CHAPTER 6

THAT WHICH FOR VRONSKY had been, for almost a whole year, the one absorbing desire of his life, replacing all his old desires; that which for Anna had been an impossible, terrible, and for that reason even more entrancing dream of bliss; that desire had been fulfilled. They were alone, entirely alone; their respective Class IIIs were not present. By unspoken agreement, they had left them behind as each traveled to the place of assignation, for robots were barred from viewing this most human of phenomena.

Vronsky stood before her, pale, his lower jaw quivering, and besought her to be calm, not knowing how or why.

“Anna! Anna!” he said with a choking voice, “Anna, for pity’s sake . . . !”

But the louder he spoke, the lower she dropped her once proud and gay, now shame-stricken head, and she bowed down and sank from the sofa where she was sitting, down on the floor, at his feet; she would have fallen on the carpet if he had not held her.

“My God! Forgive me!” she said, sobbing, pressing his hands to her bosom.

She felt so sinful, so guilty, that nothing was left for her but to humiliate herself and beg forgiveness; and as now there was no one in her life but him, to him she addressed her prayer for forgiveness. Looking at him, she had a physical sense of her humiliation, and she could say nothing more. He felt what a murderer must feel when he sees the body he has robbed of life. That body, robbed by him of life, was their love, the first stage of their love. There was something awful and revolting in the memory of what had been bought at this fearful price of shame. Shame at their spiritual nakedness crushed her and infected him. But in spite of all the murderer’s horror before the body of his victim, he must hack it to pieces, hide the body, must use what he has gained by his murder.

And with fury, as it were with passion, the murderer falls on the body, and drags it and hacks at it; so he covered her face and shoulders with kisses. She held his hand, and did not stir.

“Yes, these kisses—that is what has been bought by this shame. Yes, and one hand, which will always be mine—the hand of my accomplice.” She lifted up that hand and kissed it. He sank on his knees and tried to see her face; but she hid it, and said nothing. At last, as though making an effort over herself, she got up and pushed him away. Her face was still as beautiful, but it was only the more pitiful for that.

“All is over,” she said. “I have nothing but you. Remember that.”

“I can never forget what is my whole life. For one instant of this happiness . . .”

“Happiness!” she said with horror. She felt that at that moment she could not put into words the sense of shame, of rapture, and of horror at stepping into a new life, and she did not want to speak of it, to vulgarize this feeling with inappropriate words. “For pity’s sake, not a word, not a—”

As if to underscore her determination for him to be silent, Anna stopped speaking midway through her sentence. Indeed, Vronsky realized, it was not only her lovely mouth but her entire body: Anna had stopped moving, her body locked in place, eyes half-open, limbs stilled, frozen like a statue upon the bed.

“Anna?” he cried out. “Anna! What is the matter?”

It is he, Vronsky thought immediately, meaning the husband—her bizarre and cruel husband has discovered us, and somehow poisoned her . . . but this was something stranger and more powerful than any poison: for as Vronsky watched, Anna’s body, still frozen like it was carved from marble, rose slowly several inches off the bed and oscillated wildly in the air.

“Anna!”

He reached toward her with a shaking hand, unsure of how to proceed, ashamed to admit to himself that he was afraid even to touch her—when, as suddenly as this extraordinary episode had begun, it ended. Anna’s body stopped quivering, fell back softly onto the mattress, and reanimated; indeed, Anna returned to their conversation exactly where she had stopped.

“—a word more,” she concluded, while Vronsky stared back at her, trying to comprehend what he had witnessed.

“Anna,” he finally began. “Anna, I . . .”

But it was too late. With a look of chill despair, incomprehensible to him, she parted from him.

*   *   *

In dreams, when she had no control over her thoughts, her position presented itself to her in all its hideous nakedness. One dream haunted her almost every night. She dreamed that both were her husbands at once, that both were lavishing caresses on her. Alexei Alexandrovich was weeping, kissing her hands, and saying, “How happy we are now!” And Alexei Vronsky was there too, and he too was her husband. And Lupo was also there, prowling in circles, sniffing the tangled bedsheets; and Alexei’s metal Face was there, glinting in the light of the lumiéres; and then Anna, glancing down, saw that while she embraced Vronsky, her own human head had been fused somehow onto Android Karenina’s gleaming robot body.

This dream weighed on her like a nightmare, and she awoke from it in terror.