The Buddha's Return (20 page)
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Authors: Gaito Gazdanov
And I shall hear though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be,
For you shall bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.
Instantly my breathing became laboured, and again all the muscles in my body contracted to the point of pain; I was vaguely aware that my entire future and all its
potential rested on surviving this final, inconceivable onslaught. And so, with astounding slowness, the view of the hall gradually became narrower, the yellowish light grew darker by degrees and, after several minutes of this agonizing torment, before me appeared the murky features of my study, the Buddha’s golden face and the pale fingers of my hand, clutching the statuette so tightly that they were in pain. My forehead was damp with perspiration and I felt a weight in my head, but this seemed entirely immaterial and inconsequential in comparison with the wild sense of freedom I felt, as for the first time ever I was indebted for my victory over this illusory world not to some external jolt or fortuitous awakening, but to the strength of my own will.
From the next day onward I began a new life, completely different from the one I had been leading until now. In the mornings I would take cold showers instead of warm baths, and then I would head off to university. I would sometimes go to the cinema or to a cabaret, from which I would return on foot in the cold February night, taking in the frosty air. On returning home I would always sleep soundly.
* * *
One morning I received a letter—in a thick blue envelope bearing an Australian postage stamp.
“Why did you take so long to come and see me in Paris? I waited for you so. You now know everything that happened in the wake of your needless disappearance. The man I married left me to go to England, and I have sent the divorce papers to him. I cannot return to Europe because of my financial situation, and I know that you too have no money for the journey to Melbourne. But perhaps we shall meet again one day, and now I am prepared to wait for you my whole life.
“Do you remember that sentimental song I taught you? ‘Oh, Danny Boy!’ Every time I remember the melody I think of you and feel like crying.”
Several days later I left for Australia. And as I watched the receding shores of France from the ship’s deck, I thought that among the mass of equally arbitrary speculations as to what this journey and the Buddha’s return had meant for me, as well as what the true meaning of my own fate had been in these last few years, it was perhaps worth allowing for the possibility that it had been just the gruelling wait for this long sea voyage—a wait whose significance I had been unable to fathom until the last minute.
*
I’m sorry to bother you. You couldn’t lend me a little money, could you?
†
There was a time when I would laugh at love.
‡
The Flower Basket.
§
I never knew my parents, that is, if they ever existed at all. You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but I was found in a bin, at 24 Rue Caulaincourt. I’m a real Parisian, I am.
¶
…until the day I croak, because I’m consumptive.
||
It looks like an orgy.
**
I haven’t had much luck in life.
††
Do you understand me? Tell me that you understand me.
‡‡
Sir, the show is over.
§§
My apologies… Thank you for waking me up, mademoiselle.
¶¶
Sir, d’you know where her wealth came from?
||||
Because, you see, you’re a man.
***
Perhaps because I’m the wrong sex.
†††
My whole life I’ve been dragged through the mud.
‡‡‡
Well I never!
§§§
Child of Misfortune.
¶¶¶
Courage!
||||||
Mercy!
****
It is in so doing that he has paid his debt to society.
††††
And these same furies you describe to me, / These arms you have seen bathed in blood…
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Despite all efforts, the publisher has been unable to ascertain the owner of the rights to the original Russian text. We welcome any further information on the matter.
English translation © Bryan Karetnyk 2014
The Buddha’s Return
was originally published in 1949–50
as
Vozvrashchenie Buddy
in the Russian-language journal
Novyi Zhurnal
(
The New Review
), New York
This translation first published by Pushkin Press in 2014
ISBN 978 1 782271 10 9
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from Pushkin Press
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