De: A Sportsman's Sketches
"No, I'll tell you what, brothers," Kostya began in a thin voice, "listen, the other day my father told me a story in my presence."
"Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air.
"You know Gavrila, the village carpenter?"
"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, to the forest for nuts. So he went to the forest for nuts and got lost; he wandered—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! He can't find the road; and night has already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he thinks, wait until morning—he sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—nobody. He dozed off again—they call again. He looks again, looks: and before him on a branch a rusalka sits, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon shines brightly, so brightly, the moon shines clearly—everything, my brothers, is visible. So she calls him, and she herself is all so light, so white sitting on the branch, like some little roach or minnow—or else there's the crucian carp that's sometimes so whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter was petrified, my brothers, but she just keeps laughing and calling him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, was about to obey the rusalka, my brothers, but, you see, the Lord inspired him: he made the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make the cross, my brothers; he says his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh, the devil!.. So when he made the cross, my brothers, the little rusalka stopped laughing, and suddenly she started crying... 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 started asking her: 'Why are you crying, forest creature?' And the rusalka spoke to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, man, you would have lived with me in merriment until the end of your days; but I cry, I grieve because you crossed yourself; and not only will I grieve: grieve you too until 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 always goes about gloomy."
"Well!" said Fedya after a short silence, "but how can such forest uncleanness spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her, did he?"
"Yes, there you go!" 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 platform, I heard everything."
"A strange thing! Why should he be gloomy?.. But, you see, he must have pleased her, since she called him."
"Yes, pleased!" Ilyusha picked up. "Of course! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, these rusalkas."
"And surely there must be rusalkas here too," remarked Fedya.
"No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, free. 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 in the midst of deep silence, rise up, stand in the air, and slowly disperse at last, as if dying away. You listen—and it's as if there's nothing, but it rings. It seemed as if someone had cried out for a long, long time under the very horizon, 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 power of the cross be with us!" whispered Ilya.
"Oh, 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 mat. The pot was soon completely 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. That's an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all kinds of snakes live."
"Well, what happened? Tell us..."
"And here's what happened. You, Fedya, may not know, but there 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-handler Ermil; he says: 'Go, he says, Ermil, to the post.' Ermil always goes to the post for us; all his dogs have died on him: they don't live with him for some reason, never have lived, and he's a good dog-handler, has everything. So Ermil went for the post, and he lingered 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: that was his route. So he's riding, this dog-handler 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 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 the horse, and the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; however, he calmed her down, got on her with the lamb and rode on again: holding the lamb in front of him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks him straight in the eye. Ermil the dog-handler got scared: I don't remember, he thinks, sheep looking people in the eye like this; but never mind; he started stroking its wool, saying: '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 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 mat. Pavlusha with a cry 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 fell silent; Pavel's voice came from far away already... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting for what would happen... Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped sharply right by the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavlusha nimbly jumped off it. Both dogs also leaped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, sticking out their red tongues.
"What is it? What happened?" asked the boys.
"Nothing," answered Pavel, waving his hand at the horse, "just something the dogs scented. I thought it was a wolf," he added in an indifferent voice, breathing rapidly with his whole chest.
I couldn't help but admire Pavlusha. He was very handsome at that moment. His plain face, animated by the quick ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolve. Without a stick in his hand, at night, he 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 are always many of them here," answered Pavel, "but they're only troublesome in winter."
He settled down again before the fire. Sitting down on the ground, he laid his hand on the shaggy nape of one of the dogs, and for a long time the pleased animal didn't turn its head, looking sideways at Pavlusha with grateful pride.
Vanya burrowed under the mat again.
"What terrible things 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... But it's true, I've heard that place of yours is unclean."
"Varnavitsy?.. Of course it is! What an unclean place! They say the old master—the deceased master—has been seen there more than once. He walks, they say, in a long-skirted coat and keeps groaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, sir, Ivan Ivanych, are you pleased to be looking for on the ground?'"
"He asked him that?" interrupted the astonished Fedya.
"Yes, he asked."
"Well, Trofimych is brave after that... Well, and what did he say?"
"'I'm looking for break-grass,' he says. And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly: 'Break-grass.' 'And what do you need break-grass for, sir Ivan Ivanych?' 'The grave oppresses me,' he says, 'Trofimych: I want out, out...'"
"Well, fancy that!" remarked Fedya, "he must not have lived long 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 confidently, who, as far as I could notice, knew all the village superstitions best... "But on Parents' Saturday you can also see the living person whose turn it is to die that year. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep looking at the road. Those will walk past you on the road who are to die that year. Last year our woman Ulyana went to the porch."
"Well, and did she see anyone?" Kostya asked with curiosity.
"Of course. First she sat for a long, long time, didn't see or hear anyone... only it was as if a little dog was barking, 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 the spring?" Fedya interrupted.
"The very same. He's walking and doesn't raise his 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 of it, she hasn't died yet, has she?"
"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 curl up, raising their scorched ends. The reflection of the light struck out, trembling fitfully, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly from out of nowhere a white dove—flew right into this reflection, whirled about fearfully in one spot, all bathed in the hot glow, and disappeared, wings ringing.
"Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it will fly until it bumps into something, and wherever it hits, there it will spend the night till dawn."
"And what, 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," Fedya began, "did you also see the heavenly portent in 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, he says, there will be a portent for you, but when it darkened, they say, he himself got so scared, goodness me. And in the servants' house the cook woman, so she, as soon as it darkened, hear this, took the poker 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 flowed. And in our village, brother, such rumors were going around that, they said, white wolves would run across the earth, would eat people, a predatory bird would fly, or they would even see Trishka himself."
"What Trishka?" asked Kostya.
"Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where on earth are you from that you don't know about Trishka? They really are stay-at-homes in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—he will be such an amazing man who will come; and he will come when the last times arrive. And he will be such an amazing man that it will be impossible to catch him, and it will be impossible to do anything to him: such an amazing man he will be. For example, peasants will want to catch him; they'll go out against him with clubs, surround him, but he'll deceive their eyes—he'll deceive their eyes so that they'll beat each other up. They'll put him in jail, for example—he'll ask for a drink of water in a dipper: they'll bring him the 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 it will be impossible to do anything to him... Such an amazing, cunning man he will be."
"Well yes," Pavel continued in his unhurried voice, "that's him. So that's who they were expecting at our place. The old people said that, well, they said, as soon as the heavenly portent begins, 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, from the hill, some person is coming, such a strange one, his head so amazing... Everyone shouted: 'Oh, Trishka is coming! Oh, Trishka is coming!'—and scattered! 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 the 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 murderer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how frightened everyone got!.. But the person walking there 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 majestic; 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 babbling, before the first rustlings and whisperings of morning, before the first dewdrops of dawn. There was no moon in the sky: at that time it rose late. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly, all vying with each other in twinkling, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed vaguely to feel yourself the swift, ceaseless running of the earth...
A strange, sharp, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in a row over the river and, after a few moments, repeated farther away...
Kostya shuddered. "What's that?"
"That's a heron crying," Pavel calmly replied.
"A heron," Kostya repeated... "And what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard yesterday evening," he added after a short 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 through our hazel grove, and then went through a meadow—you know, where it comes out at the sharp bend—there's a deep spring-hole there; you know, it's still all overgrown with reeds; so I walked past this spring-hole, brothers, and suddenly from that spring-hole someone moaned, and so pitifully, so pitifully: ooo... ooo... ooo! Such fear seized me, brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sick. It seemed I would cry myself... What could that have been? Eh?"
"In that spring-hole last year thieves drowned Akim the forester," Pavel remarked, "so maybe it's his soul complaining."
"Well, that's it, brothers," Kostya replied, widening his already huge eyes... "I didn't know that they drowned Akim in that spring-hole: I would have been even more frightened."
"And then, they say, there are such tiny frogs," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully."
"Frogs? Well, no, that's not frogs... what kind of... (The heron cried out again over the river.) There it is!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "like a wood-demon crying."
"A wood-demon doesn't cry, he's mute," Ilyusha picked up, "he only claps his hands and rattles..."
"Have you seen him, the wood-demon?" Fedya interrupted him mockingly.
"No, I 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 and led him through the forest, all around one clearing... He barely made it home by dawn."
"Well, and did he see him?"
"He saw him. They say he stands there big, big, dark, wrapped up, so you can't make him out properly behind a tree, as if hiding from the moon, and looks, looks with those huge eyes, blinks them, blinks..."
"Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and twitching his shoulders, "ugh!.."
"And why has this filth 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 his fresh little face out from under the mat, propped himself on his fist, and slowly raised his large quiet eyes upward. The eyes of all the boys rose to the sky and didn't lower for a long time.
"Well, Vanya," Fedya began tenderly, "is your sister Anyutka well?"
"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 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. 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 a drink."
The dogs got up and followed him.
"Watch you don't fall in the river!" Ilyusha called after him.
"Why should he fall?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful."
"Yes, he'll be careful. Anything can happen: he'll bend down, start scooping water, and the water-spirit will grab him by the hand and drag him down. Then they'll say later: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What kind of falling is that?.. There, he's climbed into the reeds," he added, listening.
The reeds were indeed "rustling" as they parted, as we say.
"Is it true," Kostya asked, "that Akulina the fool-woman 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-spirit ruined her. He must not have expected they'd pull her out so soon. 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 spot, 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.)
"And they say," Kostya continued, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover 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! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that he would perish from water. Sometimes when Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to bathe in the river—she would be all atremble. Other women don't care, they walk past with their washtubs, waddling, but Feklista would set her tub 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, as if someone is 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, brothers, and start up a song—remember, Vasya always sang such a song—so she starts it up, and she herself cries, cries, bitterly complains to God..."
"And here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya.
Pavel approached the fire with the full pot in his hand.
"Well, lads," he began after a pause, "something's wrong."
"What?" Kostya asked hurriedly.
"I heard Vasya's voice."
Everyone shuddered.
"What are you saying, what?" Kostya stammered.
"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, oh Pavlusha!' I listen; and he calls again: 'Pavlusha, come here.' I moved away. But I scooped up the water."
"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" the boys said, crossing themselves.
"That was the water-spirit calling you, Pavel," Fedya added... "And we were just talking about him, about Vasya."
"Oh, that's a bad omen," Ilyusha said deliberately.
"Well, never mind, so be it!" Pavel said decisively and sat down again, "you can't escape your fate."
The boys quieted down. It was evident that Pavel's words had made a deep impression on them. They began to settle down before the fire, as if preparing to sleep.
"What's that?" Kostya suddenly asked, raising his head.
Pavel listened.
"Those are sandpipers flying, whistling."
"Where are they flying?"
"To 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 to be just as magnificent as before... But already many stars that had been standing high in the sky not long ago had inclined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted down all around, as everything usually quiets down 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 was dying out along with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out in the faintly glimmering, weakly flowing starlight, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion fell upon me; it turned into drowsiness.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. The dawn was not yet flushing anywhere, but it had already whitened in the east. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, all around. The pale gray sky was growing lighter, colder, bluer; the stars now blinked with weak light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became covered with dew, here and there living sounds, voices, began to be heard, and a thin, early breeze had already started wandering and fluttering 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 walked away along the smoking river. Before I had walked two versts, streams of light were already pouring all around me across the wide wet meadow, and ahead, along the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind along the long dusty road, along the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and along the river shyly turning blue from under the thinning mist—first crimson, then red, golden streams of young, hot light poured forth... Everything stirred, awoke, began to sing, make noise, speak. Everywhere large drops of dew flared up like radiant diamonds; toward me, pure and clear, as if also washed by the morning coolness, came the sounds of a bell, and suddenly past me, driven by the familiar boys, the rested herd rushed by...
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 splendid lad!
Biryuk
(From the cycle "A Sportsman's Sketches")