De: A Sportsman's Sketches
"And do you know why he's so glum, always silent, you know? Here's why he's so glum. He went once, my father said—he went, my brothers, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts and got lost; wandered off—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; I'll wait, he thought, 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 and looks again: and before him on a branch sits a rusalka, swaying and calling him to her, while 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 calls him, and she herself sits there all bright and white on the branch, like some roach or gudgeon—or sometimes there's a crucian carp like that, whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter just froze, my brothers, and she keeps laughing and beckoning him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, about to obey the rusalka, my brothers, but God must have guided him: he made the sign of the cross over 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, what the devil!.. So when he made the cross, my brothers, the rusalka stopped laughing and suddenly started crying... She cries, my brothers, wiping her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her and started asking her: 'Why are you crying, forest sprite?' And the rusalka says to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, she says, man, you would have lived with me in merriment until the end of your days; but I cry and grieve because you crossed yourself; and not only will I grieve: grieve you shall too until the end of your days.' Then she, my brothers, vanished, and Gavrila immediately understood how to get out of the forest... But from that time on he's been walking around gloomy."
"Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such forest evil spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her, did he?"
"Well, there you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he said, was so thin, plaintive, like a toad's."
"Did your father tell this himself?" continued Fedya.
"Himself. I was lying on the shelf, heard everything."
"A strange thing! Why should he be gloomy?... But clearly, she liked him, since she called him."
"Yes, liked him!" picked up Ilyusha. "Of course! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, those rusalkas."
"But 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, there rang out a prolonged, resonant, almost moaning sound, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid 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 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 cross be with us!" whispered Ilya.
"Eh, you crows!" shouted Pavel. "What are you frightened of? Look, the potatoes are cooked." (Everyone moved toward the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn't stir.) "What's with 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 a cursed place, so cursed, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all kinds of snakes live."
"Well, what happened? Tell us..."
"Here's what happened. You, Fedya, maybe don't know, but there's a drowned man buried there; and he drowned a long, long time 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, and he's a good dog-keeper, got everything. So Ermil went for the post and delayed in town, but was riding back already drunk. And it was night, and a clear night: the moon was shining... So Ermil is riding across the dam: that's how his road went. Riding along like that, 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 go to waste,' and 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 soothed it, 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 right into his eyes. Dog-keeper Ermil got scared: I don't remember, he thought, sheep looking people in the eyes like that; however, nothing; he started stroking its wool, saying: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth and says back to him: '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 mat. Pavlusha rushed after the dogs with a shout. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the alarmed herd could be heard. Pavlusha was shouting 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 puzzled glances, as if waiting for what would happen... Suddenly the hoofbeats of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped sharply right at the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavel nimbly jumped off it. Both dogs also leaped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, tongues hanging out.
"What was it? What happened?" asked the boys.
"Nothing," answered Pavel, waving his hand at the horse, "just, the dogs caught scent of something. I thought, 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 swift 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 timid 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 rested his hand on the shaggy neck of one of the dogs, and for a long time the delighted animal didn't turn its head, glancing sideways at Pavlusha with grateful pride.
Vanya again burrowed under his mat.
"What terrors you were telling us, Ilyushka," said Fedya, who, as the son of a wealthy peasant, had to be the leader (though he himself spoke little, as if afraid of lowering his dignity). "And the devil made the dogs start barking... But it's true, I've heard, that place of yours is cursed."
"Varnavitsy?... Rather! What a cursed place! They say the old master has been seen there more than once—the deceased master. They say he walks in a long-skirted coat and keeps groaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, master, Ivan Ivanovich, 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 for that... Well, and what did he say?"
"Break-grass, he says, I'm looking for. And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly: Break-grass. 'And what do you need, master Ivan Ivanovich, break-grass for?' 'The grave is pressing, he says, Trofimych: I want to get out, to get out...'"
"Well!" 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 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, those 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 who are to die that year will walk past you on the road. 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 kept seeming 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—it's Ivashka Fedoseev walking..."
"The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya.
"The very same. Walking and doesn't raise his head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peers and peers—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: what's keeping her soul in 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 smoking and curling, 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, turned fearfully in one place, bathed entirely in hot brilliance, and disappeared, wings ringing.
"Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it will fly until it hits something, and wherever it strikes, there it will spend the night until dawn."
"Well, Pavlusha," said Kostya, "wasn't that a righteous soul flying to heaven, eh?"
Pavel threw another handful of twigs on the fire.
"Maybe," he said at last.
"Tell me, please, Pavlusha," began Fedya, "did you also see the heavenly vision 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, they say, there will be a vision for you, but when it got dark, he himself, they say, got so terrified, you wouldn't believe it. And in the servants' hut the cook-woman, as soon as it got dark, hear this, she took the oven fork and broke all the pots in the stove: 'Who's going to eat now, she says, the end of the world has come.' So the cabbage soup just poured out. And in our village, brother, such rumors were going around that, they say, white wolves will run across the earth, will eat people, a predatory bird will fly, or they'll even see Trishka himself."
"What Trishka is that?" asked Kostya.
"Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up hotly. "Well, brother, where are you from that you don't know about Trishka? Stay-at-homes you are in your village, real stay-at-homes! Trishka—this 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 nothing can be done to him: he'll be such an amazing man. The peasants will want, for example, to catch him; they'll go out after 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 prison, 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 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, a cunning man, will tempt the Christian people... well, but nothing can be done to him... He'll be such an amazing, cunning man."
"Well yes," continued Pavel in his unhurried voice, "such a one. So that's who they were waiting for at our place. The old people said that, well, they said, as soon as the heavenly vision begins, Trishka will come. So the vision began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And our place, you know, is visible, open. They look—suddenly from the settlement, down the hill, comes some man, such a strange one, with such an amazing head... Everyone shouts: 'Oh, Trishka is coming! Oh, Trishka is coming!'—and everyone scatters! Our elder crawled into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming at the top of her lungs, frightened her own watchdog so much that it broke its 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 said, the enemy, the murderer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how frightened everyone was!.. But 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 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 until the first babbling, until the first rustlings and whispers of morning, until 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 twinkling in rivalry, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel dimly yourself the impetuous, ceaseless run of the earth...
A strange, sharp, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, was repeated farther away...
Kostya started. "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 pause, "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 through the 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 walked past this pool, brothers, and suddenly from that pool someone starts moaning, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear seized me, brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like crying myself... What could that have been? Eh?"
"In that pool, the year before last, thieves drowned Akim the forester," remarked Pavel, "so maybe his soul is complaining."
"Well, that could be it, 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," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully."
"Frogs? Well, no, those weren't frogs... what kind of... (The heron cried 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," picked up Ilyusha, "he only claps his hands and rattles..."
"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 he led one of our peasants 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 stood there big, big, dark, wrapped up, sort of like behind a tree, you can't make him out well, like he's hiding from the moon, and stares, stares with those eyes of his, blinks them, blinks..."
"Ugh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and jerking his shoulders, "phew!.."
"And why has this filth multiplied 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, boys," Vanya's childish voice suddenly rang out, "look at God's little stars—like bees swarming!"
He stuck his fresh little face out from under the mat, propped himself on his fist, and slowly raised his big quiet eyes upward. The eyes of all the boys rose to the sky and didn't lower soon.
"Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke tenderly, "is your sister Anyutka well?"
"She's well," answered Vanya with a slight lisp.
"Tell her—why doesn't she come to us?.."
"I don't know."
"You tell her she should come."
"I'll tell her."
"You 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. Better give it to her: 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 get 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 like that, start scooping water, and the water-spirit will grab him by the hand and drag him down. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they'll say, into the water... What kind of fell?.. There—he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening.
The reeds were indeed "rustling," as we say, parting.
"Is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool went mad after she'd been in the water?"
"Since then... Look at her now! But they say she was a beauty before. The water-spirit spoiled her. Probably didn't expect they'd pull her out so soon. So he spoiled her there, down at the bottom."
(I myself had met this Akulina more than once. Covered in rags, terribly thin, with a face black as coal, with clouded gaze and eternally bared teeth, she tramples for whole 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 lover deceived her."
"That's exactly 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! What a boy! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, her Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista did, 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 of a tremble. Other women don't care, they walk past with their washtubs, waddling along, but Feklista would put 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, God only knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears something like bubbles going through the water—she looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. Well, from that time 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 a song—remember, Vasya used to sing 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, "something's wrong."
"What?" Kostya asked hastily.
"I heard Vasya's voice."
Everyone started.
"What do you mean, what do you mean?" 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 walked away. But I got the water anyway."
"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 sign," said Ilyusha deliberately.
"Well, never mind, let it be!" said Pavel decisively and sat down again, "you can't escape your fate."
The boys fell quiet. It was clear 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 where, they say, there's no winter."
"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 had joined the boys. The moon had risen at last; I didn't notice it immediately: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed still as magnificent as before... But many stars that had recently stood high in the sky had already 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 summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died away together with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out in the faintly glimmering, weakly flowing light of the stars, also lay with heads lowered... Sweet oblivion fell upon me; it passed into drowsiness.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. The 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 brightening, cooling, turning blue; the stars either blinked with weak light or disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became dewy, living sounds and voices began to be heard here and there, and a thin, early breeze had already begun to wander and flutter over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful tremor. I got up quickly and approached the boys. They were all sleeping like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel half-raised himself and looked at me intently.
I nodded to him and walked away along the smoking river. I hadn't gone two versts when 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—there poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything stirred, awoke, began singing, rustling, speaking. Everywhere large drops of dew kindled 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, 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 Sportsman's Sketches")