's sure to be bad weather, and when there's bad weather there's some crazy man turning up here. It happens every time! So it must be you!"

"You really are so stupid, Savily," said his wife. "When father was alive and living here, all sorts of people used to come to him to be cured of illnesses: from the village and the farms. They came almost every day and no-one called them devils. But if anyone comes here once a year in bad weather to warm himself, you get all sorts of ideas into your head."His wife's logic silenced Savily. He stood with his bare feet wide apart, bent his head, and considered. He was not convinced yet of the truth of his suspicions, and his wife's calm tone quite disconcerted him. Yet after a moment's thought he nodded his head and said:

"It's not as though they were old men or cripples; it's always young men who want to come for the night. . . . Why is that? No, there's nothing in this world as cunning as a female! You have no real brains, but for devilish cunning - oooooo! There’s the postman's bell! When the storm was only beginning I knew what was in your mind. That's your witchcraft!"

"Why do you keep on at me?" His wife lost her patience at last. "Why won’t you ever let anything go?"

"I keep on because if anything happens tonight . . . do you hear? . . . if anything happens tonight, I'll go straight off tomorrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it. 'Father Nikodim,' I shall say, 'excuse me, but she is a witch.' 'Why so?' 'H'm! Do you want to know why?' 'Certainly. . . .' And I shall tell him. And take care, woman! In this life and the next one, you'll be punished!"

Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual that Savily turned pale and almost fell over with fright. His wife jumped up and she, too, turned pale.

"For God's sake, let us come in and get warm!" they heard in a deep voice. "Who lives here? Please! We've lost our way."

"Who are you?" asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window."The postman," answered a second voice.

"You've succeeded with your devil's tricks," said Savily. "No mistake. I’m right! Well, you'd better look out!"

Savily jumped on to the bed and turned his face to the wall. Soon he felt cold air on his back. The door opened and a tall man, covered with snow from head to foot, appeared in the doorway. Behind him there was a second figure as white as he was.

"Shall I bring in the bags?" asked the second.

"You can't leave them there." Saying this, the first man began taking off his hat and angrily threw it near the stove. Then, taking off his coat, he threw that down beside it and, without saying good evening, began walking up and down the hut.

He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform and black high boots. After warming himself by walking to and fro, he sat down at the table, pushed his muddy feet towards the sacks and put his chin on his hands. His pale face, red in places because of the cold, still showed the pain and fright he had just experienced. It was handsome in spite of the melting snow on his eyebrows.

"Gulyaevsky Hill," she answered, blushing.

"Do you hear, Stepan?" The postman turned to the driver, who was standing in the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders. "We've got to Gulyaevsky Hill."

"Yes . . . we're a long way out." The driver went out and soon after returned with another bag. Laying the bags along the wall, he went into the outer room, sat down there and lit his pipe.

"Perhaps you'd like some tea after your journey?" Raissa asked.

"How can we sit drinking tea?" said the postman, frowning. "We must hurry and get warm and then set off, or we’ll be late for the mail train. We'll stay ten minutes and then leave. Just show us the way, please. Who are you?"

"Us? We live here, by the church. . . . There’s my husband. Savily, get up and say good evening! The nearest village is Markovka and that's over three miles away. Savily is retired now and has got the watchman's job. He has to look after the church. . . ."

And the postman was immediately informed that if Savily went to the General's lady, he’d get a good job. "But he doesn't go to the General's lady because he is lazy and afraid of people," added Raissa.

"How do you live?" asked the postman."There's a kitchen garden and a field. Only we don't get much from that," complained Raissa. "The old miser, Father Nikodim, from the next village comes once in the winter and once in the summer, and for that he takes almost all the vegetables for himself. There's no one to stick up for us!"

"You are lying," Savily growled. "Father Nikodim is a great man of the Church; and if he does take it, those are the rules!"

"You've got an angry old husband here!" said the postman, with a smile. "Have you been married long?"

"Three years. My father worked here in the old days and when the time came for him to die, he went and asked them to send some unmarried man to marry me so that I might keep the place. So I married him."

"Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the postman, looking at Savily's back. "A wife and a job."

The postman moved away from the table and sat down on the mail-bag.

"It's a dog's life," he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the slow, even breathing of the sleeping postman.

Savily moved under the blanket and looked round slowly. His wife was sitting and, with her hands against her cheeks, was gazing at the postman's face. Her face was immovable, like the face of someone astonished.

"Well, what are you gaping at?" Savily whispered angrily.

"What is it to you? Lie down!" answered his wife without taking her eyes off the blond head.Savily angrily turned to the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly again, sat up on the bed and looked at his wife. She was still sitting motionless, staring at the visitor. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes were glowing with a strange fire. Savily went up to the postman and put a handkerchief over his face.

"What's that for?" asked his wife.

"To keep the light out of his eyes."

"Then put out the light!"

Savily looked distrustfully at his wife, moved his lips towards the lamp, but at once thought better of it.

"Isn't that cunning?" he shouted.

It did not matter to Raissa that the postman’s face was covered. She was not so much interested in his face as in his whole appearance, in the novelty of this man. His chest was broad and powerful, his hands were slim and well-shaped, and his muscular legs were much more attractive than Savily's. There was no comparison, in fact.

"They've no business to sleep here. . . . It's government work. If you carry the letters, carry them, you can't go to sleep. . . . Hey! you!" Savily shouted into the outer room."You, driver. What's your name? Shall I show you the way? Get up! Postmen mustn't sleep!"

And Savily ran up to the postman and pulled him by the arm.

The postman jumped up, sat down, looked around with blank eyes and lay down again."But when are you going?" Savily asked. "That's what the post is for – to get there in time, do you hear? I'll take you.”

The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his sleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw Raissa’s white neck and welcoming eyes. He closed his eyes and smiled as though he had been dreaming it all.

"How can you go in this weather!" he heard a soft feminine voice. "You should sleep – it would do you good!"

"And what about the post?" said Savily anxiously. "Who's going to take the post?”

The postman opened his eyes again, looked at Raissa's face, remembered where he was and understood Savily. The thought that he had to go out into the cold darkness made him feel cold already.

"I might sleep another five minutes," he said, yawning. "I’ll be late, anyway. . . ."

"We might be just in time," came a voice from the outer room. "The train may be late if we’re lucky."

The postman got up and began putting on his coat.

Savily laughed with delight when he saw his visitors were getting ready to go.

"Give us a hand," the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a mail-bag.

Savily ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the yard. Raissa gazed into the postman’s eyes and seemed to look right into him.

"You ought to have a cup of tea . . ." she said."I wouldn't say no . . . but, you see, they're getting ready. We are late already."

"Do stay," she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by the sleeve.

"What a . . . neck you've got! . . ." And he touched her neck with two fingers. Seeing that she did not stop him, he touched her shoulders too.

"I say, you are . . ."

"You'd better stay . . . have some tea."

"Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard outside.

"You'd better stay. . . . Listen to the wind."

And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet able to shake off the sleep of youth and exhaustion, was suddenly taken by a desire that made him forget mail-bags, postal trains . . . and everything in the world. He glanced at the door in a frightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide, took Raissa round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put out the light, when he heard boots in the outer room, and the driver appeared in the doorway. The postman dropped his hands quickly and stood as though undecided.

"It's all ready," said the driver. The postman stood still for a moment, then waking up completely, followed the driver out. Raissa was left alone.

"Get in and show us the way!" she heard.

One bell sounded, then another, and the notes moved away from the hut.

When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and walked to and fro. Her face was contorted with hate, her eyes shone with wild anger, and she looked like a tigress. For a moment she stood still and looked at her hut. Almost half of the room was filled up by the bed. From the bed to the door that led into the cold outer room were the dark stove, pots and pans. Everything, including the absent Savily himself, was dirty and oily, so it was strange to see a woman's white neck and fine skin there.

When Savily returned two hours later, worn out and covered with snow, she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but he guessed that she was not asleep. On his way home he had promised himself to wait till next day and not to touch her, but he could not stop himself.

"Your witchery was all in vain: he's gone off," he said, smiling with spiteful happiness.

His wife remained silent. Savily undressed slowly, climbed over his wife and lay down next to the wall.

"Tomorrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are!" he muttered.

Raissa turned her face to him.

"You can look for a wife in the forest!" she said. "I’m no wife for you!"

"Come, come . . . go to sleep!"

"How miserable I am!" sobbed his wife. "If it weren't for you, I might have married a gentleman! If it weren't for you, I should love my husband now!"Raissa cried for a long time. At last she was still. The storm still blew outside. This evening had completely confirmed Savily in his suspicions about his wife. He no longer doubted that his wife, with the help of the devil, controlled the winds. But to make matters worse, this mysteriousness, this power gave the woman beside him a strange, incomprehensible charm which he had not understood before.

"Witch!" he muttered angrily.

Yet, waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly, he touched her head with his finger . . . held her thick hair in his hand for a minute.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted, and hit him on the nose with her elbow with such violence that he saw stars before his eyes. The pain in his nose was soon over, but the pain in his heart remained.