来自：A Sportsman's Sketches
"And where does he live at your place?" asked Pavlusha.
"In the old rolling-room." {"Rolling-room" or "dipping-room" at paper mills is the name given to the building where paper is scooped up in vats. It is located right by the dam, under the wheel. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}
"Do you go to the factory then?"
"Of course we do. My brother Avdyushka and I work as glazers." {"Glazers" smooth and scrape paper. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}
"Well now—factory workers!..."
"So how did you hear him then?" asked Fedya.
"Well, here's how. My brother Avdyushka and I had to stay, along with Fyodor Mikheevsky, and Ivashka the Cross-Eyed, and another Ivashka from Red Hills, and Ivashka Sukhorukov, and there were other boys there too; altogether there were about ten of us boys—the whole shift; and we had to spend the night in the rolling-room, that is, not exactly had to, but Nazarov, the overseer, forbade us; he says: 'What,' he says, 'do you boys need to go home for; there's a lot of work tomorrow, so you boys don't go home.' So we stayed and were all lying together, and Avdyushka started saying, like, boys, what if the house-spirit comes?... And no sooner had he, Avdey that is, said this than suddenly someone started walking above our heads; but we were lying below, and he was walking above, by the wheel. We hear him walking, and the boards under him are bending and creaking; then he passed over our heads; the water suddenly started rushing and rushing over the wheel; the wheel began knocking and knocking, and turning; but the sluice-gates at the palace {"Palace" is what we call the place where the water runs onto the wheel. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} were down. We're amazed: who raised them so the water started flowing; but the wheel turned and turned, and then stopped. That one went again to the door upstairs and started coming down the stairs, and you could tell he wasn't hurrying; the steps under him were even groaning... Well, he came to our door, waited, waited—the door suddenly swung wide open. We got all scared, we look—nothing... Suddenly, look, at one vat the mould {The screen with which paper is scooped. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} started moving, rose up, dipped down, moved around, moved around in the air, like someone was rinsing it, and then back in place. Then at another vat the hook came off the nail and back on the nail; then it was like someone went to the door and suddenly started coughing, started choking, like some kind of sheep, and so loudly... We all tumbled in a heap, crawled under each other... We were so frightened at that time!"
"Well I never!" said Pavel. "Why did he start coughing?"
"Don't know; maybe from the dampness."
Everyone fell silent.
"Well then," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes cooked?"
Pavlusha felt them.
"No, still raw... Look, it splashed," he added, turning his face toward the river, "must be a pike... And there's a little star falling."
"No, I'll tell you something, brothers," began Kostya in a thin voice, "listen here, the other day what my father told me when I was there."
"Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air.
"You know Gavrila, the village carpenter, don't you?"
"Well yes; we know him."
"And do you know why he's always so gloomy, always silent, you know? Here's why he's so gloomy. He went once, my father was saying—he went, my brothers, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts and got lost; went—God knows where he went. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! couldn't find the road; and it was already night. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he thinks, wait till morning—sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—nobody. He dozed off again—called again. He looks again, looks: and there before him on a branch sits a water-nymph, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon was shining strong, so strong, clearly shining the moon—everything, my brothers, was visible. So she's calling him, and she herself is all light-colored, white sitting on the branch, like some kind of roach or minnow—or there's also carp that are such whitish, silvery ones... Gavrila the carpenter just froze, my brothers, and she just keeps laughing and beckoning him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, was about to obey the water-nymph, my brothers, but the Lord must have put sense in him: he managed to make the sign of the cross... And how hard it was for him to make that sign of the cross, my brothers; he says his hand was just like stone, wouldn't move... Oh you!.. So when he made the cross, my brothers, the water-nymph stopped laughing, and suddenly 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-nymph speaks to him: 'You shouldn't have crossed yourself, human,' she says, 'you would have lived with me in merriment till the end of your days; and I'm crying, grieving because you crossed yourself; but it won't be just me grieving: grieve you too till the end of your days.' Then she, my brothers, vanished, and Gavrila immediately understood how to get out of the forest, that is... But since then he always goes around gloomy."
"Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such a forest unclean thing spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her after all?"
"Well there you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said her voice, he says, 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."
"Strange business! Why should he be gloomy?... Well, must be she liked him, since she called him."
"Yes, liked him!" picked up Ilyusha. "Of course! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, those water-nymphs."
"But there must be water-nymphs here too," remarked Fedya.
"No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, free. Except—the river's close."
Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, a prolonged, ringing, almost moaning sound rang out, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid 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 someone had cried out long, long 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.) "What about you?" said Pavel.
But he didn't come out from under his matting. The pot was soon completely empty.
"Have you heard, boys," began Ilyusha, "what happened the other day at our Varnavitsy?"
"At the dam?" asked Fedya.
"Yes, yes, at the dam, at the broken one. That's an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around there are such gullies, ravines, and in the ravines all sorts of vipers {In Oryol dialect: snakes. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} live."
"Well, what happened? Tell us..."
"Well, here's what happened. Maybe you don't know, Fedya, 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 visible: just—a little mound... So the other day, the steward calls the dog-keeper Ermil; he says: 'Go,' he says, 'to the post office, Ermil.' Ermil always goes to the post office for us; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, just never have lived, but he's a good dog-keeper, took everything. So Ermil went for the post, and lingered in town, and when he's riding back he's already drunk. And it's night, and a bright night: the moon is shining... So Ermil is riding across the dam: that's how his road went. So he's riding like this, the dog-keeper Ermil, and he sees: at the drowned man's grave a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking. 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; but 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 dog-keeper got scared: what, he thinks, I don't remember rams looking people in the eyes like this; but never mind; he started stroking its wool like this—says: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth, and says to him too: 'Baa, baa!...'"
No sooner had the storyteller uttered this last word than suddenly both dogs jumped up at once, rushed away from the fire with convulsive barking and disappeared into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his matting. Pavlusha with a shout 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 far away... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting for what would happen... Suddenly the clatter of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped abruptly right at the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavlusha nimbly jumped off it. Both dogs also jumped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, sticking out their red tongues.
"What was it? What happened?" asked the boys.
"Nothing," answered Pavel, waving his hand at the horse, "just, the dogs scented something. I thought it was a wolf," he added in an indifferent voice, breathing rapidly with his whole chest.
I involuntarily admired Pavlusha. He was very fine at that moment. His plain face, animated by the rapid ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolve. Without a twig in his hand, at night, he had galloped alone at a wolf without the slightest hesitation... "What a splendid boy!" I thought, looking at him.
"Did you see them, the wolves?" asked the coward Kostya.
"There's always lots of them here," answered Pavel, "but they only get restless in winter."
He settled down again before the fire. Sitting down on the ground, he accidentally put his hand on the shaggy neck 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've been telling us, Ilyushka," began 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 the devil made the dogs start barking... But it's true, I've heard, that place of yours is unclean."
"Varnavitsy?... Of course it is! Very unclean! They say they've seen the old master many times—the late master. He walks, they say, in a long-skirted caftan and keeps groaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What,' he says, 'my dear sir, Ivan Ivanovich, are you pleased to be looking for on the ground?'"
"He asked him that?" interrupted the amazed Fedya.
"Yes, he asked."
"Well, Trofimych is quite brave for that... Well, and what did he say?"
"'Herb-of-rupture,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he says it so hollowly, hollowly: 'Herb-of-rupture.' 'And what do you need herb-of-rupture for, dear sir Ivan Ivanovich?' 'The grave,' he says, 'is pressing, Trofimych: I want out, I want out...'"
"Well now!" remarked Fedya, "he must not have lived enough."
"What a wonder!" said Kostya. "I thought you could only see the dead on Parents' Saturday."
"You can see the dead at any hour," Ilyusha picked up with assurance, who, as far as I could tell, knew all the village superstitions best... "But on Parents' Saturday you can see even the living, those who are due to die that year, that is. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep looking at the road. Those who are to die that year will pass you by 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, didn't see or hear anyone... only it kept seeming like a little dog was barking, barking somewhere... Suddenly she looks: a boy is walking along the path in just a shirt. She looked closer—it's Ivashka Fedoseev walking..."
"The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya.
"The very same. 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!—it's herself walking along the road, Ulyana herself."
"Really herself?" asked Fedya.
"By God, herself."
"Well what of it, she hasn't died yet, has she?"
"But the year hasn't passed yet. And 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 smoking and curling up, raising their scorched ends. The reflection of the light struck in all directions, trembling convulsively, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove flew in—right into this reflection, turned fearfully in one place, all bathed in the hot gleam, and disappeared, its wings ringing.
"Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it'll fly till it bumps into something, and wherever it lands, 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 foreboding in your Shalamovo?" {This is what our peasants call a solar eclipse. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}
"When the sun disappeared? Of course."
"I suppose you were frightened too?"
"Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that there would be this foreboding, when it got dark, they say he got so scared himself. And in the servants' cottage the cook-woman, as soon as it got dark, they say, took the oven-fork 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 poured out. And in our village, brother, such rumors were going around that white wolves would run over the earth, would eat people, birds of prey would fly, and they'd even see Trishka himself." {In the belief about "Trishka," the legend of the antichrist is probably echoed. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}
"What Trishka is this?" asked Kostya.
"Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where are you from if you don't know about Trishka? You must be real stay-at-homes in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—this will be such an amazing person who will come; and he'll come when the last times arrive. And he'll be such an amazing person that you won't be able to catch him, and you won't be able to do anything to him: he'll be such an amazing person. For example, the peasants will want to catch him; they'll come out at him with clubs, surround him, but he'll fool their eyes—fool them so they'll beat each other. They'll put him in jail, for example—he'll ask for a drink of water in a dipper: they'll bring him a dipper, and he'll dive into it and be gone. They'll put chains on him, and he'll just clap his hands—and they'll fall right off him. Well, and this Trishka will go around the villages and towns; and this Trishka, the cunning man, will lead the Christian people astray... well, but you won't be able to do anything to him... He'll be such an amazing, 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 folks said that as soon as the heavenly foreboding begins, Trishka will come. So the foreboding began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And our place, you know, is wide open, spacious. They look—suddenly from the settlement down the hill comes some person, such a strange one, head so amazing... Everyone started yelling: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! Oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scattered! Our elder dove into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming bloody murder, scared her own yard dog so much it broke its chain, over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, squatted down, and started calling like a quail: 'Maybe,' he says, 'the enemy, the soul-destroyer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how scared everyone got!.. But the person walking 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 been replaced by 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 whisper, the first rustlings and stirrings 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, watching them, you seemed to dimly feel yourself the swift, ceaseless running of the earth...
A strange, harsh, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, repeated farther away...
Kostya shuddered. "What was that?"
"That's a heron crying," Pavel answered calmly.
"A heron," Kostya repeated... "But what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard yesterday evening," he added after a brief pause, "maybe you 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 went through a meadow—you know, where it comes out at the sharp bend {Sharp bend—a sharp turn in a ravine. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}—there's a deep hole there {Deep hole—a deep pit with spring water left after the flood, which doesn't dry up even in summer. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}; you know, it's all overgrown with reeds; so I was walking past this deep hole, my brothers, and suddenly from that hole someone starts moaning, and so pitifully, pitifully: ooh... ooh... ooh! I got so scared, my brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like I'd cry myself... What could it have been? Eh?"
"Last year thieves drowned the forester Akim in that hole," remarked Pavel, "so maybe his soul is complaining."
"Well, that could be it, my brothers," answered Kostya, widening his already huge eyes... "I didn't know they'd drowned Akim in that hole: I'd have been even more scared."
"And they say there are such tiny frogs," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully."
"Frogs? Well, no, it wasn't frogs... what kind of... (The heron cried out again over the river.) Ugh!" Kostya said involuntarily, "screaming like a wood-goblin."
"A wood-goblin doesn't cry, it's mute," Ilyusha picked up, "it just claps its hands and rattles..."
"Have you seen it, the wood-goblin?" Fedya interrupted mockingly.
"No, I haven't, and God preserve me from seeing it; but others have seen it. Just the other day it led one of our peasants around: led him, led him through the forest, and all around one clearing... He barely made it home by daylight."
"Well, and did he see it?"
"He saw it. He says it stands there so big, big, dark, wrapped up, like behind a tree, you can't make it out well, like it's hiding from the moon, and it looks, looks with those huge eyes, blinks them, blinks..."
"Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and twitching his shoulders, "ugh!..."
"And why has this filth bred in the world?" remarked Pavel. "I really don't understand!"
"Don't curse, watch out, it 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 matting, propped himself on his fist and slowly raised his large quiet eyes upward. All the boys' eyes rose to the sky and didn't lower for a while.
"Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke tenderly, "how is your sister Anyutka, is she well?"
"She's well," answered Vanya with a slight lisp.
"You tell her—why doesn't she come to see us?..."
"I don't know."
"You tell her to 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, ours is."
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 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 in?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful."
"Yes, he'll be careful. Anything can happen: he'll bend down, start scooping water, and the water-spirit will grab his hand and drag him to itself. Then they'll say: the boy fell in the water, they'll say... What do you mean fell?.. There—he's climbed 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-spirit ruined her. Must not have expected they'd pull her out so quickly. So he ruined 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 stamps 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 animal in a cage. She understands nothing of what anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.)
"And they say," Kostya continued, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover deceived her."
"That's why."
"And do you remember Vasya?" Kostya added sadly.
"What Vasya?" asked Fedya.
"The one who drowned," answered Kostya, "in this very river. What a boy he was! oh, what a boy he was! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was like she sensed, Feklista did, that he would perish from water. When Vasya would go with us boys in summer to swim in the river, she'd get all anxious. Other women don't care, they walk by with their washtubs, waddling along, but Feklista would set her tub on the ground and start calling him: 'Come back,' she'd say, 'come back, my bright one! oh come back, my falcon!' And how he drowned, God knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears like someone's blowing bubbles in the water—she looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. 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 a song—remember, Vasya always used to sing such a song—so she starts that very one, and she 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 a pause, "not good."
"What?" Kostya asked hurriedly.
"I heard Vasya's voice."
Everyone started.
"What do you mean, what?" Kostya stammered.
"By God. I'd just bent down to the water when suddenly I hear someone calling me in Vasya's voice and like 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," Ilyusha said deliberately.
"Well, never mind, let it be!" Pavel said decisively and sat down again, "you can't escape your fate."
The boys grew quiet. It was evident that Pavel's words had made a deep impression on them. They began settling 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?"
"To 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 finally rose; I didn't notice it right away: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed still as magnificent as before... But already many stars, still recently standing high in the sky, had inclined to the dark edge of the earth; everything around had completely quieted, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: everything slept a sound, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strong—dampness seemed to spread through it again... How short summer nights are!.. 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, were also lying with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion came over me; it passed into drowsiness.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. The dawn wasn't blushing anywhere yet, but the east was already whitening. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, all 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 dewy, living sounds and voices began to be heard 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 shiver. I got up briskly and approached 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 went on my way along the smoking river. I hadn't gone two versts when streams of light already poured around me over the wide wet meadow, and ahead over the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind along the long dusty road, over the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and over the river, shyly turning blue from under the thinning mist—first crimson, then red, golden streams of young, hot light poured... Everything stirred, awoke, began singing, rustling, speaking. Everywhere large drops of dew blazed like radiant diamonds; toward me, clean 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 regretfully add 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")