‘Uncle’ sang like a true peasant, with one simple thought in mind – in any song the words are the only thing that matters, the tune follows on, a tune on its own is nothing, a tune just brings it all together. And this gave ‘Uncle’s’ natural way of singing a special charm, not unlike birdsong. Natasha went into ecstasies over ‘Uncle’s’ singing. She made up her mind forthwith to drop the harp, take up the guitar and stick to it. She asked the uncle for the guitar and unhesitatingly picked out the chords of the song.
At about half-past nine a carriage arrived with a trap and three men on horseback who had been sent to fetch Natasha and Petya. The count and countess didn’t know where they were and were very worried, said one of the men.
Petya was carried outside and laid in the carriage sleeping the sleep of the dead. Natasha and Nikolay got into the trap. ‘Uncle’ tucked Natasha in and said goodbye with new-found affection. He walked with them as far as the bridge, which could not be crossed, so they had to leave the road and cross by a ford, and told his huntsmen to ride on in front with lanterns.
‘Goodbye, my dear little niece!’ they heard him call through the darkness, and his voice was not the one Natasha had known before, but the one that had sung ‘Evening when the light is low . . .’
Soon they were driving through a village where there were red lights shining and the smell of wood-smoke.
‘Uncle’s a real darling, isn’t he?’ said Natasha as they drove out on to the high road.
‘Yes,’ said Nikolay. ‘Are you cold?’
‘No, I’m fine, just fine. I’m so happy,’ said Natasha, surprised to hear herself saying so. For some time neither of them spoke.
The night was dark and damp. The horses were invisible as they splashed through the unseen mud.
What was going on in that childlike, impressionable soul, so eagerly devouring and absorbing all the vast range of impressions that life can offer? How were they all shaping up in her mind? But there she was, a picture of happiness. They were nearly home when suddenly she began to hum the tune of ‘Evening when the light is low . . .’ She had just got it, after struggling to recall it all the way back.
‘Got it at last?’ said Nikolay.
‘Penny for your thoughts, Nikolay,’ said Natasha, something they loved to say to each other.
‘Oh,’ said Nikolay, thinking back. ‘Er, I was just thinking about Rugay. Remember that red dog? He’s just like ‘Uncle’. If he was a man he’d keep ‘Uncle’ on all right, either for racing, or just because they get on together. ‘Uncle’s’ easy to get on with, isn’t he? Penny for yours.’
‘Oh, er, wait a minute . . . I know. I was just thinking – here we are driving along and we assume we’re heading for home, but we could be going anywhere, it’s so dark, and all of a sudden we’ll arrive somewhere and we’ll see we’re not at Otradnoye, we’re in fairyland. And then I was thinking . . . oh, but that’ll do.’
‘Oh, you must have been thinking about
‘No, I wasn’t,’ Natasha answered, though actually she had been thinking about Prince Andrey and how he would have taken to ‘Uncle’. ‘And I’ve been saying over and over again, all the way back, how nice Anisya looked when she walked, how very nice . . .’ said Natasha. And Nikolay heard her ringing laughter, so spontaneous, so happy.
‘Do you know what?’ she said suddenly. ‘I’m certain I’ll never be as relaxed and happy as I am right now . . .’
‘Don’t talk such absolute rubbish!’ said Nikolay. He was thinking, ‘My Natasha’s such a darling girl! I’ve never had a friend like her, and I never shall. Why does she have to go and get married? I could go on driving like this with her for ever!’
‘Dear old Nikolay, he’s such a darling!’ Natasha was thinking.
‘Look! The light’s still on in the drawing-room,’ she said, pointing to the windows of their house and the warm welcome that shone through the wet, velvety darkness of the night.
CHAPTER 8
