From Sukhumi, the travellers continued their journey by boat to Batumi, and then travelled inland to Tbilisi and Baku along the Georgian Military Highway, which Chekhov felt was 'poetry, not a road, an amazing, fantastic story'.68 They intended to cross the Caspian Sea and go со Persia via Bukhara and Samarkand, but their epic journey was abruptly curtailed by news of the death of Suvorin Jr's brother from diphtheria Having guiltily bypassed the grieving family in Feodosia, and now keen to get home, Chekhov did not feel quite in the mood to visit his relatives in Taganrog when his train stopped there: it was 6 August, the Day of the Transfiguration, and he knew his relatives would be in St Mnrofan's Church, whose cupola he could see from the station.69 Within days Chekhov was back in the Ukraine, but already dreaming of going to Constantinople and Mount Athos the following year.
Ensconced again at the Lintvaryovs' tumbledown estate, he found it hard to imagine he had really seen dolphins, waterfalls, mountain crevasses, and trees entangled with creepers that were like veils in the tropica] heat... It was the middle of August and in the Ukraine peasants were bringing the grain to be threshed; an endless string of squeaking carts seemed to pass the Chekhovs' dacha on the way to the barn.70 Looking out through the window at the mass of green foliage sparkling in the late summer sunshine, Chekhov began to grow dejected at the thought of the 'prose of Moscow life' to which he would shortly have to return, with its cold weather, bad plays and 'Russian thoughts'. He made another trm to the Poltava region to try to buy a khutor, but could not agree a pi ce with the owner. Seeing all the grain being threshed made him remember the long summer days of his boyhood that he had to spend by the threshing machine noting down weights, while staying with his grandfather out ;n the steppe: the slow carts, the clouds of dust, the sweaty faces and low wolf-like noise produced by the machine were etched .11 his memory as clearly as *Our Father', he sa d.71
After the ecstasies of the first summer spent at Luka, Chekhov was keen to return the following year. This time he rented two separate annexes for his fam y, n order to have more space for guests. At first everything was as before. Chekhov had written very little in the summer of 1888, but now he found he was able to write every day, and the Lintvaryovs seemed even more charming than the previous year. It was soon incredibly hot, which meant having to go swimming at least twice a day, and sleeping with all the windows open. T can't believe my eyes,' Chekhov wrote in early May:
... Not long ago it was snowy and cold and now I am cutting by an open window listening to nightingales, hoopoes, orioles and other such creatures shouting unceasingly in the garden. The Psyol is magnificently gentle, the colours of the sky and the horizon are warm. The apples and cherries are in blossom. There are geese walking around with their young. In a word, spring has arr<ved in full force.72
But the restless Chekhov constantly needed new experiences, and he confessed as much to a fnend, adding that his brother's constant coughing in the room next door was not helping his rather flat mood. He wished he were not a doctor and so aware of what was going on.
The thirty year-oid art ist Nikolai was indeed now very sick with tuberculo: is, and the hours Chekhov spent crayfishing were dominated by gloomy thoughts of his brother's imminent death They had brought Nikola down fr-pm^ Moscow .n a first-class compartment, and were wax :ing oh him hand and foot. For the first month he had been able to go outside, but now he was mostly confined indoors and unable to breathe easily lying down. He dreamed of getting well and being able to paint again. On 4 June, Chekhov wrote with a heavy heart to his doctor colleague Nikola Obolonsky about his condirior Guests helped - Chekhov confessed that felt he was in a tiny boat in the middle of the ocean when he was alone. His friend Suvorin came down from Petersburg to visit in early May, and he and Chekhov did a lot of fish. ng But the strain was beginning to take its toll, and Chekhov was re'ieved when his brother Alexander also arrived from Petersburg to take over some of the duties of caring for Nikolai. Chekhov needed a break, and on 16 June he set out with his brother Ivan, his guest Pavel Svobod:n, and the Lintvaryovs on a v sit to the Smagins estate. As luck would have it, Nikolai died early the follov mg morning, and a telegram brought everyone back home on an excruciating journey invoh ;ng an eight-hour wait at a remote railway station until two in the morning. For want of anything better to do, Chekhov set off to look round the town, and had sac freezing on a park bench where he overheard actors rehearsing a melodrama behind a wall.
Chekhov was overcome w.ch gu;11, and felt that the dreadful weather on the journey had been his punishment for abandoning Nikolai:
Wet and cold, we arrived at the Smagms at night, got into cold beds and went to sleep to the sound of cold rain. In the morning there was the same revolting Vologda weather; I'll never forget the muddy road, the grey sky or the tears on the trees for my whole life - it will be impossible to forget because the next morning a man came from Mirgorod with a wet telegram: 'Kolya has died.'74
With the exception of the early loss of the infant Evgenia, the Chekhovs had not really experienced death in the family and were completely grief-stricken to see Nikolai in a coffin; Anton was the only one not to cry, Alexander wrote bitterly to their father in Moscow.75 Nikolai was buried in the tranquil village cemetery, which smelled of creepi lg velvetgrass and was full of birds singing their hearts out, Chekhov told one of his brother's friends by letter, with his grave marked by a cross you could see from a long way off. The funeral proceeded according to the local custom, with the family carrying the open coffin on their shoulders, accompanied by banners and the tolling of the church bells. A memorial service was conducted on the ninth day, as was traditional in the Orthodox Church. The detail of the extremely long letter Misha sent to Pavel Egorovich in Moscow two days after Nikolai's death speaks eloquently of how shaken the family were:
Soon they started ringing the bell for the deceased in the church on someone's instruction, the priest came with his assistant, they served a ser ice for the dead, during wh'ch many tears were shed; then the services for the dead started to be held every day, tw ce, at 11 in the morning and 7 in the evening. The deceased lay surrounded by flowers with an incredibly peaceful, but very emaciated, expression on his face. The first day was dreadful for us. Towards evening the assistant came and started to read psalms, and about three old women who had agreed to sit with the body all night came too. I made Mama go and lie down; she wanted to stay up and keep watch over Kolya all night came too. We sent Masha, who was worn out with crying, to stay the night in the big house with the Lintvaryovs. It was an awful nigftt. The next morni ig the crying started again, and everyone soobed dui mg the service for the dead in the morning; эиг family, other people too, our landlords and the peasants. At midday a coffin with white brocade was brought from town and we put Kolya into it only during the evening service, on Mama's insistence. The coffin was covered with a veil and surrounded with wreaths and flowers. Psalms were read all the following night again, and you could hear the muffled conversations of the old ladies sitting by the coffin. When we started to take Kolya to the church the next morning, mother and Masha were sobbing so much it was terrible to look at them. Masha and the Lintvaryov ladies cook out the coffin lid, but the coffin was carried by six of us: Antosna, Vanya, Sasha, me, Ivanenko and Egor Mikhailovich Lintvaryov. We said prayers at every corner. The service was very formal, with the church completely lit up; everyone thert held candles. During the service a cross was taken out to the cemetery, and at home all the rooms were cleaned and swept and the furniture was taken outside. We took the coffin out of the church the same way. We carried it |ti|) open and only closed it by the grave itself. We sa d prayers at every corner and the priest read the Gospel A lot of people followed the coffin. Icons were carried with the coffin, like in Taganrog, as if it was a church procession. Everyone sobbed at the cemetery when we had to say goodbye,„mother was.grieving and could not bring herself to part with the body. The coffin was lowered into the grave, it was covered over, a cross was put up and Kolya was buried. The wake was very modest: all the locals who had taken part in the funeral were gi/en a pie, a handkerch'ef and a glass of vodka, and the clergy and the Lintvaryovs had lunch and tea with us. After lunch Mama and I went to the cemetery again, Mama mourned and cried, and then we came back.76