Ivan Bunin
After lunch, we walked out of the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railing. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm facing outwards, laughed a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming about this little woman - and said:
“I’m completely drunk... Actually, I’m completely crazy.” Where did you come from? Three hours ago I didn’t even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is it my head that’s spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness, a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And her heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and dark she must be under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's go...
- Where? – she asked in surprise.
- On this pier.
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
- Crazy…
“Let’s get off,” he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you wish,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit dock with a soft thud, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over their heads, then it rushed back, and the water boiled noisily, the gangplank rattled... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto sand deep as deep as the hub, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle climb uphill, among rare crooked streetlights, along a road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, there was some kind of square, public places, a tower, the warmth and smells of a night summer provincial town... The cab stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old, unshaven footman in wearing a pink blouse and a frock coat, he took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated by the sun during the day, with white drawn curtains on the windows and two unburnt candles on the mirror - and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant so impulsively rushed to her and both of them suffocated so frantically in a kiss , that for many years later they remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with the market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex and odorous smell that a Russian district town smells of, she, this little nameless woman, who did not say her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, washing and dressing in five minutes, she was as fresh as she was at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
“No, no, honey,” she said in response to his request to go further together, “no, you must stay until the next ship.” If we go together, everything will be ruined. This will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has ever happened to me, and there never will be again. The eclipse definitely hit me... Or, rather, we both got something like sunstroke...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he took her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on the deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangplank, which had already moved back.
Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. It was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-drunk cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there... And the lieutenant’s heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his boots with the glass, walked back and forth across the room several times.
- A strange adventure! - he said out loud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think...” And she already left... Ridiculous woman!
The screen had been pulled back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply had no strength to look at this bed now. He covered it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the market chatter and the creaking of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa... Yes, that’s the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in the glass white salon or on the deck and looking at the huge river glistening in the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immeasurable Volga expanse... And forgive me, and forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t, for no reason, no reason, come to this city, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him like some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, this can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was overcome by horror and despair.
"What the hell! - he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What’s wrong with me? It seems that this is not the first time - and now... What’s special about her and what actually happened? In fact, it looks like some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now spend the whole day in this outback without her?”
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest features, he remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice... The feeling of the pleasures he had just experienced with all her feminine charm was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that was completely absent while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, only a funny acquaintance, and about which there was no one, no one to tell now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you’ll never be able to tell!” And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the very shining Volga along which this pink steamer carried her away!
I needed to save myself, do something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took the stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a smart suit, and calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how can you sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “I’m probably the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, heading towards the bazaar.
The market was already leaving. For some reason he walked through the fresh manure among the carts, among the carts with cucumbers, among the new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground vied with each other to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, rang them with their fingers, showing their good quality, men they stunned him, shouted to him, “Here are the first-class cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid and absurd that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circling around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of a mountain, above the boundless light steel expanse of the river... The shoulder straps and buttons of his jacket were so burned that they could not be touched. The inside of his cap was wet from sweat, his face was burning... Returning to the hotel, he happily entered the large and empty cool dining room on the ground floor, took off his cap with pleasure and sat down at a table near open window, which was filled with heat, but still had a breath of air, and ordered botvina with ice. Everything was good, there was immense happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the market smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old county hotel there was it, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, snacked on lightly salted cucumbers with dill and felt that he, without a second thought, would die tomorrow, if by some miracle he could return her, spend another, this day, with her - spend only then, only then, to tell her and prove it somehow, to convince her how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her... Why prove it? Why convince? He didn’t know why, but it was more necessary than life.
Bunin Ivan Alekseevich
Sunstroke
Ivan Bunin
Sunstroke
After lunch, we walked out of the brightly and hotly lit dining room onto the deck and stopped at the railing. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm facing outward, laughed a simple, charming laugh - everything was charming about this little woman - and said:
I'm completely drunk... Actually, I'm completely crazy. Where did you come from? Three hours ago I didn’t even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat down. In Samara? But still, you're cute. Is it my head that’s spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
There was darkness and lights ahead. From the darkness, a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.
The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of tan. And her heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and dark she must be under this light canvas dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun, on the hot sea sand (she said that she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
Let's go...
Where? - she asked in surprise.
On this pier.
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
Crazy...
“Let’s get off,” he repeated stupidly. - I beg you...
“Oh, do as you wish,” she said, turning away.
The runaway steamer hit the dimly lit dock with a soft thud, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew over their heads, then it rushed back, and the water boiled noisily, the gangway rattled... The lieutenant rushed to get his things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy office, came out onto sand deep as deep as the hub, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle climb uphill, among rare crooked streetlights, along a road soft with dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the (pavement, there was some kind of square, public places, a tower, the warmth and smells of a night summer provincial town... The cab stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an old, An unshaven footman in a pink blouse and a frock coat displeasedly took his things and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in the kiss that for many years later they remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.
At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with the bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar and again all that complex odorous smell that a Russian district town smells of, she, this little nameless woman, who did not say her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left. We slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, washing and dressing in five minutes, she was as fresh as she was at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
No, no, honey,” she said in response to his request to go further together, “no, you must stay until the next ship.” If we go together, everything will be ruined. This will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. Nothing even similar to what happened has ever happened to me, and there never will be again. The eclipse definitely hit me... Or, rather, we both got something like sunstroke...
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he took her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on the deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangplank, which had already moved back.
Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-drunk cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there... And the lieutenant’s heart suddenly sank with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping himself on the tops with his stick, walked back and forth several times room.
Strange adventure! - he said out loud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think...” And she already left... Ridiculous woman!
The screen had been pulled back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply had no strength to look at this bed now. He covered it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the market talk and the creaking of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat down on the sofa... Yes, that’s the end of this “road adventure”! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in the glass white salon or on the deck and looking at the huge river glistening in the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at this entire immeasurable Volga expanse. .. And forgive me, and forever, forever. - Because where can they meet now? - “I can’t, he thought, I can’t come to this city for no reason, no reason, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him like some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and amazed him. No, this can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his entire future life without her that he was overcome by horror and despair.
“What the hell!” he thought, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. “But what’s wrong with me? It seems this is not the first time - and now... What’s in it?” "What's special and what exactly happened? In fact, it's like some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I spend the whole day now, without her, in this outback?"
He still remembered all of her, with all her slightest features, he remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, the lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice... The feeling of the pleasures he had just experienced with all her feminine charm was still unusually alive in him , but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling that was not there at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday this, as he thought, was only funny acquaintance, and about which there was no one, there was no one to tell now! - “And most importantly, he thought, you’ll never say again! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above the same shining Volga along which this pink steamer!"
I needed to save myself, do something, distract myself, go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took the stack, quickly walked, jingling his spurs, along the empty corridor, ran down the steep stairs to the entrance... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a smart suit, and calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how can you sit so calmly on the box, smoke and generally be simple, careless, indifferent? “Probably I’m the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, heading towards the bazaar.
The market was already leaving. For some reason he walked through the fresh manure among the carts, among the carts with cucumbers, among the new bowls and pots, and the women sitting on the ground vied with each other to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, rang them with their fingers, showing their good quality, men they stunned him, shouted to him, “Here are the first-class cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid and absurd that he fled from the market. He entered the cathedral, where they were singing loudly, cheerfully and decisively, with the consciousness of a fulfilled duty, then he walked for a long time, circling around a small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of a mountain, above the boundless light steel expanse of the river... Shoulder straps and buttons of his jacket it was so hot that it was impossible to touch them. The inside of his cap was wet from sweat, his face was burning... Returning to the hotel, he entered with pleasure into the large and empty cool dining room on the ground floor, took off his cap with pleasure and sat down at a table near the open window, through which there was a heat, but everything -there was a breath of air, and I ordered a botvina with ice. Everything was good, there was immense happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the market smells, in this whole unfamiliar town and in this old county hotel there was it, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, snacked on lightly salted cucumbers with dill and felt that he, without a second thought, would die tomorrow if he could by some miracle return her, spend another, this day, with her - spend only then, only then, to tell her and prove it somehow, to convince her how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her... Why prove it? Why convince? He didn’t know why, but it was more necessary than life.
Outside the window blue sky, summer may be coming to an end - perhaps this is the last, farewell salvo - but it is still hot and there is a lot, a lot of sun. And I remembered Bunin’s magnificent summer story “Sunstroke”. I took it and re-read it first thing in the morning. Bunin is one of my favorite writers. How perfectly he wields his “writer’s sword”! What precise language, what a rich still life of descriptions he always has!
And it doesn’t leave such positive impressions at all "Sunstroke", which was based on the story Nikita Mikhalkov. As a film critic, I couldn’t help but remember this film.
Let's compare both "blows". Despite the difference in types of art, cinema and literature, we have the right to do this. Cinema, as a kind of synthesis of a dynamic picture and narrative text (let’s take music out of the equation, it won’t be needed for analysis), cannot do without literature. It is assumed that any movie, at a minimum, begins with a script. The script, as in our case, can be based on any narrative work.
On the other hand (at first glance, this idea may seem absurd) literature cannot do without “cinema”! This is despite the fact that cinema appeared quite recently, thousands of years later than literature. But I put cinema in quotes - its role is played by our imagination, which, in the process of reading a particular book, creates the movement of visual images within our consciousness.
A good author doesn't just write a book. He sees all events, even the most fantastic ones, with his own eyes. That’s why you believe such a writer. The director tries to translate his images, his vision into cinema with the help of actors, interiors, objects and a camera.
At these points of contact between cinema and literature, we can compare the emotions from Bunin’s story and from the film created on its basis. And in our case, we have two completely different works. And the point here is not only in the free interpretation that the director allowed himself - his film is an independent work, he certainly has the right to this. However…
However, look (read) how quickly and easily Bunin’s lady agrees to adultery. “Oh, do as you want!” she says at the beginning of the story and goes ashore with the lieutenant for one night, so that later they will never meet, but remember their date all their lives. What lightness and weightlessness Bunin has! How accurately this mood is conveyed! How perfectly described is this flash of love, this sudden desire, this impossible accessibility and blissful frivolity!
As in every Bunin story, the description of the provincial town where he ended up is masterfully given. main character. And how precisely the gradual transition from this atmosphere of a miracle that occurred to the strong gravity of boundless longing for past happiness, for lost paradise is shown. After parting for the lieutenant the world gradually fills with lead weight, becomes meaningless.
With Mikhalkov, the heaviness is immediately felt. The film clearly states two worlds, before and after the 1917 Revolution. The world “before” is shown in light, soft tones, in the world “after” there are cold and gloomy colors, gloomy gray-blue. In the world “before” there is a steamboat, a cloud, ladies in lace and with umbrellas, here everything happens according to the plot of Bunin’s “blow”. In the world “after” - drunken sailors, a dead peacock and commissars in leather jackets - from the first shots we are shown the “damned days”, difficult times. But we don’t need a “heavy” new world; let’s focus on the old one, where the lieutenant gets a “sunstroke” and falls in love with a young fellow traveler. Things are not easy for Nikita Sergevich there either.
To get the lady and Lieutenant Mikhalkov to get along, it took some tricks, absurdities, dancing and heavy drinking. It was necessary to show how water drips from the tap (by the way, I have a similar problem), and the pistons work in the engine room. And even a gas scarf, flying from place to place, did not help... It did not create an atmosphere of lightness.
The lieutenant needed to create a hysterical scene in front of the lady. It’s hard, Nikita Sergeevich, it’s very hard and unbearable for your man and woman to come together. Clumsy, clumsy, awkward. This could only happen at Soviet resorts, and not in Russia, which you, Nikita Sergeevich, lost. Ivan Alekseevich wrote about something completely different! Three hours after meeting, the lieutenant asks the lady: “Let’s get off!”, and they get off on an unfamiliar pier - “crazy...” Buninsky’s lieutenant sets a pickup truck record. And in Mikhalkov, the Russian officer is afraid of women, then he faints in front of a naked courtesan (see “The Barber of Siberia”), then he gets very drunk in order to explain himself to the lady.
According to Mikhalkov, their subsequent labor of love, which Bunin did not describe, is also difficult, and there is also a certain lightness of the hint - the reader will imagine everything himself. And in the film, the camera leads us to a woman’s chest, abundantly dotted with drops of sweat - what were they doing there? Was the furniture moved in the hotel? Let's go! Vulgar and vulgar! The view from the window in the morning is vulgar: the sun, a green hill and a path leading to the church. Sweet and cloying. It makes me sick!
Many scenes that Bunin does not have are absurd and crudely pasted on. They deserve only bewilderment. For example, a magician in a restaurant uses the example of a lemon with a seed to explain to the lieutenant the theory of Marx’s “Capital”. What kind of nonsense is this? These unnecessary scenes only create a bad aftertaste, as if you drank some mutterings that hit your brain hard.
Nikita Sergeevich, of course, is a master of his craft. This cannot but be recognized when you see how his camera works, what angles it captures, how the picture is staged. And the actors can’t say that they play poorly in the film, sometimes they even do great! But when everything is glued together into a single picture, it turns out to be some kind of rubbish and porridge. It's like you're spending time in a bad, incoherent dream.
Mikhalkov tries every now and then to create a new film language, but it is impossible to watch all of his latest films, this is schizophrenia, not cinema. Failure follows failure. This is what happened with his last “Sunstroke”.
What is love? Scientists, philosophers, poets and writers have been asking this question for centuries. Among the latter, Ivan Alekseevich Bunin occupies a special place. Each of his works is a search for true love, the discovery of its infinite number of facets and shades. Each hero of his amazing stories comes to one thing: love is a feeling that is both a great gift and a powerful test. The story written in 1927 is a clear confirmation of this. Our site offers a short story by I.A. Bunin “Sunstroke” read online.
The main characters of the work are he and she. The author omitted their names, thereby emphasizing the repeating “formula” of the plot - an unexpected meeting, rapid rapprochement, an outburst of feelings and inevitable separation. However, there is also a third character lurking between the lines - dazzling sunlight. The reader feels it everywhere: among the “bright and hotly lit dining room on the deck,” and among the houses of an “unfamiliar town” saturated with heat, and among the “terribly stuffy, hotly heated” hotel room, and in the lieutenant’s memories of seductive, tan-smelling hands heroines. Literally everything is saturated with fire, glitter and heat. So what kind of light is this: “too much love”, “too much happiness” or a fleeting, rapid passion that leaves behind a sharp aftertaste? A clear answer from I.A. Bunin doesn't give it. For a writer, the sphere of human feelings is the sphere of the greatest, incomprehensible mystery, an infinitely deep ocean, the bottom of which is impossible to reach. These depths cannot but frighten. But they also inspire. People fall into them and often drown. But at the same time, they find in them that which cannot be measured and reach the highest point of true love.
You can download the story “Sunstroke” for free on our website.
“Sunstroke,” like most of Bunin’s prose from the emigration period, has a love theme. In it, the author shows that shared feelings can give rise to a serious love drama.
L.V. Nikulin in his book “Chekhov, Bunin, Kuprin: literary portraits" indicates that initially the story "Sunstroke" was called by the author "Casual Acquaintance", then Bunin changed the name to "Ksenia". However, both of these names were crossed out by the author, because did not create Bunin’s mood, “sound” (the first simply reported the event, the second named the potential name of the heroine).
The writer settled on the third, most successful option - “Sunstroke”, which figuratively conveys the state experienced by the main character of the story and helps to reveal the essential features of Bunin’s vision of love: suddenness, brightness, short-term feeling, instantly capturing a person and, as it were, burning him to the ground.
We learn little about the main characters in the story. The author does not indicate names or ages. With this technique, the writer seems to elevate his characters above the environment, time and circumstances. The story has two main characters - a lieutenant and his companion. They had only known each other for a day and could not imagine that an unexpected acquaintance could turn into a feeling that neither of them had experienced in their entire lives. But the lovers are forced to part, because... in the writer’s understanding, everyday life is contraindicated for love and can only destroy and kill it.
There is a direct polemic here with one of the famous stories A.P. Chekhov's "The Lady with the Dog", where the same unexpected meeting of the heroes and the love that visited them continues, develops over time, and overcomes the test of everyday life. The author of “Sunstroke” could not make such a plot decision, because “ordinary life” does not arouse his interest and lies outside the scope of his love concept.
The writer does not immediately give his characters the opportunity to realize everything that happened to them. The whole story of the heroes’ rapprochement is a kind of exposition of the action, preparation for the shock that will happen in the soul of the lieutenant later, and which he will not immediately believe. This happens after the hero, having seen off his companion, returns to the room. At first, the lieutenant is struck by a strange feeling of emptiness in his room.
IN further development action, the contrast between the absence of the heroine in the real surrounding space and her presence in the soul and memory of the protagonist gradually intensifies. Inner world The lieutenant is filled with a feeling of improbability, unnaturalness of everything that happened and the unbearable pain of loss.
The writer conveys the hero's painful love experiences through changes in his mood. At first, the lieutenant’s heart is compressed with tenderness, he grieves, while trying to hide his confusion. Then there is a kind of dialogue between the lieutenant and himself.
Bunin pays especially close attention to the hero’s gestures, his facial expressions and glances. His impressions are also important, manifested in the form of phrases spoken out loud, quite elementary, but percussive. Only occasionally is the reader given the opportunity to find out the thoughts of the hero. In this way, Bunin builds his psychological author’s analysis - both secret and overt.
The hero tries to laugh, to drive away sad thoughts, but he fails. Every now and then he sees objects that remind him of the stranger: a rumpled bed, a hairpin, an unfinished cup of coffee; smells her perfume. This is how torment and melancholy arise, leaving no trace of the former lightness and carelessness. Showing the abyss that lies between the past and the present, the writer emphasizes the subjective and lyrical experience of time: the momentary present spent with the heroes together and that eternity into which time without his beloved grows for the lieutenant.
Having parted with the heroine, the lieutenant realizes that his life has lost all meaning. It is even known that in one of the editions of “Sunstroke” it was written that the lieutenant was persistently contemplating suicide. So, literally before the reader’s eyes, a kind of metamorphosis takes place: in the place of a completely ordinary and unremarkable army lieutenant, a man appeared who thinks in a new way, suffers and feels ten years older.
