Free The Naked Year by Boris Pilnyak

“Linen” and “Clothing” the Princess enters the things sold to the Tatars and at the bazaar, and enters the sum under Income in “Income–Expenditure.”
    And the Princess cries. The Princess cries, because she understands nothing, because her iron will, her wealth, her family–have decreased and are slipping away, like water through her fingers.
    â€œIn that bustle we sold today,” –she is speaking through tears to Yelena Yermilovna–“I first saw my mother, the Princess, when I arrived as a bride. I had lilacs then in my hair, although it was January.”
    However, the Princess is soon no longer crying. She stands by her writing bureau with a pen in her hands, leaning her elbows on her books, and is talking about the distant past, linking one after another, her family’s, her own, distant–and recent–past.
    â€œNear us there was a landowner, Yegorov, a retired colonel, a hunter, dead keen. He came to the estate and–didn’t visit anyone… took two sister-whores away from the village and put them both to sleep with him, and would be drunk for weeks on end, or into the forest hunting for a week. And didn’t visit anyone!.. We had a priest, he talked folk off the bottle, they queued up to see him, his whole church porch was strewn with corks–obviously the last time before oath-taking… Father Christopher. Father Christopher went to see Yegor, to persuade him. Yegor returned the visit–he went to church for Mass, listened to the singing, burst into tears and up to the priest at the altar, and with Father Christopher’s Tatar woman–on the altar!.. And again back to his whores. Then he saw me on the road and–went mad, chased away the sister-whores, settled down and began to strike up acquaintances among the landowners, gave up drinking, and went to dances. He wrote me letters… But once he came to a dance–in a fur coat, and just his birthday suit–then went off again to pray, and the whores came back to him…”
    Both the Princess and Yelena Yermilovna sigh deeply.
    â€œEverything’s worsening, sister… everything,” says Yelena Yermilovna with a sigh.
    â€œThat’s true, sister. It wasn’t like this before… before…”
    â€œYet again, sister, your husband has shut himself away from the world.”
    â€œAll the Ordinin princes are like that. And the Ordinin father’s the same… It used to be that the Prince…”
    â€œThe children are giving me trouble again… There’s Anton Nikolayevich swore at me with a filthy word again.”
    â€œWhat word?”
    â€œSpy, sister.”
    And again Marfusha is going through all the rooms and says indifferently: “The table is laid… First course about to be served… Mummy is cursing!”
    The abundant, scorching sun comes through the large, round top windows of the hall, because of the daylight the hall appears empty. Gleb has moved his sketches into a corner, has hidden them behind a screen: there, turned to the wall, stands his Virgin. Gleb is sitting behind the screen on the window, it is quiet in the hall, blue smoke rises from his cigarette. Quietly a tall double door opens and Yegor walks warily towards the piano.
    â€œGlebushka, I can’t stop myself. Forgive me.”
    â€œPlay, Yegorushka.”
    Yegor presses the soft pedal, plays something of his own, excessively melancholy and virginal.
    â€œI composed this one, Gleb, for Natalya. About her… Mother will hear…”
    â€œPlay, keep playing, Yegorushka…”
    â€œBut you know, Gleb!… You know, Gleb!… I want to play the Internationale, to the whole world, with all the stops out!.. and –and gently weave “Gretchen” into it, like Peter Verkhovensky in the Governor’s wife’s house in The Devils, –this is for mother!.. and–for Boris.