Zhilín lay awake nearly the whole night. The nights were short. He saw
through a chink that it was getting light. He got up, made the chink
larger, and looked out.
Through the chink Zhilín saw the road: it went down-hill; on the right
was a Tartar cabin, and near it two trees. A black dog lay on the
threshold, and a goat strutted about with her kids, which were jerking
their little tails. He saw a young Tartar woman coming up the hill; she
wore a loose coloured shirt and pantaloons and boots, and her head was
covered with a caftan, and on her head there was a large tin pitcher
with water. She walked along, jerking her back, and bending over, and by
the hand she led a young shaven Tartar boy in nothing but his shirt. The
Tartar woman went into the cabin with the water, and out came the Tartar
of the day before, with the red beard, wearing a silk half-coat, a
silver dagger on a strap, and shoes on his bare feet. On his head there
was a tall, black sheepskin hat, tilted backwards. He came out, and he
stretched himself and smoothed his red beard. He stood awhile, gave the
labourer an order, and went away.
Then two boys rode by, taking the horses to water. The muzzles of the
horses were wet. Then there ran out some other shaven boys, in nothing
but their shirts, with no trousers; they gathered in a crowd, walked
over to the shed, picked up a stick, and began to poke it through the
chink. When Zhilín shouted at the children, they screamed and started to
run back, so that their bare knees glistened in the sun.
Zhilín wanted to drink,--his throat was all dried up. He thought: "If
they would only come to see me!" He heard them open the shed. The red
Tartar came in, and with him another, black-looking fellow, of smaller
stature. His eyes were black and bright, his cheeks ruddy, his small
beard clipped; his face looked jolly, and he kept laughing all the time.
This swarthy fellow was dressed even better: he had on a silk half-coat,
of a blue colour, embroidered with galloons. In his belt there was a
large silver dagger; his slippers were of red morocco and also
embroidered with silver. Over his thin slippers he wore heavier shoes.
His cap was tall, of white astrakhan.
The red Tartar came in. He said something, as though scolding, and
stopped. He leaned against the door-post, dangled his dagger, and like a
wolf looked furtively at Zhilín. But the swarthy fellow--swift, lively,
walking around as though on springs--went up straight to Zhilín,
squatted down, showed his teeth, slapped him on the shoulder, began to
rattle off something in his language, winked with his eyes, clicked his
tongue, and kept repeating: "Goot Uruss! Goot Uruss!"
Zhilín did not understand a thing and said:
"Give me to drink, give me water to drink!"
The swarthy fellow laughed. "Goot Uruss!" he kept rattling off.
Zhilín showed with his lips and hands that he wanted something to drink.
The swarthy fellow understood what he wanted, laughed out, looked
through the door, and called some one: "Dina!"
In came a thin, slender little girl, of about thirteen years of age, who
resembled the swarthy man very much. Evidently she was his daughter. Her
eyes, too, were black and bright, and her face was pretty. She wore a
long blue shirt, with broad sleeves and without a belt. The skirt, the
breast, and the sleeves were trimmed with red. On her legs were
pantaloons, and on her feet slippers, with high-heeled shoes over them;
on her neck she wore a necklace of Russian half-roubles. Her head was
uncovered; her braid was black, with a ribbon through it, and from the
ribbon hung small plates and a Russian rouble.
Her father gave her a command. She ran away, and came back and brought a
small tin pitcher. She gave him the water, and herself squatted down,
bending up in such a way that her shoulders were below her knees. She
sat there, and opened her eyes, and looked at Zhilín drinking, as though
he were some animal.
Zhilín handed her back the pitcher. She jumped away like a wild goat.
Even her father laughed. He sent her somewhere else. She took the
pitcher and ran away; she brought some fresh bread on a round board, and
again sat down, bent over, riveted her eyes on him, and kept looking.
The Tartars went away and locked the door.
After awhile the Nogay came to Zhilín, and said:
"Ai-da, master, ai-da!"
He did not know any Russian, either. All Zhilín could make out was that
he should follow him.
Zhilín started with the stocks, and he limped and could not walk, so
much did the stocks pull his legs aside. Zhilín went out with the Nogay.
He saw a Tartar village of about ten houses, and a church of theirs,
with a small tower. Near one house stood three horses, all saddled. Boys
were holding the reins. From the house sprang the swarthy Tartar, and he
waved his hand for Zhilín to come up. He laughed all the while, and
talked in his language, and disappeared through the door.
Zhilín entered the house. It was a good living-room,--the walls were
plastered smooth with clay. Along the front wall lay coloured cushions,
and at the sides hung costly rugs; on the rugs were guns, pistols,
swords,--all in silver. By one wall there was a small stove, on a level
with the floor. The floor was of dirt and as clean as a threshing-floor,
and the whole front corner was carpeted with felt; and over the felt lay
rugs, and on the rugs cushions. On these rugs sat the Tartars, in their
slippers without their outer shoes: there were the swarthy fellow, the
red Tartar, and three guests. At their backs were feather cushions, and
before them, on a round board, were millet cakes and melted butter in a
bowl, and Tartar beer, "buza," in a small pitcher. They were eating with
their hands, and their hands were all greasy from the butter.
The swarthy man jumped up and ordered Zhilín to be placed to one side,
not on a rug, but on the bare floor; he went back to his rug, and
treated his guests to millet cakes and buza. The labourer placed Zhilín
where he had been ordered, himself took off his outer shoes, put them at
the door, where stood the other shoes, and sat down on the felt next to
the masters. He looked at them as they ate, and wiped off his spittle.
The Tartars ate the cakes. Then there came a Tartar woman, in a shirt
like the one the girl had on, and in pantaloons, and with a kerchief
over her head. She carried away the butter and the cakes, and brought a
small wash-basin of a pretty shape, and a pitcher with a narrow neck.
The Tartars washed their hands, then folded them, knelt down, blew in
every direction, and said their prayers. Then one of the Tartar guests
turned to Zhilín, and began to speak in Russian:
"You," he said, "were taken by Kazi-Muhammed," and he pointed to the red
Tartar, "and he gave you to Abdul-Murat." He pointed to the swarthy man.
"Abdul-Murat is now your master."
Zhilín kept silence. Then Abdul-Murat began to speak. He pointed to
Zhilín, and laughed, and kept repeating:
"Soldier Uruss! Goot Uruss!"
The interpreter said:
"He wants you to write a letter home that they may send a ransom for
you. When they send it, you will be set free."
Zhilín thought awhile and said:
"How much ransom does he want?"
The Tartars talked together; then the interpreter said:
"Three thousand in silver."
"No," said Zhilín, "I cannot pay that."
Abdul jumped up, began to wave his hands and to talk to Zhilín, thinking
that he would understand him. The interpreter translated. He said:
"How much will you give?"
Zhilín thought awhile, and said:
"Five hundred roubles."
Then the Tartars began to talk a great deal, all at the same time. Abdul
shouted at the red Tartar. He was so excited that the spittle just
spirted from his mouth.
But the red Tartar only scowled and clicked his tongue.
They grew silent, and the interpreter said:
"The master is not satisfied with five hundred roubles. He has himself
paid two hundred for you. Kazi-Muhammed owed him a debt. He took you for
that debt. Three thousand roubles, nothing less will do. And if you do
not write, you will be put in a hole and beaten with a whip."
"Oh," thought Zhilín, "it will not do to show that I am frightened; that
will only be worse." He leaped to his feet, and said:
"Tell that dog that if he is going to frighten me, I will not give him a
penny, and I will refuse to write. I have never been afraid of you dogs,
and I never will be."
The interpreter translated, and all began to speak at the same time.
They babbled for a long time; then the swarthy Tartar jumped up and
walked over to Zhilín:
"Uruss," he said, "dzhigit, dzhigit Uruss!"
Dzhigit in their language means a "brave." And he laughed; he said
something to the interpreter, and the interpreter said:
"Give one thousand roubles!"
Zhilín stuck to what he had said:
"I will not give more than five hundred. And if you kill me, you will
get nothing."
The Tartars talked awhile and sent the labourer somewhere, and
themselves kept looking now at Zhilín and now at the door. The labourer
came, and behind him walked a fat man; he was barefoot and tattered; he,
too, had on the stocks.
Zhilín just shouted, for he recognized Kostylín. He, too, had been
caught. They were placed beside each other. They began to talk to each
other, and the Tartars kept silence and looked at them. Zhilín told what
had happened to him; and Kostylín told him that his horse had stopped
and his gun had missed fire, and that the same Abdul had overtaken and
captured him.
Abdul jumped up, and pointed to Kostylín, and said something. The
interpreter translated it, and said that both of them belonged to the
same master, and that the one who would first furnish the money would be
the first to be released.
"Now you," he said, "are a cross fellow, but your friend is meek; he has
written a letter home, and they will send five thousand roubles. He will
be fed well, and will not be insulted."
So Zhilín said:
"My friend may do as he pleases; maybe he is rich, but I am not. As I
have said, so will it be. If you want to, kill me,--you will not gain by
it,--but more than five hundred will I not give."
They were silent for awhile. Suddenly Abdul jumped up, fetched a small
box, took out a pen, a piece of paper, and some ink, put it all before
Zhilín, slapped him on the shoulder, and motioned for him to write. He
agreed to the five hundred.
"Wait awhile," Zhilín said to the interpreter. "Tell him that he has to
feed us well, and give us the proper clothes and shoes, and keep us
together,--it will be jollier for us,--and take off the stocks." He
looked at the master and laughed. The master himself laughed. He
listened to the interpreter, and said:
"I will give you the best of clothes,--a Circassian mantle and
boots,--you will be fit to marry. We will feed you like princes. And if
you want to stay together, you may live in the shed. But the stocks
cannot be taken off, for you will run away. For the night we will take
them off."
He ran up to Zhilín, and tapped him on the shoulder:
"You goot, me goot!"
Zhilín wrote the letter, but he did not address it right. He thought he
would run away.
Zhilín and Kostylín were taken back to the shed. They brought for them
maize straw, water in a pitcher, bread, two old mantles, and worn
soldier boots. They had evidently been pulled off dead soldiers. For the
night the stocks were taken off, and they were locked in the barn.