De: A Sportsman's Sketches
"I don't know; perhaps from the dampness." Everyone fell silent. "Well," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes cooked?" Pavlusha felt them. "No, still raw... Listen, there was a splash," he added, turning his face toward the river, "must be a pike... And look, a little star just fell." "No, let me tell you something, brothers," Kostya began in a thin voice, "listen, the other day my father told me this story in my presence." "Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air. "You know Gavrila, the carpenter from the settlement?" "Yes, of course; we know him." "And do you know why he's always so gloomy, always silent, you know? Well, here's why he's so gloomy. Once he went, my father said,—he went, my brothers, to the forest for nuts. So he went to the forest for nuts and got lost; he wandered—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers,—no! he couldn't find the road; and night had already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; 'let me wait,' he thought, 'until morning,'—he sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—nobody. He dozed off again—they call again. He looks again, looks: and before him on a branch sits a rusalka, swaying and calling him to her, and she herself is dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon is shining brightly, so brightly, clearly the moon is shining—everything, my brothers, is visible. So she's calling him, and she herself sits there all bright, all white on the branch, like some roach or gudgeon,—or else there's carp that are such whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter was completely frozen, my brothers, but she just keeps laughing and beckoning him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, was about to obey the rusalka, my brothers, but, you know, the Lord gave him wisdom: he made the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make that sign of the cross, my brothers; he says, his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, the devil!.. So when he made the sign of the cross, my brothers, the rusalka stopped laughing, and suddenly she burst into tears... She weeps, my brothers, wipes her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green, like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and then began to ask her: 'Why are you crying, forest creature?' And the rusalka spoke to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, man, you would have lived with me in merriment until the end of your days; but I'm crying, I'm grieving because you crossed yourself; and not I alone will grieve: grieve you too until the end of your days.' Then she, my brothers, vanished, and Gavrila immediately understood how to get out of the forest... But since then he's always been gloomy." "Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such forest evil harm a Christian soul,—he didn't obey her, did he?" "Yes, there you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he said, was so thin, pitiful, like a toad's." "Your father told this himself?" continued Fedya. "Himself. I was lying on the sleeping platform, heard everything." "A strange thing! Why should he be gloomy?... Well, I suppose he pleased her, since she called him." "Yes, pleased!" caught up Ilyusha. "Of course! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, these rusalkas." "But you know, there must be rusalkas here too," remarked Fedya. "No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, open. Only—the river is near." Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, a long, ringing, almost moaning sound rang out, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid deep silence, rise up, stand in the air, and slowly spread at last, as if dying away. You listen—and it's as if there's nothing, but it rings. It seemed as if someone had cried out for a long, long time under the very horizon, someone else seemed to answer him in the forest with thin, sharp laughter, and a weak, hissing whistle rushed along the river. The boys exchanged glances, shuddered... "The cross be with us!" whispered Ilya. "Eh, you crows!" shouted Pavel. "What are you scared of? Look, the potatoes are cooked." (Everyone moved closer to the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn't stir.) "Well?" said Pavel. But he didn't emerge from under his matting. The pot was soon completely emptied. "Have you heard, boys," began Ilyusha, "what happened the other day at our Varnavitsy?" "At the dam?" asked Fedya. "Yes, yes, at the dam, the broken one. That's really an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around there are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all kinds of snakes live." "Well, what happened? Tell us..." "And here's what happened. Perhaps you don't know, Fedya, but a drowned man is buried there; and he drowned long, long ago, when the pond was still deep; but his grave is still visible, though barely visible: just—a little mound... So, the other day, the steward calls the huntsman Ermil; he says: 'Go,' he says, 'Ermil, to fetch the mail.' Ermil always goes for the mail; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, never have lived, but he's a good huntsman, in every way. So Ermil went for the mail, and he lingered in town, but when he was riding back he was already drunk. And it was night, and a bright night: the moon was shining... So Ermil was riding across the dam: that's the way his road went. So he's riding along, the huntsman Ermil, and he sees: on the drowned man's grave a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking about. So Ermil thinks: 'I'll take him,—why should he go to waste,' and he got down and took him in his arms... But the lamb—nothing. So Ermil goes to his horse, and the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; however, he calmed her down, got on her with the lamb and rode off again: he holds the lamb in front of him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks right into his eyes. It made him uneasy, Ermil the huntsman: 'I don't remember,' he thought, 'sheep looking people in the eye like that;' however, nothing; he began to stroke its wool, saying: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth and says to him too: 'Baa, baa!...'" The storyteller had barely uttered this last word when suddenly both dogs rose at once, rushed away from the fire with convulsive barking, and vanished into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his matting. Pavlusha shouted and rushed after the dogs. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the startled herd could be heard. Pavlusha was shouting loudly: "Gray! Zhuchka!.." In a few moments the barking fell silent; Pavel's voice came already from afar... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped sharply right at the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavlusha sprang down nimbly. Both dogs also jumped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, hanging out their red tongues. "What is it? What happened?" asked the boys. "Nothing," answered Pavel, waving his hand at the horse, "just something the dogs scented. I thought it was a wolf," he added in an indifferent voice, breathing rapidly with his whole chest. I couldn't help but admire Pavlusha. He was very fine at that moment. His homely face, animated by the swift ride, glowed with bold daring and firm determination. Without a twig in his hand, at night, he had galloped alone after a wolf without the slightest hesitation... "What a splendid boy!" I thought, looking at him. "And did you see them, the wolves?" asked the coward Kostya. "There are always many of them here," answered Pavel, "but they're only troublesome in winter." He settled down again before the fire. Sitting down on the ground, he laid his hand on the shaggy head of one of the dogs, and for a long time the delighted animal didn't turn its head, looking sideways at Pavlusha with grateful pride. Vanya buried himself under the matting again. "What scary things you were telling us, Ilyushka," said Fedya, who, as the son of a wealthy peasant, had to be the leader (though he himself spoke little, as if afraid of lowering his dignity). "And then the devil made the dogs start barking... But it's true, I've heard, that place of yours is unclean." "Varnavitsy?... Of course! of course it's unclean! They say the old master—the late master—has been seen there many times. They say he walks about in a long-skirted caftan and keeps groaning, looking for something on the ground. Once Grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What,' he says, 'master, Ivan Ivanovich, are you pleased to be looking for on the ground?'" "He asked him?" interrupted the astonished Fedya. "Yes, he asked him." "Well, Trofimych is quite a fellow after that... Well, and what did he say?" "'Break-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he speaks so hollowly, hollowly: 'Break-grass.' 'And why do you need, master Ivan Ivanovich, break-grass?' 'The grave,' he says, 'is pressing, Trofimych: I want to get out, to get out...'" "Well, well!" remarked Fedya, "he must not have lived long enough." "What a wonder!" said Kostya. "I thought you could only see the dead on Ancestors' Saturday." "You can see the dead at any time," Ilyusha caught up with conviction, who, as far as I could observe, knew all the village superstitions better than the others... "But on Ancestors' Saturday you can see a living person, that is, someone whose turn it is to die that year. You just have to sit on the church porch at night and keep looking at the road. Those who are to die that year will pass by you on the road. Last year our woman Ulyana went to the porch." "Well, and did she see anyone?" asked Kostya with curiosity. "Of course. First she sat for a long, long time, saw and heard nobody... only it seemed as if a little dog was barking somewhere, barking... Suddenly she looks: a boy is walking along the path in just a shirt. She looked closely—it's Ivashka Fedoseev walking..." "The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya. "The very one. He's walking and doesn't lift his head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peers and peers,—oh Lord!—she herself is walking along the road, Ulyana herself." "Really herself?" asked Fedya. "By God, herself." "Well what, she hasn't died yet?" "But the year hasn't passed yet. And you look at her: what's keeping her soul in her body." Everyone fell silent again. Pavel threw a handful of dry twigs on the fire. They turned sharply black against the suddenly flaring flame, crackled, began to smoke and bend, raising their burned ends. The reflection of light struck out, trembling convulsively, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove—flew straight into this reflection, circled fearfully in one spot, bathed in the hot glow, and disappeared, wings ringing. "Must have lost its way from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it'll fly until it bumps into something, and where it hits, there it'll spend the night until dawn." "Well, Pavlusha," said Kostya, "wasn't that a righteous soul flying to heaven, eh?" Pavel threw another handful of twigs on the fire. "Maybe," he said at last. "And tell me, please, Pavlusha," began Fedya, "did you also see the heavenly portent in Shalamovo?" "When the sun disappeared? Of course." "I suppose you were frightened too?" "Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that, they say, there will be a portent for you, but when it got dark, he himself, they say, got so scared, good Lord. And in the servants' quarters the cook woman, as soon as it got dark, listen, she took the poker and broke all the pots in the stove: 'Who's going to eat now,' she says, 'the end of the world has come.' So the cabbage soup just flowed out. And in our village, brother, such rumors were going around that, they said, white wolves would run across the earth, would eat people, a bird of prey would fly, or they'd even see Trishka himself." "What's this Trishka?" asked Kostya. "Don't you know?" Ilyusha caught up with fervor. "Well, brother, where on earth are you from, that you don't know Trishka? Real stay-at-homes you have in your village, that's for sure, stay-at-homes! Trishka—that will be such a wonderful man who will come; and he'll come when the last times arrive. And he'll be such a wonderful man that it will be impossible to catch him, and nothing can be done to him: he'll be such a wonderful man. For example, the peasants will want to catch him; they'll go out after him with clubs, surround him, but he'll deceive their eyes—he'll deceive their eyes so that they'll beat each other up. They'll put him in jail, for example,—he'll ask for water to drink in a dipper: they'll bring him a dipper, and he'll dive into it and vanish without a trace. They'll put chains on him, but he'll just clap his hands—and they'll fall right off him. Well, and this Trishka will walk through villages and towns; and this Trishka, a cunning man, will tempt the Christian people... well, but nothing can be done to him... He'll be such a wonderful, cunning man." "Well yes," continued Pavel in his unhurried voice, "that's him. So they were expecting him at our place. The old men were saying that, they said, as soon as the heavenly portent begins, Trishka will come. So it began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And at our place, you know, the spot is open, spacious. They look—suddenly from the settlement, from the hill, comes some man, such a strange one, such a wonderful head... Everyone shouts: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scatter in all directions! Our elder crawled into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gate, screaming for all she's worth, scared her own yard dog so much that it broke off the chain, over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, crouched down, and started crying like a quail: 'Maybe,' he said, 'the enemy, the soul-destroyer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how frightened everyone got!.. But the man was our cooper, Vavila: he'd bought himself a new tub and put the empty tub on his head." All the boys laughed and then fell silent for a moment, as often happens with people talking in the open air. I looked around: night stood solemn and majestic; the damp freshness of late evening had given way to midnight's dry warmth, and it would lie for a long time yet as a soft coverlet on the sleeping fields; much time remained before the first babble, before the first rustlings and whispers of morning, before the first dewdrops of dawn. There was no moon in the sky: at that time it rose late. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly, all twinkling in rivalry, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel vaguely yourself the swift, ceaseless run of the earth... A strange, sharp, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, was repeated farther off... Kostya shuddered. "What's that?" "It's a heron crying," Pavel calmly replied. "A heron," repeated Kostya... "But what's this, Pavlusha, I heard yesterday evening," he added, after pausing a bit, "you might know..." "What did you hear?" "Well, here's what I heard. I was walking from Stone Ridge to Shashkino; and I walked first through our hazel grove, and then I went through the meadow—you know, where it comes out with a sharp bend,—there's a deep pool there; you know, it's still all overgrown with reeds; so I was walking past this pool, my brothers, and suddenly from that pool someone groaned, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear seized me, my brothers: the time was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like crying myself... What could that have been? eh?" "Last year thieves drowned Akim the forester in that pool," remarked Pavel, "so maybe it's his soul complaining." "Well, that could be it, my brothers," answered Kostya, widening his already enormous eyes... "I didn't know that Akim was drowned in that pool: I would have been even more frightened." "And then, they say, there are such tiny frogs," continued Pavel, "that cry so pitifully." "Frogs? Well, no, that wasn't frogs... what frogs..." (The heron cried out again over the river.) "Damn it!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "like a wood-goblin crying." "The wood-goblin doesn't cry, he's mute," caught up Ilyusha, "he only claps his hands and rattles..." "And have you seen him, the wood-goblin?" Fedya interrupted him mockingly. "No, I haven't seen him, and God preserve me from seeing him; but others have seen him. The other day he led one of our peasants astray: led him, led him through the forest, all around one clearing... He barely made it home by daylight." "Well, and did he see him?" "He saw him. He says he stood there big, big, dark, wrapped up, sort of like behind a tree, you can't make him out clearly, sort of hiding from the moon, and he looks, looks with his huge eyes, blinks them, blinks..." "Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and jerking his shoulders, "ugh!.." "And why has this filth multiplied in the world?" remarked Pavel. "I really don't understand!" "Don't curse, watch out, he'll hear," remarked Ilya. Silence fell again. "Look, look, boys," Vanya's childish voice suddenly rang out, "look at God's little stars,—like bees swarming!" He stuck his fresh little face out from under the matting, propped himself on his little fist, and slowly raised upward his large, quiet eyes. The eyes of all the boys rose to the sky and didn't lower soon. "Well, Vanya," Fedya said affectionately, "is your sister Anyutka well?" "She's well," answered Vanya, lisping slightly. "Tell her—why doesn't she come to us?.." "I don't know." "Tell her to come." "I'll tell her." "Tell her I'll give her a treat." "And will you give me one?" "I'll give you one too." Vanya sighed. "Well, no, I don't need one. Better give it to her: she's so kind." And Vanya laid his head on the ground again. Pavel stood up and took the empty pot in his hand. "Where are you going?" Fedya asked him. "To the river, to scoop some water: I want to drink." The dogs got up and followed him. "Watch out you don't fall in the river!" Ilyusha called after him. "Why should he fall?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful." "Yes, he'll be careful. But all kinds of things happen: he'll bend down, start scooping water, and the water-spirit will grab him by the hand and drag him to himself. They'll say later: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What do you mean fell?.. There, he's climbed into the reeds," he added, listening. The reeds were indeed "rustling," as we say, parting. "But is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool-woman has been mad since she was in the water?" "Since then... Look at her now! But they say she used to be a beauty. The water-spirit spoiled her. I guess he didn't expect they'd pull her out so soon. So he spoiled her there, at the bottom." (I myself had met this Akulina several times. Covered in rags, terribly thin, with a face black as coal, a clouded gaze and eternally bared teeth, she tramples for hours in one place, somewhere on the road, pressing her bony hands firmly to her chest and slowly swaying from foot to foot, like a wild beast in a cage. She understands nothing, whatever anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.) "And they say," continued Kostya, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover deceived her." "For that very reason." "And do you remember Vasya?" Kostya added sadly. "What Vasya?" asked Fedya. "The one who drowned," answered Kostya, "in this very river. Oh, what a boy he was! ee-eh, what a boy he was! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that he would perish from water. Sometimes Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to swim in the river,—she'd be all in a flutter. Other women don't care, they walk past with their tubs, waddling, but Feklista would set down her tub on the ground and start calling him: 'Come back,' she'd say, 'come back, my dear! oh, come back, my falcon!' And how he drowned, the Lord knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears, as if someone's blowing bubbles in the water,—she looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. And since then Feklista hasn't been in her right mind: she'll come and lie down in the place where he drowned; she'll lie down, my brothers, and start up a song,—you remember, Vasya always sang such a song,—so she starts that one up, and she herself cries, cries, bitterly complains to God..." "Here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya. Pavel approached the fire with the full pot in his hand. "Well, boys," he began, after pausing, "something's not right." "What?" Kostya asked hurriedly. "I heard Vasya's voice." Everyone shuddered. "What do you mean, what do you mean?" Kostya stammered. "By God. As soon as I bent down to the water, I suddenly hear someone calling me in Vasya's voice and as if from under the water: 'Pavlusha, oh Pavlusha!' I listen; and he calls again: 'Pavlusha, come here.' I walked away. But I scooped the water." "Oh Lord! oh Lord!" said the boys, crossing themselves. "That was the water-spirit calling you, Pavel," added Fedya... "And we were just talking about him, about Vasya." "Oh, that's a bad omen," said Ilyusha deliberately. "Well, never mind, let it be!" said Pavel decisively and sat down again, "you can't escape your fate." The boys quieted down. It was evident that Pavel's words had made a deep impression on them. They began to settle down before the fire, as if preparing to sleep. "What's that?" Kostya suddenly asked, raising his head. Pavel listened. "Those are sandpipers flying, whistling." "Where are they flying?" "To where, they say, there's no winter." "And is there really such a land?" "There is." "Far away?" "Far, far away, beyond the warm seas." Kostya sighed and closed his eyes. More than three hours had passed since I had joined the boys. The moon finally rose; I didn't notice it immediately: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed to be just as magnificent as before... But already many stars that had recently stood high in the sky had inclined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted around, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: everything slept a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strongly,—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are the summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died down together with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out in the faintly glimmering, weakly pouring starlight, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion fell upon me; it passed into drowsiness. A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. Nowhere yet did the dawn blush, but it had already whitened in the east. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, around. The pale-gray sky was lightening, growing cold, turning blue; the stars now flickered with weak light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became covered with dew, here and there living sounds, voices began to be heard, and a thin, early breeze had already started wandering and fluttering over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful shiver. I rose briskly and went to the boys. They were all sleeping like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel half-rose and looked at me intently. I nodded to him and walked homeward along the smoking river. Before I had walked two versts, streams had already poured around me across the wide wet meadow, and ahead, along the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind along the long dusty road, along the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and along the river, shyly turning blue from under the thinning mist,—first crimson, then red, golden streams of young, hot light poured... Everything stirred, awoke, sang, rustled, spoke. Everywhere large drops of dew blushed like radiant diamonds; toward me, pure and clear, as if also washed by the morning coolness, came the sounds of a bell, and suddenly past me, driven by the familiar boys, rushed the rested herd... I must add, to my regret, that Pavel died that same year. He didn't drown: he was killed, falling from a horse. A pity, he was a fine lad!
Biryuk
(From the cycle "A Sportsman's Sketches")