Ivan Bunin

Sunstroke

After dinner they left the brightly and hotly lit dining room on deck and stopped at the rail. She closed her eyes, put her hand outward to her cheek, laughed with a simple, charming laugh—everything was lovely about that little woman—and said:

I seem to be drunk... Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat. In Samara? But still... Is it my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?

Ahead was darkness and lights. 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 sunburn. And my heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and swarthy she must have been all under that light linen dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun on the hot sea sand (she said she was coming from Anapa). The lieutenant muttered:

Let's get off...

Where? she asked in surprise.

At this pier.

He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.

Crazy…

Let's go," he repeated dully. - I beg you…

Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.

The steamer ran with a soft thud into the dimly lit pier, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it rushed back, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed for things.

A minute later they passed the sleepy desk, stepped out onto the deep, hub-deep sand, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle ascent uphill, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft from dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, official places, a tower, warmth and smells of a summer district town at night ... The cabman stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an 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 during the day by the sun, with white curtains drawn down on the windows and two unburned candles on the under-mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years they later 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 a market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar, and again all that complex and odorous smell of a Russian county town, she, this little nameless woman, and without saying her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left. They slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.

No, no, dear, - she said in response to his request to go further together, - no, you must stay until the next boat. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It 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. There has never been anything even similar to what happened to me, and there will never be again. It’s like an eclipse hit me… Or rather, we both got something like a sunstroke…

And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink "Airplane", - kissed her on deck in front of everyone and barely managed to jump onto the gangway, 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-finished cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly contracted with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his tops with a stack, several times walked up and down the room.

Strange adventure! he said aloud, laughing and feeling that tears were welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think ...” And she has already left ...

The screen was drawn back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply did not have the strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat on the sofa ... Yes, that's the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now it’s already far away, probably sitting in a glassy white salon or on deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immense expanse of the Volga ... And forgive, and already forever, forever... Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t come to this city for no reason at all, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would continue to 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 struck him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his whole future life without her that he was seized with horror, despair.

"What the hell! he thought, getting up, again beginning to pace the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - Yes, what is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... But what is special about her and what actually happened? In fact, just some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this outback?

He still remembered her all, with all her slightest features, 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 just experienced pleasures of all her feminine charms was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that strange, incomprehensible feeling, which had not existed at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday, as he thought, only an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, there was no one to tell now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you can never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above that very shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her away!

What is Bunin's story "Sunstroke" about? Of course, about love, it cannot be otherwise. Or rather, not about love - whole, clear and transparent, but about its infinite number of facets and shades. Going through them, you clearly feel how immense and insatiable human desires and feelings are. These depths are frightening and inspiring. Here, the transience, swiftness and charm of every moment are acutely felt. Here they fall and drown - a priori there can be no happy ending. But at the same time, there is an indispensable ascent to that very unattainable true love. So, we present to your attention the story "Sunstroke". A brief summary of it will be given below.

An unexpected acquaintance

Summer. He and she meet on one of the Volga steamships. This is how Bunin's extraordinary story "Sunstroke" begins. She is a young, lovely little woman in a light "canvas" dress. He is a lieutenant: young, light and carefree. After a whole month of lying under the hot sun of Anapa, she returns home to her husband and three-year-old daughter. He is on the same boat. Three hours ago, each of them lived his simple life, unaware of the existence of each other. And suddenly…

After lunch in the "bright and hotly lit dining room," they go out on deck. Ahead - impenetrable darkness and lights. A strong, soft wind constantly beats in the face. The steamer, describing a wide arc, approaches the pier. Unexpectedly, he takes her hand, raises it to his lips and in a whisper begs her to come down without fail. For what? Where? He is silent. It is clear without words: they are on the verge of a risky, crazy and at the same time so seductive enterprise that there is simply no strength to refuse and leave. And they go... Does it end there? summary? Sunstroke is still full of action.

Hotel

A minute later, having collected the necessary things, we passed the “sleepy desk”, stepped on deep sand and silently sat down to the cab. Endless, dusty road. Here they passed the square, some of them stopped near the illuminated entrance of the county hotel. We climbed the old wooden stairs and found ourselves in a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated during the day by the sun. Around clean, tidy, on the windows - white curtains lowered. As soon as they crossed the threshold, and the door closed behind them, the lieutenant abruptly rushed towards her, and both, beside themselves, suffocated in the kiss. Until the end of their days they will remember this moment. Never before or since have they experienced anything like this in their lives, neither he nor she ...

Eclipse or sunstroke?

Ten o'clock in the morning. Outside the window is a sunny, hot and certainly, as it happens only in summer, a happy day. We slept little, but she, having washed and dressed in a second, shone with the freshness of a seventeen-year-old girl. Was she embarrassed? If yes, then very little. All the same simplicity, fun and already prudence emanated from her. The lieutenant offered to go further together, but she refused, otherwise everything would be ruined. There has never been anything like what happened to her, and there never will be again. Maybe it was an eclipse, or maybe something similar to a “sunstroke” happened to them.

He surprisingly easily agreed with her. Happily and carelessly drove her to the pier, just in time for the very departure of the pink steamer. In the same mood he returned to the hotel. However, something has already changed. The room still smelled of her - the smell of her expensive cologne. On the tray was still her cup of unfinished coffee. The bed had not yet been made, and the screen was still drawn aside. Everything to the last centimeter was full of her - and empty. How so? The lieutenant's heart sank. What a weird road trip! After all, there is nothing special either in this, in fact, ridiculous woman, or in this fleeting meeting - all this is not the first time, and yet something is not right ... “Indeed, just some kind of sunstroke!” The story of I. A. Bunin does not end there.

new feelings

What else will the summary tell us? "Sunstroke", the story of I. A. Bunin, then tells about the new feelings of the protagonist. The memory of the smell of her tan, her canvas dress; the memory of the living, so happy and at the same time simple sound of her voice; the memory of the recent pleasures experienced by all her sensuality and female seductiveness - was still alive in him immensely, but had already become secondary. In the first place came a different feeling, hitherto unknown to him, which he did not even suspect, having started this amusing acquaintance for one night the day before. What that feeling was, he couldn't explain to himself. Memories became an insoluble torment, and all further life, either in this God-forgotten town, or in another place, now seemed empty and meaningless. Horror and despair gripped him.

It was necessary to urgently do something in order to escape from obsession, not to look ridiculous. He went out into the city, walked through the bazaar. Soon he returned to the hotel, went into the dining room - large, empty, cool, and drank two or three glasses of vodka in one gulp. It seemed that everything was fine, there was boundless joy and happiness in everything - both in people, and in this summer heat, and in this complex mixture of bazaar smells, and his heart was unbearably aching and torn to pieces. He needs her, and only her, if only for a day. For what? To tell her, to tell her everything that is in his soul - about his enthusiastic love for her. And again the question: "Why, if nothing has changed either in his or in her life?" He couldn't explain the feeling. He knew one thing - this is more important than life itself.

Telegram

Suddenly, an unexpected thought came to him - to send her an urgent telegram with one single phrase that his whole life from now on belongs only to her. This will in no way help him get rid of the torment of sudden, unexpected love, but it will definitely ease his suffering. The lieutenant rushed headlong to the old house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, but stopped halfway in horror - he did not know her name or surname! More than once he asked her, both at dinner and at the hotel, but every time she laughed, calling herself now Marya Marevna, now the overseas princess ... An amazing woman!

Summary: "Sunstroke", I. A. Bunin - conclusion

Where should he go now? What to do? He returned to the hotel tired and broken. The number has already been removed. There was not a single trace of her left - only a hairpin on the night table. Yesterday and this morning seemed to be the deeds of bygone years ... So our summary comes to an end. "Sunstroke" - one of the amazing works of I. Bunin - ends with the same emptiness and hopelessness reigning in the lieutenant's soul. In the evening he got ready, hired a cab, it seems, the same one who brought them at night, and arrived at the pier. The "blue summer night" stretched over the Volga, and the lieutenant sat on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Once again, I would like to remind you that the article is devoted to the story of I. A. Bunin "Sunstroke". The content, conveyed in brief, cannot reflect the spirit, those feelings and emotions that hover invisibly in every line, in every letter of the story, and which make them suffer immeasurably along with the characters. Therefore, reading the work in its entirety is simply necessary.

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| site collection
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| Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
| Sunstroke
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After dinner they left the brightly and hotly lit dining room on deck and stopped at the rail. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh—everything was lovely about that 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. In Samara? But anyway, you're cute. Is it my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?
Ahead was darkness and lights. 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 sunburn. And my heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and swarthy she must have been all under that light linen dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun on the hot sea sand (she said she was coming from Anapa).
The lieutenant muttered:
- Let's go...
- Where? she asked in surprise.
- At this pier.
- For what?
He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.
- Crazy…
"Let's go," he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…
“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.
With a soft thud, the steamer hit the dimly lit pier, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it rushed back, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed for things.
A minute later they passed the sleepy desk, stepped out onto the deep, hub-deep sand, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle ascent uphill, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft from dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, official places, a tower, warmth and smells of a summer district town at night ... The cabman stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an 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 during the day by the sun, with white curtains drawn down on the windows and two unburned candles on the under-mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years they later 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 a market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar, and again all that complex and odorous smell of a Russian county town, she, this little nameless woman, and without saying her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left.

They slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.
“No, no, dear,” she said in response to his request to go on together, “no, you must stay until the next boat. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It 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. There has never been anything even similar to what happened to me, and there will never be again. It’s like an eclipse hit me… Or rather, we both got something like a sunstroke…
And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink "Airplane", - kissed her on deck in front of everyone and barely managed to jump onto the gangway, 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-finished cup was still standing on the tray, but she was no longer there ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly contracted with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his tops with a stack, several times walked up and down the room.
- Strange adventure! he said aloud, 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 has already left ... An absurd woman!
The screen was drawn back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply did not have the strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat on the sofa ... Yes, that's the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now it’s already far away, probably sitting in a glassy white salon or on deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immense expanse of the Volga ... And forgive, and already forever, forever. Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t come to this city for no reason at all, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would continue to 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 struck him. No, it 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 seized by horror, despair.
"What the hell! he thought, getting up, again beginning to pace the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? It seems not for the first time - and now ... But what is special about her and what actually happened? In fact, just some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this outback?
He still remembered her all, with all her slightest features, 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 just experienced pleasures of all her feminine charms was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that painful, incomprehensible feeling, which had not existed at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting yesterday, as he thought, only an amusing acquaintance, and about which there was no one, there was no one to tell now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you can never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above that very shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her away!
I had to escape, something to do, distract myself, somewhere to go. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, quickly walked, clinking his spurs, along an empty corridor, ran down a steep staircase to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a dexterous coat, calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for someone. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how is it possible to sit on the box so calmly, smoke, and in general 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 has already left. 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, take the pots in their hands and knock, ringing their fingers in them, showing their quality factor, peasants deafened him, shouted to him, “Here are the first-class cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid, absurd that he fled from the market. He went into the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, merrily and resolutely, with a sense of accomplishment, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, over the boundless light-steel expanse of the river ... The shoulder straps and buttons of his tunic were so hot that they could not be touched. The band of the cap was wet with sweat inside, his face was on fire ... 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, which smelled of heat, but still blew air, and ordered botvinya with ice. Everything was fine, there was boundless happiness in everything, great joy, even in this heat and in all the smells of the market, in all this unfamiliar town and in this old county inn there was this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka, eating lightly salted cucumbers with dill, and feeling that he would die without hesitation tomorrow, if it were possible by some miracle to bring her back, to spend one more day with her, this day - to spend only then, only then, in order to tell her and prove something, 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.
- The nerves are completely gone! he said, pouring his fifth glass of vodka.
He pushed the botvinia away from him, asked for black coffee and began to smoke and think hard: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid of - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And he suddenly got up again quickly, took a cap and a stack, and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the phrase of a telegram already ready in his head: “From now on, my life is forever, to the grave, yours, in your power.” - But, having reached the old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lives, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know her name or surname! He asked her about it several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:
"Why do you need to know who I am?" I am Marya Marevna, princess from overseas... Isn't that enough for you?
On the corner, near the post office, there was a photographic display case. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and the broadest chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, how absurd, how terrible everything is everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck, - yes, amazed, he now understood this - this terrible "sunstroke", too much love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple—a young man in a long frock coat and white tie, with a buzz cut, stretched out to the front arm in arm with a girl in wedding gauze—transferred his eyes to the portrait of some pretty and playful young lady in a student cap on one side... envy of all these unknown to him, not suffering people, he began to look intently along the street.
- Where to go? What to do?
The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-storied, merchants', with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with a hot, fiery and joyful, but here, as if aimless, sun. In the distance the street rose, stooped and rested against a cloudless, grayish, gleaming sky. There was something southern in it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. It was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with lowered head, squinting from the light, intently looking at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to spur with spur, walked back.
He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. Gathering the last of his strength, he entered his large and empty room. The room was already tidied up, devoid of the last traces of her - only one hairpin, forgotten by her, lay on the night table! He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face - the usual officer's face, gray from sunburn, with a whitish mustache burned out from the sun and bluish whiteness of the eyes, which seemed even whiter from sunburn - now had an excited, crazy expression, and in There was something youthful and profoundly unhappy about a thin white shirt with a stand-up starched collar. He lay down on the bed, on his back, put his dusty boots on the dump. The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and from time to time a light breeze blew them in, blew into the room the heat of the heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty silent world of the Volga. He lay with his hands behind the back of his head, staring intently into space in front of him. Then he clenched his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks from under them, and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, it was stuffy and dry in the room, like in an oven ... And I remembered yesterday and this morning as if they were ten years ago.
He slowly got up, slowly washed himself, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, and drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cab to be brought in, things to be carried out, and, getting into the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, he gave the lackey a whole five rubles.
- And it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night! said the driver cheerfully, taking hold of the reins.
When they went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already turning blue over the Volga, and already many multi-colored lights were scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.
- Delivered exactly! said the driver ingratiatingly.
The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the pier ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on its pier and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the noise of water boiling and running forward under the wheels of a steamboat that had moved a little back ... And it seemed unusually friendly, good from the crowd of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.
A minute later they ran on, up, to the same place where they had taken her this morning.
The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multi-colored reflected in the river, which still shone here and there in trembling ripples far below it, under this dawn, and the lights scattered in the darkness all around floated and floated back.
The lieutenant sat under a canopy on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Maritime Alps. 1925

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Sunstroke
story
read by Eduard Toman

Bunin's concept of love is also revealed by the story "Sunstroke", written in the Maritime Alps in 1925.
This work, in my opinion, is typical of Bunin. Firstly, it is constructed in the same way as many other stories, and draws the experiences of the hero, in whose life a great feeling met.
So, the story begins with a meeting on the ship of two people: a man and a woman. Between them there is a mutual attraction, and they decide on an instant love affair. When they wake up in the morning, they act as if nothing happened, and soon "she" leaves, leaving "him" alone. They know that they will never see each other again, do not attach any importance to the meeting, but ... something strange begins to happen to the hero ... In the finale, the lieutenant again finds himself in the same situation: he again sails on a ship, but "feels ten years older." Emotionally, the story affects the reader amazingly. But not because we sympathize with the hero, but because the hero made us think about the meaning of life. Why are the characters unhappy? Why doesn't Bunin give them the right to find happiness? Why, having experienced such wonderful moments, do they part?
The story is called "Sunstroke". What can this name mean? There is a feeling of something instantaneous, suddenly striking, and here - and entailing the devastation of the soul, suffering, misfortune. This is especially clearly felt if we compare the beginning and end of the story.
A number of details of the story, as well as the scene of the meeting between the lieutenant and the cab driver, help us understand the author's intention. The most important thing that we discover after reading the story "Sunstroke" is that the love that Bunin describes in his works has no future. His heroes can never find happiness, they are doomed to suffer. "Sunstroke" once again reveals Bunin's concept of love: "Having fallen in love, we die ...".

Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Russian writer: prose writer, poet, publicist. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was born on October 22 (according to the old style - October 10), 1870 in Voronezh, in the family of an impoverished nobleman who belonged to the old noble family.
Literary fame came to Ivan Bunin in 1900 after the publication of the story "Antonov apples". In 1901, the symbolist publishing house "Scorpion" published a collection of poems "Falling Leaves". For this collection and for the translation of the poem by the American romantic poet G. Longfellow "The Song of Hiawatha" (1898, 1896 is indicated in some sources) Russian Academy Sciences Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was awarded the Pushkin Prize. In 1902, the first volume of I.A. Bunin. In 1905, Bunin, who lived in the National Hotel, witnessed the December armed uprising.

Last years the writer passed into poverty. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin died in Paris. On the night of November 7-8, 1953, two hours after midnight, he died: he died quietly and calmly, in his sleep. On his bed lay a novel by L.N. Tolstoy "Resurrection". Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was buried at the Russian cemetery of Saint-Genevieve-des-Bois, near Paris.
In 1927-1942 Galina Nikolaevna Kuznetsova was a friend of the Bunin family. In the USSR, the first collected works of I.A. Bunin was published only after his death - in 1956 (five volumes in the Ogonyok Library).