来自：A Sportsman's Sketches
"Well, yes; we know." "But do you know why he's always so unhappy, always silent, you know? Here's why he's so unhappy. Once he went, father used to say—he went, my brothers, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts, and got lost; wandered—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! He couldn't find the road; and night had already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he thought, 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—again they're calling. He looks and looks again: and before him on a branch a water sprite sits, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon is shining strongly, so strongly, clearly the moon is shining—everything, my brothers, is visible. So she's calling him, and she herself sits there all bright, all white on the branch, like some sort of roach or minnow—or there's also a crucian carp like that, whitish, silvery... 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, about to obey the water sprite, my brothers, but the Lord must have put sense into him: he did make the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make the sign of the cross, my brothers; he says his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, you! So when he made the sign of the cross, my brothers, the water sprite stopped laughing, and suddenly how she wept... 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: 'What are you crying for, forest demon?' And the water sprite speaks 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 cry and grieve because you crossed yourself; but not I alone will grieve: grieve you too till the end of your days.' Then she, my brothers, vanished, and it immediately became clear to Gavrila how to get out of the forest, that is... But since then he's always gone about unhappy." "Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such forest evil ruin a Christian soul—he didn't obey her, did he?" "Well, there you are!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he said, was so thin, pitiful, like a toad's." "Your father told this himself?" continued Fedya. "Himself. I was lying on the sleeping bench, heard everything." "A strange thing! Why should he be unhappy?... Well, she must have liked him, since she called him." "Yes, liked him!" Ilyusha picked up. "How so! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, these water sprites." "But there must be water sprites here too," Fedya remarked. "No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, open. Only—the river is near." Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, a long, ringing, almost moaning sound rang out, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid deep silence, rise up, 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's ringing. 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!" 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?" Pavel said. But he didn't come out from under his matting. The pot was soon completely emptied. "But have you heard, lads," Ilyusha began, "what happened at our place in Varnavitsy the other day?" "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 there are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all sorts of serpents live." "Well, what happened? Tell us..." "And here's what happened. Perhaps 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; says: 'Go, he says, Ermil, to the post office.' Ermil always goes to the post office for us; for some reason all his dogs have died on him: they don't live with him for some reason, never have, but he's a good dog-keeper, took all the prizes. So Ermil went for the post, and lingered in town, but 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 the way his road went. So he's riding like this, the dog-keeper Ermil, and sees: on the drowned man's grave a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking about. So Ermil thinks: 'I'll take it,—why should it go to waste,' and he got down and took it in his arms... But the lamb—nothing. So Ermil goes to his horse, and the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; however he calmed it down, got 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 straight in the eyes. Ermil the dog-keeper got scared: 'I don't remember, he thinks, sheep looking people in the eyes like that;' however nothing; he started stroking it like this, on the wool,—says: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth, and says to him too: 'Baa, baa!'" The storyteller had not finished uttering this last word when suddenly both dogs rose at once, rushed away from the fire with convulsive barking and vanished into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his matting. Pavel rushed after the dogs with a shout. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the disturbed herd was heard. Pavel shouted loudly: "Grey! Zhuchka!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice already came from far away... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged bewildered glances, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped short right at the fire, and, grabbing the mane, Pavel nimbly jumped down from 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," Pavel answered, waving his hand at the horse, "just something the dogs caught scent of. 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 quick ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolve. Without even 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. "And did you see them, the wolves?" asked the timid Kostya. "There are always lots of them here," Pavel answered, "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 the delighted animal didn't turn its head for a long time, looking sideways at Pavlusha with grateful pride. Vanya burrowed under the matting again. "What terrors you were telling us, Ilyushka," Fedya began, 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 here... But it's true, I've heard this place is unclean at your place." "Varnavitsy?... I should say so! What an unclean place! They say the old master—the late master—has been seen there more than once. He walks, they say, in a long caftan and keeps groaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, little father, Ivan Ivanych, are you pleased to be looking for on the ground?'" "He asked him?" interrupted the amazed Fedya. "Yes, he asked." "Well, Trofimych is a brave one after that... Well, and what did the other say?" "'Rupture-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly:—'Rupture-grass.' 'But what do you need, little father Ivan Ivanych, rupture-grass for?' 'The grave presses,' he says, 'Trofimych: it presses... I want to get out, to get out...'" "Well, I never!" Fedya remarked, "he must not have lived long enough." "What a wonder!" Kostya said. "I thought you could only see the dead on Parents' Saturday." "You can see the dead at any time," Ilyusha picked up with assurance, who, as far as I could observe, knew all the village superstitions better than the others... "But on Parents' Saturday you can also see the living person 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 on 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?" Kostya asked curiously. "Of course. First she sat a long, long time, saw and heard no one... only it seemed like a little dog was barking somewhere, barking... 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?" Fedya interrupted. "The very one. He's walking and doesn't raise his little head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peers and peers—oh, Lord!—she herself is walking along the road, Ulyana herself." "Really herself?" asked Fedya. "By God, herself." "Well what of it, she hasn't died yet, has she?" "But the year hasn't passed yet. And you look at her: she's barely alive." Everyone quieted down 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 burnt ends. The reflection of light struck out, trembling jerkily, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove—flew right into this reflection, circled fearfully in one place, all bathed in the hot gleam, and disappeared, its wings ringing. "Must have strayed from home," Pavel remarked. "Now it will fly until it bumps into something, and wherever it bumps, there it will spend the night till dawn." "Well, Pavlusha," Kostya said, "wasn't that a righteous soul flying to heaven, eh?" Pavel threw another handful of twigs on the fire. "Maybe," he said at last. "But tell me, if you please, Pavlusha," Fedya began, "did you also see the heavenly forevision at your Shalamovo?" "When the sun disappeared? Of course." "I suppose you were frightened too?" "Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that there would be, he said, a forevision for you, but 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, listen to this, she 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 were going around that white wolves would run over the earth, would eat people, a predatory bird would fly, or they'd even see Trishka himself." "What Trishka is that?" asked Kostya. "You don't know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where are you from, that you don't know Trishka? Real stay-at-homes you are in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—that 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. The peasants will want to catch him, for example; they'll come out after him with clubs, surround him, but he'll pull the wool over their eyes—he'll so pull the wool over their eyes that they'll beat each other up. They'll put him in jail, for example—he'll ask to drink some water 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 go through the villages and towns; and this Trishka, a cunning man, will tempt the Christian folk... well, but there'll be nothing you can do to him... He'll be such an amazing, cunning man." "Well yes," Pavel continued in his unhurried voice, "such a one. So that's who they were expecting at our place. The old people said that as soon as the heavenly forevision begins, Trishka will come. And so the forevision began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And you know our place is open, spacious. They look—suddenly from the settlement, from the hill, some person is coming, such a strange one, with such an amazing head... Everyone screamed: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! Oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scattered every which way! Our elder crawled into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming bloody murder, scared her own yard dog so much that it broke off its chain, over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, crouched down, and started crying like a quail: 'Maybe, he says, the enemy, the murderer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how frightened everyone got!... But the person 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 yet long as a soft canopy over 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 with each other in their twinkling, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you yourself seemed dimly to feel the impetuous, ceaseless running of the earth... A strange, sharp, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, repeated itself already farther off... Kostya shuddered. "What's that?" "It's a heron crying," Pavel calmly replied. "A heron," Kostya repeated... "But what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard yesterday evening," he added after a brief silence, "you might know..." "What did you hear?" "Here's what I heard. I was walking from Kamennaya Gryada to Shashkino; and I walked first all through our hazel grove, and then went through a 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 starts to groan, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear took hold of me, my brothers: the time was late, and the voice so sickly. I felt I could weep myself... What could that have been? Eh?" "In that pool robbers drowned Akim the forester year before last," Pavel remarked, "so maybe it's his soul lamenting." "Well, could be, my brothers," Kostya answered, widening his already huge eyes... "I didn't know they drowned Akim in that pool: I would have been even more frightened." "But they say there are such tiny frogs," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully." "Frogs? Well, no, those weren't frogs... what kind of..." (The heron cried out again over the river.) "Damn it!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "it's 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 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. Just the other day at our place he led a peasant astray: led him, led him through the forest, and all around one clearing... He barely made it home by daylight." "Well, and did he see him?" "He saw him. Says he stands there big, big, dark, muffled, like behind a tree, you can't make him out properly, like he's hiding from the moon, and he stares, stares with those eyes of his, blinks them, blinks..." "Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and jerking his shoulders, "ugh!.." "And why has such vermin multiplied in the world?" Pavel remarked. "I really don't understand!" "Don't curse, watch out, he'll hear," Ilya noted. Silence fell again. "Look, look, lads," Vanya's childish voice suddenly rang out, "look at God's little stars—like bees swarming!" 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 soon. "Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke affectionately, "how's your sister Anyutka?" "She's well," Vanya answered with a slight lisp. "You tell her—why doesn't she come to us?.." "I don't know." "You tell her she should come." "I will." "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. Give it to her instead: she's so kind, our girl." And Vanya again laid his head on the ground. Pavel stood up and took the empty pot in his hand. "Where are you going?" Fedya asked him. "To the river, to scoop some water: I want to drink some water." The dogs got up and followed him. "Watch out you don't fall in the river!" Ilyusha called after him. "Why should he fall?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful." "Yes, he'll be careful. All sorts of things happen: he'll bend down like this, start scooping water, and the water-demon will grab him by the hand and drag him down. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What do you mean fell?.. There he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening. The reeds indeed were "rustling," as we say, parting. "But is it true," Kostya asked, "that Akulina the fool has been mad since she was in the water?" "Since then... Look at her now! But they say she was a beauty before. The water-demon spoiled her. Must not have expected they'd pull her out so soon. So he spoiled her, there at the bottom." (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 hours in one place, somewhere on the road, pressing her bony hands tightly to her chest and slowly shifting from foot to foot, like a wild beast in a cage. She understands nothing, whatever anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.) "But 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," Kostya answered, "in this very river. What a boy he was! Oh, what a boy he was! And his mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that he would perish from water. When Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to bathe in the river, she'd be all in a flutter. Other women don't care, they walk past with their washtubs, waddling along, but Feklista would set her washtub on the ground and start calling him: 'Come back, she'd say, come back, my light! Oh, come back, my falcon!' And how he drowned, the Lord knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears, as if someone's blowing bubbles in the water—she looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. And you see, since then 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 brothers, and start up a song,—remember, Vasya always sang such a song,—so she starts it up, and she cries, cries, bitterly complains to God..." "And here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya. Pavel came up to the fire with a full pot in his hand. "Well, lads," he began after a pause, "it's not good." "What?" Kostya asked hurriedly. "I heard Vasya's voice." Everyone started. "What are you saying, what?" Kostya babbled. "By God. As soon as I bent down to the water, I suddenly hear someone calling me in Vasya's voice and as if from under the water: 'Pavlusha, hey Pavlusha!' I listen; and he calls again: 'Pavlusha, come here.' I moved away. But I scooped the water anyway." "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" the boys said, crossing themselves. "That was the water-demon calling you, Pavel," Fedya added... "And we were just talking about him, about Vasya." "Oh, that's a bad sign," Ilyusha said deliberately. "Well, never mind, let it be!" Pavel said resolutely 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 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." "And is there 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'd joined the boys. The moon finally rose; I didn't notice it at first: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed to be just as magnificent as before... But already many stars, still recently standing high in the sky, had inclined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted all around, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: everything slept a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strongly—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are the summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died down together with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out in the faintly glimmering, weakly flowing starlight, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion fell upon me; it passed into drowsiness. A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. Nowhere yet did the dawn redden, 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 feeble light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves sweated, 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 trembling. 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 intently at me. I nodded to him and went on my way along the smoking river. Before I'd gone two versts, already all around me, over the wide wet meadow, and ahead, over the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind, over the long dusty road, over the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and over the river, shyly turning blue from under the thinning mist—there poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything began to stir, to wake, to sing, to rustle, to speak. Everywhere radiant diamonds glowed in the large drops of dew; 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 regretfully add 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 Sportsman's Sketches")