Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (237 page)

So I lay under the bush at one side and looked at the boys. A small pot was hanging over one of the fires; in it potatoes were cooking. Pavlusha was looking after them, and on his knees he was trying them by poking a splinter of wood into the boiling water. Fedya was lying leaning on his elbow, and smoothing out the skirts of his coat. Ilyusha was sitting beside Kostya, and still kept blinking constrainedly. Kostya’s head drooped despondently, and he looked away into the distance. Vanya did not stir under his rug. I pretended to be asleep. Little by little, the boys began talking again.

At first they gossiped of one thing and another, the work of to - morrow, the horses; but suddenly Fedya turned to Ilyusha, and, as though taking up again an interrupted conversation, asked him:

‘Come then, so you’ve seen the domovoy?’

‘No, I didn’t see him, and no one ever can see him,’ answered Ilyusha, in a weak hoarse voice, the sound of which was wonderfully in keeping with the expression of his face; ‘I heard him…. Yes, and not I alone.’

‘Where does he live — in your place?’ asked Pavlusha.

‘In the old paper - mill.’

‘Why, do you go to the factory?’

‘Of course we do. My brother Avdushka and I, we are paper - glazers.’

‘I say — factory - hands!’

‘Well, how did you hear it, then?’ asked Fedya.

‘It was like this. It happened that I and my brother Avdushka, with Fyodor of Mihyevska, and Ivashka the Squint - eyed, and the other Ivashka who comes from the Red Hills, and Ivashka of Suhorukov too — and there were some other boys there as well — there were ten of us boys there altogether — the whole shift, that is — it happened that we spent the night at the paper - mill; that’s to say, it didn’t happen, but Nazarov, the overseer, kept us. ‘Why,’ said he, “should you waste time going home, boys; there’s a lot of work to - morrow, so don’t go home, boys.” So we stopped, and were all lying down together, and Avdushka had just begun to say, “I say, boys, suppose the domovoy were to come?” And before he’d finished saying so, some one suddenly began walking over our heads; we were lying down below, and he began walking upstairs overhead, where the wheel is. We listened: he walked; the boards seemed to be bending under him, they creaked so; then he crossed over, above our heads; all of a sudden the water began to drip and drip over the wheel; the wheel rattled and rattled and again began to turn, though the sluices of the conduit above had been let down. We wondered who could have lifted them up so that the water could run; any way, the wheel turned and turned a little, and then stopped. Then he went to the door overhead and began coming down - stairs, and came down like this, not hurrying himself; the stairs seemed to groan under him too…. Well, he came right down to our door, and waited and waited … and all of a sudden the door simply flew open. We were in a fright; we looked — there was nothing…. Suddenly what if the net on one of the vats didn’t begin moving; it got up, and went rising and ducking and moving in the air as though some one were stirring with it, and then it was in its place again. Then, at another vat, a hook came off its nail, and then was on its nail again; and then it seemed as if some one came to the door, and suddenly coughed and choked like a sheep, but so loudly!… We all fell down in a heap and huddled against one another…. Just weren’t we in a fright that night!’

‘I say!’ murmured Pavel, ‘what did he cough for?’

‘I don’t know; perhaps it was the damp.’

All were silent for a little.

‘Well,’ inquired Fedya, ‘are the potatoes done?’

Pavlusha tried them.

‘No, they are raw…. My, what a splash!’ he added, turning his face in the direction of the river; ‘that must be a pike…. And there’s a star falling.’

‘I say, I can tell you something, brothers,’ began Kostya, in a shrill little voice; ‘listen what my dad told me the other day.’

‘Well, we are listening,’ said Fedya with a patronising air.

‘You know Gavrila, I suppose, the carpenter up in the big village?’

‘Yes, we know him.’

‘And do you know why he is so sorrowful always, never speaks? do you know? I’ll tell you why he’s so sorrowful; he went one day, daddy said, he went, brothers, into the forest nutting. So he went nutting into the forest and lost his way; he went on — God only can tell where he got to. So he went on and on, brothers — but ‘twas no good! — he could not find the way; and so night came on out of doors. So he sat down under a tree. “I’ll wait till morning,” thought he. He sat down and began to drop asleep. So as he was falling asleep, suddenly he heard some one call him. He looked up; there was no one. He fell asleep again; again he was called. He looked and looked again; and in front of him there sat a russalka on a branch, swinging herself and calling him to her, and simply dying with laughing; she laughed so…. And the moon was shining bright, so bright, the moon shone so clear — everything could be seen plain, brothers. So she called him, and she herself was as bright and as white sitting on the branch as some dace or a roach, or like some little carp so white and silvery…. Gavrila the carpenter almost fainted, brothers, but she laughed without stopping, and kept beckoning him to her like this. Then Gavrila was just getting up; he was just going to yield to the russalka, brothers, but — the Lord put it into his heart, doubtless — he crossed himself like this…. And it was so hard for him to make that cross, brothers; he said, “My hand was simply like a stone; it would not move.” … Ugh! the horrid witch…. So when he made the cross, brothers, the russalka, she left off laughing, and all at once how she did cry…. She cried, brothers, and wiped her eyes with her hair, and her hair was green as any hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and at last he fell to questioning her. “Why are you weeping, wild thing of the woods?” And the russalka began to speak to him like this: “If you had not crossed yourself, man,” she says, “you should have lived with me in gladness of heart to the end of your days; and I weep, I am grieved at heart because you crossed yourself; but I will not grieve alone; you too shall grieve at heart to the end of your days.” Then she vanished, brothers, and at once it was plain to Gavrila how to get out of the forest…. Only since then he goes always sorrowful, as you see.’

‘Ugh!’ said Fedya after a brief silence; ‘but how can such an evil thing of the woods ruin a Christian soul — he did not listen to her?’

‘And I say!’ said Kostya. ‘Gavrila said that her voice was as shrill and plaintive as a toad’s.’

‘Did your father tell you that himself?’ Fedya went on.

‘Yes. I was lying in the loft; I heard it all.’

‘It’s a strange thing. Why should he be sorrowful?… But I suppose she liked him, since she called him.’

‘Ay, she liked him!’ put in Ilyusha. ‘Yes, indeed! she wanted to tickle him to death, that’s what she wanted. That’s what they do, those russalkas.’

‘There ought to be russalkas here too, I suppose,’ observed Fedya.

‘No,’ answered Kostya, ‘this is a holy open place. There’s one thing, though: the river’s near.’

All were silent. Suddenly from out of the distance came a prolonged, resonant, almost wailing sound, one of those inexplicable sounds of the night, which break upon a profound stillness, rise upon the air, linger, and slowly die away at last. You listen: it is as though there were nothing, yet it echoes still. It is as though some one had uttered a long, long cry upon the very horizon, as though some other had answered him with shrill harsh laughter in the forest, and a faint, hoarse hissing hovers over the river. The boys looked round about shivering….

‘Christ’s aid be with us!’ whispered Ilyusha.

‘Ah, you craven crows!’ cried Pavel, ‘what are you frightened of? Look, the potatoes are done.’ (They all came up to the pot and began to eat the smoking potatoes; only Vanya did not stir.) ‘Well, aren’t you coming?’ said Pavel.

But he did not creep out from under his rug. The pot was soon completely emptied.

‘Have you heard, boys,’ began Ilyusha, ‘what happened with us at

Varnavitsi?’

‘Near the dam?’ asked Fedya.

‘Yes, yes, near the dam, the broken - down dam. That is a haunted place, such a haunted place, and so lonely. All round there are pits and quarries, and there are always snakes in pits.’

‘Well, what did happen? Tell us.’

‘Well, this is what happened. You don’t know, perhaps, Fedya, but there a drowned man was buried; he was drowned long, long ago, when the water was still deep; only his grave can still be seen, though it can only just be seen … like this — a little mound…. So one day the bailiff called the huntsman Yermil, and says to him, “Go to the post, Yermil.” Yermil always goes to the post for us; he has let all his dogs die; they never will live with him, for some reason, and they have never lived with him, though he’s a good huntsman, and everyone liked him. So Yermil went to the post, and he stayed a bit in the town, and when he rode back, he was a little tipsy. It was night, a fine night; the moon was shining…. So Yermil rode across the dam; his way lay there. So, as he rode along, he saw, on the drowned man’s grave, a little lamb, so white and curly and pretty, running about. So Yermil thought, “I will take him,” and he got down and took him in his arms. But the little lamb didn’t take any notice. So Yermil goes back to his horse, and the horse stares at him, and snorts and shakes his head; however, he said “wo” to him and sat on him with the lamb, and rode on again; he held the lamb in front of him. He looks at him, and the lamb looks him straight in the face, like this. Yermil the huntsman felt upset. “I don’t remember,” he said, “that lambs ever look at any one like that”; however, he began to stroke it like this on its wool, and to say, “Chucky! chucky!” And the lamb suddenly showed its teeth and said too, “Chucky! chucky!”‘

The boy who was telling the story had hardly uttered this last word, when suddenly both dogs got up at once, and, barking convulsively, rushed away from the fire and disappeared in the darkness. All the boys were alarmed. Vanya jumped up from under his rug. Pavlusha ran shouting after the dogs. Their barking quickly grew fainter in the distance…. There was the noise of the uneasy tramp of the frightened drove of horses. Pavlusha shouted aloud: ‘Hey Grey! Beetle!’ … In a few minutes the barking ceased; Pavel’s voice sounded still in the distance…. A little time more passed; the boys kept looking about in perplexity, as though expecting something to happen…. Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse was heard; it stopped short at the pile of wood, and, hanging on to the mane, Pavel sprang nimbly off it. Both the dogs also leaped into the circle of light and at once sat down, their red tongues hanging out.

‘What was it? what was it?’ asked the boys.

‘Nothing,’ answered Pavel, waving his hand to his horse; ‘I suppose the dogs scented something. I thought it was a wolf,’ he added, calmly drawing deep breaths into his chest.

I could not help admiring Pavel. He was very fine at that moment. His ugly face, animated by his swift ride, glowed with hardihood and determination. Without even a switch in his hand, he had, without the slightest hesitation, rushed out into the night alone to face a wolf…. ‘What a splendid fellow!’ I thought, looking at him.

‘Have you seen any wolves, then?’ asked the trembling Kostya.

‘There are always a good many of them here,’ answered Pavel; ‘but they are only troublesome in the winter.’

He crouched down again before the fire. As he sat down on the ground, he laid his hand on the shaggy head of one of the dogs. For a long while the flattered brute did not turn his head, gazing sidewise with grateful pride at Pavlusha.

Vanya lay down under his rug again.

‘What dreadful things you were telling us, Ilyusha!’ began Fedya, whose part it was, as the son of a well - to - do peasant, to lead the conversation. (He spoke little himself, apparently afraid of lowering his dignity.) ‘And then some evil spirit set the dogs barking…. Certainly I have heard that place was haunted.’

‘Varnavitsi?… I should think it was haunted! More than once, they say, they have seen the old master there — the late master. He wears, they say, a long skirted coat, and keeps groaning like this, and looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimitch met him. “What,” says he, “your honour, Ivan Ivanitch, are you pleased to look for on the ground?”‘