At first I did not notice the last boy, Vanya: he was lying on the ground, curled snugly up under a square bast rug, from which he only occasionally poked out his curly brown head. He was no older than seven.
I lay under my bush, a little apart from the boys, and watched them. There was a small pan hanging over one of the fires, with potatoes cooking in it. Pavlusha was in charge of it, kneeling down and prodding a splinter of wood into the simmering water. Fedya was lying on the ground, leaning on his elbow, with his coat-tails spread out on either side. Ilyusha was sitting next to Kostya, squinting as intently as before. Kostya’s head was drooping a little as he stared into the distance. Vanya was lying motionless under his bast rug. I pretended to sleep. Little by little the boys got into conversation again.
First they just chatted about this and that, tomorrow’s jobs, the horses—but suddenly Fedya turned to Ilyusha and seemed to return to an earlier conversation.
‘So, did you really see the bogeyman, the domovoy?’
‘No, I never did—you can’t see them,’ said Ilyusha in a hoarse, faint voice, whose tone matched his expression perfectly. ‘I heard him … And I wasn’t the only one either.’
‘Where does he live, round your place?’ asked Pavlusha.
‘In the old roller shed.’
‘What? Do you go to the factory, then?’
‘’Course we do. Me and my brother Avdyushka, we’re paper-glazers.’
‘Just look at you—factory workers!’
‘Well then,’ asked Fedya, ‘how did you come to hear him?’
‘You see, Avdyushka and me, and Fyodor Mikheyevsky, and Ivashka Kosoy, and the other Ivashka from Red Hills, and Ivashka Sukhorukov, and some other boys—about ten of us altogether, the whole shift—it turned out we were spending the night in the roller room. Not that it turned out, exactly—it was Nazarov the foreman who made us: “What’s the point of you dragging yourselves home, boys,” he says, “there’s lots to do tomorrow, just you stay here, boys, don’t go home.” So we stayed behind, and there we all were, lying there together, and Avdyushka says, “What if the domovoy comes? …” and he’d only just finished saying that when somebody started walking about overhead; we were all downstairs, and the other one was walking about upstairs, where the wheel is. We could hear him walking, and the floorboards bending and creaking under his weight; and he walked right above our heads, and suddenly we could hear water splashing onto the wheel, really noisy, and the wheel knocked and bumped and started turning, though the sluice covers had been let down. So we wondered who could have raised them and opened the sluices again, and let the water through; and the wheel turned and turned a bit, and then it stopped. And then that other one went to the upstairs door, and started coming down, taking his time; and the steps were really groaning under his feet … So then he reached our door, and waited and waited—and suddenly the door burst wide open. We were scared stiff, but when we looked, there was nothing there … And then while we watched, we saw the net by one of the vats moving, and it went up in the air, and dipped itself into the vat, and waved this way and that in the air as if someone was rinsing it, and then it went back to its place. And then a hook lifted itself off its nail beside another vat, and then it hung itself back again; and then somebody seemed to come up to the door, and coughed and choked, just like a sheep, but so loud! And we all fell down and huddled together … Gosh, weren’t we scared that time!’
‘Well I never!’ said Pavel. ‘What was he coughing for?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it was damp.’
Nobody spoke for a bit.
‘Anyway,’ said Fedya, ‘are the potatoes done?’
Pavlusha felt them.
‘No, they’re still raw … My, what a splash,’ he added, looking over to the river. ‘Must have been a pike … And there’s a falling star.’
‘Now listen to what I’m going to tell you, boys,’ said Kostya in a thin little voice. ‘Here’s what my dad was telling me the other day.’
‘Well, go on,’ said Fedya condescendingly.
‘You know Gavrila, the carpenter in the big village?’
‘Yes, go on.’
‘But do you know why he’s always so miserable, never says anything, I mean? Here’s why he’s so miserable. One day he went, my dad was saying, he went into the forest to pick nuts. So he went to the forest for nuts, and he lost his way, and ended up God knows where. And he walked on and on, boys, but it was no good, he couldn’t find the path, and the night was coming. So he sat down under a tree; let’s wait for morning, he thought; so he sat down and fell asleep. So he was sleeping, when he suddenly heard someone calling him, and he looks up, but nobody’s there. He fell asleep again, and the calling came again. So he looks and looks again, and there’s a wood sprite, a russalka, on a branch in front of him, rocking herself and calling him to come to her, and she’s killing herself laughing and laughing … And the moon was shining bright, so bright, it was so clear, he could see everything, boys. And she’s calling him, and she was so bright and shining herself, sitting on the branch, all white, like a roach or a dace, or a carp can be that silvery-white as well … Gavrila the carpenter, he almost fainted right away, brothers, but she went on laughing and kept beckoning him over, to come to her … Gavrila was just about to get up and do what she wanted, but the Lord must have told him what to do, and he made the sign of the cross … Only how hard it must have been to cross himself: well, boys, he says his hand was like a stone, it wouldn’t move … What a man! … So as soon as he crossed himself, that russalka stopped laughing, and then she suddenly burst out crying … She’s crying there, brothers, and wiping her eyes with her hair, and her hair’s just as green as that hemp. So Gavrila, he looks at her, and he looks at her, and he asks her: “What are you crying for, you bit of forest greenery?”But the russalka, she tells him: “You never should have crossed yourself, you human being you, you could have lived merrily with me till the end of your days; but now I’m weeping broken-hearted because you crossed yourself. But I’m not the only one—now you’ll be broken-hearted yourself, till the end of your days.” And then, boys, she vanished, and that same moment Gavrila could see his way out of the forest … But ever since then he’s been miserable, wherever he goes.’
‘Think of that!’ Fedya mused after a while. ‘How could such a wicked forest creature ruin a Christian soul? When he hadn’t even obeyed her?’
‘Yes, just think!’ agreed Kostya. ‘And Gavrila said she had such a sad, thin little voice, just like a toad.’
‘Did your father tell you all that himself?’ Fedya asked.
‘Yes, I was lying on my bunk, and I heard it all.’
‘How strange! What’s he got to be miserable about? … But she must have fancied him, if she beckoned him to come to her.’
‘Yes—fancied him indeed!’ Ilyusha broke in. ‘So she did—she wanted to tickle him to death, that’s what! That’s what they do, those russalkas.’
‘But there must be russalkas round here too,’ remarked Fedya.
‘No,’ said Kostya, ‘this is a clear, open place. Except for one thing—the river’s too close.’
Everyone was silent. Suddenly, from somewhere in the distance, there came a long-drawn-out, echoing, almost wailing sound, one of those mysterious night sounds that sometimes break in on a deep quietness, rising and hanging in the air, and then fade and seem to die away. You strain your ears, and there seems to be nothing there, but your ears are still ringing. It felt as if someone had uttered a long, long cry, right over by the horizon, and someone else in the forest had called back in a shrill, high-pitched laugh, and then a faint whistling hiss had sounded along the river. The boys looked at one another and shivered …
‘The holy powers be with us!’ whispered Ilyusha.
‘Hey, you brave ravens!’ cried Pavel. ‘What are you so scared of? Just look, the potatoes are ready!’ Everybody gathered round the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn’t stir. ‘What’
s the matter?’ asked Pavel. But the boy wouldn’t come out from under his rug, and soon the pot was empty.
‘Boys, did you hear what happened at Varnavitsi the other day?’ asked Ilyusha.
‘Up at the dam?’ said Fedya.
‘Yes, yes, at the dam, the broken one. That’s an unclean place all right, such a haunted place, and so lonely. All those pits and gullies everywhere, and they’re all full of snakes.’
‘So what happened? Go on, tell us!’
‘Here’s what. Fedya, maybe you don’t know this, but there’s a drowned man buried there; he drowned long, long ago, when the pond was still deep, and you can still see his grave there, but you can only just make it out—just a little mound like this … Well, a few days ago, the bailiff calls Yermil the kennelman, and says, “Yermil, go for the post.” Now it’s always Yermil who goes to the post for us; he’s let all his dogs die, they never live long with him for some reason, never have done, but he’s a good kennelman, everyone knows that. So Yermil set off for the post, and he was a long time in town, and when he rode back he was drunk. It was night, a bright moonlit night … So Yermil rode back over the dam, that was the way he had to go. So there he is, Yermil the kennelman, riding across it, and he sees a little lamb walking around on the drowned man’s grave, all white and curly, a dear little thing. So Yermil, he thinks, “I’ll take him along—no point leaving him there to die,” so he gets off his horse, and picks the lamb up in his arms … And that lamb, he doesn’t mind. So Yermil walks back to his horse, and the horse rears up away from him, and snorts, and tosses his head; but he says “Whoa, boy,” and gets up with the lamb in his arms, and sets off again, holding the lamb in front of him. And he’s looking at the lamb, and the lamb’s staring back, straight in his eyes. And Yermil the kennelman, he comes over all queer, “I’ve never known a lamb stare in a man’s eyes like this,” he thinks; but never mind, he begins stroking that lamb on his woolly fleece, like this, and says to him: “There, there, lambkin!”—and the lamb, he suddenly bares his teeth and says it back to him: “There, there, lambkin!”’
No sooner had the storyteller spoken those words than both dogs leapt up, rushed away from the fire barking frantically, and vanished into the dark. All the boys were alarmed. Vanya started out from under his rug. Pavlusha yelled and raced off after the dogs. Their barking grew fainter in the distance … Then came the sound of galloping hooves—the herd of horses had taken fright. Pavlusha was shouting ‘Hey there, Grey! Zhuchka!’ and a few moments later the barking stopped, and by now Pavlusha’s voice was coming from far away. Some time passed. The boys were looking at each other anxiously, waiting to see what would happen … Suddenly there was the sound of a horse galloping, and it drew up right by the bonfire. Pavlusha seized hold of its mane and sprang nimbly off. Both dogs leapt into the circle of light and sat straight down with their red tongues hanging out.
‘What was it? What’s happened?’ asked the boys.
‘Nothing,’ replied Pavel, gesturing at his horse. ‘The dogs just scented something. A wolf, I expect,’ he added indifferently, though he was still panting.
I could not help admiring him. He was looking very fine just then. His ugly face, animated by the chase, was all aglow with daring courage and firm resolution. Without even a stick in his hand, he had not hesitated to gallop off alone in the darkness to face a wolf … ‘What a splendid lad!’ I thought as I looked at him.
‘Did you see any wolves, then?’ asked timid little Kostya.
‘There’s always lots of them about,’ said Pavel, ‘but they only bother you in the winter.’
And he snuggled down by the fireside again. As he was sitting down, he laid a hand on the shaggy head of one of the dogs, and the delighted animal held its head still for a long while, gazing proudly and gratefully at Pavlusha out of the corner of its eye.
Vanya huddled down under his rug once more.
‘What scary tales you were telling us, Ilyusha,’ remarked Fedya, who as the son of a rich peasant found himself leading the conversation (though he himself did not say much, as though afraid of lowering his dignity). ‘And what the devil came over those dogs, to set them off barking? … But that’s right, I’ve been told that place of yours is haunted.’
‘Varnavitsi? I should say it is! They say the old master has been seen there lots of times, the dead landowner. They say he walks around in a long kaftan, and keeps sighing and searching for something on the ground. Grandpa Trofimich met him once, “Ivan Ivanich,” he says, “what are you looking for there on the ground?”’
‘He asked him that?’ interrupted Fedya in amazement.
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Well, what a man, that Trofimich! … So, what did the other one say?’
‘“The enchanted herb that opens locks,” he says, “that’s what I’m looking for.” Says it in such a deep, hollow voice: “The enchanted herb”.—“What do you want it for, Ivan Ivanich, the enchanted herb?”—“My tomb is pressing down on me, Trofimich. I want to get out, out of there …”’
‘Just think!’ said Fedya, ‘He can’t have had much of a life.’
‘What a miracle!’ said Kostya. ‘I thought you could only see dead people on All Hallows.’
‘You can see dead people any time,’ Ilyusha returned confidently. As far as I could see, he knew all the country superstitions better than the other boys. ‘But on All Hallows you can see living people too, I mean the ones who are going to die that year. All you have to do is sit down that night in the church porch and keep your eyes on the road. Those people will walk by you along the road, the ones who are going to die that year. Last year in our village, Baba Ulyana went there.’
‘Well, and did she see anyone?’ asked Kostya eagerly.
‘’Course she did. First of all she just sat there a long, long time, without seeing or hearing anyone … except that there seemed to be a little dog, barking on and on somewhere … And suddenly she looks, and there’s a boy coming along the road, in just his shirt. So she looked to see, and it was Ivashka Fedoseyev walking by …’
‘The one who died in the spring?’ asked Fedya.
‘The very same. Walked past, never lifted his head … But Ulyana recognized him … And then she went on looking, and an old woman was coming. So she peered and peered at her, and oh my Lord! it was herself walking along the road, Ulyana herself.’
‘You don’t mean it was herself?’
‘I swear it was, her own self.’
‘But what … I mean, she hasn’t died yet?’
‘No, but the year isn’t out. Just look at her. Her soul’s barely clinging on to her body.’
Everybody fell silent. Pavel threw a handful of dry twigs onto the fire. Instantly the flames burned up, the twigs blackened in a trice, crackling and smoking and twisting in the fire and raising their burning tips in the air. A flickering glow shone out in all directions, especially upwards. And suddenly, heaven knows where from, a little white dove flew straight into the glowing light, fluttered round and round in terror, bathed in light, and vanished with a flapping of its wings.
‘Can’t find its home, I expect,’ said Pavel. ‘Now it’ll carry on till it flies into something, and wherever that is, it’ll spend the night there till dawn comes.’
‘But Pavlusha,’ said Kostya, ‘mightn’t that have been a blessed soul flying up to heaven, eh?’
Pavel threw another handful of twigs onto the fire.
‘Could be,’ he said at last.
‘But tell me, Pavlusha,’ began Fedya, ‘did you at Shalamovo see that heavenly apparition too?’
‘What, when the sun disappeared? Of course we did.’
‘I guess you were all frightened too?’
‘It wasn’t just us. Our master warned us beforehand that there’d be a heavenly apparition, but even so, when it got dark, they say he was terrified right out of his wits. And the old cook woman in the house serfs’ hut, the moment it got dark, do you know, she grabbed the oven tongs and smashe
d every one of the pots in the oven. “None of us will ever eat again,” she says, “the last day has come.” And there was soup running all over the place. And in our village, people were saying there’d be white wolves running wild over the earth, eating people, and a bird of prey would come down on us, or they might even catch sight of Trishka himself.’
‘Who’s this Trishka?’ asked Kostya.
‘Don’t you know?’ replied Ilyusha heatedly. ‘Well, boy, wherever have you been, if you don’t even know Trishka? Don’t any of your lot ever leave your village, then? I mean … Trishka—he’s an extraordinary man, and he’s going to come, he’ll come when it’s the last days. And he’ll be such an extraordinary man that no one will be able to catch him, nor they won’t be able to do anything to him, that’s how extraordinary he’ll be. Say the Christian folk set out to catch him, and they come with sticks and surround him, well, he’ll make them look the other way, and while he’s distracting them, they’ll start fighting each other. Or suppose they put him in prison, say—he’ll ask for some water in a bowl, and they’ll bring him a bowl of water, and he’ll dive into it and they’ll never see him again. Or they’ll chain him up, and he’ll clap his hands and the chains’ll fall off him. Anyway, this Trishka will be walking through the villages and the towns, and he’s a cunning fellow, this Trishka, and he’ll tempt the Christian people … and no one will be able to do anything to him … That’s what an extraordinary, cunning man he’ll be.’
‘That’s right,’ Pavel took him up, in his unhurried voice, ‘that’s what he’s like. And our villagers were all expecting him. The old men were saying that as soon as the heavenly apparition begins, that’s when Trishka will turn up. And then the heavenly apparition began. And everyone poured out onto the streets and into the fields, and waited to see what would happen. You know how the land round our parts is all open country. They’re looking, and suddenly there’s a man walking down the hill from the hamlet on top, such a peculiar man, with a very odd head … And everybody burst out shouting “Look, Trishka’s coming! Look, Trishka’s coming!” and rushed off in all directions. Our village headman crept into a ditch, and his wife got stuck under their gate and she’s yelling her head off, she frightened their guard dog so badly that it slipped its chain and jumped the fence and ran off into the forest; and Kuzka’s father Dorotheich jumped into a pile of oats and squatted down and started squawking like a quail. “Perhaps,” he thinks, “the Great Enemy, the Destroyer of Souls, will take pity on a bird.” Everyone was in such a state! … But the man walking downhill, that was our cooper Vavila: he’d just bought himself a new pitcher, and he was carrying the empty pitcher on his head.’
Love and Youth Page 9