It was growing light. The Chéchen’s body which was gently rocking in
the shallow water was now clearly visible. Suddenly the reeds rustled
not far from Luke and he heard steps and saw the feathery tops of the
reeds moving. He set his gun at full cock and muttered: “In the name of
the Father and of the Son,” but when the cock clicked the sound of
steps ceased.
“Hallo, Cossacks! Don’t kill your Daddy!” said a deep bass voice
calmly; and moving the reeds apart Daddy Eróshka came up close to Luke.
“I very nearly killed you, by God I did!” said Lukáshka.
“What have you shot?” asked the old man.
His sonorous voice resounded through the wood and downward along the
river, suddenly dispelling the mysterious quiet of night around the
Cossack. It was as if everything had suddenly become lighter and more
distinct.
“There now. Uncle, you have not seen anything, but I’ve killed a
beast,” said Lukáshka, uncocking his gun and getting up with unnatural
calmness.
The old man was staring intently at the white back, now clearly
visible, against which the Térek rippled.
“He was swimming with a log on his back. I spied him out! ... Look
there. There! He’s got blue trousers, and a gun I think.... Do you
see?” inquired Luke.
“How can one help seeing?” said the old man angrily, and a serious and
stern expression appeared on his face. “You’ve killed a brave,” he
said, apparently with regret.
“Well, I sat here and suddenly saw something dark on the other side. I
spied him when he was still over there. It was as if a man had come
there and fallen in. Strange! And a piece of driftwood, a good-sized
piece, comes floating, not with the stream but across it; and what do I
see but a head appearing from under it! Strange! I stretched out of the
reeds but could see nothing; then I rose and he must have heard, the
beast, and crept out into the shallow and looked about. ‘No, you
don’t!’ I said, as soon as he landed and looked round, ‘you won’t get
away!’ Oh, there was something choking me! I got my gun ready but did
not stir, and looked out. He waited a little and then swam out again;
and when he came into the moonlight I could see his whole back. ‘In the
name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost’... and through
the smoke I see him struggling. He moaned, or so it seemed to me. ‘Ah,’
I thought, ‘the Lord be thanked, I’ve killed him!’ And when he drifted
onto the sand-bank I could see him distinctly: he tried to get up but
couldn’t. He struggled a bit and then lay down. Everything could be
seen. Look, he does not move—he must be dead! The Cossacks have gone
back to the cordon in case there should be any more of them.”
“And so you got him!” said the old man. “He is far away now, my lad!
...” And again he shook his head sadly.
Just then the sound reached them of breaking bushes and the loud voices
of Cossacks approaching along the bank on horseback and on foot. “Are
you bringing the skiff?” shouted Lukáshka.
“You’re a trump, Luke! Lug it to the bank!” shouted one of the
Cossacks.
Without waiting for the skiff Lukáshka began to undress, keeping an eye
all the while on his prey.
“Wait a bit, Nazárka is bringing the skiff,” shouted the corporal.
“You fool! Maybe he is alive and only pretending! Take your dagger with
you!” shouted another Cossack.
“Get along,” cried Luke, pulling off his trousers. He quickly undressed
and, crossing himself, jumped, plunging with a splash into the river.
Then with long strokes of his white arms, lifting his back high out of
the water and breathing deeply, he swam across the current of the Térek
towards the shallows. A crowd of Cossacks stood on the bank talking
loudly. Three horsemen rode off to patrol. The skiff appeared round a
bend. Lukáshka stood up on the sandbank, leaned over the body, and gave
it a couple of shakes.
“Quite dead!” he shouted in a shrill voice.
The Chéchen had been shot in the head. He had on a pair of blue
trousers, a shirt, and a Circassian coat, and a gun and dagger were
tied to his back. Above all these a large branch was tied, and it was
this which at first had misled Lukáshka.
“What a carp you’ve landed!” cried one of the Cossacks who had
assembled in a circle, as the body, lifted out of the skiff, was laid
on the bank, pressing down the grass.
“How yellow he is!” said another.
“Where have our fellows gone to search? I expect the rest of them are
on the other bank. If this one had not been a scout he would not have
swum that way. Why else should he swim alone?” said a third.
“Must have been a smart one to offer himself before the others; a
regular brave!” said Lukáshka mockingly, shivering as he wrung out his
clothes that had got wet on the bank.
“His beard is dyed and cropped.”
“And he has tied a bag with a coat in it to his back.”
“That would make it easier for him to swim,” said some one.
“I say, Lukáshka,” said the corporal, who was holding the dagger and
gun taken from the dead man. “Keep the dagger for yourself and the coat
too; but I’ll give you three rubles for the gun. You see it has a hole
in it,” said he, blowing into the muzzle. “I want it just for a
souvenir.”
Lukáshka did not answer. Evidently this sort of begging vexed him but
he knew it could not be avoided.
“See, what a devil!” said he, frowning and throwing down the Chéchen’s
coat. “If at least it were a good coat, but it’s a mere rag.”
“It’ll do to fetch firewood in,” said one of the Cossacks.
“Mósev, I’ll go home,” said Lukáshka, evidently forgetting his vexation
and wishing to get some advantage out of having to give a present to
his superior.
“All right, you may go!”
“Take the body beyond the cordon, lads,” said the corporal, still
examining the gun, “and put a shelter over him from the sun. Perhaps
they’ll send from the mountains to ransom it.”
“It isn’t hot yet,” said someone.
“And supposing a jackal tears him? Would that be well?” remarked
another Cossack.
“We’ll set a watch; if they should come to ransom him it won’t do for
him to have been torn.”
“Well, Lukáshka, whatever you do you must stand a pail of vodka for the
lads,” said the corporal gaily.
“Of course! That’s the custom,” chimed in the Cossacks. “See what luck
God has sent you! Without ever having seen anything of the kind before,
you’ve killed a brave!”
“Buy the dagger and coat and don’t be stingy, and I’ll let you have the
trousers too,” said Lukáshka. “They’re too tight for me; he was a thin
devil.”
One Cossack bought the coat for a ruble and another gave the price of
two pails of vodka for the dagger.
“Drink, lads! I’ll stand you a pail!” said Luke. “I’ll bring it myself
from the village.”
“And cut up the trousers into kerchiefs for the girls!” said Nazárka.
The Cossacks burst out laughing.
“Have done laughing!” said the corporal. “And take the body away. Why
have you put the nasty thing by the hut?”
“What are you standing there for? Haul him along, lads!” shouted
Lukáshka in a commanding voice to the Cossacks, who reluctantly took
hold of the body, obeying him as though he were their chief. After
dragging the body along for a few steps the Cossacks let fall the legs,
which dropped with a lifeless jerk, and stepping apart they then stood
silent for a few moments. Nazárka came up and straightened the head,
which was turned to one side so that the round wound above the temple
and the whole of the dead man’s face were visible. “See what a mark he
has made right in the brain,” he said. “He won’t get lost. His owners
will always know him!” No one answered, and again the Angel of Silence
flew over the Cossacks.
The sun had risen high and its diverging beams were lighting up the
dewy grass. Near by, the Térek murmured in the awakened wood and,
greeting the morning, the pheasants called to one another. The Cossacks
stood still and silent around the dead man, gazing at him. The brown
body, with nothing on but the wet blue trousers held by a girdle over
the sunken stomach, was well shaped and handsome. The muscular arms lay
stretched straight out by his sides; the blue, freshly shaven, round
head with the clotted wound on one side of it was thrown back. The
smooth tanned forehead contrasted sharply with the shaven part of the
head. The open glassy eyes with lowered pupils stared upwards, seeming
to gaze past everything. Under the red trimmed moustache the fine lips,
drawn at the corners, seemed stiffened into a smile of good-natured
subtle raillery. The fingers of the small hands covered with red hairs
were bent inward, and the nails were dyed red.
Lukáshka had not yet dressed. He was wet. His neck was redder and his
eyes brighter than usual, his broad jaws twitched, and from his healthy
body a hardly perceptible steam rose in the fresh morning air.
“He too was a man!” he muttered, evidently admiring the corpse.
“Yes, if you had fallen into his hands you would have had short
shrift,” said one of the Cossacks.
The Angel of Silence had taken wing. The Cossacks began bustling about
and talking. Two of them went to cut brushwood for a shelter, others
strolled towards the cordon. Luke and Nazárka ran to get ready to go to
the village.
Half an hour later they were both on their way homewards, talking
incessantly and almost running through the dense woods which separated
the Térek from the village.
“Mind, don’t tell her I sent you, but just go and find out if her
husband is at home,” Luke was saying in his shrill voice.
“And I’ll go round to Yámka too,” said the devoted Nazárka. “We’ll have
a spree, shall we?”
“When should we have one if not today?” replied Luke.
When they reached the village the two Cossacks drank, and lay down to
sleep till evening.