In the forest, where the soldiers did not dare penetrate at first, Laurence and Ivlita lingered five whole days, although starting on the second day, Arcady, who had placed machine guns at higher elevations, zealously sprayed the leaf cover, and it was no longer safe to nestle under the branches. But when, enraged by his stay in the depopulated village, where only turkeys and sparrows had met him, Arcady ordered the forest to be burned, they had to retreat by the most uncouth paths into the icy realm and, surmounting it, descend and set up housekeeping in one of the caves that had evidently belonged at one time to the satyr, but was not even frequented by shepherds now. Scrutinizing the drawings of beasts and the hunters stalking them, so numerous on the cave walls, Ivlita saw in the human beings her champions, and in the raptorial animals the foes of her future child

Last week’s agonizing developments vanished into thin air as soon as they arrived, and, everything else forgotten, immersed in her growing love, Ivlita passed her days digging in the sands that covered the cave floor and finding, with inquisitive interest, fragments of flint tools and bones. It was, nevertheless, too bad she did not have at hand any of her father’s books, with deposits of information she needed about the purpose of the fragments and the species of the bones. But this did not get in the way of sorting through her findings and giving Laurence lectures on human history

Daylight did not penetrate the cave, but Ivlita made no mistake in discerning night’s approach. At that hour, she lost her fervor for excavations and gravitated, lying down and placing her hands behind her head, toward observing the movements of her belly, illuminated by the campfire. Who was it, a son or a daughter?

But the thought of the infant’s sex called to memory the story of Ivlita’s life, and no matter how happy Ivlita was that her life had worked out like this, and not otherwise, she preferred not to delve into the past, moved on to thoughts of Laurence, called him to her, if he was there. Sometimes she asked herself: why is he opposed to life? Is he really death? No, this is his child, after all. And can death be fruitful? And there was no end to such considerations, which seemed like pouring water through a sieve. Well, nothing else mattered, as long as she made it to that sacred hour

But the more her nature was sated with motherhood, the more starkly her nature was split in two, since her love for Laurence was also growing. No, you couldn’t apply a quantitative standard where the quality was continually changing. Actually, Ivlita recollected the days when she observed Laurence from her father’s roof. Then, his presence, scouring from Ivlita the scurf and scale of the past, endowed her with elevated feelings, opened her eyes to nature, transformed her hearing, turned her whole self from a young woman into a fragment of nature. But later, of her riches on that day when Laurence carried her off nothing was left except a filthy pigsty, pain in her body, disappointment and grief. Hadn’t this torpor, however, helped Ivlita survive the blizzard, her father’s death, and Jonah’s insults. And now, in going up to the caves, Ivlita accomplished a double ascent. Nature gained once more its tongue for her, and Ivlita again sang the cretins’ songs for hours. But, just like that, she was no longer a spectator this time, no, she took part in the cycle, and days and nights, wind and weather, were not merely parading before her. No, like the sun, she was carrying out constructive work on a daily basis, like a river, she was running along her magnificent course in order to empty into a nativity. When, lying in the grass near the cave, she watched bees gathering nectar from the clover and gentian, beauties flaunting their loveliness, ants founding a universe, she realized: her bonds made her kin to everything around her and nothing in the world was alien or inimical

She became attentive to herself, more intent on the world. While stepping, Ivlita avoided disturbing the soil and stones and hindering their purpose. When a hawk scudded above her, she wished it might achieve its goal. In its first advent, nature was comprehensible, but meaningless. Now everything found its place and meaning

Therefore, Ivlita knew now that there was no disorder in the world and everything was confined in a perfect structure. And whatever happens, nothing ever escapes this perfect structure and cannot do so

Turmoil, anxiety, fears—everything passed on, melted without a trace, replaced by imperturbable calm. When shooting could be heard, fires blazed up, Laurence arrived agitated, alone or in the company of clamoring highlanders, everything was insignificant, or significant, to the extent that the noise of a waterfall, an owl’s cry, or the groan of a tree entering its senescence is weighty. And Ivlita no longer fled her thoughts, she meditated calmly on her father, and on Jonah, and on Laurence’s murders. And her love for Laurence was likewise a calm love

At times, Ivlita didn’t know whether she was more devoted to Laurence or the infant. But in allotting to one the mind’s mind, to the other the belly’s mind, by turns, Ivlita found comfort thinking that nature is absolute equilibrium. And since custom forbids a highlander from touching a pregnant woman, Laurence never stepped out of the imaginary circle Ivlita had drawn

Once he had hidden her in the mountains, settled her in the cave, supplied her with clothing of sorts, Laurence was almost continually absent and afterward only put in an appearance to top off stores of firewood and provisions. Animal existence was so natural and fitting for Ivlita (don’t beasts bring food this way?), that Ivlita saw in the misadventures of recent months, in the complexity of human practices, an intentional path toward enlightenment and simplicity. Therefore, she hadn’t simply stopped condemning evil, she found in it the most profound manifestation of good order and human uplift. And Jonah, like Arcady, and Arcady equally with the stormy springtimes, were agents of a higher reason that had given her the gift of cave-dwelling happiness. That was why nothing that happened after they left the village engaged her, and Ivlita never asked Laurence where he had been, what he had done, and what was new in the villages. And since the cave was not a fortuitous haven, but the place most suited for the nativity, it could not even enter Ivlita’s mind that she should abandon the cave and that its order could possibly be shaken by anyone

Only on one occasion, when, in Laurence’s absence, a crowd of peasant women barged into the cave with shouts and abuse, did Ivlita waver. “Ivlita pregnant?” The women pressed her, “How can that be? Once you’re not married, a bandit’s wife, you don’t have any right to children. Even if it’s a little late, you need to take measures to bring about a miscarriage”

Ivlita was retreating into the depths of the cave, not comprehending a thing. To what supreme level of well-being were these frenzied country women driving her? What were they pushing on her? She gazed at the wall decorations in vain, thinking that the millennia-old humans and beasts would instruct her at the decisive moment. But art, as usual, was silent, and the world was turning out once again to be imperfect, since Ivlita could justify neither the peasant women’s intrusion nor art’s detachment. And indifference, like the indifference of painting, exactly like what she had felt during Jonah’s attempted rape, took hold of Ivlita. For no misfortune could compare to the collapse of the magnificent structure she had erected in the course of the spring months. The wind whistled in the cave, drenching her with moisture. Ah, yes, it’s autumn

But the first of the hands threatening Ivlita had only to become bolder, and nothing remained of her brief hesitation. Hadn’t the branches whipped Ivlita’s face just so when, after parting from Jonah, she was running, out of her mind, through the forest? Hadn’t the plants bent over her just so, pricked her, spit on her, vilified her, and hadn’t it been obvious that the plants were dead people and every thicket a cemetery? But when the attacking women tore Ivlita’s dress off and blood ran in ribbons down her enormous belly, art finally revived and the bears, coming down off the walls, surrounded her, ran after her, just as on that resplendent day, the first of her motherhood

And rapture stooped to Ivlita, pierced her, whirled her up, and, reconciled, immaculate, she attained, after torturous labors, the summit whose height is infinite, and proclaimed with trumpet sound the last and ultimate victory over death

The peasant women stood still. They looked with astonishment at the being nailed to the wall. Now that their eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, they perceived that this woman with her hair flowing from the clefts was a phenomenon not of the same order as themselves, but akin to the mysterious prodigies and giants that gazed on them from the walls. And, beginning to lose their nerve, they were already asking whether there wasn’t some mistake or trick here, the intervention of special powers, since if it wasn’t a woman, she wasn’t pregnant, and the whole story was a demonic delusion, there was no child at all, and the belly that disfigured such perfect beauty—a deliberate, brazen provocation for their sound mind

And one of them was set to touch the belly and destroy the illusion. But she didn’t have time, the infant leapt for joy. In the light of the dying fire, the kicks looked mighty, as though the unborn child were tearing out into the open to chastise the blasphemers. And suddenly Ivlita gave up the ghost, her head drooped, and her body, together with her parting groan, came crashing down from on high to land at the feet of the womenfolk. And then the last flame also sank down, and darkness, silvered with a breath of smoke, engulfed those present. And a fearful panic at once overcame the peasant women. They fled back, but there was no possibility of making out where the exit was, they banged against rocks, howled, knocked one another flat on their backs, maimed one another. Those who managed to break free streamed out and cascaded to the bottom of the canyon

When Laurence returned that evening, he was met with wailing that carried forth from the cave. Overwhelmed by the darkness, alarmed, he lit a torch and stumbled upon several wounded women who were in no shape to express themselves clearly, and in the very depths of the catacombs—upon an insensate Ivlita

He tried for a long time to bring her back to reality, outraged, not comprehending the cause of what had happened. And what exactly had happened? Were the authorities involved and had their refuge been discovered? Or something worse?

For months, Laurence had been bearing with life in the cave and his hard luck, and the relative peace in his soul was unperturbed as long as Ivlita, too, abode in peace. And so it had consistently seemed to Laurence, also, that this state of things would go on forever: the cave over the precipice, Ivlita pregnant, soldiers in the village, difficulties finding food and useless riches he’d brought from the city and still didn’t know what to do with. But today the phantom of constancy had dissipated and it was revealed that such a state could not continue, neither the cave nor Arcady in the village would go on any longer, and it was time for the pregnancy to end. Laurence could not, however, set his hand to anything definite and find the necessary denouement without having it out with Ivlita and while he bandaged her wounds, he made haste, worried not only about her health, but also sensing something even bitterer in the future

He reviewed once more in thought the road from his encounter with Brother Mocius up to the present, forced to reevaluate his deeds, which had already long ago ceased to appear impeccable. On the contrary, he was convinced that somewhere some shortcoming had brought on the flood of misfortunes, but Laurence was for the first time prepared to admit that this shortcoming was not in himself, but in the world around him, in the rotten social order, in the filthy administrative structure, in human banality, and in Laurence himself only as a reflection, and so he bore no responsibility for what had happened

It had been easy before to heap blame on himself. Life, they say, is wonderful, I am the only unhappy failure. But now, when Laurence was left, as it were, alone with himself, he already understood that his guilt could not remain any longer somehow undefined, but must be precisely ascertained, he could no longer exist in darkness, feeling his way about, otherwise he would not avoid even worse consequences. And it became clear to him to the point of absurdity that he, Laurence, and his environment, which he so despised, were one and the same and his own guilt was a scale model of generalized guilt

Laurence looked at Ivlita, turned back on the peasant women, recollected the day he had met his wife and the forester’s death, compared how he resuscitated the forester’s daughter then and now, and all of it lacked only the words so that everything would be made fast, and the seemingly stable scene of their stay in the caves would give way to a new one, actual and lethal

The consciousness that all existence was meaningless, wayward, drove him crazy. And how distinct were Laurence’s present considerations from his thoughts during the time of Galaction or the Basilisk affair. Then, there were obstacles opposing him, but Laurence could surmount them. Now, however, he took cognizance not only of not being on the attack or staying in place (the cave age), but also of not even zipping off, persecuted, since there was no place to go, everywhere was one and the same sky, one and the same earth, the same people and stones and—enough to put your jaw out of joint from yawning—one and the same death

One comfort remained—Ivlita. Ivlita was with him, she understood him, she would disappear, worn down, like him, by banality, the plains, the mountains, it made no difference, and would die, but would not surrender to these misshapen peasant women, or he to Arcady

A comforter? What was wrong with him? Where had his musing led him? In what was she his comforter? A monstrous absurdity. Ivlita, that was all. Ivlita loved Laurence. What more did he need? Riches? But did she really need them? Look, he’d brought them, and had she paid them any attention? How many times had he told himself: exploits, money, that’s not the main thing; and he hadn’t listened to himself. Fool. What was he running around for when happiness was here, simple normal mutual happiness

It was like a weight fell from Laurence. And, lighter now, he felt just as innocent and green as he had been the year before. If only Ivlita would come round soon, they’d get through everything safely, and it would be possible, after disavowing his murders, to live a tranquil life

But when Ivlita, regaining consciousness, lifted her eyes, hostile in the light of the pinewood chips, while trying to push Laurence away and straining to enunciate something bad, what exactly Laurence could not immediately catch, the young man sensed that his fragile happiness was on the verge of falling to pieces any minute

And he divined what had happened in the cave before he arrived. Not the external event, that was not important, but the internal event, whose expression Ivlita now was. And although Laurence did not completely hear what Ivlita was attempting to utter, he got the message: her words must contain a verdict that would not only destroy the happiness he had nearly attained, but, most likely, would make it altogether irrecoverable. If only the silence would go on for as long as possible and the denouement arrive as late as possible. For it was horribly evident that the denouement of their romance was inevitable, that Laurence lacked the power to forestall it; and, a purportedly valiant man, he took fright, decided to draw it out, understanding perfectly that he could not draw it out to infinity. He admirably acknowledged that the time allotted him was dwindling, and, all the same, he clamped Ivlita’s mouth shut, not wanting to let fall from her lips the inexorable judgment

Ivlita quickly understood why Laurence was pressing on her face. In not allowing her to speak, what did he want to forestall? Could this madness really go on? Could they think of persisting further in their errors? Persisting, if only for a minute? As long as the affair dealt only with Laurence, he had been free to act as he saw fit. But this one, the third, not yet arrived, was he not already showing Laurence and Ivlita the way? Were they really free, even now? Didn’t they belong to the one to whom the future belonged, the one destined to be a monument to their love?

And as her powers returned, Ivlita struggled more insistently to remove Laurence’s seal from her lips. She recalled that she had, in just the same way, wanted to force Jonah to shut up because Jonah had been crying out what she wanted to say now, he had already foreseen then what she was only now assimilating, after a second trial. She could not put it off any longer, she had been cruelly mistaken when she refused to listen to Jonah; Laurence would never dare keep her from speaking, he was only doing it because he was no longer her husband and not her protector, but the murderer of the whole world and of her offspring

Poor Laurence. This time, perhaps, he saw more clearly than ever and in the way most devastating to himself. He guessed that if he allowed Ivlita to express herself, he would hear what he had just told himself, her resentment aimed against his freethinking, she would invite him to repent, to renounce murder, fighting, to have done, as they say, with soiling himself. But Laurence understood plainly the difference between freedom and coercion and, after fleeing into the mountains in order not to kill on command, could he now surrender on command? And this violence emanating from Ivlita would have removed any possibility of repenting; he could not under such conditions lay down his arms, and while he recognized that he needed, all the same, to repent, Laurence was prepared to do anything that would keep him from having to hear out her injunction and would preserve freedom as though inviolate

And after pressing down on Ivlita with all his weight, while continuing to clamp her mouth shut with his left hand, the young man grasped the pregnant woman by the throat with his right, determined to strangle her sooner than let her speak out. He felt something beginning to seethe under his palm and a rattle he had heard once before escaped through Ivlita’s clenched teeth. Hadn’t the former forester torn at this throat in the same way? Laurence was already the same mad and dying old man. His fingers suddenly refused to obey and, despite his efforts, Laurence could not continue to bring them, turned wooden, together

With a force he had never supposed in her, Ivlita sunk her teeth into the hand covering her mouth, broke the other one that had grown into her throat, pushed Laurence away, and jumped up, raining blows, writhing in pain and rage

Unfit for battle, stunned, wounded, he staggered back toward the exit from the cave and as the light increased, the spectacle of the beauty with the swollen, paint-smudged belly became more repulsive, a vision so unbearable that Laurence closed his eyes, turned, and made a break to run off into the unknown