A dill pickle is short story which tells about a woman who meets again with his beloved former that she hasn’t seen for six years. They were met again at the Cafe unintentionally. She Is Vera. A woman who Is really loved the man, but she also was broken the relationship with him. She came from rich family. It can see when she had a little pot of caviar which had cost seven and six pence. She really likes playing piano. On the other hand, the man who is really loved Vera too, came from poor family.
But It changes after six years later and he go around to many countries. He often Interrupts the conversation, especially with Vera. It made Vera hate him. That his habit didn’t change until they have meeting again. Beside that, the man is so self engrossed and often unconcerned his sweetheart, Vera. He always busy with himself than anybody else. But, between Vera and the man have some similarities, such as egoist, loved one another, and have desire to go to Russia. The story began when Vera looks the man who was sitting at one of those little bamboo tables decorated with a Japanese vase of paper daffodils.
We usually called Cafe. The situation of this eating is so quiet, like The Cafe which nothing visitors beside them. Both of them felt shocked when their eyes view one another. The man Invited Vera to sit with him and have coffee. Hesitate, she complies it. After Vera sits, they are making little conversation. But suddenly the man interrupts her, call the waitress, to order some foods. It was remind Vera to six years ago when the man stopped in the middle of what she was saying. It’s same, nothing changes until they’re met again. The man retell about the sweet memory at Eke Gardens, when he didn’t know the names of any flowers.
Finally, he knew it one by one, such as Geranium, Marigold, and Verbena. It was a sweet memory for him. Different with him, Vera don’t think so. It was a bad memory for her. Why? Because the man made she felt embarrassing In front of many people with his behavior. How she had suffered. In the warmth, as It were, another memory unfolded. However they were making romantic activities like other couple. The setting moves to the Cafe again. The man offered Vera smoking. Smoking reminded him to Russia. Then, he retell about his Journey for six years. He spent time with traveling to Spain. Corsica, Siberia, Russia.
Egypt, and China. Vera felt envy to him, because she is really wanted to go to Russia. She was not reach it yet, but the man has go there. Russia is a special country for the man, because it has changes his sadness become happiness. Before he retells about Russia, he was remind about boatman’s song that Vera often Like while playing piano. But, she doesn’t have Plano anymore for ages ago. Her piano was sold. The man didn’t care about it. He starts to tell that he even spent some days on a river boat on the Volta. He had imagined the situation on that river. He can Join with Russian without necessary knowing the language.
The Russian life is so free. And the peasants are so splendid. It can see when he offers a dill pickle to the wife of his friends, while they were place at the Black Sea. The dill Pickle was terribly sour. The man describes it indirectly. He used 1 OF 7 listener for the man. She was changes his life. He had never spoken to anybody before. After he met Vera, he has become accustomed to spoken with other people. Suddenly, the situation became unpleasant when the man tells about a letter, how Vera broken their relationship, while laughing. It made Vera feel offended what he saying. It was so hurt for her and she is crying.
Then, Vera stand up and ready to go away. But, the man restrains her with caught up one of her gloves from the table. But, Vera can take her gloves again. Vera is a special woman for the man. So do Vera. She felt regret had broken the man. He is the only man who had ever understood her. But, all is too late for her. She go away from the Cafe without touch the cream or saying goodbye. She leaves him alone. She had gone. He sat there, like a thunder-struck, without any words. And then he asked the waitress for his bill. But, e don’t want to pay the cream because it has not been touched. So, the plot of this story is flashback.
And the writer position in this story is omniscient point of view. It can see trough external narrator who refers to protagonist in the third person. The protagonist character is Vera and the antagonist character is the man. I think the coda is “chance will never back again”. So, used your chance efficiently, and don’t forget to think before act! ; This is a story about a young man and a young woman who had been lovers once and now meet again after six years of separation, and as they reminisce, we begin to now what happened six years ago that finally led to the end of their relationship.
In the story, the author artfully points up Vera, the heroine’s sensitivity and the man’s insensitivity to others-? their feeling, attitudes and motivations,and the man’s self- involvement. AND then, after six years, she saw him again. He was seated at one of those little bamboo tables decorated with a Japanese vase of paper daffodils. There was a tall plate of fruit in front of him, and very carefully, in a way she recognized immediately as his “special” way, he was peeling an orange. He must have felt that shock of connection in her for he looked up and met her eyes.
Incredible! He didn’t know her! She smiled; he frowned. She came towards him. He closed his eyes an instant, but opening them his face lit up as though he had struck a match in a dark room. He laid down the orange and pushed back his chair, and she took her little warm hand out of her muff and gave it to him. “Vera! ” he exclaimed. “How strange. Really, for a moment I didn’t know you. Won’t you sit down? You’ve had lunch? Wont you have some coffee? ” She hesitated, but of course she meant to. “Yes, I’d like some coffee. ” And she sat down opposite him. “You’ve changed.
You’ve changed very much,” he said, staring at her with that eager, lighted look. “You look so well. I’ve never seen you look so well before. ” “Really? ” She raised her veil and unbuttoned her high fur collar. “l don’t feel very well. I can’t bear this weather, you know. ” “Ah, no. You hate the cold.. “Loathe it. ” She shuddered. “And the worst of it is that the older one grows ” He interrupted her. “Excuse me,” and tapped on the table for the waitress. “Please bring some coffee and cream. ” To her: “You are sure you wont eat anything? Some fruit, perhaps. The fruit here is very good. “No, thanks. Nothing. ” Then that’s settled. ” And smiling Just a hint too broadly he took up the orange again. “You were saying-the older one grows-” “The colder,” she laughed. But she was thinking how well she remembered that trick of his-the trick of interrupting her-and of how it used to exasperate her six years ago. She used to feel then as though he, quite suddenly, in the middle of what she was saying, put his hand over her lips, turned from her, attended to something different, and then took his hand away, and are ready. That is settled. “The colder! ” He echoed her words, laughing too. Ah, ah. You still say the same things. And there is another thing about you that is not changed [Page 230] at all-your beautiful voice-your beautiful way of speaking. ” Now he was very grave; he leaned towards her, and she smelled the warm, stinging scent of the orange peel. “You have only to say one word and I would know your voice among all other voices. I don’t know what it is-I’ve often wondered-that makes your voice such a-haunting memory…. Do you remember that first afternoon we spent together at Eke Gardens? You were so surprised because I did not know the names of any flowers.
I am still Just as ignorant for all your telling me. But whenever it is very fine and warm, and I see some bright colors-it’s awfully strange-I hear your voice saying: ‘Geranium, marigold, and verbena. ‘ And I feel those three words are all I recall of some forgotten, heavenly language…. You remember that afternoon? ” “Oh, yes, very well. ” She drew a long, soft breath, as though the paper daffodils between them were almost too sweet to bear. Yet, what had remained in her mind of that particular afternoon was an absurd scene over the tea table.
A great many people taking tea in a Chinese pagoda, and he behaving like a maniac about the wasps-waving them way, flapping at them with his straw hat, serious and infuriated out of all proportion to the occasion. How delighted the gingering tea drinkers had been. And how she had suffered. But now, as he spoke, that memory faded. His was the truer. Yes, it had been a wonderful [Page 231] afternoon, full of geranium and marigold and verbena, and-warm sunshine. Her thoughts lingered over the last two words as though she sang them. In the warmth, as it were, another memory unfolded.
She saw herself sitting on a lawn. He lay beside her, and suddenly, after a long silence, he rolled over and put his head in her lap. L wish,” he said, in a low, troubled voice, “l wish that I had taken poison and were about to die-here now! ” At that moment a little girl in a white dress, holding a long, dripping water lily, dodged from behind a bush, stared at them, and dodged back again. But he did not see. She leaned over him. “Ah, why do you say that? I could not say that. ” But he gave a kind of soft moan, and taking her hand he held it to his cheek. Because I know I am going to love you too much-far too much. And I shall suffer so terribly, Vera, because you never, never will love me. ” He was certainly far better looking now than he had been then. He had lost all that dreamy vagueness and indecision. Now he had the air of a man who has found his place in life, and fills it with a confidence and an assurance which was, to say the least, impressive. He must have made money, too. His clothes were admirable, and at that moment he pulled a Russian cigarette case out of his pocket. [Page 232] “Won’t you smoke? ” “Yes, I will. She hovered over them. “They look very good. ” “l think they are. I get them made for me by a little man in SST. Sesame’s Street. I don’t smoke very much. I’m not like you-but when I do, they must be delicious, very fresh cigarettes. Smoking isn’t a habit with me; it’s a luxury-like perfume. Are you still so fond of perfumes? Ah, when I was in Russia ” She broke in: “You’ve really been to Russia? ” “Oh, yes. I was there for over a year. Have you forgotten how we used to talk of going there? ” “No, I’ve not forgotten. ” He gave a strange half laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Isn’t it curious.
I have places that we talked of, and stayed in them long enough to-as you used to say, ‘air oneself’ in them. In fact, I have spent the last three years of my life traveling all the time. Spain, Corsica, Siberia, Russia, Egypt. The only country left is China, and I mean o go there, too, when the war is over. ” As he spoke, so lightly, tapping the end of his cigarette against the ash-tray, she felt the strange beast that had slumbered so long within her bosom stir, stretch itself, yawn, prick up its ears, and suddenly bound to its feet, and fix its longing, hungry stare upon those far away places.
But all [Page 233] she. Said was, smiling gently: “How I new you. ” He accepted that. “It has been,” he said, “very wonderful-especially Russia. Russia was all that we had imagined, and far, far more. I even spent some days on a river boat on the Volta. Do you remember that ottoman’s song that you used to play? ” “Yes. ” It began to play in her mind as she spoke. “Do you ever play it now? ” “No, I’ve no piano. ” He was amazed at that. “But what has become of your beautiful piano? ” She made a little grimace. “Sold. Ages ago. ” “But you were so fond of music,” he wondered. I’ve no time for it now,” said she. He let it go at that. “That river life,” he went on, “is something quite special. After a day or two you cannot realize that you have ever known another. And it is not necessary to know the language-the life of the boat creates a bond between you and the people that’s more than sufficient. You eat with them, pass the day with them, and in the evening there is that endless singing. ” She shivered, hearing the boatman’s song break out again loud and tragic, and seeing the boat floating on the darkening river with melancholy trees on either side…. Yes, I should like that,” said she, stroking her muff. [Page 234] “You’d like almost everything about Russian life,” he said warmly. “It’s so informal, so impulsive, so free without question. And then the peasants are so splendid. They are such human beings-yes, that is it. Even the man who drives your carriage has-has some real part in what is happening. I remember he evening a party of us, two friends of mine and the wife of one of them, went for a picnic by the Black Sea. We took supper and champagne and ate and drank on the grass. And while we were eating the coachman came up. Have a dill pickle,’ he said. He wanted to share with us. That seemed to me so right, so-you know what I mean? ” And she seemed at that moment to be sitting on the grass beside the mysteriously Black Sea, black as velvet, and rippling against the banks in silent, velvet waves. She saw the carriage drawn up to one side of the road, and the little group on the grass, their faces and hands white in the moonlight. She saw the pale dress of the woman outspread and her folded parasol, lying on the grass like a huge pearl crochet hook. Apart from them, with his supper in a cloth on his knees, sat the coachman. Have a dill pickle,” said he, and although she was not certain what a dill pickle was, she saw the greenish glass Jar with a red chili like a parrot’s beak glimmering through. She sucked in her cheeks; the dill pickle was terribly sour…. “Yes, I know perfectly what you mean,” she said. [Page 235] In the pause that followed they looked at each other. In the past when they had looked at each other like that they had felt such a arms round each other and dropped into the same sea, content to be drowned, like mournful lovers. But now, the surprising thing was that it was he who held back.
He who said: “What a marvelous listener you are. When you look at me with those wild eyes I feel that I could tell you things that I would never breathe to another human being. ” Was there Just a hint of mockery in his voice or was it her fancy? She could not be sure. “Before I met you,” he said, “l had never spoken of myself to anybody. How well I remember one night, the night that I brought you the little Christmas tree, telling you all about my childhood. And of how I was so miserable that I ran away and lived under a cart in our yard for two days without being discovered.
And you listened, and your eyes shone, and I felt that you had even made the little Christmas tree listen too, as in a fairy story. ” But of that evening she had remembered a little pot of caviar. It had cost seven and sixpence. He could not get over it. Think of it-a tiny Jar like that costing seven and sixpence. While she ate it he watched her, delighted and shocked. “No, really, that is eating money. You could not [Page 236] get seven shillings into a little pot that size. Only think of the profit they must make. ” And he had begun some immensely complicated calculations…. But now good-bye to the caviar.
The Christmas tree was on the table, and the little boy lay under the cart with his head pillowed on the yard dog. “The dog was called Boson,” she cried delightedly. But he did not follow. “Which dog? Had you a dog? I don’t remember a dog at all. ” “No, no. I meant the yard dog when you were a little boy. ” He laughed and snapped the cigarette case to. “Was he? Do you know I had forgotten that. It seems such ages ago. I cannot believe that it is only six years. After I had recognized you today-I had to take such a leap-I had to take a leap over my whole life to get back to that time. I was such a kid then. ” He drummed on the table. I’ve often thought how I must have bored you. And now I understand so perfectly why you wrote to me as you did- although at the time that letter nearly finished my life. I found it again the other day, and I couldn’t help laughing as I read it. It was so clever-such a true picture of me. ” He glanced up. “You’re not going? ” She had buttoned her collar again and drawn down her veil. “Yes, I am afraid I must,” she said, and [Page 237] managed a smile. Now she knew that he had been mocking. “Ah, no, please,” he pleaded. “Don’t go Just for a moment,” and he caught up one of her gloves from the table and clutched at it as if that would hold her. L see so few people to talk to nowadays, that I have turned into a sort of barbarian,” he said. “Have I said something to hurt you? ” “Not a bit,” she lied. But as she watched him draw her glove through his fingers, gently, gently, her anger really did die down, and besides, at the moment he looked more like himself of six years ago…. “What I really wanted then,” he said softly, “was to be a sort of carpet-to aka myself into a sort of carpet for you to walk on so that you need not be hurt by the sharp stones and mud that you hated so.
It was nothing more positive than that- nothing more selfish. Only I did desire, eventually, to turn into a magic carpet and carry you away to all those lands you longed to see. ” As he spoke she lifted her head as though she drank something; the strange beast in her bosom began to purr … “L felt that you were more lonely than anybody else in the world,” he went on, “and yet, out of your time,” he murmured, stroking the glove, “fated. ” Ah, God! What had she done! How had she [Page 238] dared to throw away her happiness like this.
This was the only man who had ever understood her. Was it too late? Could it be too late? She was that glove that he held in his fingers…. “And then the fact that you had no friends and never had made friends with people. How I understood that, for neither had l. Is it Just the same now? ” “Yes,” she breathed. “Just the same. I am as alone as ever. ” “So am l,” he laughed gently, “Just the same. ” Suddenly with a quick gesture he handed her back the glove and scraped his chair on the floor. “But what seemed to me so mysterious then is perfectly plain to me now.
And to you, too, of It simply was that we were such egoists, so self-engrossed, so wrapped up course. In ourselves that we hadn’t a corner in our hearts for anybody else. Do you know,” he cried, naive and hearty, and dreadfully like another side of that old self again, “l began studying a Mind System when I was in Russia, and I found that we were not peculiar at all. It’s quite a well-known form of ” She had gone. He sat there, thunder-struck, astounded beyond words …. And then he asked the waitress for his bill. “But the cream has not been touched,” he said. “Please do not charge me for it.