Letters to Vera Petrovna

I remember the sun was just right that day. The wide pink ribbon hanging off my tiny hat refused to stay out of my eyes. I squint to see the fluffy clouds dotted across the sky. My hand feels so small clutching yours as you lead us through the garden. Surreal. My memories of you belong to a different world where everything is brighter. Even the estate looks different somehow-welcoming. In the garden not a single blade of grass is out of place. Of course not. The garden’s upkeep was nothing less than perfect under your care. Not a tree untrimmed or a weed in sight. Beside the path something catches your eye. The rose bushes glistening with dew. You lean in to inhale the pink and red blossoms.

“What do you say we gather a few roses for Nanny?” you whispered. I clap my hands in agreement. After we delivered the roses to Nanny, Papa joined us for a walk through the forest.

My memories of you are few but I remember how different life was then. Breakfast at 8, lunch before 1, dinner at a reasonable hour. Tea, meals, housework and the affairs of everyday life ran like a clockwork fairytale. Uncle Vanya was young then and still hopeful. Papa even smiled- no sign of rheumatism or gout. Everyone was happy. Life on the estate seems like an entirely different world now. The farmwork is barely turning a profit and Papa eats and sleeps whenever he pleases. If you were here they’d all be ashamed of themselves. Nanny tells me how your love and strength were the foundation of the entire estate.

Papa’s new wife has come to stay with us. Everyone says how beautiful she is but she’s not beautiful like you. She does nothing all day. Besides her talents for the piano I’d say her spirit is quite unremarkable.

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I have a confession to make. I despise uncle vanya. Today he launched into another one of his rants about how old he is, how he hates the professor and blah blah blah. He sulks around the estate all day sniveling in that ridiculous bathrobe. Meanwhile I’m left to cut the hay, keep the accounts, sell the crops, do the housework and care for the estate by myself. I’m beyond exhausted. Uncle Vanya’s also drinking more and more frequently. It’s despicable. Soon he’ll be no better than the drunks in the taverns. What’s happened to him? Perhaps his behavior is not entirely unwarranted. Vanya’s clearly terribly depressed and I’m guessing the way Yelena treats him doesn’t help either. Still, the questions he struggles with, isn’t that something we all have to deal with at one point or another? The realization that our youth is over. The skepticism that our life and work has had any real purpose. The fundamental question of the meaning of our lives. . Sometimes I wonder if the reason I keep myself so busy with work is to avoid thinking about these things myself.

Today Uncle Vanya said something funny. He said I looked just like my mother. He must be hallucinating. Everyone knows how beautiful you were and that I was unfortunate enough to get Papa’s looks. It seemed like Uncle Vanya wanted to say something more though. He kept stuttering “if only she knew” but when I pressed him about it he wouldn’t explain. I bet I can finish his thoughts: ‘If only you knew how embarrassing the estate had become and how unhappy we all are’. If only you were still here to care for us…

Today I found out even Yelena is unhappy- just as I suspected. Stepmother is a strange word to me. You would have despised her and her laziness but I must admit I’m terribly fond of Yelena. I think she feels trapped by father and this estate. I sympathize with her. She said that the way she loved father at the time wasn’t “real love”. I can’t help wonder if that’s how I feel about the doctor. Still, even if it’s not “real love” the thought of him completely consumes me. Telling Yelena how I felt was like being able to breathe again. I really think that in a few months from now we’re going to be best friends. I think you’d be happy that I found a best friend.

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Papa almost tried to sell your estate. It sounds like a nightmare when I say it now. I refuse to let it happen while I’m still alive. When I close my eyes I still see Vanya’s eyes looking back at me as I pry the morphine out of his hands. I think I understand him now. Of course he’s tired but its more than that. My new best friend is leaving forever because of Vanya’s silliness and I don’t blame her for it. I’ll miss Yelena but I really hope she finds happiness in Kharkov. As soon as Yelena walked out the door the spell was broken. Vanya and I are getting back to work. You would laugh if you saw how utterly behind we are on the accounts.

The doctor left too. It’s better this way I suppose. Still, I’ll miss being enchanted by his visits. I wonder if he knows that he is the most fascinating man I ever met and that I could never ever forget him- even if I tried.

For some reason I feel it’s my fault that everything has come to shambles. I wanted everything in your estate to stay perfect. How did you do it? Tiredness has overwhelmed my entire body but I continue to fight it. I feel so completely exhausted but that’s how I know God will have mercy. As I sit down to finish the accounts I think of you and find my strength. The thought of seeing you again and finally finding God’s rest in the end gives me comfort.

Your faithful daughter,

Sonya   

(Cynthia)

 

 

3 thoughts on “Letters to Vera Petrovna

  1. Thomas Kavanagh

    While nobody can know for certain what Chekhov would tell us about the future of these characters, but I have this idea that Vanya would wake up in “thirteen more years,” possibly on some clear quiet morning… and think to himself:

    “Oh God, what have I done to Sonya? I’ve done to her what the Professor did to Yelena; I’ve robbed her of her freedom and weakened her spirit and passion for life. I ignored her for my own hopeless desires…”

    I imagine that Vanya would feel a similar kind of regret he felt about his work for the Professor, when in thirteen years he sees the physical and emotional toll his “silliness” has taken on Sonya.

    On behalf of Vanya to Sonya, I’d like to say I’m deeply, deeply sorry.

    -Thomas

  2. Jules Odendahl-James

    Cynthia,

    I concur with Faye. Your post also opened my eyes to an aspect of Sonya’s arc I confess I’d not considered — how much she might miss her mother and how much her own death/rest means joining her mother in the afterlife. That objective gives her last monologue a goal that’s more tangible than even the ‘rest’ she’s offering herself and Vanya; it becomes a kind of peace & the welcome of a mother’s embrace. In that way, we don’t have to pity her for giving up but instead we can support her in her pursuit. It seems slightly perverse — we’re not encouraged to want to hasten a death (our own or someone else’s) — but it also feels somewhat in line with the paradoxical Vanya universe where the *real* world poses little comfort or relief because the characters don’t, can’t act, say what they want, pursue their dreams and simply work in order to give life some kind of purpose. So why not imagine, seek a time/space where reunion with loved ones and freedom from toil is promised? Of course it would be more immediately fulfilling to get the characters to change their tactics, to spur action in THIS life but that too is part of the paradox. We can’t get on stage and MAKE them change, so we’re left as observers who are inspired to look into our own lives to make sure we don’t fall prey to such fates. As my mother says, “If you can’t be an example, be a warning.” : )

    Jules

  3. Faye

    Cynthia,

    Not only is this beautiful and poignant writing, but it’s a wonderful look into your Sonya. I really feel I know her–both hers–after reading.
    Thank you

    Faye

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