An Awkward Revolutionary - 2. Chapter II

As the carriage clattered along the hard dirt road Novel Vanyah turned to his son, "So, you've finished university," he said, and patted his arm. "The last six months seem to have been an age. Although I have been much occupied with running the estate, I missed seeing you."

"And how is my uncle?" The emotion of his father was somewhat overwhelming and Aleksander wanted to change the topic of conversation.

"Oh, you know how your uncle is. He wanted to come with me to meet you. For some reason changed his mind."

"Were you waiting long, papa?"

"I don't know, perhaps, but that is no matter. Your room has been decorated and I hope you will be comfortable."

"I know I will. And do you have room for Daniil?"

"We will find a room for your friend. How long have you known him?"

"We met properly about five months ago when Daniil had a small accommodation problem. So we decided on shared quarters, it not being long until I finished university. You will like him, papa. He is a very serious person."

They continued for a while in silence, Aleksander looking about him at the countryside and fields.

"What is your friend studying at the university?"

"The History of Art. He is writing a thesis on the development of Russian art from the neoclassical towards today's modernism, which is evolving with artists like Shishkin."

Oh, I see."

His father's face had a rather blank expression, which made Aleksander reflect on the differences between the life and culture of the capital and that of the country.

"The farm is working well?" Aleksander asked, although he had no particular interest in the answer.

He was reminded of the difference between them, a gap which had grown wider over time with the lives they lived apart. Something perhaps inevitable given the circles they moved in and the opinions they held. Although Aleksander had never discussed what he thought of as his modernist outlook with his father, he knew how Novel Vanyah was a man of his time and conditioned by his upbringing. For some ill defined reason he was never more aware of that difference between father and son as at that precise moment on the journey home.

"I have some small problems with the workers, but no more than usual. Look!" he said, pointing to a line of carts approaching from the opposite direction. "Aren't those our labourers?" He inclined his head towards Milan, sat up on the box next to Daniil.

"Indeed they are, sir," Milan replied, as they passed by.

"Off to the tavern," Novel commented.

Daniil had heard most of the conversation even with the noise of the carriage, and he wondered what sort of man Aleksander's father was and what opinions he held. Whilst musing over that thought he glanced across at Milan whose comportment he remarked to himself was somewhat contradicted by his appearance. Conservative and correct, which contrasted quite glaringly with a purple silk scarf and an earring. What exactly did such a manservant tell one about his master?

"You know I told you, there..." his father faltered, "is a girl, well a young woman really."

"You mean, Natasha!"

"Yes. Please speak more quietly," his father replied, somewhat awkwardly and not without embarrassment. "Well she is living with me at the house. You may see that as not very proper, but there it is all the same, I want to be honest with you. Of course I can make other arrangements now you are back."

"No need, papa," Aleksander replied softly. "That is no problem, I understand."

"But with your friend staying?"

"Don't worry about Daniil, he would not even remark on such a thing."

Novel seemed releaved and visibly relaxed a little. "Good then. There are not too many other changes at Ryavda."

"Really?" Aleksander nodded towards Milan.

"Oh, he is only my valet... and carriage driver. And I have a new bailiff to run the estate, a sensible fellow."

"Do you mean your young valet is not sensible?" Aleksander joked, but his father looked serious.

"Of course not, he's a perfectly good valet."

"I was only teasing, papa."

"Oh," his father gave a little smile and they once more fell silent.

Aleksander stared out at the rolling countryside, it was not terribly picturesque, although the light coating of powdery snow lent a certain beauty to the landscape. The fields seemed to stretch far and wide, reaching up to the rounded heights in gentle slopes. Then there was the woodland, a dark impenetrable forest of trees. The labourers they passed were poor farm workers. There was nothing here to bring much wealth, not unless you were the owner of thousands of hectares. There was no industry, for one could not properly label forestry as an industry.

"The house is in need of more decoration than I have so far managed, which rather means any room for our guest Monsieur Vinogradov may not be too comfortable."

"Don't bother yourself about that, papa. Daniil is not a person to complain about such things, he will be fine."

Aleksander knew when he was saying this, whilst knowing it was true, knew also it was not entirely so simply by way of Daniil's easy nature, but rather because he was here with him.

"I will have extra blankets for him, it is still very cold and only the fire in your bedroom has been made ready. It takes time to warm up the old place."

Aleksander smiled to himself.

"It will soon be spring," he commented, changing the conversation again so as not to dwell on the thoughts invading his imagination and stirring his emotions. He once more gazed out at the frosty landscape.

"It's not far now," his father said, "one more little hill and you will see the house. You can help me with the estate and the farming, if you don't get bored. We can spend time together and renew our acquaintance with each other."

"Of course," Aleksander replied.

A little over a quarter of an hour later they stopped in front of the steps which led to the entrance of the old wooden house. The facade of the building looked freshly painted, the grey colour of the walls contrasting with the red iron roof which was just visible beneath the thin coating of snow.