April 25, 1919

In ten minutes, papa is snoring heavily and repulsively. I am lying with my face buried in the pillow, crying. Oh, Lord, Lord! He asked me to come to Petrograd. He says I must earn my bread independently. He did not even let me finish the fifth year of the Gymnasium. He tore me away from school, roughly and pitilessly. He did not let me complete the remaining three weeks. He wrote to the country that we are piled on his neck. And how harsh, how stingy and filthy he has grown! He starves Alexander. And he will starve me if I do not get work soon.

Half asleep, I heard through the wall Tonka’s Mitiunchik coming in. He is my brother. He is twenty years old. I am not very fond of him.

Then, for a long time, behind the wall, they talked about something. They mentioned my name. I could not hear in what connection, but my heart shrank and ached. And suddenly, like a whip on the bare flesh, I was stung by a low but distinct phrase:

“I wish these lice-breeders were out of here. On top of that, when mother comes, there’ll be absolutely nothing to eat.”

And at that moment father began to move about in his sleep. Had he heard everything, and my sobbing, too?

Then his terrible, muffled voice comes crawling through the darkness:

“I’ll leave the door open tomorrow … you watch the place.”

A bitter loathing ran through my body. Even my feet were seized with cramps, and my teeth sank convulsively into the pillow.

God, what horror, horror, horror! And at night I saw golden dreams.

I dreamt of Sergei Frenev. He again accompanied me all the way to Vologda. Then the parting kiss after the third bell. I threw myself on his breast and babbled incoherently:

“Sergei, Sergei, don’t think ill of me. In two years, I’ll be your wife.”

And he looked at me so tenderly, so tenderly. He kissed me, but only upon the brow, and said, sadly: “And you mustn’t forget me, little Fea. You won’t? Will you?”

“No, no, Sergei, never!”