Danilushko must have been engrossed in his playing, and the old man must have nodded off. A number of the cows strayed from the herd. When Danilushko and the old man began to round up the herd, they realized that some cows were missing. They dashed off in search, but it was no use. The cows had been grazing near Yelnichnaya … The most wolf-ridden and desolate backwoods around … They only found one of the missing cows. They drove the herd home and explained what had happened. Everyone set out from the town on foot and on horseback to search, but they could not find a single cow.
Well, everyone knows what punishment you could expect in those days. Whatever the misdeed, you bared your back. To make matters worse, one of the cows belonged to the steward himself. There would be no clemency. First the old man got a flogging, then came Danilushko’s turn, but the lad was mere skin and bone. The squire’s flogger even let slip, ‘Just look at him, one flick of the whip and he’ll flake out – if he doesn’t give up the ghost altogether.’
Nevertheless, he struck him without pity, and Danilushko kept silent. The flogger struck him a second time, and a third time – the boy stayed silent. At this point the flogger flew into a rage and began thrashing him with all his might, shouting, ‘I’ll make you scream all right! I’ll make you yelp!’
Danilushko was trembling all over, tears were running down his cheeks, but he stayed silent. He bit his lip and steeled himself. And so he fainted, and he hadn’t let out so much as a whisper. The steward, who was there, of course, was astonished: ‘What a stoical lad we have here! Now I know what to do with him, if he comes through alive.’
Danilushko convalesced in bed. Granny Vikhorikha set him on the path to recovery. Vikhorikha took the place of a doctor in our towns, and she was renowned far and wide. She knew the power in herbs: which were for toothache, which for strains, which for aches … She gathered the herbs herself, at the time when each was at its most potent. From these herbs and roots she would prepare tinctures, boil up tisanes and add them to ointments.
Danilushko lived well at Granny Vikhorikha’s. The old woman
was gentle with him, and she liked to talk, and the entire hut was filled with herbs and roots and all kinds of flowers that had been hung up to dry. Danilushko was curious about these herbs: What was this one called? Where did it grow? What kind of flower did it have? The old woman would tell him all about it.
One time Danilushko asked, ‘Granny, do you know all the flowers in these parts?’
‘I wouldn’t like to boast,’ she replied, ‘but I think I know all the revealed ones.’
‘What?’ asked Danilushko. ‘Are there ones that aren’t revealed?’
‘Aye, there are,’ she replied. ‘Have you heard of the fern flower, said to appear on Ivan Kupala Day?
1
That flower is magic; it will find you buried treasure. But it’s harmful to man. And then there’s the touch-me-not’s flower that’s like a running flame. Catch it and any lock will open for you. It’s a thieves’ flower. And then there’s the stone flower that’s said to grow in the malachite mountain. It’s at full strength on the Day of the Snake.
2
Unlucky is he who sets eyes on the stone flower.’
‘Why is he unlucky, Granny?’
‘That I do not know, son. It’s what I was told.’
Danilushko might have stayed longer at Vikhorikha’s, but the steward’s informants saw that the lad was beginning to walk a little and they went straight to the steward. The steward summoned Danilushko and said to him, ‘Now you’ll go to Prokopich to be trained in the malachite craft. It’s just the work for you.’
Well, what could he do? Danilushko went along, even though he was still swaying in the wind.
Prokopich took one look at him and said, ‘This really is going too far. Even strong, hearty lads find my training too much for them. How am I ever going to be able to take this one to task? He’s barely breathing.’
Prokopich went to see the steward: ‘What do I want with a frail lad like this? If I give him one blow too many, he’ll kick the bucket – then I’ll really have to answer for it!’
But it was no use. The steward wouldn’t listen: ‘Your job is
to teach, not to argue! He’s a sturdy little lad. Never mind that he looks scrawny.’
‘Well, it’s up to you,’ said Prokopich, ‘if that’s what you’ve decided. I’ll teach him, if I won’t have to answer for it.’
‘There’s no one to answer to,’ said the steward. ‘He’s all alone, this little lad, you can do as you please with him.’
Prokopich went home and found Danilushko standing by the workbench, inspecting a small slab of malachite. There was a notch on it, indicating where the edge was to be chiselled. Now Danilushko was staring at this spot and shaking his head. Prokopich wondered what this new lad was looking at so intently. He asked sternly, in his usual manner, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Who asked you to touch that piece? What is it you’re staring at?’
Danilushko answered, ‘To my eye, Grandad, the edge oughtn’t to be chiselled from this side. See, there’s a pattern here, it’ll get cut off.’
Prokopich, of course, began shouting at him: ‘What’s this? Who do you think you are? A master craftsman? Never made a thing in your life, and here you are, offering your opinion already! What do
you
think you know about all this?’
‘All I know is that this piece has been ruined,’ Danilushko replied.
‘And you’re saying it’ll be me who’s ruined it, eh? You, a mere kid, telling me, one of the finest masters! I’ll show you damage, all right … Yes, you’re in for it now!’
He shouted a lot and kicked up a din, but he didn’t lay a finger on Danilushko. You see, Prokopich himself had been thinking a lot about this slab, trying to decide from which edge to start chiselling. Danilushko’s words had hit the mark. After a while Prokopich stopped his shouting and began to speak a little more gently: ‘Well, then, would the new master care to show us how he would do it himself?’
Danilushko began demonstrating and explaining: ‘Here’s the pattern you could have. Or even better, you could cut the slab a bit narrower, chisel the edge off your new margin, and just leave a little twist along the top.’
Prokopich raised his voice again: ‘Well, I never! You sure
have amassed a lot of knowledge! Mind you don’t fritter it all away!’ But to himself he was thinking: ‘The lad speaks truth. Something could likely be made of him. Only how am I going to teach him? Just one knock will send him to the grave.’
After thinking a little, he asked, ‘Whose boy are you, then, my clever one?’
Danilushko told his story: ‘Well, I’m an orphan. I don’t remember my mother, and as for my father I don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know his name, so people just call me Danilko the Scrawny.’ He went on to say he had worked as a servant and why he’d been booted out, how later in the summer he had herded the cows and why it was he’d been flogged.
Prokopich felt sorry for him: ‘You’ve not had a sweet life, I see, lad, and now you’ve ended up with me. Our trade’s a harsh one.’
Then, as if something had made him angry, he started to grumble: ‘Now, that’s enough! See how talkative you are! Any fool can work his tongue – it’s what he does with his hands that counts. We’ve talked the entire evening away! And you’re meant to be my student! Wait till tomorrow – then I’ll see what you’re fit for. Sit down to supper – after that it’ll be time for bed.’
Prokopich lived alone. His wife had died long ago. Old Mitrofanovna who lived nearby used to come round and help out. In the mornings she boiled and baked, and tidied the hut, while in the evenings Prokopich looked after things himself.
After they had eaten, Prokopich said, ‘You can sleep here on this bench.’
Danilushko took his shoes off, put his knapsack under his head and covered himself with his kaftan. He curled up a little against the autumn cold, then quickly fell asleep. Prokopich also lay down, but he was unable to sleep: he couldn’t get the conversation about the malachite pattern out of his head. He tossed and turned. He got up, lit a candle, went over to the workbench – and began to measure the malachite slab this way and that. He covered up one edge, then the other. He increased the margin, then reduced it. He held it this way, turned it the other way, but no matter what he did, it was clear that the lad had understood the pattern better.
‘Well Danilko the Scrawny, who’d have thought it!’ Prokopich marvelled. ‘Barely arrived, and he’s already teaching an old master. What an eye he has! What an eye!’
He went quietly to the storeroom and brought out a pillow and a large sheepskin coat. He slipped the pillow under Danilushko’s head and covered him with the sheepskin coat.
‘Sleep well, my sharp-eyed one!’
Danilko did not wake; he just turned over onto his other side. Now that he was warming up, he stretched out under the sheepskin coat and started to whistle lightly through his nose. Prokopich had no children of his own, and this Danilushko had already touched his heart. The master stood and marvelled at him, while Danilushko went on whistling, still peacefully asleep. Prokopich kept wondering what he should do: how could he get this gaunt, sickly little fellow back on his feet?
‘How can he study our craft with health like that? The dust is sheer poison, he’ll just wither away. First he needs a good rest and to get his health back – then I’ll start teaching him. It looks like he’s got real talent.’
The next day he said to Danilushko, ‘At first you’ll just be helping out around the house. That’s my routine with someone new. Understand? To start with, you can go and fetch some guelder berries. They’ll be all coated in hoarfrost – just right for pies. Only don’t wander off too far. However much you collect, that will be fine. Take some bread with you – the forest will give you an appetite – oh, and you must drop in on Mitrofanovna. I told her to bake you a couple of eggs and give you a container of milk. Understand?’
The next day he said, ‘Go and catch me a nice loud goldfinch and a lively little linnet. You must bring them back by this evening. Understand?’
When Danilushko had caught them and brought them back, Prokopich said: ‘They’ll do all right, but you can find better. Go and catch some more.’
And so it went on. Every day Prokopich would set Danilushko work to do, but really it was all just fun and games. When the snow fell and a neighbour was going out to fetch firewood, Prokopich sent Danilushko to lend him a hand. Well, what
help could Danilushko be? On the way into the forest he sat in the front of the sledge and held the reins, and on the way back he followed the cart on foot. He would go for a walk, then have a good supper and sleep like a log. Prokopich gave him a fur coat, a warm cap and mittens, and he ordered some new felt boots for him. Prokopich, you see, lived quite comfortably. He was a serf, but he paid a quit-rent and he earned a little. He grew mighty fond of Danilushko. To tell it straight, he treated him like a son. Well, and there was nothing he begrudged him, and he was determined not to let him start working before he was ready.
Living in this style, Danilushko soon started to recover his strength, and he too grew fond of Prokopich. Well, of course he did! He was grateful to Prokopich for his concern, and it was his first taste of a life like this. The winter passed. Danilushko lived free as a bird. One moment he would wander down to the pond, the next he’d be in the forest. Only Danilushko was also taking in the craft. He would come home and they’d start talking straight away. He would tell Prokopich about one thing and another, and then he’d ask, ‘What’s this for?’ or, ‘How did you do that?’ Prokopich would first explain and then demonstrate. And Danilushko would take it all in. Sometimes he’d have a go himself. ‘Here, let me try …’ Prokopich would watch. Where necessary, he’d correct him and show him how to do it better.
One day, however, the steward saw Danilushko down at the pond. He went and asked his informants, ‘Whose lad is he? The number of times I’ve seen him down by the pond! Playing about with a fishing rod on workdays – and he’s hardly a kid any more … Someone’s hiding him from work.’
The informants asked around, then spoke to the steward. The steward didn’t believe them. ‘Go and fetch the lad,’ he said. ‘I need to look into this myself.’
They went and fetched Danilushko.
‘Whose boy are you?’ asked the steward.
Danilushko replied, ‘I’m apprenticed to a master in the malachite craft.’
The steward grabbed him by the ear. ‘Is this how you study, you scoundrel!’ And he led him by the ear to Prokopich.
Prokopich saw things were amiss, and he did his best to cover for Danilushko: ‘It’s I who sent him out to catch some perch. I had a terrible craving for fresh perch. Because of my ill health it’s the only thing I can eat. So I ordered the boy to catch some for me.’
The steward did not believe him. And he could see that Danilushko was a new man now: he’d got his strength back, and he had proper boots on his feet and he was wearing a good shirt and trousers. So he decided to test Danilushko: ‘Right, then, show me what the master has taught you.’
Danilushko slipped on his apron, went to the workbench and began explaining and demonstrating. Whatever the steward’s question, he was ready with an answer. He described how to rough out the stone, how to saw it, how to cut the chamfer, when and with what to glue it together, how to burnish it, how to mount the stone on copper or wood. In a word, he explained everything.
The steward tested and tested him, then said to Prokopich, ‘Looks like this one’s turned out all right!’
‘I’m not complaining,’ answered Prokopich.
‘That’s just it, you’re not complaining – you’re spoiling the lad! He was sent to you to learn your craft, but all he does is sit by the pond with a fishing rod! You be careful! I’ll give you fresh perch to remember for the rest of your life – and there won’t be anything for the lad to smile about either!’
After making these threats he left, leaving Prokopich still marvelling: ‘When did you learn all that, Danilushko? I didn’t think I’d taught you anything yet.’
‘Oh but you did! You explained and demonstrated,’ said Danilushko, ‘and I remembered it all.’