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Everyone fell silent.

"By the way," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes cooked?"

Pavlusha felt them.

"No, still raw... There, it splashed," he added, turning his face toward the river. "Must be a pike... And there's a little star falling."

"No, I'll tell you something, brothers," began Kostya in his thin voice. "Listen to what my father told me the other day."

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

"You know Gavrila, the village carpenter?"

"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 brothers, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts and got lost; he wandered—God knows where he wandered. He walked and walked, my brothers—no! He can't find the way; and it was already night. 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—nobody. He dozed off again—they call again. He looks again: and there before him on a branch sits a rusalka, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying with laughter, laughing... And the moon is shining brightly, so brightly, clearly the moon is shining—everything, my brothers, is visible. So she calls him, and she herself sits there all bright, all white on the branch, like some roach or gudgeon—or there's also carp that are so whitish, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter just froze, my brothers, and she keeps laughing and calling him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to stand up, was about to obey the rusalka, my brothers, but, apparently, the Lord enlightened 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 brothers; he says his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh you devil!.. So when he made the sign of the cross, my brothers, the rusalka stopped laughing and suddenly began to cry... She cries, my brothers, wipes her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green, like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her and began to ask her: 'Why are you crying, forest creature?' And the rusalka speaks to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, human, 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 too until the end of your days.' Then she, my brothers, disappeared, and Gavrila immediately understood clearly how to get out of the forest... But since then he always walks 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?"

"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."

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

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

"And there must be rusalkas here too," noted Fedya.

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

Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, rang out a long, ringing, almost moaning sound, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid deep silence, rise up, hang in the air, and finally spread slowly, 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 have answered him in the forest with thin, sharp laughter, and a weak, hissing whistle rushed along the river. The boys exchanged glances, shuddered...

"The sign of the cross be with us!" whispered Ilya.

"Eh, you crows!" shouted Pavel. "What are you startled about? Look, the potatoes are cooked." (Everyone moved closer to the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn't move.) "What's with you?" said Pavel.

But he didn't crawl out from under his mat. The pot was soon completely emptied.

"Have you heard, lads," 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 really an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all kinds of snakes dwell."

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

"And this is what happened. Maybe 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.' Ermil always goes to the post for us; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, just never lived, and he's a good dog-keeper, has everything. So Ermil went for the post and lingered in town, but rode back already tipsy. And it was night, and a bright night: the moon was shining... So Ermil rides 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 little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking about. So Ermil thinks: 'I'll take him—why should he perish like that,' and 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 her head; however, he calmed her down, got on her with the lamb and rode again: holding the lamb in front of him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks him straight in the eye. Ermil the dog-keeper got uneasy: I don't remember, he says, rams looking people in the eye like that; however, nothing; he began to stroke its wool like this—says: 'Baa-sha, baa-sha!' And the ram suddenly bares its teeth and also says to him: 'Baa-sha, baa-sha!'"

The storyteller had barely uttered this last word when suddenly both dogs rose 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 alarmed herd was heard. Pavlusha shouted loudly: "Seryy! Zhuchka!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice came already from afar... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the hoofbeats of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped abruptly right at the campfire, and, clutching 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's there? 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 involuntarily admired 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 twig in his hand, at night, he 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 timid Kostya.

"There are always many 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 nape 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 again hid under his mat.

"What frightening things you were telling us, Ilyushka," began Fedya, who, as the son of a wealthy peasant, had to be the leader (though he himself spoke little, as if afraid of lowering his dignity). "And the devil made the dogs bark... But it's true, I've heard that place of yours is unclean."

"Varnavitsy?... Of course! 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 caftan and keeps groaning like this, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, master, Ivan Ivanovich, are you looking for on the ground?'"

"He asked him?" interrupted the astonished Fedya.

"Yes, asked."

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

"'Rupture-grass,' he says, 'I'm looking for.' And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly: 'Rupture-grass.' 'And what do you need, master Ivan Ivanovich, rupture-grass for?' 'The grave,' he says, 'presses, Trofimych: I want out, out...'"

"Well, that's something!" remarked Fedya. "Didn't live long enough, apparently."

"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 notice, knew all the village superstitions best... "But on Parents' Saturday you can also see the living, that is, those whose turn it is to die that year. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep watching the road. Those will pass by you on the road who are to die that year. Last year old woman Ulyana went to the porch."

"Well, and did she see anyone?" asked Kostya with curiosity.

"Of course. First she sat for a long, long time, saw and heard nobody... only it was as if a dog was 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 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 along the road, Ulyana herself."

"Really herself?" asked Fedya.

"By God, herself."

"Well, so what, 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, smoked, and began to curl, raising their burnt ends. The reflection of light struck, trembling convulsively, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly from out of nowhere a white dove—flew straight into this reflection, fearfully whirled in one spot, all bathed in hot radiance, and disappeared, wings ringing.

"Must have strayed from home," noted 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, "did you also see the heavenly prophecy in Shalamovo?" [This is what the peasants call a solar eclipse. (Note by I.S. Turgenev)]

"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 a prophecy, when it got dark, they say, he got so frightened himself, goodness me. And in the servants' hut the cook woman, as soon as it got dark, listen to this, 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 white wolves would run across the earth, eat people, a bird of prey would fly, or they'd even see Trishka himself." [The belief about "Trishka" probably echoes the legend of the antichrist. (Note by I.S. Turgenev)]

"What Trishka is that?" asked Kostya.

"Don't you 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—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 impossible to do anything to him: such an amazing man he'll be. The peasants will want, for example, to catch him; they'll go after him with clubs, surround him, but he'll pull the wool over their eyes—pull the wool over their eyes so that they'll beat each other. They'll put him in jail, for example—he'll ask for a drink of water in a ladle: they'll bring him a ladle, 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 nothing can be done to him... Such an amazing, cunning man he'll be."

"Well yes," continued Pavel in his unhurried voice, "such. So they were waiting for him at our place. The old people said that as soon as the heavenly prophecy begins, Trishka will come. So the prophecy began. All the people poured out onto the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And at our place, you know, the spot is visible, open. They look—suddenly from the settlement down the hill comes some person, such a strange one, such an amazing head... Everyone shouts: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scatters every which way! Our elder dove into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming bloody murder, frightened her own yard dog so much that it broke the chain, over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, squatted down, and started crying like a quail: 'Maybe, he says, the enemy, the murderer, will at least spare a bird.' That's how alarmed everyone got!.. And the person walking was our cooper, Vavila: he'd bought himself a new tub and put the empty tub on his head."

All the boys laughed and again fell silent for a moment, as often happens with people conversing in the open air. I looked around: the night stood solemn and majestic; the damp coolness of late evening had been replaced by midnight's dry warmth, and it would lie like a soft canopy over the sleeping fields for a long time yet; much time remained until the first babble, the first rustles and whispers of morning, the first dewdrops of dawn. There was no moon in the sky: it rose late at that time. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly, all twinkling in rivalry, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel dimly yourself the swift, ceaseless running of the earth...

A strange, harsh, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, was repeated farther away...

Kostya shuddered. "What's that?"

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

"A heron," repeated Kostya... "But what's this, Pavlusha, 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, then went through the meadow—you know, where it comes out at the steep turn—there's a spring hole there; you know, it's all overgrown with reeds; so I walked past this spring hole, my brothers, and suddenly from that spring hole someone groans, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear took me, my brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. I felt like crying myself... What could that have been? Eh?"

"In that spring hole the year before last thieves drowned Akim the forester," noted Pavel, "so maybe it's his soul complaining."

"Well, that could be it, my brothers," answered Kostya, widening his already enormous eyes... "I didn't know that Akim was drowned in that 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 wasn't frogs... what kind of..." (The heron cried again over the river.) "There it goes!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "like a wood demon crying."

"The 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, 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, muffled up, like behind a tree, you can't make him out properly, like hiding from the moon, and looks, looks with those huge eyes, blinks them, blinks..."

"Ugh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and twitching his shoulders, "pfft!.."

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

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

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 upward his large quiet eyes. All the boys' eyes rose to the sky and didn't lower soon.

"Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke tenderly, "how is your sister Anyutka, is she well?"

"Well," answered Vanya, slightly lisping.

"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?" asked Fedya.

"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, start scooping water, and the water spirit will grab him by the hand and drag him to himself. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What kind of fell?.. There, he's climbed into the reeds," he added, listening.

The reeds indeed were "rustling" as they parted, as we say.

"Is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool has been crazy since she was in the water?"

"Since then... What she's like 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, at the bottom."

(I myself met this Akulina more than once. Covered in rags, terribly thin, with a face black as coal, 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 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," continued Kostya, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover deceived her."

"That's exactly why."

"And do you remember Vasya?" Kostya added sadly.

"Which Vasya?" asked Fedya.

"The one who drowned," answered Kostya, "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. When Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to bathe in the river—she'd be all atremble. Other women don't care, walk past with their wash tubs, waddling along, but Feklista would put the tub on the ground and start calling him: 'Come back, she'd say, come back, my bright one! 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. Since then Feklista's not 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 a song—remember, Vasya always sang such a song—so she starts that very one, and cries herself, cries, bitterly complains to God..."

"Here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya.

Pavel approached the fire with the full pot in his hand.

"Well, lads," he began after a pause, "it's not good."

"What?" asked Kostya hastily.

"I heard Vasya's voice."

Everyone shuddered.

"What, what?" stammered Kostya.

"By God. Just 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 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 omen," said Ilyusha deliberately.

"Well, never mind, let it be!" said Pavel decisively and sat down again. "You can't escape your fate."

The boys quieted down. 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 immediately: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed still as magnificent as before... But already many stars that had stood high in the sky not long before had inclined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted around, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: all slept with a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strong—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died down together with the fires... The dogs even dozed; the horses, as far as I could make out in the barely glimmering, weakly flowing light of the stars, 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. Dawn wasn't blushing anywhere yet, but already whiteness showed in the east. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, around. The pale-gray sky lightened, grew cold, turned blue; the stars now blinked with weak light, now disappeared; the earth grew damp, leaves became wet with dew, here and there living sounds, voices began to ring out, and a thin, early breeze already started wandering and fluttering over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful shiver. I quickly got up and approached the boys. They all slept like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel half-rose and looked intently at me.

I nodded to him and went my way along the smoking river. Before I had gone two versts, already pouring around me over the wide wet meadow, and ahead, over the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind along the long dusty road, over the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and over the river, bashfully turning blue from under the thinning fog—poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything stirred, awoke, sang, rustled, spoke. Everywhere like radiant diamonds large drops of dew glowed red; 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")