“Dark alleys” of Bunin in brief

On an autumn rainy day, along a broken muddy road to a long hut, in one half of which there was a postal station, and in another a clean room where one could rest, eat and even spend the night, a tarantas with a half-raised top sailed up. There was a strong, serious man in the tightly tied armaments on the tarantas, and in the tarantass there was a slender old military man in a large cap and in a Nicholaev gray greatcoat with a beaver stand-up collar, still black-browed, but with a white mustache that connected with the same whiskers, he had been shaved and all appearance had that similarity to Alexander II, which was so widespread among the military at the time of his reign: the look was also inquiring, strict and at the same time tired. “

When the horses became, he got out of the tarantass, ran up the porch of the hut and turned to the left, as the coachman prompted him. In the upper room it was warm, dry and tidy, because of the stove flap sweetly smelled of cabbage soup.

The visitor dropped his greatcoat on the bench, took off his gloves and a cap and ran a tired hand over his slightly curly hair. There was no one in the room, he opened the door and called: “Hey, who’s there!” The dark-haired, also black-browed, and also a beautiful woman of a different age, also with a dark fuzz on the upper lip and along the cheeks, came in lightly, but full, with large breasts under a red blouse, with a triangular, like a goose, belly under black woolen skirt. ” She greeted me politely.

The visitor glanced at her rounded shoulders and light legs and asked for the samovar. It turned out that this woman is the hostess of the inn. The visitor praised her for her cleanliness. The woman, looking inquisitively at him, said: “I love cleanliness, because when I grew up, how could I not properly behave myself, Nikolai Alekseevich.” “Hope, you?” He said hurriedly, “my God, my God! Who would have thought that we had not seen each other for about thirty years?” “Thirty, Nikolay Alekseevich.” He is excited, asks her how she lived all

these years. How did you live? Gentlemen gave free. She was not married. Why? Yes, because I really loved him. “Everything passes, my friend,” he muttered, “Love, youth – everything, everything.” The story is vulgar, ordinary. “

Others may have it, but not with her. She lived it all her life. She knew that there was no longer his former, that for him it seemed as if nothing had happened, but still loved. It’s too late to reproach, but how heartlessly he abandoned her then… How many times she wanted to put her hands on herself! “And all the poems I was pleased to read about all sorts of” dark avenues, “- she added with an evil smile.” Nikolay Alekseevich recalls how beautiful Nadezhda was. He was also good. “And it’s you I gave my beauty, my fever, how can I forget this.” “Ah, everything passes away, everything is forgotten.” – “Everything passes, but not everything is forgotten.” “Go away,” he said, turning away and coming to the window, “go away, please.” Pressing the handkerchief to his eyes, he added: “If only God forgave me, and you, apparently, forgave.” No, she did not forgive him and she could never forgive him. You can not forgive her.

He ordered the horses to be delivered, moving away from the window already with dry eyes. He, too, was never happy in life. Married for a great love, but she threw him even more insulting than he Hope. He had so many hopes for his son, but a scoundrel, an impudent man, without honor, without conscience. She came and kissed his hand, he kissed her. Already on the road, he remembered this with shame, and he was ashamed of this shame. The coachman says that she watched them from the window. She is a woman – a wit. Gives money to growth, but it is fair.

“Yes, of course, the best moments… Truly magical!” Around the wild rose bouquet blossomed, stood the dark linden alleys… “What if I had not abandoned her? What nonsense! This Hope is not the owner of an indoors room, and my wife, the mistress of my St. Petersburg home, the mother of my children? ” And, closing his eyes, he shook his head.

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“Dark alleys” of Bunin in brief