But it wasn't "always the same" at all, though it hasn't even been two weeks since they broke up in St. Petersburg. He lost weight, his cheeks fell into thin air, and his nose was showing a hump that she hadn't noticed before. His eyelids were swollen, maybe tired. He was pale in spite of the frost. He was... Cleaning herself up after the train, Lisa looked for and couldn't find a word. He was a bit overwhelmed - and she felt it ten minutes after he rushed to the train and picked her up from the last step of the car with her suitcase.
Lisa thought about it when Lavrov came - that's what really didn't change! When Kostya was busy and Lisa was alone in Kazan, he sent Lavrov to her.
- Look, please, guessed," said Lavrov, pointing to the flowers on the table by the bed. - And where did he get them from in the winter? Another proof that a straight line is not always the shortest way between the two points. He seems to have finally seen it. Lisa, aren't you're afraid to marry Lobachevsky's future?
- And I am not marrying anyone yet. So you think that Kostya is the future Lobachevsky?
- I don't think so," Lavrov replied. - But he has funny guesses. This is encouraging. In short, you will have to be tight. Have you had breakfast?
- Yes, on the train. I don't want to eat.
- Then let's go for a walk. Weather on Pushkin: "Frost and sunshine, it's a wonderful day.
In a small bookstore Lisa bought a book by Morozov, which she could not get in St. Petersburg. It was called "Revelation in the Thunderstorm and Storm" and cost dearly, one and a half rubles. Lavrov, who read it, joked that it was a book about the clouds and that sitting on a bench in the Derzhavinsky Garden would be cheaper if you looked at the sky for two or three hours.
- Yes, you'll have to be tight, - he repeated thoughtfully, - but there is another possibility. Marry me.
Both laughed. Lavrov dashingly bent his narrow breasts and mustached in a Hussar way. There were no mustaches, though.
- Think about it, direct calculation. Family life is a troublesome thing. And we can live in different cities, see each other twice a year or, if you're busy, even less often. Do not write and remember with gratitude that we do not interfere with each other. After all, for a woman the consciousness that she is married is more important than marriage. Well, how?
- Don't you think we should discuss your proposal with Bones?
- In no case. It is dangerous.
- For you?
- No, for you. He can agree.
Lisa laughed.
- I must warn you that we will have to live not only in different cities, but in different countries. The day after the end of the war, I am going to Paris.
They were walking along Rybnoryadskaya Street, many shops had queues, the clerk in a long white apron on top of his coat would release fish, pencil rubbish and make notes in food books. Among the women, wrapped up, chilly, miserable, there was a swarthy soldier in a disbanded non-Russian overcoat.
- A prisoner of war," said Lavrov. - Apparently, Magyar. This year, however, a student tea house opened here. Do you want to come in? Aren't you cold?
- No. I don't think so.
- So, Paris? Why? And why not London?
- Because Matisse lives in Paris and I want to learn from him.
Lavrov sighed.
- Alas! I have never heard of Matisse. He's a good artist, isn't he? You've traded mathematics for painting. It's reasonable, though there don't seem to be any good mathematicians or good painters among women. But Paris! Immediately after the war? The war will end in three years.
They returned to the rooms, on the Big Breakthrough, and waited for another hour and a half Kostya.
Finally, he came, cheerful, frozen, with the collar of the overcoat frozen, and from that moment on everything began to happen only to end this day soon, with his lunch at the Hospital and "showers", which Lisa was not afraid of at all. But everything was in order. Nothing could be changed, and all she had to do was look for little consolation to help her live through the evening when they were alone. The consolation was: they were riding in a coachman, the half with the broken loop slipped off the knees, and Karnovsky, holding the half, firmly, gently pressed against Lisa. All the way he warmed his breath and kissed her hands.
- Did he miss you?
And he answered the questions:
- Death tel-no.
They went down an icy wooden staircase to the ravine, along which the hospital was hanging. Something fascinating was in the fences, patiently bent under the weight of the snow, in the dazzling icicles, hanging from the curves of the gutters, in the houses, as if drowned in silence, in whiteness. Carnival lived in one of them, more attentive than the others, but with a porch without handrails.
To be continued...