Zhilín lived thus for a month. In the daytime he walked around the
village and made things with his hands, and when night came, and all was
quiet in the village, he began to dig in the shed. It was difficult to
dig on account of the rocks, but he sawed the stones with the file, and
made a hole through which he meant to crawl later. "First I must find
out what direction to go in," he thought; "but the Tartars will not tell
me anything."
So he chose a time when his master was away; he went after dinner back
of the village, up-hill, where he could see the place. But when his
master went away, he told his little boy to keep an eye on Zhilín and to
follow him everywhere. So the boy ran after Zhilín, and said:
"Don't go! Father said that you should not go there. I will call the
people!"
Zhilín began to persuade him.
"I do not want to go far," he said; "I just want to walk up the
mountain: I want to find an herb with which to cure you people. Come
with me; I cannot run away with the stocks. To-morrow I will make you a
bow and arrows."
He persuaded the boy, and they went together. As he looked up the
mountain, it looked near, but with the stocks it was hard to walk; he
walked and walked, and climbed the mountain with difficulty. Zhilín sat
down and began to look at the place. To the south of the shed there was
a ravine, and there a herd of horses was grazing, and in a hollow could
be seen another village. At that village began a steeper mountain, and
beyond that mountain there was another mountain. Between the mountains
could be seen a forest, and beyond it again the mountains, rising higher
and higher. Highest of all, there were white mountains, capped with
snow, just like sugar loaves. And one snow mountain stood with its cap
above all the rest. To the east and the west there were just such
mountains; here and there smoke rose from villages in the clefts.
"Well," he thought, "that is all their side."
He began to look to the Russian side. At his feet was a brook and his
village, and all around were little gardens. At the brook women were
sitting,--they looked as small as dolls,--and washing the linen. Beyond
the village and below it there was a mountain, and beyond that, two
other mountains, covered with forests; between the two mountains could
be seen an even spot, and on that plain, far, far away, it looked as
though smoke were settling. Zhilín recalled where the sun used to rise
and set when he was at home in the fortress. He looked down there,--sure
enough, that was the valley where the Russian fortress ought to be.
There, then, between those two mountains, he had to run.
The sun was beginning to go down. The snow-capped mountains changed from
white to violet; it grew dark in the black mountains; vapour arose from
the clefts, and the valley, where our fortress no doubt was, gleamed in
the sunset as though on fire. Zhilín began to look sharply,--something
was quivering in the valley, like smoke rising from chimneys. He was
sure now that it must be the Russian fortress.
It grew late; he could hear the mullah call; the flock was being driven,
and the cows lowed. The boy said to him, "Come!" but Zhilín did not feel
like leaving.
They returned home. "Well," thought Zhilín, "now I know the place, and I
must run." He wanted to run that same night. The nights were dark,--the
moon was on the wane. Unfortunately the Tartars returned toward evening.
At other times they returned driving cattle before them, and then they
were jolly. But this time they did not drive home anything, but brought
back a dead Tartar, a red-haired companion of theirs. They came back
angry, and all gathered to bury him. Zhilín, too, went out to see. They
wrapped the dead man in linen, without putting him in a coffin, and
carried him under the plane-trees beyond the village, and placed him on
the grass. The mullah came, and the old men gathered around him, their
caps wrapped with towels, and took off their shoes and seated themselves
in a row on their heels, in front of the dead man.
At their head was the mullah, and then three old men in turbans, sitting
in a row, and behind them other Tartars. They sat, and bent their heads,
and kept silence. They were silent for quite awhile. Then the mullah
raised his head, and said:
"Allah!" (That means "God.") He said that one word, and again they
lowered their heads and kept silence for a long time; they sat without
stirring. Again the mullah raised his head:
"Allah!" and all repeated, "Allah!" and again they were silent. The dead
man lay on the grass, and did not stir, and they sat about him like the
dead. Not one of them stirred. One could hear only the leaves on the
plane-tree rustling in the breeze. Then the mullah said a prayer, and
all got up, lifted the dead body, and carried it away. They took it to a
grave,--not a simple grave, but dug under like a cave. They took the
dead man under his arms and by his legs, bent him over, let him down
softly, pushed him under in a sitting posture, and fixed his arms on his
body.
A Nogay dragged up a lot of green reeds; they bedded the grave with it,
then quickly filled it with dirt, levelled it up, and put a stone up
straight at the head of it. They tramped down the earth, and again sat
down in a row near the grave. They were silent for a long time.
"Allah, Allah, Allah!" They sighed and got up.
A red-haired Tartar distributed money to the old men; then he got up,
took a whip, struck himself three times on his forehead, and went home.
Next morning Zhilín saw the red Tartar take a mare out of the village,
and three Tartars followed him. They went outside the village; then the
red-haired Tartar took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves,--he had
immense arms,--and took out his dagger and whetted it on a steel. The
Tartars jerked up the mare's head, and the red-haired man walked over to
her, cut her throat, threw her down, and began to flay her,--to rip the
skin open with his fists. Then came women and girls, and they began to
wash the inside and the entrails. Then they chopped up the mare and
dragged the flesh to the house. And the whole village gathered at the
house of the red-haired Tartar to celebrate the dead man's wake.
For three days did they eat the horse-flesh, drink buza, and remember
the dead man. On the fourth day Zhilín saw them get ready to go
somewhere for a dinner. They brought horses, dressed themselves up, and
went away,--about ten men, and the red Tartar with them; Abdul was the
only one who was left at home. The moon was just beginning to increase,
and the nights were still dark.
"Well," thought Zhilín, "to-night I must run," and he told Kostylín so.
But Kostylín was timid.
"How can we run? We do not know the road."
"I know it."
"But we cannot reach it in the night."
"If we do not, we shall stay for the night in the woods. I have a lot of
cakes with me. You certainly do not mean to stay. It would be all right
if they sent the money; but suppose they cannot get together so much.
The Tartars are mean now, because the Russians have killed one of
theirs. I understand they want to kill us now."
Kostylín thought awhile:
"Well, let us go!"