“Another serving of caviar, Sergei,” the Count called out. “And leave the bottle of vodka on the table. I will serve myself.”
The Count was used to boredom but he had reached the point where he was even bored with boredom. He wondered if the French ennui had a deeper layer than the plain Russian skuka. That's what he supposed he was, ennuye, bored in a thoroughly French way. He always spent three months in Yalta, but perhaps if he was going to be bored in a French way, he should go to Paris. No doubt it would be equally boring there.
Sitting on his usual bench, he watched the women walking their dogs along the promenade. The dogs yapped as they passed each other, strained their leashes, wagged their stubby tails, lunged, baring teeth, but if their mistresses ever allowed them close enough for a bite, they would run from each other in fright. Pretense, even with dogs. The women nodded as they passed each other, fans fluttering. Every morning for six weeks, fans and parasols.
Now, that one there, she was new. The hair, dress, walk, dog, all told him she had been to Yalta before, even though he did not recall seeing her. Married, of course, even though no husband was in sight. But bored, that was clear.
He snapped his fingers as the dog pranced by; it glanced at him, sniffed at a bush. He inclined his head, smiled at the woman; she looked and lowered her eyes. Lovely neck, eyes like cornflowers. He did not know her name; a quick affair would do him a world of good, he thought.
He saw her twice in restaurants in the next week. Then on Saturday the sudden shower made everyone rush for cover, the restaurant filled quickly and as he was spreading the mushroom puree on his Veal Orlov, they seated her at the table next to his. He nodded as at an old acquaintance; the dog barked; she blushed. “Enjoying Yalta?” the Count asked.
“Assez,” she answered.
A cultured woman, one who no doubt spurned plain Russian fare. “Your husband will be joining you soon?”
“Tomorrow,” she breathed.
He looked into the pouring rain, the filth being washed off the sidewalks. He would inquire into trains to Paris, he decided. He'd stayed in Yalta long enough.
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Another in the series Forgotten Russian Classics. Special thanks to Anton Pavlovich Chekhov.
Yay! I love the Count! "Pretense, even with dogs" Thank you, Andrew. fave
So ... whatever happens in Yalta winds up on the six o'clock news, but what happens in Paris? Stays there ... mais non?
French boredom ... indeed.
Well done. fave
Good use of descriptive details: "He snapped his fingers as the dog pranced by; it glanced at him, sniffed at a bush. He inclined his head, smiled at the woman; she looked and lowered her eyes. Lovely neck, eyes like cornflowers."
I especially like the form here - how the writing tightens in the second half. Nice piece.
Oh, my. Ennui and bad luck. Poor man. *
The ending made me smile. Somehow, I just can't feel sorry for the guy ; )*
" Lady with a Small Dog," will never be forgotten. Nice adaptation, while the details you've supplied and the character of the Count, give this originality and an interest all its own.
I really like the way you wrote this - simple engaging language, straightforward, engaging. *
Ah, Andrew, a man after my own heart. This is adorably funny and so full of ennui...
*
Thanks, MaryAnne. Nothing like a little Russian pretense.
Thanks, JLD. French boredom is so much more distingue.
Thanks as always, Sam.
Thanks, Jack. Doesn't get much worse than ennui and bad luck, does it?
I'm glad it made you smile, Joani.
Yes, David, of course the inspiration is what you noted. I'm glad my twist makes it a little different.
Wonderful compliments. Thanks, Foster.
Susan! I am the man after your own heart? I am so flattered. Oh, you mean the Count. All right then. LOL Thanks.
Very cinematic. Reads like a short film*
Thanks, Jane. Now do we get a Russian director or a French one with ennuie?
Andrew, I agree with all of the compliments here from the Fictionaut gallery, and applaud your verve, and skill. I like Jane's idea of filming your work. It does have a cinematic quality to it.
Loved this, Andrew! It is like a painting or a film! I agree with all! Very visual and I love the promise at the ending! *****
Thanks, Meg. Appreciate it.
As David implies, Anton would be pleased. The distraction of affairs, indeed. Sweet! *