In the middle of the forest was a green meadow traversed by a path along
which Ivan was now proceeding. It ended before what looked like a pile
of earth and dry sticks projecting like those of a raven's nest in all
directions. At first sight it was hard to recognize what the object of
the structure was; it seemed too large for a mere wood-pile, and too
shapeless for a human shelter.
Close by stood a stake with a long rope attached to it, and at the end
of the rope, all day long, there ran about a young bear growling and
shaking its head. Just then it stood on its hindlegs and sniffed with
its snout in the air. Between the trees appeared a dark form, and dry
branches lying on the ground cracked under a heavy foot-tread. The
animal, out of sheer impatience, ran so rapidly round the stake that it
completely entangled itself and could not take another step. Forced to
stand still, it watched Ivan's approach with its head on one side and an
absurdly serious air.
Ivan came across the meadow with his burden on his arm. He untied the
rope; the liberated baby bear threw itself between his legs, embraced
him with its paws and signified its intention of climbing up him.
"Ah, you want bread, you hungry rascal," said Ivan. "I know you; as soon
as you are satisfied, off you go."
Anjuta awoke and rubbed her eyes with her little fist.
"That is a fine family," growled the grandfather. "Brother and sister
both grown on one tree. The right children for a vagabond. Yes, yes,
when a man has no cares, he must make himself some."
He had caught the little bear, when he killed its mother, whose skin
served Anjuta for a bed. The young animal continued to regard the skin
as something alive and related to itself; it always lay close to Anjuta,
sucked at the long tufts of hair which it held between its paws, and
growled sleepily.
The huge raven's-nest which the little girl now entered discovered
itself to be a dwelling. Ivan had burnt off the grass, fixed on the
levelled ground a rough platform of thick poles and covered it with
twigs, moss and fresh earth out of which already some green shoots, and,
to Anjuta's delight, some stunted flowers were springing. Ivan was very
proud of the hut which began to display even some traces of luxury. The
floor was covered with skins of wolves and bears; on the walls there
hung whole rows of squirrel-skins. Every fortnight these were sold to a
peasant from the village who did not trouble his head about Ivan's past.
The housekeeping also was on a satisfactory basis. Under the roof hung
dried mushrooms from long strings and in a corner stood a sack full of
potatoes. In the hollow of an old gnarled tree which threw its shade
far over the forest-clearing, some round loaves of black-bread as hard
as stones were stored up. In the wood they always had traps and snares
ready set which caught abundance of game.
When Anjuta, who had again gone to sleep, put her head out of the hut,
the water bubbled merrily in the pot from which the feet of a plucked
fowl projected. Ivan was busily engaged in slicing potatoes into the
broth.
"It smells good," said the little girl, pursing her mouth in eager
expectation.
"But you won't get any," said the old man teasingly.
"Oh yes I will. You will always give me something, even when you remain
hungry yourself."
"What a princess you have become! Yesterday you ate your fill, and now
there is no more."
"Listen, Grandfather," said the child after a few moments of reflection.
"Have you always lived in the forest?"
Ivan wrinkled his brow and was silent.
"It is jolly in the forest," continued she. "There is no one to beat
one. But mother was afraid in it. She said there were wicked and cursed
men in the forest. Grandfather, what kind of men are they?"
Ivan's face became still gloomier.
"Who has cursed them, Grandfather? Has God done it? Will they burn in
hell?"
The old man laid his hand on the child's ruffled hair.
"May God protect you from them. They are worse than wild animals. An
animal, when it is satisfied, can be merciful, but they----" He broke
off and stared into the fire.
"Well, what do they do?" the child urged him in her keen curiosity.
"Grandfather, what do they do? Are they villains?"
"Be off," cried the convict suddenly. "Get away, or I shall beat you.
What nonsense are you talking?"
He pushed the child violently to one side. Before her stood all at once
a completely altered "grandfather." In his sunken eyes there glowed a
lurid spark, his grey hairs bristled, and his face twitched
convulsively. His breast heaved with a rattling sound, and his hand was
clenched as though to strike. Anjuta started back in wild terror; even
the baby bear was alarmed and slunk into the hut with its tail between
its legs.
Ivan stood for a long while motionless, then he sat down silently by the
fire and stirred it up.
"Cursed--cursed," he murmured to himself. "Who has cursed them. God
pardons sinners, they say. Come!" he said gloomily to the little one.
"Sit down here. It is all right."
"I am frightened."
Ivan bent lower over the fire. "The past will not let itself be buried,"
he thought. "Why must I frighten an innocent creature too?" Then again
his memories stung him and he cried in a new outburst of rage, "Who
dares curse us. You hard-hearted----Yes, it is all right," he added,
trying to quiet the child who was still trembling. "You say you love
Grandfather; so come nearer."
But Anjuta stared hard at him and did not move.
"Look at the nice soup," he said to tempt her and recovered his
self-control. "We will take the fowl out by its legs. It shall have a
special privilege and lie on the grass till it is cool, else you will
burn your mouth." Anjuta approached with visible mistrust.
"Why are you afraid, you simpleton? Bring our spoons. Oh, you stupid
thing! Have I ever hurt you?"
"You looked so dreadful--quite like another man."
"Oh, that was only a joke. I wanted to show you what wicked men look
like. You always ask me to play 'wolf'; just now I played 'bad man.'"
"I am not so frightened at the wolf as at the bad man."
"Ah, child, one must sympathize with them. Do you think it is so easy to
be bad? The Lord has made it hard enough for them; they must suffer
much. It is not really of their own accord that they seize every one by
the throat. They say that God hears children's prayers. Pray then,
Anjuta: 'O God, have mercy on the wicked men.' The good need no one to
pray for them; they are safe anyhow."