A Promise of Elsewhere

Abbie Arnold

~In a landscape of sentimental drownings, dashed love, teas immediately overturned to claims of the value of a life, the role of religion, the glory of a Russian soul… somewhere, murmurings wander of romance and uncompromised assurance. ~

“Quite an hour to find yourself in a park, young lady,” chastised Nastasya as a greeting. Aglaya had walked up, finding Nastasya just as she expected. “Glad to have found such company then, being so markedly younger. So… gracious protector, you’ve received my letter?” “And you’ve received mine, being that we’re both here.” “Naturally,” Aglaya responded, remembering her surprise at having such a correspondent. Coincidentally, the day after receiving Nastasya’s offer, her portrait was displayed for Aglaya’s family to appraise, along with Prince Myshkin, and unfortunately Ganya. Nastasya Filippovna’s beauty had been commented on before; nearly everyone who passed her portrait could not restrain themselves from admiring it, whether for the power, suffering or contempt it tended to express. Ganya, the gentleman the women would soon discuss, was so prideful beyond his greed that he deemed himself necessary, not only in engagement with Nastasya, but Aglaya as well; that same day, he dared to ask for her confirmation of desire, not deigning to wager the monetization of Nastasya’s shame for Aglaya’s interest. As if she would be so sympathetic as to choose for him; Aglaya Ivanovna does not negotiate anything, not over her status, and certainly not over love. Besides, it’s not compassionate to save such a self-proclaimed desperate man by begging him to act, it’s shameful. All this to say, that in such a context, Aglaya merely offered a pouted lip and crossed arms upon viewing Nastasya’s visage. So this is the woman Aglaya was to meet, the woman so tormenting Ganya. Some beauty inspires sympathy, it urges bystanders to protect it, savor it, contain it. Nastasya’s was of a far more tragic sort; the men she had the misfortune of encountering saw utility, and so destroyed her to their satisfaction. It was no wonder a man like Myshkin would draw her attention, although perhaps “man” isn’t the most precise term for him. Meek, gentle, forgiving- almost too forgiving- these were more of his variety. These characteristics, long-imposed on women, served to the detriment of Nastasya, who suffered abuse to such an extent that while first pure chaos in her rage, she learned to wield it; manipulate the ones so capable of harm in order to free herself on all levels. There must be holiness beyond fragility, worthiness beyond what one could endure, at least according to Aglaya. She had responded only a short few words to Nastasya’s letter; hardly the admiration the latter had rattled off toward the “young lady”. But much more was felt; Nastasya represented a woman whose suffering could be overturned, not by a man gentle or brash enough to tame her, but by her own unruly nature. The beauty of her was resilient, astonishingly bold and inviting. Of course, the sharply cut jaw that evened to the softness of her chin, the sideways smile her own pride let slip…the roundness of her shoulders, and firmness of her hand’s grip… how lady-like her legs rested on the bench, nestled under the fluff of her petticoats…the ease of her hands, her shoulders remaining taut; her hair bundled above her neck, the straight line of her nose dipping toward her mouth… yes and, of course, the way she held her command, even if it meant being called mad, selfish, shameful. Surely, none of those hurt her image in Aglaya’s eyes. “You want to help me jilt the man with whom you’ve entertained a… what shall we call it… less than satisfying courtship? Don’t tilt your brow, it’s not to worry; as is evident by my letter and the nature of my situation, I never wanted to marry dear,

sweet, cherished Ganya,” Nastasya spoke, carrying Aglaya away from her thoughts. “Eh hem,” she coughed. “You forgot cowardly… insolent, unnecessary. The fact is, you have an actual mind to free yourself from everything you’ve been confined to. All of my life, I’ve had my ideas, but mostly it’s just enough dreaming to guide me through the night- and maybe frustrate my mother- just enough to keep us both occupied. Older women are still women after all, which is to say they’re made static, but with less chance of excitement since they’re either already married or on their way to dying, or for most of them: both. I still have time before I’m a true wet hen, in my mother’s words. I can mingle, entertain myself with ideas of escaping fully, but eventually I know I’ll be able to settle with someone at least of my own choice. Mother, she has only enough freedom to busy herself with me and my sisters, and of course father; she really has all the say, and quite the bit to say at that. “Why do you speculate so? If you have the sense that this isn’t enough, or rather that you are more than what these circumstances deserve, than there is some vigor in you still.” “Mother would say so.” “Mother would say? Mother would say if you’re going to throw them into such turmoil, at least give them some verifiable grit. Why torment yourself with hoping, if you can add a bit more pull to this never-ending, ever-exhausting turning we’re subject to day after day?” Nastasya traced her eyes over Aglaya’s face, down to her twiddling fingers fighting to restrain nerves, but not missing the resoluteness in her furrowed brows and pressed lips. “Ever take a cigar?” Nastasya wondered allowed. “If you’d met my mother you wouldn’t ask.” Nastasya raised her brows. Aglaya dragged her eyes to meet Nastasya’s waiting gaze. “No, I mean no I haven’t, but I’ve seen, and smelled, father take many.” “Upon the success of the denouement, we’ll share one cigar for the road, and for thanks,” Nastasya offered. “Where do you plan on acquiring cigars?” “Acquired. I acquired one from a man only so generous in the amount of time and dignity he stole. After finding himself satisfied after months occupying himself, with me, he’d abandon. With him absent, I decided to give him something to miss other than control over me. He’s quite a smoker, evidently with an enviable collection.” “And you keep it with you?” “You think so little of me that I’d finesse only a single cigar?” “Regrettably, I’m not presently aware of your scavenging and concealing abilities. I told you I admired your portrait and ambition, I hadn’t really cared to know much more until now.” Nastasya looked toward the rustling trees, unconvinced of Agalaya’s nonchalance, then carried on, “To answer your question, I keep one on me. The others are guarded elsewhere.” “ I like the sound of elsewhere,” Aglaya let slip. “Follow through with me on the plan, and the idea is we’ll reach there soon enough.” “So you’ve finagled cigars…but can you shoot a gun?” “Aglaya! Watch your questions, I’ll start to really believe you’ve got a death wish for elsewhere. Anyways, there’s nothing actually prosecutable about avenging ourselves and possibly shaming the men, and the money won’t actually burn. But an armed show? You walk a strikingly dangerous line.” “Must it be a death wish? I’m not opposed to leaving; perhaps it is time she had a reason to be so expertly concerned for her unwed daughter. As for the weaponry; I am a woman of resources. In a house of four women and a father who is less than preoccupied with your well being, you learn to be educated on as many matters as possible. Besides, as prevalent as duels have become in our history, a woman ought to have some knowledge.” “Agreed; there is a reason I was able to intervene Totsky’s engagement and hold

off Ganya as long as I have, and it’s not because I’m reckless. Acquiring freedom and accepting, even desiring, destruction may run threateningly close in my conception of the two, but is there not something said about knowing the value of what you long for by knowing the loss of it? I will say, I’m quite good with a riding crop, if ever the need for use arrives,” she finished with the slightest smirk playing on her lips. Nastasya faded back into her composure, but too slowly for the message on her mouth to be missed altogether by Aglaya. Days and nights continued to unfold leading up to Nastasya’s name day celebration, and the two young ladies continued to meet; in the shade of night, or under the glow of a candle, illuminating their words exchanged on paper. Nastasya revealed more and more of her plan, and her history, while Aglaya thought on her own upbringing and all the ways they seemed to align with each other’s longings. It was more than a need for escape that united them; fine tuning the scheme allowed them the chance to develop a connection they feared they never would, as tender as it was fierce. ~ A mighty spectacle of a scene ensues, it is highly recommended you read the original for yourself. However, let it be known that after finessing a proposal from the Prince Christ himself, $100,000 from the suitor Rogozhin, after throwing that money into a fire, for which her original suitor and his fellow desperate men would beg, Nastasya transitioned into her resolution~ “Rogozhin, you’ve offered your money, a grand sum, and now we’ve witnessed that value praised by these… unfortunate men.” “Honestly, are we not men? Someone should take care of this creature and let it be the end. Totsky, how did you have so much time with her and still she is so disobedient? Myshkin, you’ve offered to marry her, a whole other level of idiocy, be a man and do something, here…” Some attendant blurted, extending a long black object. Nastasya, not pausing a moment, grasped his riding crop in her long fingers and let it smack across his own cheek. A shivering thrill was felt by more than one guest upon the sight and sound; Aglaya did her best to compose herself. “I’ve had quite a bit to say tonight, but if I could say one thing more,” Nastasya finally continued, still balancing the riding crop between her hands, “Myshkin, surely, I have doubts about myself as deserving a gentle man such as yourself, who “believes” in the goodness of me. You talk so much of my goodness, God-granted, though doubted by humans, but maybe if you talked to me like an actual human, not a young girl taken advantage of by one too many men… But I have a better idea, one that will surely leave you with a happier, more thorough relationship. You’ll gather what I mean, in time; you too, Rogozhin. Nastasya slyly gathered Rogozhin’s blazer in her hands, leisurely slinking it around her shoulders. “Myshkin, you’ve offered us all something I don’t believe we could grasp on our own. Granted, it may take years to behold the nearly unendurable forgiveness you continue to give, or rather force at times. No matter, with or without you they’d all gossip and scowl upon us, but now there’s a chance they’ll envision us with a softer edge in memory. Come heaven or hell, or simply a deep, dark pit of dirt, best of luck finding us there.” Many of the men still cowered by the fire, their eyes glazed and trying to process the sudden loss of fortune. Others still whispered of her madness. Ptitsyn maneuvered a hand through his hair, reclined in an armchair in full view of the chaos Nastasya managed to stoke, even in her exiting. The general began to stand, approaching Aglaya. “And finally, dear Aglaya please do light our prize,” Nastasya finished, passing Aglaya the cigar from a strap around her knee. “Father,” Aglaya began, “tell Mother she was right, I am quite like her,” she paused, bending slightly to touch the cigar to the tip of the fire, still burning ever so much,

“only,” again she paused, breathing out one long puff of the cigar. “I’ll be pleased enough to decide my own life,” she finished with a glance to Nastasya, stamping the cigar out on the carpeted floor. The two women, not in the least excluded from a playful bicker from time to time, did indeed embark for elsewhere. The general took a few steps in their procession, but stopped as he neared the door; lacking his coat, he decided to call to his youngest daughter from just inside. Lizaveta would’ve chased after her, latched onto the carriage door or managed to mount the horse’s back. But that was Lizaveta, and, really, how could anyone expect him to keep up with a woman like her after so many years of life… so, so many years of marriage. Rogozhin, realizing his coat had been snatched, leapt up with Myshkin, who handed him his own overcoat as they paced quickly down the steps together. Aglaya pulled open the carriage door, offering a hand to Nastasya, as the men scurried after them like embers slowly burning to ash. Nastasya pulled Aglaya in after her, whipping the door shut, just as the men reached the steps’ end. The two young ladies glanced briefly behind the carriage to catch Rogozhin’s arm resting over Myshkin’s shoulders, both bent over, out of breath and out of hope for a woman to settle for men such as themselves. Perhaps, instead of molding women to their stances, they’d find balance between themselves, just as Nastasya had foreseen. The bar maid a few streets from Rogozhin’s estate could likely verify, if prodded enough. It’s true, it can get awfully boring at such an age without an ear for scandal, or a mind for good literature.