Here I started getting surprised. But she just sobs it all out, looks into my eyes, and goes on admiring.
Ah, she says, Nazar IPich, Mr. Sinebriukhov, you are the most cultivated and charming man here and somehow you will manage it.
And this is how I came to ponder such cunning: because I could see her beauty going to waste for nothing.
I'll tell the old man, think I, the old, old miller, that everyone
from the village Krevo is being evacuated... He will undoubtedly dig for his goods ... And then we'll be there to propose he should share up.
The next day I go to their place. My own beard is trimmed, you know, and I put on a clean shirt, and there I am just like a bridegroom on parade . . .
Now, Victorichka, I say, it'll all be taken care of.
I go up to the miller.
That's the way it is, says I; now, says I, Rear Company is going to give you an order tomorrow to clear out all inhabitants from the village Krevo on account of military activities.
Och, how he gets to trembling then, my miller, how he tosses about on his bed. «•
And him, as he was in his underdrawers—he bolted for the door and spilled not a word to anyone.
He went out the door, and I followed very quietlike.
It was practically night. Moon. Why, you could see every blade of grass. And he's moving along, noticeable as can be, all in white, like some kind of skeleton, and I go hopping along after him behind the shed.
And some damn German, I remember, started to shoot. All right. He's moving along.
He went just a little way and gave a yelp.
He gives a yelp and grabs quick at his chest.
I look, and blood is flowing across the white.
Nu, I am thinking, trouble—a bullet.
He was turning around, I see, back; his hands dropped and he went home.
Well, I just stare—there was something awful about the way he moved. He's not bending his legs, they're stiff, and the step is terrible heavy.
I was running to him, I'm afraid myself, I grab and grab him by the hand, but his hand is growing cold and I see there's no breath in him—deceased.
And with an invisible power he climbed to his home, the ages closed for him, and as he knocks on the floor, so the floor rumbles •—earth calls unto herself the deceased.
Then there was shrieking in the house, wailing in front of the cdrpse, and with the step of death he approached the bed, and here he was mowed down.
And such a panic went up in the hut, we sit and it's awful to hear our own breathing.
And that's how the miller died because of me, and that's how his pile vanished—amen for eternity—his capital.
Then Victoria Kazimirovna was much stricken with grief.
She is weeping and weeping, that whole week she is weeping— her tears will not dry.
And when I approach her, she drives me away and doesn't want to see me.
Only a week passed, I remember, and I am there. No tears, I see, and she even comes up to me lovingly.
What in the world, she says, did you do, Nazar Il'ich? You, she says, are to blame for everything, now you get us out of it.
Fetch me, though it be from the sea's bottom, a little capital, otherwise you are the number one criminal for me and I will go, I know where, to the transport. Ensign Lapushkin asked me to be his sweetheart, and he even promised me a nice gold watch with a bracelet.
Oh, bitterly I shook my head, and tell me, where was I supposed to dig up this capital, but she threw a little knitted shawl around her shoulders and bowed to me nice and low.
I'm going, she says, he is expecting me, Ensign Lapushkin is waiting for me. So please, farewell, Nazar Il'ich, Mr. Sinebriuk-hov.
Stop, I say, stop, Victoria Kazimorovna. Give me some time, I say, this has got to be thought through.
What is there, she says, for him to think about? Go fetch it, though it be from the sea's bottom, only carry out my request.
And then an idea dawned on me.
In wartime, think I, anything goes. Maybe the Germans will attack, and I could burn through a few pockets if it came to that.
And soon came just such a chance.
In our trenches we had a cannon . . . Och, God help me remember—Hotchkiss is the title.
Hotchkiss naval cannon.
A thin little muzzle it had, and kind of silly to see a shell in it, an insignificant shell at that. But anyhow, it didn't shoot too badly.
It would shoot and do its best to blow up as much as it could. Naval Lieutenant Winch was commander over it. Not a bad guy, the lieutenant's all right. He wouldn't beat you up, he'd just put you in front of a firing squad.
And we were very fond of that little cannon and always set it up in our own trench.
Here, let's say, is the machine gun, and here is a small clump of pines—and the cannon.
She annoyed Germany quite a bit, knocked off a hunk of the Polish church along the cupola, because there was a German observer there.
She also struck among their machine guns.
And right off she never gave the Germans any rest.
That's how the chance came about.
The Germans at nighttime stole off with her most important part—the breechblock. And at the same time they carried off the machine guns. r
And how this happened—it's amazing to ponder.
It was quiet. I absolutely went off to Victoria Kazimirovna. The guard was drowsing by the cannon, and the second guard, imagine scum like that, went over to the platoon on duty. They were playing cards there.
Well, O.K. He went.
Only he's playing cards, and he keeps winning, the son of a bitch, and he doesn't take any interest to look what was happening.
And it happened: the Germans dusted off the breechblock from the cannon.
Only, toward morning, the second guard went up to the cannon and he sees: the first guard is lying there absolutely dead, and all-around robbery.
Och, then there was a to-do!
Naval Lieutenant Winch leaps on me like a tiger, he stands the whole platoon at attention, and he orders each man to hold a card in his teeth, but to the second guard, three cards like a fan.
Toward evening, his excellency the general rides over, and he's all stirred up.
He's all right, he's a good general.
As soon as he looked at the platoon, his anger left him. Thirty men standing as one, holding cards in their teeth.
The general smiled.
Step out, he says, chosen eagles, fly on the Germans, destroy the foreign enemy.
$So stepped out, as I remember, five men, and me with them.
The general, his excellency, is admiring us.
Fly eagles, he says, by night, cut the German wire, seek out even just one German machine gun, and if it should come to pass —the cannon's breechblock.
All ri-i-i-ight.
And toward night we went.
I played along. I needed to.
In the first place I had my own little plan, and then I'm not one of those who wants to live forever.
I, you know, was once chosen for luck. Yes.
In the year sixteen, as I remember, a kind of dark fellow came around. People said he was a Romanian peasant. He came around with birds. He had a cage across his chest. And in the cage was not a parrot, a parrot is green, but some such one of them tropical birds. So she, the scum, a regular scholar that bird, dipped her beak in the cards and picked out each man's luck.
As for me, I remember, the planet Cancer predicted I'd live to ninety.
And a lot more was predicted that I've forgotten, but just as it was predicted, it will come out.
So then I remembered the prediction and just strolled right along.
We approached the German barbed wire.
Dark shadow. Still no moon.
We cut the loop very quietly, we let ourselves down into the trenches, in among the Germans, we went maybe fifty steps— there's a machine gun.
We d
ropped the German sentry to the ground and strangled him then and there.
It seemed very unpleasant to me, a bit awful in general, you know, this nightmare.
All ri-i-i-ight.
We dismounted the machine gun, decided who should take the stand, who the ammunition boxes, and on me, as I remember, they palmed off, their mother should have it so, the heaviest part, the body of the machine gun.
And this was so damn heavy, it was altogether dropping, not at all light, and step by step they were disappearing from me, and I'm dragging my tail after them, I'm in trouble.
I'd have to crawl up, then I look—the communications passage —I'm there.
And suddenly from around the corner steps an awfully healthy-looking German and his rifle's at the ready.
I threw the machine gun down at my feet and also slipped off my rifle.
Only I have a feeling the German wants to shoot, his head is on the stock.
Someone else might have got scared, someone else might very well have got scared. But it's nothing to me. I stand, and I don't even shake.
If I just turn my back, or give the breech a flip, there, absolutely, I'm finished.
So we stand face to cozy face. And in all, there's five steps between us.
We look each other In the eye and wait, who will run away.
And all of a sudden, the German starts to shake, he makes like to turn back.
So then I shot him.
And right away I remembered my little plan.
I crawled up to him, frisked through his pockets—it's unpleasant. Well, never mind, I forced myself. I took out a pigskin wallet, I took out a watch in a case (the Germans always carry a watch in a case), I heaved the machine gun up on my shoulder, and on I went.
I reached the wire—no loophole.
Any chance of finding it in the dark?
I started to push my way through the barbed wire—it was tough.
Maybe an hour or more I was shoving along, my back was broke, my arms were all torn.
Well anyway I just shoved through.
Then I rested peacefully, crawled into the grass, started to bandage up my arms, they're bleeding so.
And I completely forgot, God damn me, I'm still on the German side and it's getting light already.
I wanted to run. The Germans were raising a stink. It seems they found there was a mess on their side, they opened fire on the Russians, and if I was crawling along, they'd see me and kill me.
But this place here, I see, is wide open, and further on there isn't even any grass. And there's three hundred steps to the huts.
Well, think I, Rear Company just stay where you are. Lucky lor you, Nazar Il'ich, Mr. Sinebriukhov, the grass hides you.
All ri-i-i-ight. So I lie still.
But maybe the Germans were feeling terribly insulted, anyway they are taking aim and shooting away at anything they see.
Around noon they leave off shooting. But I notice as soon as anyone sticks his head out up on our Russian side, they take aim.
Well that means they are absolutely on their toes and I have to stay put till dark.
All ri-i-i-ight.
I lie an hour ... and I lie two. I interest myself in the wallet... Not much money, but at least it's all foreign ... I am admiring the watch.
But the sun beat straight down on my head, and my spirit drooped. And thirst.
Then I started to think about Victoria Kazimirovna. Only, when I look up, I see there's a crow about to drop down on me.
I'm lying there alive. But maybe he thinks I'm carrion. And he's dropping down.
I try to shoo him away quietly.
Sssssh, I say, beat it, get the hell out.
I am waving my hand, but maybe he doesn't believe me. He sits himself right on me.
There's a scummy bird for you. Sits himself right on my chest. No way to pull him off. My arms are torn, I can't bend them, and he's at me hard with his beak and wings.
I swat at him, He shoves off and sits down again nearby. And then he moves back toward me, and he's even hissing. The snake, he smells the blood on my arms.
Well, think I, you've had it, Nazar IPich, Mr. Sinebriukhov. A bullet never touched you, but here's this garbagey bird, God forgive, ruins a man for no reason. Now the Germans would absolutely catch on as to what was going on just outside the barbed wire.
And what was going on? A crow was eating a man alive.
So we were at each other a long time like this. I'm getting ready to really let him have one, only I've got to be careful not to move so the Germans will see me, and, I tell you, I'm about ready to cry. My arms are torn, my blood is flowing, and here he's still nibbling.
Then I got to feeling so damn mad at him and he was just coming at me when I spring on him.
Kysh, I say, you scabby rubbish!
I cried out and the Germans absolutely heard it right away.
I jumped up. I run, my rifle beats against my legs, and the machine gun just lies there where I left it.
Then the Germans gave a yell and started shooting at me. But I don't hit the dirt—I just run.
And how I got to the first huts, I don't mind telling you, I don't know.
I just plain got there. I look, my shoulder's bleeding, I'm wounded.
Then behind the huts step by step I made my way back to my own and just dropped down dead.
I came to myself in the regimental infirmary, as I remember, in the transport. *
Well I just whisk through my pockets. The watch is there. But the pigskin wallet? Just as if it had never been.
Now either I had left it at the place where the crow stopped me from hiding it, or the medics had lifted it.
I wept most bitterly. I decided to drop every opportunity, and just get better.
But then I find out. There lives here at Ensign Lapushkin's, in the transport, the charming Eolack Victoria Kazimirovna.
All ri-i-i-ight.
Maybe a week went by. They decorated me with a George. And in this manner I appear before the Ensign Lapushkin.
I go into the hut.
Greetings, I say, your highness. And greetings, please, charming Polack Victoria Kazimirovna.
Then I see they are both beginning to look a little embarrassed.
He stands up and hides her.
What, he says, do you want? I've been seeing too much of you lately. You've been hanging around too much under the windows. Beat it, he says, you son of the barnyard, so much for you.
But I stick my chest out and I answer proudly like this.
You, I say, may outrank me, but the business here is among other things a civilian one, and I have a right to be discussing it, just like anyone else. Let her, I say, the charming Polack herself, make a choice between us.
How he starts yelling at me!
,> Damn you, he screams, you Tambov milksop! How dare you! Take off that George, he says, and I'll really hit you one.
No, says I, your highness. You can't touch me. I'm a combat soldier.
And at the same time I stand waiting by the door for what she, the charming Polack, will say.
Well she just keeps quiet, hiding behind Lapushkin's back.
I sighed bitterly. I spat on the floor with a glob of spit. And I went my own way.
Just as I'd gone out the door, I hear some footsteps clipping along.
I look. Victoria Kazimirovna is running. The little knitted shawl is fluttering from her shoulders.
She ran up to me, she dug into my arm with her scratchy claws, but for awhile she just couldn't get a word out.
So maybe a moment went by. She kisses my hand with her charming lips. And this is what she says.
I bow low to you, Nazar Il'ich, Mr. Sinebriukhov . . . Forgive me all such, for God's sake. It's just that our fates are different.
I wanted to fall down right there. I wanted to tell her a thing or two .. . Only I remembered then just how that crow had flown over me ... Och, I pulled myself together.
No, says I, for you, charming Polack,
there is no forgiveness in all eternity.
A METROPOLITAN DEAL
In the village Usacha the other day they were holding the reelection of a chairman.
City comrade Vedernikov, sent by the party cell to the village under its patronage, stood on the freshly planed boards of a platform and spoke to the meeting.
"The international situation, citizens, is clearer than clear. It is not fitting to linger on it. Let us pass therefore to the current moment of the day, to the selection of a chairman to replace Kostylev, Ivan. This parasite cannot be trusted with the fullness of state power, and therefore he is to be replaced . . ."
The chairman of the village poor, the peasant Bobrov, Mik-hailo Vasil'evich, stood on the platform beside the city comrade. While he was very much ill at ease because the city words were but poorly accessible to the understanding of the peasants, he nevertheless condescended, out of sheer good will, to explain the obscurities of the speech.
"In a word," Bobrov said, "this parasite—may a cow gore him —Kostylev, Ivan Maksimych, cannot be trusted and therefore he is to be replaced .. ."
"And instead of the afore-mentioned Ivan Kostylev," continued the city orator, "it is proposed to select a man, because we don't care for speculators."
"And instead of the parasite," explained Bobrov, "damn his soul, this bootlegger, even if he's a relative of mine on my wife's side, it's proposed to remove and appoint."
"It is proposed," said the city comrade, "to set up a list of candidates."
Mikhailo Bobrov tore off his cap from an overflow of emotions and made a broad gesture proclaiming the immediate establishment of a list of candidates.
The group was silent.
"What about Bykin? or Eremei Ivanovich Sekin, eh?" someone asked timidly.
"All right," said the city comrade, "Bykin . . . Let's write it down."
"Now we'll write it down," explained Bobrov.
The crowd, which had been silent until that moment, began in a frightening manner to set up a tumult and to cry out names, demanding that their candidates be immediaely raised to the office of chairman.
"Bykin, Vasia! Eremei Ivanovich Sekin! Mikolaev! . . ."
The city comrade Vedernikov wrote these names down on his mandate.
"Brothers!" someone shrieked. "This is no election—Sekin and Mikolaev . . . We need to choose advanced-type comrades . . . Really solid all the way .. . Someone who'll know his way around in the city—that's the kind we need . . . Who'd know everything through and through . . ."
And Other Stories Of Communist Russia Page 3