Inventing Wonders

Chapter 11: I Will Tell You a Tale

Bad mood settled on Lara's shoulders like the gloomy March weather in Petersburg: suddenly and uncertainly. The worst happened almost immediately after Larisa Konstantinovna's conversation with Ryleyev—her works ceased to be published altogether. The novel continued to be printed, albeit with less enthusiasm, but shorter texts were no longer accepted at all. Censorship placed its cold hand on Maxim's illustrated shoulder. Lara had never relied on anyone—well, she did hope, but she never stopped struggling. She was not the first, nor would she be the last.

For two or three days, Lara lamented the injustice of life, cried like a damned soul (her nerves were fraying, and glycine was not stocked in local pharmacies), drank all the alcohol she found in the house, and by Friday, having sobered up and recovered from the hangover, began thinking about where to get money. She still considered the prospect of marriage, but money was needed right now, and even if she chose Georgiy Mikhailovich, she wouldn't see a husband for at least another six months.

Lara sighed and went to Kondraty Fyodorovich for advice. To be completely honest, Lara often used Ryleyev as an advanced Google search. Anya was also good at this function, but she was more like a YouTube channel "Girl Motor," where the main content was how to attract a guy and what to do in society.

She no longer visited late at night, fearing for her own safety. Upon arriving at the writer's apartment, Lara learned from the servants that "Kondraty Fyodorovich had gone out on business and wouldn't be back until dinner." Lara sighed and asked permission to wait for her friend, just in case he returned earlier than promised. Besides, outside the window, the weather was turning into that wonderful mix of snow and something like rain. In Ryleyev's house, Larisa Konstantinovna was well known, so despite the absence of the hosts, she was allowed to stay.

Lara sat in the living room, leisurely flipping through some book. Reading was something Lara had to do a lot of; learning new grammar seemed like a torturous and painstaking task. She pulled her legs up under herself since she was alone in the room, when suddenly the door creaked open and a pretty little girl appeared on the threshold. Lara lifted her eyes from the uninteresting reading and gave the child an appraising look.

"Good afternoon, dear young lady."

"Good afternoon," the girl replied uncertainly.

Lara knew that Kondraty Fyodorovich had a daughter, but she had never met her before.

"You must be Nastasiya Kondratyevna?" Lara closed the book entirely, glad for the new occupation.

"Yes," the girl nodded, "and who are you?"

"Oh, how rude of me," Lara exclaimed, spreading her hands. "Allow me to introduce myself: Larisa Konstantinovna Vovk, a close friend of your father."

The girl paused, thinking about what else to say, and then declared:

"Mother says well-bred girls don't sit like that," she pointed to Lara's tucked-up legs.

"And my mother says well-bred girls don't point at their conversation partners," smiled the guest.

A strong wind made the window panes clink slightly. Nastasiya Kondratyevna hesitated a bit more and then entered the living room, closing the door behind her. She walked over to Lara and stood silently in front of her.

"Am I doing something else wrong?" Lara raised an eyebrow.

"Mother says you're very poorly brought up," Nastasiya shared.

"And I see you are quite straightforward, my dear child," Lara snorted and demonstratively opened the book.

"But why does everyone like you then?" Nastasiya clung on.