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| collection website
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| Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
| Sunstroke
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After lunch, we walked out of the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railing. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm facing outwards, laughed a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming about this little woman - and said:
“I’m completely drunk... Actually, I’m completely crazy.” Where did you come from? Three hours ago I didn’t even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is it my head that’s spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness, a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And her heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and dark she must be under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's go...
- Where? – she asked in surprise.
- On this pier.
- For what?
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
- Crazy…
“Let’s get off,” he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you wish,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit dock with a soft thud, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over their heads, then it rushed back, and the water boiled noisily, the gangway rattled... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto sand deep as deep as the hub, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle climb uphill, among rare crooked streetlights, along a road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, there was some kind of square, public places, a tower, the warmth and smells of a night summer provincial town... The cab stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old, unshaven footman in wearing a pink blouse and a frock coat, he took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white drawn curtains on the windows and two unburnt candles on the mirror - and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant so impulsively rushed to her and both of them suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years later they remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with the market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and odorous smell that a Russian district town smells of, she, this little nameless woman, who did not say her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left.
We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, washing and dressing in five minutes, she was as fresh as she was at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
“No, no, honey,” she said in response to his request to go further together, “no, you must stay until the next ship.” If we go together, everything will be ruined. This will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has ever happened to me, and there never will be again. The eclipse definitely hit me... Or, rather, we both got something like sunstroke...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he took her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on the deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangplank, which had already moved back.
Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. It was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-drunk cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there... And the lieutenant’s heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his boots with the glass, walked back and forth across the room several times.
- A strange adventure! - he said out loud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think...” And she already left... Ridiculous woman!
The screen had been pulled back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply had no strength to look at this bed now. He covered it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the market chatter and the creaking of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa... Yes, that’s the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in the glass white salon or on the deck and looking at the huge river glistening in the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immeasurable Volga expanse... And forgive me, and forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t, for no reason, no reason, come to this city, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him like some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, this can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was overcome by horror and despair.
"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What’s wrong with me? It seems that this is not the first time - and now... What’s special about her and what actually happened? In fact, it looks like some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now spend the whole day in this outback without her?”
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest features, he remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice... The feeling of the pleasures he had just experienced with all her feminine charm was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that was completely absent while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, only a funny acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you’ll never be able to tell!” And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the very shining Volga along which this pink steamer carried her away!
I needed to save myself, do something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took the stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a smart suit, and calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how can you sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, heading towards the bazaar.
The market was already leaving. For some reason he walked through the fresh manure among the carts, among the carts with cucumbers, among the new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground vied with each other to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, rang them with their fingers, showing their good quality, men they stunned him, shouted to him, “Here are the first-class cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid and absurd that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circling around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of a mountain, above the boundless light steel expanse of the river... The shoulder straps and buttons of his jacket were so burned that they could not be touched. The inside of his cap was wet from sweat, his face was burning... Returning to the hotel, he entered with pleasure into the large and empty cool dining room on the ground floor, took off his cap with pleasure and sat down at a table near the open window, through which there was a heat, but still there was a whiff of air, and ordered a botvina with ice. Everything was fine, there was immense happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the market smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old county hotel there was it, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, snacked on lightly salted cucumbers with dill and felt that he, without a second thought, would die tomorrow, if by some miracle he could return her, spend another, this day, with her - spend only then, only then, to tell her and prove it somehow, to convince her how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her... Why prove it? Why convince? He didn’t know why, but it was more necessary than life.
- My nerves are completely gone! - he said, pouring his fifth glass of vodka.
He pushed his shoe away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think intensely: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But getting rid of it - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And he suddenly stood up quickly again, took his cap and riding stack, and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of the telegram already prepared in his head: “From now on, my life is forever, to the grave, yours, in your power.” - But, having reached the old thick-walled house where there was a post office and telegraph, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lived, he knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but he did not know her last name or first name! He asked her about this several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:
- Why do you need to know who I am? I am Marya Marevna, an overseas princess... Isn’t that enough for you?
On the corner, near the post office, there was a photographic showcase. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulets, with bulging eyes, a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and a wide chest, completely decorated with orders... How wild, how absurd, scary is everything everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, – yes, he was amazed, he now understood it, by this terrible “sunstroke”, too much love, too much happiness! He looked at the newlywed couple - a young man in a long frock coat and white tie, with a crew cut, stretched out in front arm in arm with a girl in a wedding gauze - he turned his eyes to the portrait of some pretty and perky young lady in a student’s cap at an askew... Then, languishing in painful Envy of all these people unknown to him, not suffering, he began to look intently along the street.
- Where to go? What to do?
The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-story, merchant houses, with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; white thick dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here it seemed aimless, sun. In the distance the street rose, hunched over and rested on a cloudless, grayish sky with a reflection. There was something southern about it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch... Anapa. This was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with his head bowed, squinting from the light, intently looking at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging spur to spur, walked back.
He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge trek somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. He, gathering his last strength, entered his large and empty room. The room was already tidy, devoid of the last traces of her - only one hairpin, forgotten by her, lay on the night table! He took off his jacket and looked at himself in the mirror: his face - an ordinary officer’s face, gray from the tan, with a whitish mustache, bleached from the sun and bluish white eyes, which seemed even whiter from the tan - now had an excited, crazy expression, and in There was something youthful and deeply unhappy about the thin white shirt with a standing starched collar. He lay down on the bed, on his back, and put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were drawn, and a light breeze blew them in from time to time, blowing into the room the heat of heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent Volga world. He lay with his hands under the back of his head and gazed intently into the space in front of him. Then he clenched his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks from under them, and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already turning reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, the room was stuffy and dry, like in an oven... And yesterday and this morning were remembered as if they were ten years ago.
He slowly got up, slowly washed his face, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, and drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cab driver to be brought, things to be taken out, and, sitting in the cab, on its red, faded seat, he gave the footman five whole rubles.
- And it looks like, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! - the driver said cheerfully, taking the reins.
When we went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already shining over the Volga, and many colorful lights were already scattered along the river, and the lights were hanging on the masts of the approaching steamship.
- Delivered it right! - the cab driver said ingratiatingly.
The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, walked to the pier... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on its pier and slight dizziness from the unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the sound of water boiling and running forward under the wheels of a steamer that pulled back a little. ... And the crowd of people on this ship, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen, seemed unusually friendly and good.
A minute later they ran further, upward, to the same place where she had been carried away just that morning.
The dark summer dawn faded far ahead, gloomily, sleepily and multi-coloredly reflected in the river, which in some places still glowed like trembling ripples in the distance below it, under this dawn, and the lights floated and floated back, scattered in the darkness around.
The lieutenant sat under a canopy on the deck, feeling ten years older.
Maritime Alps. 1925
Here is an introductory fragment of the book.
Only part of the text is open for free reading (restriction of the copyright holder). If you liked the book, the full text can be obtained on our partner's website.
Ivan Bunin
Sunstroke
After lunch, we walked out of the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railing. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm facing outwards, laughed a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming about this little woman - and said:
“I’m completely drunk... Actually, I’m completely crazy.” Where did you come from? Three hours ago I didn’t even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is it my head that’s spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness, a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And her heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and dark she must be under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's go...
- Where? – she asked in surprise.
- On this pier.
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
- Crazy…
“Let’s get off,” he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you wish,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit dock with a soft thud, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over their heads, then it rushed back, and the water boiled noisily, the gangway rattled... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto sand deep as deep as the hub, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle climb uphill, among rare crooked streetlights, along a road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, there was some kind of square, public places, a tower, the warmth and smells of a night summer provincial town... The cab stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old, unshaven footman in wearing a pink blouse and a frock coat, he took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white drawn curtains on the windows and two unburnt candles on the mirror - and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant so impulsively rushed to her and both of them suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years later they remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with the market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and odorous smell that a Russian district town smells of, she, this little nameless woman, who did not say her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, washing and dressing in five minutes, she was as fresh as she was at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
“No, no, honey,” she said in response to his request to go further together, “no, you must stay until the next ship.” If we go together, everything will be ruined. This will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has ever happened to me, and there never will be again. The eclipse definitely hit me... Or, rather, we both got something like sunstroke...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he took her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on the deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangplank, which had already moved back.
Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. It was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-drunk cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there... And the lieutenant’s heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his boots with the glass, walked back and forth across the room several times.
- A strange adventure! - he said out loud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think...” And she already left... Ridiculous woman!
The screen had been pulled back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply had no strength to look at this bed now. He covered it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the market chatter and the creaking of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa... Yes, that’s the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in the glass white salon or on the deck and looking at the huge river glistening in the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immeasurable Volga expanse... And forgive me, and forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t, for no reason, no reason, come to this city, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him like some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, this can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was overcome by horror and despair.
"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What’s wrong with me? It seems that this is not the first time - and now... What’s special about her and what actually happened? In fact, it looks like some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now spend the whole day in this outback without her?”
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest features, he remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice... The feeling of the pleasures he had just experienced with all her feminine charm was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that was completely absent while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, only a funny acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you’ll never be able to tell!” And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the very shining Volga along which this pink steamer carried her away!
I needed to save myself, do something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took the stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a smart suit, and calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how can you sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, heading towards the bazaar.
The market was already leaving. For some reason he walked through the fresh manure among the carts, among the carts with cucumbers, among the new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground vied with each other to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, rang them with their fingers, showing their good quality, men they stunned him, shouted to him, “Here are the first-class cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid and absurd that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circling around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of a mountain, above the boundless light steel expanse of the river... The shoulder straps and buttons of his jacket were so burned that they could not be touched. The inside of his cap was wet from sweat, his face was burning... Returning to the hotel, he entered with pleasure into the large and empty cool dining room on the ground floor, took off his cap with pleasure and sat down at a table near the open window, through which there was a heat, but still there was a whiff of air, and ordered a botvina with ice. Everything was fine, there was immense happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the market smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old county hotel there was it, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, snacked on lightly salted cucumbers with dill and felt that he, without a second thought, would die tomorrow, if by some miracle he could return her, spend another, this day, with her - spend only then, only then, to tell her and prove it somehow, to convince her how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her... Why prove it? Why convince? He didn’t know why, but it was more necessary than life.
Bunin Ivan Alekseevich
Sunstroke
Ivan Bunin
Sunstroke
After lunch, we walked out of the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railing. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm facing outward, laughed a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming about this little woman - and said:
I'm completely drunk... Actually, I'm completely crazy. Where did you come from? Three hours ago I didn’t even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is it my head that’s spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness, a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And her heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and dark she must be under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
Let's go...
Where? - she asked in surprise.
On this pier.
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
Crazy...
“Let’s get off,” he repeated stupidly. - I beg you...
“Oh, do as you wish,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit dock with a soft thud, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over their heads, then it rushed back, and the water boiled noisily, the gangway rattled... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto sand deep as deep as the hub, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle climb uphill, among rare crooked streetlights, along a road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the (pavement, there was some kind of square, public places, a tower, the warmth and smells of a night summer provincial town... The cab stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old, An unshaven footman in a pink blouse and a frock coat displeasedly took his things and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in the kiss that for many years later they remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with the bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex odorous smell that a Russian district town smells of, she, this little nameless woman, who did not say her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, washing and dressing in five minutes, she was as fresh as she was at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
No, no, honey,” she said in response to his request to go further together, “no, you must stay until the next ship.” If we go together, everything will be ruined. This will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has ever happened to me, and there never will be again. The eclipse definitely hit me... Or, rather, we both got something like sunstroke...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he took her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on the deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangplank, which had already moved back.
Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-drunk cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there... And the lieutenant’s heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping himself on the tops with his stick, walked back and forth several times room.
Strange adventure! - he said out loud, laughing and feeling that tears were welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think...” And she already left... Ridiculous woman!
The screen had been pulled back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply had no strength to look at this bed now. He covered it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the market chatter and the creaking of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa... Yes, that’s the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in the glass white salon or on the deck and looking at the huge river glistening in the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at this entire immeasurable Volga expanse. .. And forgive me, and forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? - “I can’t, he thought, I can’t come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him like some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, this can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was overcome by horror and despair.
“What the hell!” he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. “But what’s wrong with me? It seems this is not the first time - and now... What’s in it?” "What's special and what exactly happened? In fact, it's like some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I spend the whole day now, without her, in this outback?"
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest features, he remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice... The feeling of the pleasures he had just experienced with all her feminine charm was still unusually alive in him , but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that was not there at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was only funny acquaintance, and about which there was no one, there was no one to tell now! - “And most importantly, he thought, you’ll never say again! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga along which this pink steamer!"
Sunstroke
story
read by Eduard Toman
Bunin's concept of love is also revealed in the story "Sunstroke", written in the Maritime Alps in 1925.
This work, in my opinion, is typical of Bunin. Firstly, it is structured in the same way as many other stories, and depicts the experiences of a hero in whose life a great feeling has been encountered.
So, the story begins with a meeting of two people on a ship: a man and a woman. Mutual attraction arises between them, and they decide to have an instant love affair. Waking up in the morning, they act as if nothing had happened, and soon “she” leaves, leaving “him” alone. They know that they will never see each other again, they do not attach any importance to the meeting, but... something strange begins to happen to the hero... In the finale, the lieutenant again finds himself in the same situation: he is again sailing on a ship, but “feels looking ten years older." Emotionally, the story has a striking effect on the reader. But not because we sympathize with the hero, but because the hero made us think about the meaning of existence. Why do the heroes remain unhappy? Why doesn’t Bunin give them the right to find happiness? Why, after experiencing such wonderful moments, do they break up?
The story is called "Sunstroke". What could this name mean? One gets the feeling of something instantaneous, suddenly striking, and here leading to devastation of the soul, suffering, and misfortune. This is especially clearly felt if you compare the beginning and end of the story.
A number of details of the story, as well as the scene of the meeting between the lieutenant and the cab driver, help us understand the author's intention. The most important thing that we discover for ourselves after reading the story “Sunstroke” is that the love that Bunin describes in his works has no future. His heroes will never be able to find happiness; they are doomed to suffer. “Sunstroke” once again reveals Bunin’s concept of love: “Having fallen in love, we die...”.
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Russian writer: prose writer, poet, publicist. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was born on October 22 (Old Style - October 10), 1870 in Voronezh, in the family of an impoverished nobleman who belonged to an old noble family.
Literary fame came to Ivan Bunin in 1900 after the publication of the story “Antonov Apples”. In 1901, the Symbolist publishing house Scorpio published a collection of poems, Falling Leaves. For this collection and for the translation of the poem by the American romantic poet G. Longfellow “The Song of Hiawatha” (1898, some sources indicate 1896) the Russian Academy of Sciences awarded Ivan Alekseevich Bunin the Pushkin Prize. In 1902, the publishing house "Znanie" published the first volume of the works of I.A. Bunina. In 1905, Bunin, who lived in the National Hotel, witnessed the December armed uprising.
The last years of the writer passed in poverty. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin died in Paris. On the night of November 7-8, 1953, two hours after midnight, he passed away: he died quietly and calmly, in his sleep. On his bed lay the novel by L.N. Tolstoy's "Resurrection". Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was buried in the Russian cemetery of Saint-Genevieve-des-Bois, near Paris.
In 1927-1942, a friend of the Bunin family was Galina Nikolaevna Kuznetsova, who became Ivan Alekseevich’s deep, late affection and wrote a number of memoirs (“Grasse Diary”, article “In Memory of Bunin”). In the USSR, the first collected works of I.A. Bunin was published only after his death - in 1956 (five volumes in the Ogonyok Library).