Chap­ter II reveals how the vil­lage of Uklee­vo thrives not only on labor but on the dra­ma born from its tight­ly woven com­mu­ni­ty. The Tsy­bukin fam­i­ly’s inter­nal dis­putes rip­ple through the town like waves, their argu­ments and rec­on­cil­i­a­tions watched and dis­cussed by vil­lagers like a recur­ring play. These spectacles—though some­times caus­ing tem­po­rary busi­ness halts—breathe life into a place where rou­tine can eas­i­ly lull the spir­it into apa­thy. When­ev­er the family’s dis­agree­ments esca­late, the fac­to­ry slows or stops, cre­at­ing not just eco­nom­ic gaps but con­ver­sa­tion­al fuel for the locals. Vil­lagers find amuse­ment and dis­trac­tion in these quar­rels, using them as a lens through which to exam­ine their own mun­dane lives. Amid these cycles of chaos and calm, pub­lic events like races or impromp­tu feasts offer brief but trea­sured escapes.

Anisim’s reap­pear­ance marks a break from this rhythm, a dis­rup­tion not from scan­dal but from sub­tle unease. Though he is received warm­ly, his behav­ior draws qui­et curiosity—he is too relaxed, too detached. His let­ters, filled with stiff phras­es and awk­ward sen­ti­ment, had built an image of a man torn between two lives. In per­son, that ten­sion becomes clear­er. His charm feels like a mask, one that poor­ly con­ceals deep­er trou­bles beneath his calm smile. His man­ner­isms, picked up in the city, con­trast against the raw direct­ness of vil­lage life, mak­ing even his gen­eros­i­ty feel cal­cu­lat­ed. Peo­ple notice, and while no one speaks their thoughts aloud, sus­pi­cion begins to set­tle like dust.

Var­vara, act­ing with both hope and strat­e­gy, sees mar­riage as a pos­si­ble anchor for Anisim’s way­ward spir­it. The family’s rep­u­ta­tion makes such a plan feasible—wealth, not love, is the cur­ren­cy of these unions. With Lipa, a mod­est and love­ly girl from a hum­ble back­ground, a match is arranged not out of affec­tion but align­ment. This arrange­ment reflects a long-stand­ing belief in social order—that a good name can ele­vate any flaw, and that a union blessed by mon­ey will endure. Yet beneath the sur­face, doubts stir. Anisim’s inter­est seems shal­low, more respon­sive than proac­tive. His mind drifts often, as if his body is present but his thoughts remain entan­gled in dis­tant trou­bles.

Torgue­vo becomes more than a vil­lage back­drop; it intro­duces the qui­et pres­ence of Lipa and her moth­er, women shaped by hard­ship. Their sim­ple home, though small, offers warmth and dig­ni­ty. The widow’s life has been shaped by rep­e­ti­tion and resilience, while Lipa’s inno­cence offers a strik­ing con­trast to the com­plex­i­ty Anisim brings with him. As talk of mar­riage spreads, Torgue­vo begins to buzz with cau­tious opti­mism. For the wid­ow, the match is a rare bless­ing; for Lipa, it brings silent anx­i­ety. She knows lit­tle of Anisim, and her heart is unsure, but she obeys with the qui­et resolve expect­ed of daugh­ters like her.

This union, though approved by all, under­scores the emo­tion­al dis­so­nance between oblig­a­tion and desire. While fam­i­lies cheer and plans unfold, Anisim remains curi­ous­ly pas­sive, going along with the deci­sions made around him. In fleet­ing moments, he seems to regret some­thing unspo­ken, as if a hid­den choice still haunts him. Lipa, too, moves through the engage­ment with an uneasy grace. She sens­es that this path was not cho­sen but carved for her, and though she doesn’t resist, the joy expect­ed of brides nev­er tru­ly lights her face. Their shared silence is loud­er than any bless­ing.

The vil­lage watch­es the devel­op­ments close­ly, some with envy, oth­ers with wor­ry. They know that appear­ances often hide uncom­fort­able truths, and that no feast can mask a mis­match of souls. Yet, soci­ety rarely allows for emo­tion to out­weigh strat­e­gy. The bond between Anisim and Lipa becomes a symbol—of wealth’s dom­i­nance over feel­ing, of con­for­mi­ty over inde­pen­dence. Though their sto­ry begins with promise, its foun­da­tion rests on brit­tle soil. The real test will not be the wed­ding day, but every day that fol­lows. Behind closed doors, the strength of char­ac­ter, not social stature, will deter­mine their fate.

This chap­ter gen­tly reveals how per­son­al iden­ti­ty bends beneath the weight of tra­di­tion. Through Anisim’s return and Lipa’s qui­et com­pli­ance, the read­er glimpses a world where duty often over­shad­ows hap­pi­ness. As their engage­ment unfolds, it becomes clear that beneath the vil­lage’s fes­tive sur­face lies a net­work of expec­ta­tions, sac­ri­fices, and silent com­pro­mis­es. In Uklee­vo, love may be hoped for—but it is nev­er guar­an­teed.