Chapter XI
Towards evening the master of the house returned from his fishing, andhaving learnt that the cadet would pay for the lodging, pacified theold woman and satisfied Vanyusha's demands.
Everything was arranged in the new quarters. Their hosts moved into thewinter hut and let their summer hut to the cadet for three rubles amonth. Olenin had something to eat and went to sleep. Towards eveninghe woke up, washed and made himself tidy, dined, and having lit acigarette sat down by the window that looked onto the street. It wascooler. The slanting shadow of the hut with its ornamental gables fellacross the dusty road and even bent upwards at the base of the wall ofthe house opposite. The steep reed-thatched roof of that house shone inthe rays of the setting sun. The air grew fresher. Everything waspeaceful in the village. The soldiers had settled down and becomequiet. The herds had not yet been driven home and the people had notreturned from their work.
Olenin's lodging was situated almost at the end of the village. At rareintervals, from somewhere far beyond the Terek in those parts whenceOlenin had just come (the Chechen or the Kumytsk plain), came muffledsounds of firing. Olenin was feeling very well contented after threemonths of bivouac life. His newly washed face was fresh and hispowerful body clean (an unaccustomed sensation after the campaign) andin all his rested limbs he was conscious of a feeling of tranquillityand strength. His mind, too, felt fresh and clear. He thought of thecampaign and of past dangers. He remembered that he had faced them noworse than other men, and that he was accepted as a comrade amongvaliant Caucasians. His Moscow recollections were left behind Heavenknows how far! The old life was wiped out and a quite new life hadbegun in which there were as yet no mistakes. Here as a new man amongnew men he could gain a new and good reputation. He was conscious of ayouthful and unreasoning joy of life. Looking now out of the window atthe boys spinning their tops in the shadow of the house, now round hisneat new lodging, he thought how pleasantly he would settle down tothis new Cossack village life. Now and then he glanced at the mountainsand the blue sky, and an appreciation of the solemn grandeur of naturemingled with his reminiscences and dreams. His new life had begun, notas he imagined it would when he left Moscow, but unexpectedly well.'The mountains, the mountains, the mountains!' they permeated all histhoughts and feelings.
'He's kissed his dog and licked the jug! ... Daddy Eroshka has kissedhis dog!' suddenly the little Cossacks who had been spinning their topsunder the window shouted, looking towards the side street. 'He's drunkhis bitch, and his dagger!' shouted the boys, crowding together andstepping backwards.
These shouts were addressed to Daddy Eroshka, who with his gun on hisshoulder and some pheasants hanging at his girdle was returning fromhis shooting expedition.
'I have done wrong, lads, I have!' he said, vigorously swinging hisarms and looking up at the windows on both sides of the street. 'I havedrunk the bitch; it was wrong,' he repeated, evidently vexed butpretending not to care.
Olenin was surprised by the boys' behavior towards the old hunter, butwas still more struck by the expressive, intelligent face and thepowerful build of the man whom they called Daddy Eroshka.
'Here Daddy, here Cossack!' he called. 'Come here!'
The old man looked into the window and stopped.
'Good evening, good man,' he said, lifting his little cap off hiscropped head.
'Good evening, good man,' replied Olenin. 'What is it the youngstersare shouting at you?'
Daddy Eroshka came up to the window. 'Why, they're teasing the old man.No matter, I like it. Let them joke about their old daddy,' he saidwith those firm musical intonations with which old and venerable peoplespeak. 'Are you an army commander?' he added.
'No, I am a cadet. But where did you kill those pheasants?' askedOlenin.
'I dispatched these three hens in the forest,' answered the old man,turning his broad back towards the window to show the hen pheasantswhich were hanging with their heads tucked into his belt and staininghis coat with blood. 'Haven't you seen any?' he asked. 'Take a brace ifyou like! Here you are,' and he handed two of the pheasants in at thewindow. 'Are you a sportsman yourself?' he asked.
'I am. During the campaign I killed four myself.'
'Four? What a lot!' said the old man sarcastically. 'And are you adrinker? Do you drink CHIKHIR?'
'Why not? I like a drink.'
'Ah, I see you are a trump! We shall be KUNAKS, you and I,' said DaddyEroshka.
'Step in,' said Olenin. 'We'll have a drop of CHIKHIR.'
'I might as well,' said the old man, 'but take the pheasants.' The oldman's face showed that he liked the cadet. He had seen at once that hecould get free drinks from him, and that therefore it would be allright to give him a brace of pheasants.
Soon Daddy Eroshka's figure appeared in the doorway of the hut, and itwas only then that Olenin became fully conscious of the enormous sizeand sturdy build of this man, whose red-brown face with its perfectlywhite broad beard was all furrowed by deep lines produced by age andtoil. For an old man, the muscles of his legs, arms, and shoulders werequite exceptionally large and prominent. There were deep scars on hishead under the short-cropped hair. His thick sinewy neck was coveredwith deep intersecting folds like a bull's. His horny hands werebruised and scratched. He stepped lightly and easily over thethreshold, unslung his gun and placed it in a corner, and casting arapid glance round the room noted the value of the goods and chattelsdeposited in the hut, and with out-turned toes stepped softly, in hissandals of raw hide, into the middle of the room. He brought with him apenetrating but not unpleasant smell of CHIKHIR wine, vodka, gunpowder,and congealed blood.
Daddy Eroshka bowed down before the icons, smoothed his beard, andapproaching Olenin held out his thick brown hand. 'Koshkildy,' said he;That is Tartar for "Good-day"--"Peace be unto you," it means in theirtongue.'
'Koshkildy, I know,' answered Olenin, shaking hands.
'Eh, but you don't, you won't know the right order! Fool!' said DaddyEroshka, shaking his head reproachfully. 'If anyone says "Koshkildy" toyou, you must say "Allah rasi bo sun," that is, "God save you." That'sthe way, my dear fellow, and not "Koshkildy." But I'll teach you allabout it. We had a fellow here, Elias Mosevich, one of your Russians,he and I were kunaks. He was a trump, a drunkard, a thief, asportsman--and what a sportsman! I taught him everything.'
'And what will you teach me?' asked Olenin, who was becoming more andmore interested in the old man.
'I'll take you hunting and teach you to fish. I'll show you Chechensand find a girl for you, if you like--even that! That's the sort I am!I'm a wag!'--and the old man laughed. 'I'll sit down. I'm tired.Karga?' he added inquiringly.
'And what does "Karga" mean?' asked Olenin.
'Why, that means "All right" in Georgian. But I say it just so. It is away I have, it's my favourite word. Karga, Karga. I say it just so; infun I mean. Well, lad, won't you order the chikhir? You've got anorderly, haven't you? Hey, Ivan!' shouted the old man. 'All yoursoldiers are Ivans. Is yours Ivan?'
'True enough, his name is Ivan--Vanyusha. Here Vanyusha! Please getsome chikhir from our landlady and bring it here.'
'Ivan or Vanyusha, that's all one. Why are all your soldiers Ivans?Ivan, old fellow,' said the old man, 'you tell them to give you somefrom the barrel they have begun. They have the best chikhir in thevillage. But don't give more than thirty kopeks for the quart, mind,because that witch would be only too glad.... Our people are anathemapeople; stupid people,' Daddy Eroshka continued in a confidential toneafter Vanyusha had gone out. 'They do not look upon you as on men, youare worse than a Tartar in their eyes. "Worldly Russians" they say. Butas for me, though you are a soldier you are still a man, and have asoul in you. Isn't that right? Elias Mosevich was a soldier, yet what atreasure of a man he was! Isn't that so, my dear fellow? That's why ourpeople don't like me; but I don't care! I'm a merry fellow, and I likeeverybody. I'm Eroshka; yes, my dear fellow.'
And the old Cossack patted the young man affectionately on the shoulder.
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The Cossacks: A Tale of 1852 Page 11