Kabanata Kabanata 5 · 第5章

The train of waggons drew up on the bank of a river on one side of

a village. The sun was blazing, as it had been the day before; the

air was stagnant and depressing. There were a few willows on the

bank, but the shade from them did not fall on the earth, but on the

water, where it was wasted; even in the shade under the waggon it

was stifling and wearisome. The water, blue from the reflection of

the sky in it, was alluring.

Styopka, a waggoner whom Yegorushka noticed now for the first time,

a Little Russian lad of eighteen, in a long shirt without a belt,

and full trousers that flapped like flags as he walked, undressed

quickly, ran along the steep bank and plunged into the water. He

dived three times, then swam on his back and shut his eyes in his

delight. His face was smiling and wrinkled up as though he were

being tickled, hurt and amused.

On a hot day when there is nowhere to escape from the sultry,

stifling heat, the splash of water and the loud breathing of a man

bathing sounds like good music to the ear. Dymov and Kiruha, looking

at Styopka, undressed quickly and one after the other, laughing

loudly in eager anticipation of their enjoyment, dropped into the

water, and the quiet, modest little river resounded with snorting

and splashing and shouting. Kiruha coughed, laughed and shouted as

though they were trying to drown him, while Dymov chased him and

tried to catch him by the leg.

"Ha-ha-ha!" he shouted. "Catch him! Hold him!"

Kiruha laughed and enjoyed himself, but his expression was the same

as it had been on dry land, stupid, with a look of astonishment on

it as though someone had, unnoticed, stolen up behind him and hit

him on the head with the butt-end of an axe. Yegorushka undressed,

too, but did not let himself down by the bank, but took a run and

a flying leap from the height of about ten feet. Describing an arc

in the air, he fell into the water, sank deep, but did not reach

the bottom; some force, cold and pleasant to the touch, seemed to

hold him up and bring him back to the surface. He popped out and,

snorting and blowing bubbles, opened his eyes; but the sun was

reflected in the water quite close to his face. At first blinding

spots of light, then rainbow colours and dark patches, flitted

before his eyes. He made haste to dive again, opened his eyes in

the water and saw something cloudy-green like a sky on a moonlight

night. Again the same force would not let him touch the bottom and

stay in the coolness, but lifted him to the surface. He popped out

and heaved a sigh so deep that he had a feeling of space and

freshness, not only in his chest, but in his stomach. Then, to get

from the water everything he possibly could get, he allowed himself

every luxury; he lay on his back and basked, splashed, frolicked,

swam on his face, on his side, on his back and standing up--just

as he pleased till he was exhausted. The other bank was thickly

overgrown with reeds; it was golden in the sun, and the flowers of

the reeds hung drooping to the water in lovely tassels. In one place

the reeds were shaking and nodding, with their flowers rustling--

Styopka and Kiruha were hunting crayfish.

"A crayfish, look, lads! A crayfish!" Kiruha cried triumphantly and

actually showed a crayfish.

Yegorushka swam up to the reeds, dived, and began fumbling among

their roots. Burrowing in the slimy, liquid mud, he felt something

sharp and unpleasant--perhaps it really was a crayfish. But at

that minute someone seized him by the leg and pulled him to the

surface. Spluttering and coughing, Yegorushka opened his eyes and

saw before him the wet grinning face of the dare-devil Dymov. The

impudent fellow was breathing hard, and from a look in his eyes he

seemed inclined for further mischief. He held Yegorushka tight by

the leg, and was lifting his hand to take hold of his neck. But

Yegorushka tore himself away with repulsion and terror, as though

disgusted at being touched and afraid that the bully would drown

him, and said:

"Fool! I'll punch you in the face."

Feeling that this was not sufficient to express his hatred, he

thought a minute and added:

"You blackguard! You son of a bitch!"

But Dymov, as though nothing were the matter, took no further notice

of Yegorushka, but swam off to Kiruha, shouting:

"Ha-ha-ha! Let us catch fish! Mates, let us catch fish."

"To be sure," Kiruha agreed; "there must be a lot of fish here."

"Styopka, run to the village and ask the peasants for a net!

"They won't give it to me."

"They will, you ask them. Tell them that they should give it to us

for Christ's sake, because we are just the same as pilgrims."

"That's true."

Styopka clambered out of the water, dressed quickly, and without a

cap on he ran, his full trousers flapping, to the village. The water

lost all its charm for Yegorushka after his encounter with Dymov.

He got out and began dressing. Panteley and Vassya were sitting on

the steep bank, with their legs hanging down, looking at the bathers.

Emelyan was standing naked, up to his knees in the water, holding

on to the grass with one hand to prevent himself from falling while

the other stroked his body. With his bony shoulder-blades, with the

swelling under his eye, bending down and evidently afraid of the

water, he made a ludicrous figure. His face was grave and severe.

He looked angrily at the water, as though he were just going to

upbraid it for having given him cold in the Donets and robbed him

of his voice.

"And why don't you bathe?" Yegorushka asked Vassya.

"Oh, I don't care for it, . . ." answered Vassya.

"How is it your chin is swollen?"

"It's bad. . . . I used to work at the match factory, little sir.

. . . The doctor used to say that it would make my jaw rot. The air

is not healthy there. There were three chaps beside me who had their

jaws swollen, and with one of them it rotted away altogether."

Styopka soon came back with the net. Dymov and Kiruha were already

turning blue and getting hoarse by being so long in the water, but

they set about fishing eagerly. First they went to a deep place

beside the reeds; there Dymov was up to his neck, while the water

went over squat Kiruha's head. The latter spluttered and blew

bubbles, while Dymov stumbling on the prickly roots, fell over and

got caught in the net; both flopped about in the water, and made a

noise, and nothing but mischief came of their fishing.

"It's deep," croaked Kiruha. "You won't catch anything."

"Don't tug, you devil!" shouted Dymov trying to put the net in the

proper position. "Hold it up."

"You won't catch anything here," Panteley shouted from the bank.

"You are only frightening the fish, you stupids! Go more to the

left! It's shallower there!"

Once a big fish gleamed above the net; they all drew a breath, and

Dymov struck the place where it had vanished with his fist, and his

face expressed vexation.

"Ugh!" cried Panteley, and he stamped his foot. "You've let the

perch slip! It's gone!"

Moving more to the left, Dymov and Kiruha picked out a shallower

place, and then fishing began in earnest. They had wandered off

some hundred paces from the waggons; they could be seen silently

trying to go as deep as they could and as near the reeds, moving

their legs a little at a time, drawing out the nets, beating the

water with their fists to drive them towards the nets. From the

reeds they got to the further bank; they drew the net out, then,

with a disappointed air, lifting their knees high as they walked,

went back into the reeds. They were talking about something, but

what it was no one could hear. The sun was scorching their backs,

the flies were stinging them, and their bodies had turned from

purple to crimson. Styopka was walking after them with a pail in

his hands; he had tucked his shirt right up under his armpits, and

was holding it up by the hem with his teeth. After every successful

catch he lifted up some fish, and letting it shine in the sun,

shouted:

"Look at this perch! We've five like that!"

Every time Dymov, Kiruha and Styopka pulled out the net they could

be seen fumbling about in the mud in it, putting some things into

the pail and throwing other things away; sometimes they passed

something that was in the net from hand to hand, examined it

inquisitively, then threw that, too, away.

"What is it?" they shouted to them from the bank.

Styopka made some answer, but it was hard to make out his words.

Then he climbed out of the water and, holding the pail in both

hands, forgetting to let his shirt drop, ran to the waggons.

"It's full!" he shouted, breathing hard. "Give us another!"

Yegorushka looked into the pail: it was full. A young pike poked

its ugly nose out of the water, and there were swarms of crayfish

and little fish round about it. Yegorushka put his hand down to the

bottom and stirred up the water; the pike vanished under the crayfish

and a perch and a tench swam to the surface instead of it. Vassya,

too, looked into the pail. His eyes grew moist and his face looked

as caressing as before when he saw the fox. He took something out

of the pail, put it to his mouth and began chewing it.

"Mates," said Styopka in amazement, "Vassya is eating a live gudgeon!

Phoo!"

"It's not a gudgeon, but a minnow," Vassya answered calmly, still

munching.

He took a fish's tail out of his mouth, looked at it caressingly,

and put it back again. While he was chewing and crunching with his

teeth it seemed to Yegorushka that he saw before him something not

human. Vassya's swollen chin, his lustreless eyes, his extraordinary

sharp sight, the fish's tail in his mouth, and the caressing

friendliness with which he crunched the gudgeon made him like an

animal.

Yegorushka felt dreary beside him. And the fishing was over, too.

He walked about beside the waggons, thought a little, and, feeling

bored, strolled off to the village.

Not long afterwards he was standing in the church, and with his

forehead leaning on somebody's back, listened to the singing of the

choir. The service was drawing to a close. Yegorushka did not

understand church singing and did not care for it. He listened a

little, yawned, and began looking at the backs and heads before

him. In one head, red and wet from his recent bathe, he recognized

Emelyan. The back of his head had been cropped in a straight line

higher than is usual; the hair in front had been cut unbecomingly

high, and Emelyan's ears stood out like two dock leaves, and seemed

to feel themselves out of place. Looking at the back of his head

and his ears, Yegorushka, for some reason, thought that Emelyan was

probably very unhappy. He remembered the way he conducted with his

hands, his husky voice, his timid air when he was bathing, and felt

intense pity for him. He longed to say something friendly to him.

"I am here, too," he said, putting out his hand.

People who sing tenor or bass in the choir, especially those who

have at any time in their lives conducted, are accustomed to look

with a stern and unfriendly air at boys. They do not give up this

habit, even when they leave off being in a choir. Turning to

Yegorushka, Emelyan looked at him from under his brows and said:

"Don't play in church!"

Then Yegorushka moved forwards nearer to the ikon-stand. Here he

saw interesting people. On the right side, in front of everyone, a

lady and a gentleman were standing on a carpet. There were chairs

behind them. The gentleman was wearing newly ironed shantung trousers;

he stood as motionless as a soldier saluting, and held high his

bluish shaven chin. There was a very great air of dignity in his

stand-up collar, in his blue chin, in his small bald patch and his

cane. His neck was so strained from excess of dignity, and his chin

was drawn up so tensely, that it looked as though his head were

ready to fly off and soar upwards any minute. The lady, who was

stout and elderly and wore a white silk shawl, held her head on one

side and looked as though she had done someone a favour, and wanted

to say: "Oh, don't trouble yourself to thank me; I don't like it

. . . ." A thick wall of Little Russian heads stood all round the

carpet.

Yegorushka went up to the ikon-stand and began kissing the local

ikons. Before each image he slowly bowed down to the ground, without

getting up, looked round at the congregation, then got up and kissed

the ikon. The contact of his forehead with the cold floor afforded

him great satisfaction. When the beadle came from the altar with a

pair of long snuffers to put out the candles, Yegorushka jumped up

quickly from the floor and ran up to him.

"Have they given out the holy bread?" he asked.

"There is none; there is none," the beadle muttered gruffly. "It

is no use your. . ."

The service was over; Yegorushka walked out of the church in a

leisurely way, and began strolling about the market-place. He had

seen a good many villages, market-places, and peasants in his time,

and everything that met his eyes was entirely without interest for

him. At a loss for something to do, he went into a shop over the

door of which hung a wide strip of red cotton. The shop consisted

of two roomy, badly lighted parts; in one half they sold drapery

and groceries, in the other there were tubs of tar, and there were

horse-collars hanging from the ceiling; from both came the savoury

smell of leather and tar. The floor of the shop had been watered;

the man who watered it must have been a very whimsical and original

person, for it was sprinkled in patterns and mysterious symbols.

The shopkeeper, an overfed-looking man with a broad face and round

beard, apparently a Great Russian, was standing, leaning his person

over the counter. He was nibbling a piece of sugar as he drank his

tea, and heaved a deep sigh at every sip. His face expressed complete

indifference, but each sigh seemed to be saying:

"Just wait a minute; I will give it you."

"Give me a farthing's worth of sunflower seeds," Yegorushka said,

addressing him.

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows, came out from behind the counter,

and poured a farthing's worth of sunflower seeds into Yegorushka's

pocket, using an empty pomatum pot as a measure. Yegorushka did not

want to go away. He spent a long time in examining the box of cakes,

thought a little and asked, pointing to some little cakes covered

with the mildew of age:

"How much are these cakes?"

"Two for a farthing."

Yegorushka took out of his pocket the cake given him the day before

by the Jewess, and asked him:

"And how much do you charge for cakes like this?"

The shopman took the cake in his hands, looked at it from all sides,

and raised one eyebrow.

"Like that?" he asked.

Then he raised the other eyebrow, thought a minute, and answered:

"Two for three farthings. . . ."

A silence followed.

"Whose boy are you?" the shopman asked, pouring himself out some

tea from a red copper teapot.

"The nephew of Ivan Ivanitch."

"There are all sorts of Ivan Ivanitchs," the shopkeeper sighed. He

looked over Yegorushka's head towards the door, paused a minute and

asked:

"Would you like some tea?"

"Please. . . ." Yegorushka assented not very readily, though he

felt an intense longing for his usual morning tea.

The shopkeeper poured him out a glass and gave him with it a bit

of sugar that looked as though it had been nibbled. Yegorushka sat

down on the folding chair and began drinking it. He wanted to ask

the price of a pound of sugar almonds, and had just broached the

subject when a customer walked in, and the shopkeeper, leaving his

glass of tea, attended to his business. He led the customer into

the other half, where there was a smell of tar, and was there a

long time discussing something with him. The customer, a man

apparently very obstinate and pig-headed, was continually shaking

his head to signify his disapproval, and retreating towards the

door. The shopkeeper tried to persuade him of something and began

pouring some oats into a big sack for him.

"Do you call those oats?" the customer said gloomily. "Those are

not oats, but chaff. It's a mockery to give that to the hens; enough

to make the hens laugh. . . . No, I will go to Bondarenko."

When Yegorushka went back to the river a small camp fire was smoking

on the bank. The waggoners were cooking their dinner. Styopka was

standing in the smoke, stirring the cauldron with a big notched

spoon. A little on one side Kiruha and Vassya, with eyes reddened

from the smoke, were sitting cleaning the fish. Before them lay the

net covered with slime and water weeds, and on it lay gleaming fish

and crawling crayfish.

Emelyan, who had not long been back from the church, was sitting

beside Panteley, waving his arm and humming just audibly in a husky

voice: "To Thee we sing. . . ." Dymov was moving about by the horses.

When they had finished cleaning them, Kiruha and Vassya put the

fish and the living crayfish together in the pail, rinsed them, and

from the pail poured them all into the boiling water.

"Shall I put in some fat?" asked Styopka, skimming off the froth.

"No need. The fish will make its own gravy," answered Kiruha.

Before taking the cauldron off the fire Styopka scattered into the

water three big handfuls of millet and a spoonful of salt; finally

he tried it, smacked his lips, licked the spoon, and gave a

self-satisfied grunt, which meant that the grain was done.

All except Panteley sat down near the cauldron and set to work with

their spoons.

"You there! Give the little lad a spoon!" Panteley observed sternly.

"I dare say he is hungry too!"

"Ours is peasant fare," sighed Kiruha.

"Peasant fare is welcome, too, when one is hungry."

They gave Yegorushka a spoon. He began eating, not sitting, but

standing close to the cauldron and looking down into it as in a

hole. The grain smelt of fish and fish-scales were mixed up with

the millet. The crayfish could not be hooked out with a spoon, and

the men simply picked them out of the cauldron with their hands;

Vassya did so particularly freely, and wetted his sleeves as well

as his hands in the mess. But yet the stew seemed to Yegorushka

very nice, and reminded him of the crayfish soup which his mother

used to make at home on fast-days. Panteley was sitting apart

munching bread.

"Grandfather, why aren't you eating?" Emelyan asked him.

"I don't eat crayfish. . . . Nasty things," the old man said, and

turned away with disgust.

While they were eating they all talked. From this conversation

Yegorushka gathered that all his new acquaintances, in spite of the

differences of their ages and their characters, had one point in

common which made them all alike: they were all people with a

splendid past and a very poor present. Of their past they all--

every one of them--spoke with enthusiasm; their attitude to the

present was almost one of contempt. The Russian loves recalling

life, but he does not love living. Yegorushka did not yet know that,

and before the stew had been all eaten he firmly believed that the

men sitting round the cauldron were the injured victims of fate.

Panteley told them that in the past, before there were railways,

he used to go with trains of waggons to Moscow and to Nizhni, and

used to earn so much that he did not know what to do with his money;

and what merchants there used to be in those days! what fish! how

cheap everything was! Now the roads were shorter, the merchants

were stingier, the peasants were poorer, the bread was dearer,

everything had shrunk and was on a smaller scale. Emelyan told them

that in old days he had been in the choir in the Lugansky works,

and that he had a remarkable voice and read music splendidly, while

now he had become a peasant and lived on the charity of his brother,

who sent him out with his horses and took half his earnings. Vassya

had once worked in a match factory; Kiruha had been a coachman in

a good family, and had been reckoned the smartest driver of a

three-in-hand in the whole district. Dymov, the son of a well-to-do

peasant, lived at ease, enjoyed himself and had known no trouble

till he was twenty, when his stern harsh father, anxious to train

him to work, and afraid he would be spoiled at home, had sent him

to a carrier's to work as a hired labourer. Styopka was the only

one who said nothing, but from his beardless face it was evident

that his life had been a much better one in the past.

Thinking of his father, Dymov frowned and left off eating. Sullenly

from under his brows he looked round at his companions and his eye

rested upon Yegorushka.

"You heathen, take off your cap," he said rudely. "You can't eat

with your cap on, and you a gentleman too!"

Yegorushka took off his hat and did not say a word, but the stew

lost all savour for him, and he did not hear Panteley and Vassya

intervening on his behalf. A feeling of anger with the insulting

fellow was rankling oppressively in his breast, and he made up his

mind that he would do him some injury, whatever it cost him.

After dinner everyone sauntered to the waggons and lay down in the

shade.

"Are we going to start soon, grandfather?" Yegorushka asked Panteley.

"In God's good time we shall set off. There's no starting yet; it

is too hot. . . . O Lord, Thy will be done. Holy Mother. . . Lie

down, little lad."

Soon there was a sound of snoring from under the waggons. Yegorushka

meant to go back to the village, but on consideration, yawned and

lay down by the old man.