De: A Sportsman's Sketches
"Well," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes done?"
Pavlusha felt them.
"No, still hard... Listen, there was a splash," he added, turning his face toward the river. "Must be a pike... And there's a star falling."
"No, I'll tell you something, lads," Kostya began in a thin voice. "Listen to what my father told me the other day when I was there."
"Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air.
"You know Gavrila, the carpenter from the settlement?"
"Yes, we know him."
"And do you know why he's always so gloomy, always silent, you know? This is why he's so gloomy. Once, my father said, he went to the forest for nuts. So he went to the forest for nuts and got lost; he wandered off—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! couldn't find the road; and night had already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; 'I'll wait,' he thought, 'till morning'—sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—nobody there. He dozed off again—they call again. He looks, looks again: and there before him on a branch sits a water sprite, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon was shining bright, so bright, the moon was shining clearly—everything, my brothers, was visible. So she calls him, and she herself sits there all bright, all white on the branch, like some roach or gudgeon—or, well, there's also carp that are so whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter just froze, my brothers, but she kept laughing and calling him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, about to obey the water sprite, my brothers, but, you know, the Lord inspired him: he made the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make that sign, my brothers; he says his hand was just like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, what a thing!.. So when he made the cross, my brothers, the water sprite stopped laughing, and suddenly she started crying... She's crying, my brothers, wiping her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green, like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and started asking her: 'Why are you crying, forest creature?' And the water sprite spoke to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself,' she says, 'man, you would have lived with me in merriment till the end of your days; but I'm crying, grieving because you crossed yourself; and not I alone will grieve: grieve you shall too till the end of your days.' Then she vanished, my brothers, and it immediately became clear to Gavrila how to get out of the forest, that is... But since then he always walks about gloomy."
"Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence. "But how can such forest uncleanness spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her, did he?"
"Yes, there you have it!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he said, was so thin, plaintive, like a toad's."
"Did your father tell this himself?" Fedya continued.
"Himself. I was lying on the sleeping bench, heard everything."
"Strange thing! Why should he be gloomy?... Well, I suppose she liked him, that's why she called him."
"Yes, liked him!" Ilyusha picked up. "Of course! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, those water sprites."
"But there must be water sprites here too," remarked Fedya.
"No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, open. Only—the river's 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 in the midst of deep silence, rise up, hang 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, as if someone else had answered him in the forest with thin, sharp laughter, and a weak, hissing whistle rushed along the river. The boys exchanged glances, shuddered...
"The power of the cross be with us!" whispered Ilya.
"Oh, you crows!" cried Pavel. "What are you scared of? Look, the potatoes are done." (Everyone moved closer to the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn't stir.) "Well?" said Pavel.
But he didn't come out from under his mat. The pot was soon 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 an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all sorts of snakes live."
"Well, what happened? Tell us..."
"Well, this is what happened. Perhaps, Fedya, you don't know, but there's a drowned man buried there; and he drowned long, long ago, when the pond was still deep; but his grave is still visible, though barely: just a little mound... So the other day, the steward calls the huntsman Ermil; says: 'Go,' he says, 'Ermil, to the post office.' Ermil always goes to the post office for us; he's killed all his dogs somehow: they don't live with him for some reason, never have lived, but he's a good huntsman, knows his business. So Ermil went to the post office, and 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 is riding across the dam: that was his road. So he's riding along, this huntsman Ermil, and he sees: at the drowned man's grave there's a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, 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—doesn't mind. So Ermil goes to his horse, but the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; however, he calmed her down, got on her with the lamb and rode on again: holding the lamb in front of him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks him right in the eyes. Ermil the huntsman felt uneasy: 'I don't remember,' he thinks, 'rams ever looking people in the eyes like that'; but never mind; he started stroking it on the wool, saying: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth, and says to him too: 'Baa, baa!..'"
Before the narrator could utter this last word, both dogs suddenly jumped up, rushed away from the fire with convulsive barking, and disappeared into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his mat. Pavlusha ran after the dogs with a shout. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the startled herd was heard. Pavlusha shouted loudly: "Grey! Zhuchka!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice came from far away... 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 was heard; it stopped sharply right by the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavlusha nimbly jumped off. Both dogs also leaped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, sticking out their red tongues.
"What was it? What happened?" the boys asked.
"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 handsome at that moment. His plain face, animated by the quick ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolution. Without even a stick in his hand, at night, he had galloped alone after a wolf without the slightest hesitation... "What a fine boy!" I thought, looking at him.
"Did you see them, the wolves?" asked the timid 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 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 burrowed under his mat 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?... I should say so! Very unclean! They say the old master has been seen there many times—the late master. 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 looking for on the ground?'"
"He asked him?" interrupted the astonished Fedya.
"Yes, he asked."
"Well, Trofimych is a brave one after that... Well, and what did he say?"
"'Bursting-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly: 'Bursting-grass.' 'And what do you need bursting-grass for, master Ivan Ivanovich?' 'The grave,' he says, 'is pressing, Trofimych: I want out, out...'"
"Well, there's something!" remarked Fedya. "Didn't live long enough, evidently."
"What a wonder!" said Kostya. "I thought you could only see the dead on Parent's Saturday."
"You can see the dead at any hour," Ilyusha picked up with conviction, and as far as I could tell, he knew all the village superstitions better than the others... "But on Parent's Saturday you can also see the living—those, that is, whose turn it is to die that year. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep looking at the road. Those will walk past you on the road who are to die that year. Last year our old 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, didn't see or hear anyone... only it was 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 closer—it was Ivashka Fedoseev walking..."
"The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya.
"The very one. Walking and not raising his head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peered and peered—oh, Lord!—it's herself walking along the road, herself, Ulyana."
"Really herself?" asked Fedya.
"By God, herself."
"Well, but she hasn't died yet, has she?"
"The year hasn't passed yet. But you look at her: barely alive."
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 curl, lifting their charred ends. The reflection of light struck out, trembling convulsively, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove flew right into this reflection, circled fearfully in one spot, all bathed in hot radiance, and disappeared, its wings ringing.
"Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it'll fly until it bumps into something, and where it hits, there it'll spend the night till 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.
"Tell me, please, Pavlusha," began Fedya, "did you also see the heavenly portent in your Shalamovo?"
"When the sun disappeared? Of course."
"Were you frightened too?"
"Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that there would be this portent, when it got dark, they say he got so scared himself—no end. And in the servants' cottage the cook woman, as soon as it got dark, listen, took the oven fork and smashed 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 poured out. And in our village, brother, such rumors went around that white wolves would run across the earth, would eat people, birds of prey would fly, and even Trishka himself would be seen."
"What's this Trishka?" asked Kostya.
"Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where are you from that you don't know Trishka? Real stay-at-homes in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—he'll 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 you won't be able to catch him, and nothing can be done to him: he'll be such a wonderful man. The peasants, for example, will want to catch him; they'll go out against him with clubs, surround him, but he'll deceive their eyes—deceive them so that they'll beat each other. 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. 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 go about the villages and towns; and this Trishka, a cunning man, will tempt the Christian people... but nothing can be done to him... He'll be such a wonderful, cunning man."
"Well, yes," Pavel continued in his unhurried voice, "that's the one. So they were waiting for him at our place. The old men said that when the heavenly portent begins, Trishka will come. So the portent began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting for what would happen. And our place, you know, is visible, open. They look—suddenly from the settlement, from the hill, comes some man, such a strange one, with such a wonderful head... Everyone screamed: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! Oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scattered! Our elder crawled into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming bloody murder, frightened her own yard dog so much that it broke its chain and 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 says, '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 fell silent again for a moment, as often happens with people conversing in the open air. I looked around: the night stood solemn and majestic; the damp freshness of late evening had given way to midnight's dry warmth, and it would lie like a soft canopy over the sleeping fields for a long time yet; 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: it rose late at that time. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly, all twinkling in competition, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel dimly yourself the impetuous, ceaseless movement of the earth...
A strange, harsh, 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?"
"That's a heron crying," Pavel answered calmly.
"A heron," Kostya repeated... "But what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard last night," he added after a brief pause, "you might know..."
"What did you hear?"
"This is what I heard. I was walking from Stone Ridge to Shashkino; and I walked first all through our hazel grove, and then went across the meadow—you know, where it comes out at the bend—there's a deep pool there; you know, it's all overgrown with reeds; so I went past this pool, my brothers, and suddenly from that pool someone groaned, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear took me, my brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like crying myself... What could that have been? Eh?"
"In that pool thieves drowned Akim the forester year before last," remarked Pavel. "So maybe it's his soul complaining."
"Well, that could be, 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," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully."
"Frogs? Well, no, that wasn't frogs... what kind of..." (The heron cried out again over the river.) "Damn it!" Kostya exclaimed involuntarily, "screaming like a wood goblin."
"A wood goblin doesn't scream, he's mute," Ilyusha picked up. "He only claps his hands and rattles..."
"Have you seen him, the wood goblin?" Fedya interrupted him mockingly.
"No, I haven't seen him, and God save 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 dawn."
"Well, and did he see him?"
"He saw him. Says he stands there big, big, dark, wrapped up, sort of like behind a tree, you can't make him out well, like he's hiding from the moon, and he looks, looks with his great eyes, blinks them, blinks..."
"Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and twitching 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 might 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 mat, propped himself on his fist, and slowly raised his large, quiet eyes upward. All the boys' eyes rose to the sky and didn't come down for a while.
"Well, Vanya," Fedya said affectionately, "how is your sister Anyutka, is she well?"
"She's well," answered Vanya, lisping slightly.
"Tell her—why doesn't she come to us?..."
"I don't know."
"You tell her she should come."
"I'll tell her."
"You 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, our girl."
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 up some water: I want a drink."
The dogs got up and followed him.
"Watch 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. Anything can happen: he'll lean over, start scooping water, and the water demon will grab him by the hand and drag him down. Then they'll say: the boy fell into the water, they'll say... What kind of fell?.. There, he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening.
The reeds were indeed "rustling" as they parted, as we say.
"Is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool has been crazy since she was in the water?"
"Since then... Look at her now! But they say she used to be a beauty. The water demon spoiled her. Must be he didn't expect them to pull her out so soon. So he spoiled her there at the bottom."
(I myself had met this Akulina more than once. 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 tightly to her chest and slowly swaying from foot to foot, like a wild beast in a cage. She understands nothing anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.)
"And they say," Kostya continued, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her sweetheart deceived her."
"That's exactly why."
"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! Oh my, what a boy! And his mother, Feklista, how she loved him, her Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that he would perish from water. When Vasya would go with us boys in summer to swim in the river, she would be all in a flutter. Other women don't care, they walk past with their washtubs, waddling along, but Feklista would put her tub down 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, God only knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears something like bubbles on the water—looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. Well, 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 singing a song—remember, Vasya always sang such a song—well, she sings it, and cries, cries, bitterly complains to God..."
"Here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya.
Pavel came up to the fire with the full pot in his hand.
"Well, boys," he began after a pause, "things are bad."
"What?" Kostya asked hurriedly.
"I heard Vasya's voice."
Everyone shuddered.
"What do you mean, what do you mean?" Kostya stammered.
"By God. I'd just started bending down to the water when 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 moved away. But I scooped up the water."
"Oh Lord! Oh Lord!" the boys said, crossing themselves.
"That was the water demon calling you, Pavel," added Fedya... "And we were just talking about him, about Vasya."
"Oh, that's a bad omen," Ilyusha said deliberately.
"Well, never mind, let it be!" Pavel said 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 the place where, they say, there's no winter."
"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 joined the boys. The moon had finally risen; I didn't notice it right away: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed just as magnificent as before... But already many stars that had recently stood high in the sky had declined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted down, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: everything slept a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strong—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are the summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died down along with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out in the faintly glimmering, weakly flowing starlight, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion came over me; it turned into drowsiness.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. The dawn wasn't blushing anywhere yet, but it had already whitened in the east. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, around. The pale gray sky was brightening, cooling, turning blue; the stars either blinked with weak light or disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became covered with dew, living sounds and voices began to arise here and there, and a thin, early breeze had already begun to wander and flutter over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful tremor. I quickly got up and went to the boys. They were all sleeping like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel half-raised himself and looked at me intently.
I nodded to him and walked away along the smoking river. I hadn't gone two versts when already streams poured all 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, bashfully turning blue from under the thinning mist—poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything stirred, awoke, began to sing, to rustle, to speak. Everywhere large drops of dew sparkled 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")