第59章 共80章

"Look at that!" said Pavel. "Why's he coughing so?"

"Don't know; maybe from the dampness."

Everyone fell silent.

"Say," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes cooked?"

Pavlusha felt them.

"No, still raw... Look, a splash," he added, turning his face toward the river, "must be a pike... And there—a little star fell."

"No, I'll tell you what, brothers," began Kostya in a thin voice, "listen here, the other day my father told me something, and I was there."

"Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air.

"You know Gavrila, the carpenter from the settlement?"

"Well 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. 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; he wandered—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! can't find the way; and night was already upon him. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he thought, wait till morning—sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly heard someone calling him. He looks—nobody. He dozed off again—called again. He looks again, looks: and before him on a branch sits a rusalka, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon was shining strong, so strong, the moon was shining clear—everything, my brothers, was visible. So she calls him, and she herself sits there all bright, all white on the branch, like some sort of roach or minnow—or else there's also carp that are so whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter just froze, my brothers, and she just keeps laughing and calling him to her with her hand like this. Gavrila was about to get up, about to obey the rusalka, my brothers, but, it seems, the Lord put sense into him: he managed to cross himself... And how hard it was for him to make that cross, my brothers; he says his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, you devil, you!.. So when he made the cross, my brothers, the rusalka stopped laughing, and suddenly she began to cry... She cries, my brothers, wipes her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green, like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and began to ask her: 'Why are you crying, forest demon?' And the rusalka speaks to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, she says, human, you would have lived with me in merriment till the end of your days; but I cry, I grieve because you crossed yourself; but I won't grieve alone: 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 walks around always gloomy."

"Well!" said Fedya after a short silence, "but how can such forest evil ruin a Christian soul—he didn't obey her after all?"

"Well there you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he said, was so thin, plaintive, like a toad's."

"Your father told this himself?" continued Fedya.

"Himself. I was lying on the sleeping shelf, heard everything."

"Strange thing! Why should he be gloomy?... But, it seems, he pleased her, that she called him."

"Yes, pleased her!" Ilyusha picked up. "How so! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, those rusalkas."

"But here too there must be rusalkas," remarked Fedya.

"No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, open. Only—the river is near."

Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, rang out a long, ringing, almost moaning sound, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise in the midst of 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 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 sign of the cross be with us!" whispered Ilya.

"Eh, you crows!" cried 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 mat. 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 truly an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies snakes live."

"Well, what happened? Tell us..."

"And this is what happened. You, perhaps, Fedya, don't know, but there at our place a drowned man is buried; 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; says: 'Go, he says, Ermil, to the post office.' Ermil always goes to the post office for us; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, never have lived, but he's a good dog-keeper, got everything. So Ermil went for the post, and dawdled in town, but he's riding back already tipsy. And it's night, and a bright night: the moon is shining... So Ermil is riding across the dam: such was his road. Riding along like this, the dog-keeper Ermil, and he sees: at the drowned man's grave a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking about. So Ermil thinks: 'I'll take it—why should it perish like that,' and he got down, and took it in his arms... But the lamb—didn't mind. So Ermil goes to his horse, and the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; but he calmed it down, sat on it 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 uneasy: 'I don't remember, he thought, that sheep look people in the eyes like that;' but never mind; he began to stroke it like this on the wool—says: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares his teeth, and says to him too: 'Baa, baa!..'"

The storyteller had barely uttered this last word when suddenly both dogs rose at once, with convulsive barking rushed away from the fire and disappeared into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his mat. Pavlusha with a cry rushed after the dogs. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the alarmed herd was heard. Pavlusha shouted loudly: "Gray! Zhuchka!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice was already coming from far away... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged glances with perplexity, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the tramping of a galloping horse was heard; it stopped sharply right at the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavlusha nimbly jumped off it. Both dogs also leaped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, tongues hanging out red.

"What was it? What happened?" asked the boys.

"Nothing," answered Pavel, waving his hand at the horse, "just, the dogs scented something. I thought, 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 plain face, animated by the fast ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolve. Without a stick 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.

"Did you see them, the wolves?" asked the coward Kostya.

"There's always lots of them here," answered Pavel, "but they're only troublesome in winter."

He settled down again before the fire. Sitting on the ground, he happened to 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 burrowed under the mat again.

"What scary stories you were 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 bark... But it's true, I've heard, that place of yours is unclean."

"Varnavitsy?... I should say so! what an unclean place! They say the old master has been seen there more than once—the late master. They say he walks in a long-skirted caftan and keeps moaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, sir, Ivan Ivanovich, do you seek on the ground?'"

"He asked him?" interrupted the astonished Fedya.

"Yes, asked him."

"Well, Trofimych is brave after that... Well, and what did he say?"

"'Rupture-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he speaks so hollowly, hollowly: 'Rupture-grass.' 'And what do you want, sir Ivan Ivanovich, rupture-grass for?' 'The grave presses,' he says, 'Trofimych: it presses... I want to get out, get out...'"

"Look at that!" 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 better than the others... "But on Parents' Saturday you can see the living too, the one, 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, that is, are to die that year. Last year 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 kept barking, barking somewhere... Suddenly, she looks: a boy is walking along the path in just a shirt. She looked closer—Ivashka Fedoseev is walking..."

"The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya.

"That very one. Walking and not raising his little head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peered and peered—oh Lord!—she herself is walking on the road, Ulyana herself."

"Really herself?" asked Fedya.

"By God, herself."

"Well what of it, she hasn't died yet?"

"But the year hasn't passed yet. And you look at her: her soul barely clings to 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 warp, raising their charred ends. The reflection of light struck out, trembling fitfully in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove—flew right into this reflection, wheeled fearfully in one spot, bathed all over in hot radiance, and disappeared, wings whirring.

"Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it will fly until it runs into something, and where it hits, there it will spend the night till dawn."

"Say, 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, "was it also seen at your Shalamovo, the heavenly portent?" [Thus our peasants call a solar eclipse. (Author's note)]

"When the sun disappeared? Of course."

"I bet you were frightened too?"

"Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that, he said, there will be a portent for you, when it got dark, they say he got so frightened himself, you wouldn't believe. And in the servants' cottage the cook-woman, as soon as it got dark, listen to this, 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. And in our village, brother, such rumors were going around, that, they said, white wolves would run over the earth, would eat people, a bird of prey would fly, or they'd even see Trishka himself." [In the belief about "Trishka," probably echoes the legend of the Antichrist. (Author's note)]

"What Trishka is this?" asked Kostya.

"You don't know?" Ilyusha picked up with fervor. "Well, brother, where are you from, that you don't know about Trishka? Real stay-at-homes in your village, that's for sure, stay-at-homes! Trishka—this will be such a marvelous man, who will come; and he will come when the last times arrive. And he will be such a marvelous man that you won't be able to catch him, and you won't be able to do anything to him: such a marvelous man he'll be. The Christians will want, for example, to catch him; they'll come out at him with clubs, surround him, but he'll deceive their eyes—so deceive their eyes 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, and 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 you won't be able to do anything to him... Such a marvelous, cunning man he'll be."

"Well yes," continued Pavel in his unhurried voice, "that's him. So they were waiting for him at our place. The old folk said that as soon as, they said, the heavenly portent begins, Trishka will come. So the portent began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And our place, you know, is open, spacious. They look—suddenly from the settlement down the hill comes some kind of man, such a strange one, his head so marvelous... Everyone cried out: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scattered every which way! Our elder dove 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 off the chain, over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, squatted down, and started crying like a quail: 'Maybe, he thought, the enemy, the soul-destroyer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how frightened everyone was!.. And 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: night stood solemn and regal; the damp freshness of late evening had been replaced by midnight's dry warmth, and it would lie yet long as a soft canopy over the sleeping fields; much time remained before the first babble, the first rustlings and whisperings 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 rivalry, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel dimly yourself the swift, ceaseless running of the earth...

A strange, harsh, sickly cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, repeated already farther off...

Kostya shuddered. "What's that?"

"That's a heron crying," Pavel answered calmly.

"A heron," repeated Kostya... "But what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard yesterday evening," he added, after a brief silence, "you might know..."

"What did you hear?"

"This is what I heard. I was walking from Kamennaya Gryada to Shashkino; and I walked first all through our hazel grove, then went through a meadow—you know, where it comes out at the sharp bend—there's a deep pool there; you know, it's still all overgrown with reeds; so I went past this pool, my brothers, and suddenly from that very pool someone groaned, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear took hold of me, my brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like I could cry myself... What could that have been? eh?"

"Last summer thieves drowned Akim the forester in that pool," remarked Pavel, "so maybe his soul is 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 kind of..." (The heron cried again over the river.) "Damn it!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "screeching like a forest demon."

"The forest demon doesn't screech, he's mute," Ilyusha picked up, "he only claps his hands and rattles..."

"And have you seen him, the forest demon?" Fedya interrupted him mockingly.

"No, haven't seen him, and God preserve me from seeing him; but others have seen him. Just 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?"

"Saw him. Says he stands so big, big, dark, muffled, like behind a tree, you can't make him out well, like he's hiding from the moon, and stares, stares with those huge eyes, blinks them, blinks..."

"Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and shaking his shoulders, "ugh!.."

"And why has such filth bred in the world?" remarked Pavel. "Don't understand it, really!"

"Don't curse, watch out, he'll hear," remarked Ilya.

Silence fell again.

"Look, look, boys," suddenly rang out Vanya's childish voice, "look at God's little stars—swarming like bees!"

He stuck his fresh little face out from under the mat, propped himself on his fist and slowly raised upward his large quiet eyes. The eyes of all the boys rose to the sky and didn't lower soon.

"Say, Vanya," Fedya began affectionately, "how is your sister Anyutka, is she well?"

"Well," answered Vanya, lisping slightly.

"Tell her—why doesn't she come to us?..."

"Don't know."

"Tell her she should come."

"I'll tell her."

"Tell her I'll give her a present."

"And will you give me one?"

"I'll give you one too."

Vanya sighed.

"Well, no, I don't need one. Give it to her instead: 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 fetch some water: I feel like drinking some water."

The dogs got up and went after 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. But anything can happen: he'll bend down like this, start scooping water, and the water spirit will grab him by the hand and drag him to himself. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they'll say, into the water... What do you mean fell?.. Look there, he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening.

The reeds were indeed "rustling," as we say, parting.

"And is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool-woman went mad from the time she was in the water?"

"From that time... Look at her now! But they say she was a beauty before. The water spirit spoiled her. Apparently he didn't expect they'd pull her out so soon. So he, there at his place on the bottom, spoiled her."

(I myself 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 whole hours in one spot, 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, whatever you say to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.)

"And they say," continued Kostya, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover deceived her."

"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! eh, what a boy! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that death from water would come to him. Sometimes Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to bathe in the river—she'd just tremble all over. Other women don't care, walk past with their washtubs, waddle along, but Feklista would set her washtub 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, like someone's blowing bubbles in the water—looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. You see, since then Feklista hasn't been in her right mind: she'll come and lie down on the spot where he drowned; lies down, my brothers, and starts singing a song—remember, Vasya always sang such a song—so she starts that very one, and cries herself, 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 hastily.

"I heard Vasya's voice."

Everyone shuddered.

"What do you mean, what do you mean?" stammered Kostya.

"By God. I'd just bent down to the water, suddenly I hear someone calling me like this 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!" 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!" Pavel pronounced 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 at once: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed still 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 around had completely quieted, 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 away along with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out, by the faintly glimmering, weakly pouring light of the stars, also lay 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. Dawn wasn't flushing anywhere yet, 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 blinked with faint light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves were covered with dew, here and there living sounds, voices began to be heard, 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 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 intently at me.

I nodded to him and went my way along the smoking river. I hadn't gone two versts when already pouring 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—poured first pink, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything stirred, awoke, began to sing, make noise, speak. Everywhere large drops of dew flashed 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, unfortunately, 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 Hunter's Sketches")