A short story by Russian writer Chekhov about pain
It talks about an old farmer - a human being - who carried his sick wife in the back seat of the carriage drawn by an emaciated horse, and carried her to the distant city to treat her...
On the long road, the man began to speak, as if he were communing with himself, but at the same time he was consoling his sick wife, who had lived with him for forty years in misery, misery, and suffering, toiling and toiling, helping him in the field, and bearing the burdens of the house alone...
Now... I feel that I have been harsh with you over the past years, and that I should treat you kindly and softly, and that I should give you kind words. He told her that he had wronged her, and that life had also wronged her, because he did not find the time, in his daily life, to say a kind, sweet, sweet word to her. Or he gives her a pure, gentle smile like water, or gives her a moment of tenderness!!!
The man continued to speak with sadness and grief all the way, and the words etched a stream in the human soul, just as water falling on rock etches deep lines. To compensate her - with words - for what she had lost over the past forty years, in terms of love, tenderness, and the warmth of married life, and he began to make promises to her that he would grant her everything she wanted and wished for for the rest of her life...
When he arrived in the city, he got out of the front seat and carried her from the back seat, in his arms for the first time in his life, to the doctor and found her dead. She had been a cold corpse for a long time. She died on the way, she died before she heard his sweet, compassionate talk!!!
And here stops the story of pain, written by #Chekhov to leave us, how many of us are represented by this old farmer who was communing with himself.