来自：A Sportsman's Sketches
Pavlusha felt them. "No, still damp... Look, a splash," he added, turning his face toward the river, "must be a pike... And there a little star is falling." "No, I'll tell you something, lads," Kostya began 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 carpenter from the settlement?" "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 said, he went, my lads, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts, and got lost; he wandered off—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my lads—no! he can't find the road; and night had already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he says, wait till morning—he sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—no one. He dozed off again—called again. He looks again: and before him on a branch sits a water nymph, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying with laughter, laughing... And the moon is shining strongly, so strongly, clearly the moon is shining—everything, my lads, is visible. So she's calling him, and she's all herself so bright, so white sitting on the branch, like some roach or minnow,—or else there's a crucian carp that's like that, whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter was struck dumb, my lads, but 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 lads, but, it seems, the Lord put wisdom in him: he made the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make that sign of the cross, my lads; he says, his hand was just like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, what a thing!.. So when he made the cross, my lads, the water nymph stopped laughing, and suddenly burst into tears... She's crying, my lads, 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 spoke to him: 'Had you not crossed yourself, man, you would have lived with me in merriment till the end of your days; and I cry, I grieve because you crossed yourself; but not I alone will grieve: grieve you too till the end of your days.' Then she, my lads, disappeared, and Gavrila immediately understood clearly how to get out of the forest, that is... But since then he's always gone about gloomy." "Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such a forest unclean spirit spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her, did he?" "Well, there you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that 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 bench, heard everything." "A wondrous thing! Why should he be gloomy?... But, it seems, he pleased her, since she called him." "Yes, pleased!" Ilyusha picked up. "Indeed! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, these water nymphs." "But there must be water nymphs here too," remarked Fedya. "No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, free. The only thing—the river's close." 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 amidst 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 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 holy 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 emptied. "Have you heard, lads," Ilyusha began, "what happened the other day at our Varnavitsy?" "At the dam?" asked Fedya. "Yes, yes, at the dam, at the broken one. Now there'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..." "Here's what happened. You, Fedya, maybe 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; he says: 'Go, he says, Ermil, to the post.' Ermil always goes to the post for us; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, they just never lived, but he's a good dog-keeper, took after everyone. So Ermil went for the post, and lingered in town, but when he rides back he's already tipsy. And it's night, and a bright night: the moon is shining... So Ermil rides across the dam: that's how his road went. So he's riding like this, the dog-keeper Ermil, and sees: on the drowned man's grave a 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—nothing. So Ermil goes to the horse, and the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes her head; however, he calmed her down, mounted her with the lamb and rode off again: holding the lamb before him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks right into his eyes. Ermil the dog-keeper felt uneasy: 'I don't remember,' he says, 'rams looking into people's eyes like that;' however, nothing; he started stroking it like this along the wool,—he says: '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 both dogs suddenly rose, 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 was heard. Pavlusha shouted loudly: "Grey! Zhuchka!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice came already from far away... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the tramping of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped sharply right by the fire, and, grabbing 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?" the boys asked. "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 couldn't help but admire Pavlusha. He was very handsome at that moment. His plain face, animated by the quick ride, burned 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 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 buried himself under the matting again. "What scary stories 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 bark... But truly, 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 about in a long-skirted caftan and keeps moaning like this, searching for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, are you pleased to be searching for on the ground, father, Ivan Ivanovich?'" "He asked him?" interrupted the astonished Fedya. "Yes, he asked." "Well, Trofimych is quite a fellow after that... Well, and what did he say?" "'Bursting-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And speaking so hollowly, hollowly:—'Bursting-grass.'—'And what do you want, father Ivan Ivanovich, with bursting-grass?'—'It crushes,' he says, 'the grave crushes, Trofimych: I want out, I want out...'" "Well, I never!" 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 time," Ilyusha picked up with confidence, who, as far as I could tell, knew all the village superstitions best... "But on Parents' Saturday you can see a living person too, whose turn it is to die that year, that is. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep looking at the road. Those will walk past you along the road who are to die that year, that is. 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 seemed like a little dog kept barking, barking somewhere... Suddenly, she looks: a boy is walking along the path in just a shirt. She looked closely—Ivashka Fedoseev is walking..." "The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya. "The very one. Walking and not lifting 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 along the road, Ulyana herself." "Really herself?" asked Fedya. "By God, herself." "Well what then, she hasn't died yet?" "The year hasn't passed yet. But you look at her: how her soul clings to her body." Everyone grew quiet 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 twist, 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 straight into this reflection, circled fearfully in one spot, all bathed in hot brilliance, and disappeared, wings ringing. "Must have lost its way from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it will fly until it bumps into something, and where it bumps, there it will 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. "And tell me, please, Pavlusha," began Fedya, "what, did you also see the heavenly portent in Shalamovo?" (This is what peasants call a solar eclipse in our region.) "When the sun disappeared? Of course." "I bet you were frightened too?" "Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that, they say, you'll have a portent, but when it grew dark, he himself, they say, got so scared, imagine that. And in the servants' cottage the cook woman, so she, as soon as it grew dark, you hear, took and smashed all the pots in the stove with the oven fork: '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 such rumors went around, brother, that, they say, white wolves will run over the earth, will eat people, a bird of prey will fly, or they'll even see Trishka himself." (The belief about "Trishka" probably echoes the legend of the Antichrist.) "What Trishka is this?" asked Kostya. "Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where are you from that you don't know about Trishka? You must be real stay-at-homes in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—he'll be such a remarkable man who will come; and he'll come when the last times arrive. And he'll be such a remarkable man that you won't be able to catch him, and nothing can be done to him: such a remarkable man he'll be. The peasants will want to catch him, for example; 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. They'll put him in prison, for example,—he'll ask for some water to drink in a dipper: they'll bring him a dipper, and he'll dive into it, and that's the last you'll see of him. 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, the cunning man, will tempt the Christian people... well, but nothing can be done to him... Such a remarkable, cunning man he'll be." "Well yes," Pavel continued in his unhurried voice, "just so. That's who they were waiting for at our place. The old folks said that as soon as the heavenly portent begins, so Trishka will come. So it began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting for what would happen. And at our place, you know, the place is open, spacious. They look—suddenly from the settlement down the hill comes some man, such a strange one, such a remarkable head... Everyone shouted: 'Oh, Trishka is coming! oh, Trishka is coming!'—and scattered everywhere! Our village elder dove into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gate, 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, crouched down, and started calling like a quail: 'Maybe, he says, the enemy, the murderer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how scared everyone got!... 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: the night stood solemn and majestic; the damp freshness of late evening had been replaced by the dry warmth of midnight, and it would lie yet long as a soft canopy on the sleeping fields; much time remained before the first babbling, before 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 vying in their twinkling, 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, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, repeated already farther away... Kostya started. "What's that?" "It's a heron crying," Pavel replied calmly. "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?" "Here's what I heard. I was walking from Stone Ridge to Shashkino; and I walked first all through our hazel grove, then went through the meadow—you know, where it comes out at the bend,—there, you know, there's a deep pool; you know, it's all overgrown with reeds; so I walked past this pool, my lads, and suddenly from that pool someone groans, and so pitifully, pitifully: ooo... ooo... ooo! Such fear took me, my lads: the time was late, and the voice so sickly. So it seemed I myself would cry... What could it have been? eh?" "In that pool thieves drowned Akim the forester year before last," remarked Pavlusha, "so maybe it's his soul complaining." "Well yes, my lads," replied Kostya, widening his already huge eyes... "I didn't know that Akim was drowned in that pool: I would have been even more frightened." "And 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.) There it is!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "just like a wood goblin crying." "The wood goblin doesn't cry, he's mute," Ilyusha picked up, "he only claps his hands and rattles..." "And you've seen him, the wood goblin, have you?" Fedya interrupted him mockingly. "No, I haven't seen him, and God forbid seeing him; but others have seen him. The other day he led one of our peasants astray: led him, led him through the forest, and all around the same clearing... He barely made it home by daybreak." "Well, and did he see him?" "He saw him. He says, such a tall, tall one stands, dark, muffled, like behind a tree, you can't make him out properly, like hiding from the moon, and stares, stares with those eyes of his, blinks them, blinks..." "Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, slightly shuddering and shaking his shoulders, "ugh!.." "And why has all this filth bred in the world?" remarked Pavel. "I don't understand, really!" "Don't curse, watch out, he'll hear," remarked Ilya. Silence fell again. "Look, look, lads," Vanya's childish voice suddenly rang out, "look at God's little stars,—swarming like bees!" He stuck out his fresh little face from under the matting, leaned 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 quickly. "Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke affectionately, "how is your sister Anyutka, is she well?" "She's well," answered Vanya, lisping slightly. "You tell her—why doesn't she come to see 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?" "And I'll give you one." 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 scoop up some water: I want to drink some water." The dogs got up and followed him. "Watch you don't fall in the river!" Ilyusha called after him. "Why would he fall?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful." "Yes, he'll be careful. Anything can happen: he'll bend down, start scooping water, and the water sprite will grab him by the hand and drag him down. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What kind of fell?.. There, he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening. The reeds indeed were "rustling" as they parted, as we say. "And is it true," asked Kostya, "that fool Akulina went mad after she was in the water?" "Since then... What she's like now! But they say she used to be a beauty. The water sprite spoiled her. It seems 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 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, whatever anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.) "And they say," Kostya continued, "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. Oh, what a boy he was! oh-h, what a boy! 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 put her tub on the ground and start calling him: 'Come back, she says, 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 on the water,—looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. And from then on Feklista hasn't been in her right mind: she'll come and lie down on the spot where he drowned; she'll lie down, my lads, and start up a song,—remember, Vasya always sang such a song,—so she starts it up, and herself crying, crying, bitterly complaining to God..." "And here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya. Pavel approached the fire with a full pot in his hand. "What is it, lads," he began, after pausing, "things aren't good." "What?" Kostya asked hurriedly. "I heard Vasya's voice." Everyone shuddered. "What are you saying, what?" Kostya babbled. "By God. I'd just bent down to the water, 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 moved away. But I scooped up the water." "Oh Lord! oh Lord!" the boys said, crossing themselves. "It was the water sprite 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 clear 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." "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 rose at last; 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 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: all slept a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strongly,—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are 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 light of the stars, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion came upon 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 it had already whitened in the east. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, around. The pale-gray sky was growing light, cold, blue; the stars now twinkled with weak light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became dewy, living sounds, voices began to be heard here and there, and a thin, early breeze was already wandering and fluttering over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful shiver. I quickly rose and approached the boys. They were all sleeping like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel raised himself halfway and looked intently at me. I nodded to him and went on my way along the smoking river. I hadn't gone two versts when already all around me poured 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, bashfully turning blue from under the thinning fog,—poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything stirred, awoke, began to sing, rustle, speak. Everywhere large drops of dew gleamed 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 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 splendid lad!
Biryuk
(From the cycle "A Hunter's Sketches")