WHAT CAME FROM ATTENDING A SKODKA
The sun's rays were already brightening the room when I awoke next
morning. I jumped up from the bench that formed my bed at night and
looked around. The fire was burning brightly in the big stove, mother
and sister were clearing the table. Father was gone!
Quick as a flash, it occurred to me why he was away. He had gone to a
_skodka_, a gathering of the villagers who are always called together
when there is a grave matter to be discussed. My lips trembled in my
disappointment, for I had hoped to go with father.
I dressed hastily, and then grabbing up my fur cap and coat started for
the door. Mother saw me and called out, "Where are you in such a hurry
to go, you foolish boy? You're not washed nor combed, nor have you had
a bite to eat."
"I haven't time," I mumbled. "I have to go to the _skodka_."
Mother, despite the seriousness of the situation, burst out laughing.
"Do you think you are necessary," she inquired, "to deciding what ought
to be done?" Then changing her tone she said, "Hang up your _shuba_
(overcoat), wash yourself, and breakfast, and then perhaps you can go."
My pleadings to depart at once were in vain, and I had to do her
bidding. I forgot the disappointment somewhat, in attacking with relish
the well-prepared buckwheat porridge, rye bread, and tea. The instant I
was through, nothing could prevent me from running to the _skodka_.
When I reached Fedoraev's log house, which my mother had told me was
the place of meeting, I found the front room filled with neighbors.
Peter, who was at the door under the low-eaved portico, pointed out
a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a heavy beard and bushy hair and
brows, as the renowned Tolochkin. I gazed at him with all my might.
"How many tigers has he killed?" I asked Peter in a whisper.
"Forty!" came the answer. "And you ought to see the bear and deer skins
which I saw in his yard the latter part of January."
I turned to the man again. I had been told that he was about fifty
years of age, but he looked about ten or fifteen years younger. I
noticed that he did not say much except to reply sharply to suggestions
and arguments.
"Why won't you come with us, Ivan Stepanovitch?" I heard the village
_ataman_, the head man of our village, say to him in a slow, persuasive
voice. "We need you to show our youths how to hunt tigers. They've got
to learn. We lost five cows and a dozen sheep last year, and this one
rascal alone can ruin us. We'll give you half the price of the skin."
"I don't care for the company, thank you; I prefer to hunt tigers
single-handed." He paused and added with a peculiar sarcasm, "I'm
really not needed." Here he arose and left abruptly.
For several minutes after his departure, no one spoke. Then I heard
my father's voice: "Since he doesn't want to come, let him stay away.
We're no children to need help. How many rifles can we count on for
to-morrow?"
There came a chorus of "I," "I'm with you," "Count on me," and then
quite involuntarily, I found myself exclaiming loudly: "I'll go."
To my surprise everybody found something amusing just then, for there
was a resounding laugh. A man near the door faced me with, "Where is
your rifle?"
I looked straight into his eyes and answered earnestly, "Last year my
uncle promised to give me one of his shotguns."
Again there came a new and stronger explosion of laughter. What was the
matter? Were they laughing at me?
My uncle came to my rescue. "Brave boy," he said, patting me on the
shoulder. "I'll take you if your father consents, and you shall have a
rifle instead of a shotgun. We need some one to see to our horses."
Then the meeting began to discuss plans. It was decided that about two
hours after midnight all who were going were to meet outside of the
village at the crossing of the road to Bear Valley. Only two dogs, wolf
hounds owned by Laddeef, were to be taken.
When I returned home, I said nothing to my mother of my share in the
_skodka_, but when shortly after midnight I heard my father's heavy
steps go out to feed the horses, I arose quietly and dressed, not
forgetting my fur overcoat and cap and my warm felt boots. When my
father returned, his beard white with frost and snow on his deerskin
boots, he looked at me with a mingling of surprise and satisfaction and
exclaimed: "You up! What's the matter?"
"You seemed willing that I should go on the hunt," I stammered, fearful
of a refusal at the last moment.
"Seemed willing," my father repeated with a slight smile.
Here my mother who was now up, broke in quite excitedly: "You are
surely not going to be so crazy as to let Vanka go."
That saved me. Father always disliked any interference, and now, in
addition, mother's tone angered him.
"Father," I begged, before he could speak, "mother thinks I'm a baby.
She doesn't understand that I'm to be raised like a Cossack and not
like a lamb. Uncle will take care of me."
My father who was frowning deeply, seemed to be turning over something
in his mind. At last, without looking at me, he said, "It'll do you
good. If your uncle will take charge of you,--go."
I didn't give my mother a chance to utter a word but flew out of the
door like a bullet, forgetting even to close the door after me, a
negligence usually punished in our village by a beating.
I did not lessen my speed until I found myself at my uncle's
felt-padded door. Turning the knob (it was not customary to lock doors
or to knock in our village), I walked in. Uncle was still in bed and
at first could not understand my presence. When he did, he jumped to
his feet with "You rascal, you caught me this time, all right! Take any
rifle you want."
He pointed to several antlers on the wall on which hung an array of
rifles and daggers. While I tried to decide on the rifle, he washed
and dressed, made a fire and began to prepare pancakes and tea. Having
decided what gun I wanted, I helped him by hammering odd-shaped lumps
of sugar from a big cone-shaped loaf.
From time to time he looked smilingly at me and uttered unrelated
ejaculations, from which I learned that he favored my going.
We sat down, I thinking what a cheerful man he was.
"I guess you haven't breakfasted," he said, filling my plate. "Your
mother probably gave you a spanking instead of something to eat."
I looked up at him in surprise. How could he know that I hadn't had
anything to eat, and that my mother was angry.
Having eaten heartily, we went out. I helped saddle his horse, and
then together, laughing and talking, we hitched a mule to a sleigh
into which we put hay and grain, a bag of tobacco, some bread, salt
and meat, sugar and tea, an _arkan_ (the Cossack's lassoo), and some
cartridges. I tried to follow his excellent method of packing things
away neatly, for I knew that that was a part of the training of every
Cossack.
When we were ready to start, I in front, he a few steps behind, his
pipe in his mouth, a smile on his lips, I could not help asking:
"Uncle, what are you smiling at?"
"At you!" he answered unexpectedly. "I guess you wouldn't go home just
now even for ten rubles."[11]
"Why--" I began and stopped, wondering again how he could read my
thoughts. For it had just occurred to me that if, for any reason, I had
to return, mother wouldn't let me out again, and perhaps even father--
At this point, I hit the mule on whose back I was mounted, and we
started off.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: Russian money. Ten rubles would equal about five dollars
of our money.--THE EDITOR.]