The White Guard (32 page)

   'What shall I write?' Vasilisa asked in a weak, cracked voice.

   The wolf began to think, his eyes blinking.

   'Write . . . "By order of headquarters of the cossack division . . . I surrendered . . . articles . . . articles ... to the sergeant as follows"

   'As follows . . .' croaked Vasilisa, and was silent.

   'Then say what they are . . . "In the course of search. I have no claims." Then sign . . .'

   Here Vasilisa gathered the last remnants of the breath in his body and turning his glance away from the wolf, he asked:

   'Who shall I say I gave them to?'

   The wolf looked suspiciously at Vasilisa, but he restrained his displeasure and only sighed.

   'Write: Sergeant Nemolyak . . .' He thought for a moment, glancing at his companions. '. . . Sergeant Kirpaty and Hetman Uragan.'

   Staring muzzily at the paper, Vasilisa wrote to the wolf's dictation. Having written it, instead of his proper signature he wrote 'Vasilis' and handed the paper to the wolf, who took it and stared at it.

   Just then the glass door at the top of the staircase slammed, footsteps were heard and Myshlaevsky's voice rang out.

   The wolf scowled, his companions shuffled uneasily. The wolf turned red in the face and hissed: 'Quiet!' He pulled the automatic out of his pocket and pointed it at Vasilisa, who gave a martyred smile. From the corridor came more footsteps, muffled talk. Then there was the sound of the bolt being drawn, the latch, the chain -and the door was locked again. Footsteps again, men laughing. After that the glass door slammed, the sound of steps receding upstairs and all was quiet. The disfigured man went out into the lobby, leaned his head against the door and listened. When he returned he exchanged meaning glances with the wolf and all three jostled their way out into the lobby. There the giant wriggled his fingers inside his boots, which were rather tight.

   'They'll be cold.'

   And he put on Vasilisa's rubber overshoes.

   The wolf turned to Vasilisa and said shiftily in a low voice:

   'See here, mister . . . Don't you tell anyone we've been here. If you inform on us, our boys will beat you up. Don't go out of the house till tomorrow, or you'll be in trouble . . .'

   'Sorry', whined the man with the shattered nose.

   The rosy-cheeked giant said nothing, but only looked shyly at Vasilisa, then delightedly at his gleaming overshoes. As they walked quickly out of Vasilisa's door and along the passage to the front door, for some reason they tiptoed, jostling each other as they went. The door was noisily unlocked, there was a glimpse of dark sky and with cold hands Vasilisa closed the bolts. His head swam, and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. His heart almost stopped, then started beating faster and faster. In the lobby Wanda was sobbing. She collapsed on to a chest, knocking her head against the wall, and big tears poured down her face.

   'God, what's happened to us? God, oh God, Vasya ... in broad daylight. What are we to do?'

   Shaking like a leaf, Vasilisa stood in front of her, his face contorted.

   'Vasya,' screamed Wanda, 'do you know - they weren't soldiers, they weren't from any headquarters! They were just hoodlums!'

   'I know, I realised that', Vasilisa mumbled, spreading his hands in despair.

   'Lord!' Wanda exclaimed. 'You must go this minute, report them at once and try and catch them! Mother of God! All our things! Everything! If only there was somebody who . . .' She shuddered and slid from the chest to the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her hair was dishevelled, her blouse unbuttoned at the back.

   'But where do we report them?' asked Vasilisa.

   'To headquarters, for God's sake, to the police! Make a formal complaint. Quickly. What's the matter?'

   Vasilisa, who had been shuffling his feet, suddenly rushed for the door. He ran to the Turbins' glass door and hammered on it noisily.

   *

   Everybody except Shervinsky and Elena crowded into Vasilisa's apartment. Lariosik, looking pale, stayed in the doorway. Legs planted wide, Myshlaevsky inspected the foot-cloths and other rags abandoned by the unknown visitors and said to Vasilisa:

   'Well, you won't see your things again, I'm afraid. They weren't soldiers, just burglars. You can thank God you're still alive. To tell you the truth I'm amazed they let you off so lightly.'

   'God - the things they did to us!' said Wanda.

   'They threatened to kill me.'

   'Thank the Lord they didn't carry out their threat. First time I've ever seen anything like it.'

   'Neat piece of work', Karas added quietly.

   'What do we do now?' asked Vasilisa miserably. 'Go and complain? But where to? For God's sake advise me, Viktor Viktoro-vich.'

   Myshlaevsky grunted thoughtfully.

   'I advise you not to complain to anyone', he said. 'Firstly, they'll never catch them.' He crooked his middle finger. 'Secondly . . .'

   'Don't you remember, Vasya, they said you'd be killed if you made a complaint.'

   'That's nonsense', Myshlaevsky frowned. 'No one's going to kill you, but as I say, they'll never be caught, no one will even try and catch them, and secondly . . .' He crooked his second finger, 'you'll have to describe what they stole, and that means admitting that you were hoarding tsarist money . . . No, if you make a complaint to their headquarters or to anywhere else they will almost certainly have you searched again.'

   'Yes, very likely', said Nikolka the specialist.

   Shattered, soaking with the water thrown over him when he fainted, Vasilisa hung his head. Wanda quietly burst into tears and leaned against the wall. They all felt sorry for them. Lariosik sighed deeply in the doorway and turned up his lacklustre eyes.

   'We each have our grief to bear', he murmured.

   'What weapons did they have?' asked Nikolka.

   'My God, two of them had revolvers. Did the third man have anything, Vasya?'

   'Two of them had revolvers', Vasilisa confirmed weakly.

   'Did you notice what type they were?' Nikolka pressed him in a business-like voice.

   'I don't really know,' Vasilisa replied with a sigh, 'I don't know the various types. One was big and black, the other one was smaller, with a lanyard fixed to a ring on the butt.'

   'Yes, that's right,' said Wanda, 'one of them had a lanyard on it.'

   Nikolka frowned and cocked his head to one side like a bird as he looked at Vasilisa. He shuffled awkwardly for a moment, then with an uneasy movement he slipped unobtrusively out of the door, followed by Lariosik. Upstairs, Lariosik had not even reached the dining-room when the sound of breaking glass and a howl came from Nikolka's room. Lariosik hastened after him. The light shone brightly in Nikolka's room, a stream of cold air was coming through the open upper pane and there was a gaping hole in the lower casement which Nikolka had made with his knees as he had jumped down from the window-ledge in despair. There was a wild look in his eyes.

   'It can't be!' cried Lariosik, clasping his hands together. 'Pure witchcraft!'

   Nikolka rushed out of the room, through the library, through the kitchen and past the horrified Anyuta, who shouted: 'Nikol, Nikol, where are you going without a hat? Oh Lord, don't say something else has happened?' Then he was out of the porch and into the yard. Crossing herself, Anyuta shut the door in the porch, then ran back into the kitchen and pressed her face to the window, but Nikolka was already out of sight.

   He turned sharp left, ran to the corner of the house and stopped in front of the snowdrift blocking the way into the gap between the houses. The snowdrift was completely untouched. 'I don't understand', Nikolka muttered in despair, and bravely plunged into the drift. He felt he was suffocating. For a long time he waded, almost swam in snow, snorting, until he had finally broken through the barrier and cleared the snow away from the space between the two walls. He looked up and saw, far above, where the light fell from the fateful window of his room, that there was the row of black spikes and their broad, sharp-pointed shadows, but no sign of the tin box.

   In a last hope that maybe the cord had broken Nikolka fell on his knees and fumbled around among the rubble of broken bricks. No box.

   At this point Nikolka suddenly had an idea. 'Aha!' he shouted, and crawled forward to the fence which closed off the gap to the street. Reaching the fence, he prodded it, several planks fell away and he found himself looking through a large hole on to the dark street. It was obvious what had happened. The men had ripped away the planks leading into the gap, had climbed in and - of course! - they had tried to get into Vasilisa's apartment by way of his cellar, but the window was barred.

   White and silent Nikolka went back into the kitchen.

   'Lord, you're filthy - let me clean you up', cried Anyuta.

   'Leave me alone, for God's sake', replied Nikolka and passed on into the apartment wiping his frozen hands on his trousers. 'Larion, you may punch me on the jaw', he said to Lariosik, who blinked, then stared and said:

   'Why, Nikolashka? There's no need for despair.' He began

   timidly to brush the snow from Nikolka's back with his hands. 'Apart from the fact that if Alyosha recovers - which pray God he does - he will never forgive me,' Nikolka went on, 'it means I've lost the Colt that belonged to Colonel Nai-Turs! I'd rather have been killed myself! It's God's punishment on me for sneering at Vasilisa. I feel bad enough about Vasilisa as it is, but it's far worse for me now because
those
were the guns they used to rob him. Although anyone could rob him without a gun at all, he's so feeble . . . What a man. God, it's a terrible business. Come on, Larion, get some paper and we'll mend the window.'

   
#

   That night Nikolka, Myshlaevsky and Lariosik crawled into the gap with axe, hammer and nails to mend the fence. Nikolka himself frenziedly drove in the long, thick nails so far that their points stuck out on the far side. Later still they went out with candles on to the verandah, from where they climbed through the cold storeroom into the attic. There, above the apartment, they clambered everywhere, squeezing between the hot water pipes and trunks full of clothes, until they had cut a listening-hole in the ceiling.

   When he heard about the expedition to the attic, Vasilisa showed the liveliest interest and joined them in crawling around among the beams, thoroughly approving of everything that Myshlaevsky was doing.

   'What a pity you didn't warn us somehow. You should have sent Wanda Mikhailovna up to us by the back door', said Nikolka, wax dripping from his candle.

   'That wouldn't have done much good', Myshlaevsky objected. 'By the time they were in the apartment the game was up. You don't believe they wouldn't have put up a fight, do you? Of course they would - and how. You'd have had a bullet in your belly before there was time to reach us. And that would have been that. No - your best bet was never to have let them in by the front door at all.'

   'But they threatened to shoot through the door, Viktor Viktoro-vich', said Vasilisa pathetically.

   'They would never have done that', Myshlaevsky replied as he banged away with the hammer. 'Not a chance of it. That would have brought the whole street down on their heads.'

   Later still that night Karas found himself luxuriating like Louis XIV in the Lisovichs' apartment. This was preceded by the following conversation:

   'Oh no, they won't come back again tonight', said Myshlaevsky.

   'No, no, no', Wanda and Vasilisa replied in chorus on the staircase, 'please - we beg you or Fyodor Nikolaevich to come down and spend the rest of the night with us - please! It won't be any trouble to you. Wanda Mikhailovna will make tea for you, and we'll make you up a comfortable bed. Please come tonight - and tomorrow too. We must have another man in the apartment.'

   'Otherwise I won't sleep a wink', added Wanda, wrapping herself in an angora shawl.

   'And there's a drop or two of brandy in the house to keep the cold out', said Vasilisa in an unexpectedly devil-may-care voice.

   'Go on, Karas', said Myshlaevsky.

   So Karas went and settled in comfortably. Brains and thin soup with vegetable oil were, as might be expected, no more than a symptom of the loathsome disease of meanness with which Vasilisa had infected his wife. In reality there were considerable treasures concealed in the depths of their apartment, treasures known only to Wanda. There appeared on the dining-room table a jar of pickled mushrooms, veal, cherry jam and a bottle of real, good Shustov's brandy with a bell on the label. Karas called for a glass for Wanda Mikhailovna and poured some out for her.

   'Not a full glass!' cried Wanda.

   With a despairing gesture Vasilisa obeyed Karas and drank a glassful.

   'Don't forget, Vasya - it's not good for you', said Wanda tenderly.

   After Karas had explained authoritatively that brandy never harmed anyone and that mixed with milk it was even given to

   people suffering from anaemia, Vasilisa drank a second glass. His cheeks turned pink and his forehead broke out in sweat. Karas drank five glasses and was soon in excellent spirits. 'Feed her up a bit and she wouldn't be at all bad', he thought as he looked at Wanda.

   Then Karas praised the layout of the Lisovichs' apartment and discussed the arrangements for signalling to the Turbins: one bell was installed in the kitchen, another in the lobby. At the slightest sign they were to ring upstairs. And if anyone had to go and open the front door it would be Myshlaevsky, who knew what to do in case of trouble.

   Karas was loud in praise of the apartment: it was comfortable and well furnished. There was only one thing wrong - it was cold.

   That night Vasilisa himself fetched logs and with his own hands lit the stove in the drawing-room. Having undressed, Karas lay down on a couch between two luxurious sheets and felt extremely well and comfortable. Vasilisa, in shirtsleeves and suspenders, came in, sat down in an armchair and said: