Meanwhile the tattoo had sounded in the village square. The people had
returned from their work. The herd lowed as in clouds of golden dust it
crowded at the village gate. The girls and the women hurried through
the streets and yards, turning in their cattle. The sun had quite
hidden itself behind the distant snowy peaks. One pale bluish shadow
spread over land and sky. Above the darkened gardens stars just
discernible were kindling, and the sounds were gradually hushed in the
village. The cattle having been attended to and left for the night, the
women came out and gathered at the corners of the streets and, cracking
sunflower seeds with their teeth, settled down on the earthen
embankments of the houses. Later on Maryánka, having finished milking
the buffalo and the other two cows, also joined one of these groups.
The group consisted of several women and girls and one old Cossack man.
They were talking about the _abrek_ who had been killed.
The Cossack was narrating and the women questioning him.
“I expect he’ll get a handsome reward,” said one of the women.
“Of course. It’s said that they’ll send him a cross.”
“Mósev did try to wrong him. Took the gun away from him, but the
authorities at Kizlyár heard of it.”
“A mean creature that Mósev is!”
“They say Lukáshka has come home,” remarked one of the girls.
“He and Nazárka are merry-making at Yámka’s.” (Yámka was an unmarried,
disreputable Cossack woman who kept an illicit pot-house.) “I heard say
they had drunk half a pailful.”
“What luck that Snatcher has,” somebody remarked. “A real snatcher. But
there’s no denying he’s a fine lad, smart enough for anything, a
right-minded lad! His father was just such another. Daddy Kiryák was:
he takes after his father. When he was killed the whole village howled.
Look, there they are,” added the speaker, pointing to the Cossacks who
were coming down the street towards them.
“And Ergushóv has managed to come along with them too! The drunkard!”
Lukáshka, Nazárka, and Ergushóv, having emptied half a pail of vodka,
were coming towards the girls. The faces of all three, but especially
that of the old Cossack, were redder than usual. Ergushóv was reeling
and kept laughing and nudging Nazárka in the ribs.
“Why are you not singing?” he shouted to the girls. “Sing to our
merry-making, I tell you!”
They were welcomed with the words, “Had a good day? Had a good day?”
“Why sing? It’s not a holiday,” said one of the women. “You’re tight,
so you go and sing.”
Ergushóv roared with laughter and nudged Nazárka. “You’d better sing.
And I’ll begin too. I’m clever, I tell you.”
“Are you asleep, fair ones?” said Nazárka. “We’ve come from the cordon
to drink your health. We’ve already drunk Lukáshka’s health.”
Lukáshka, when he reached the group, slowly raised his cap and stopped
in front of the girls. His broad cheekbones and neck were red. He stood
and spoke softly and sedately, but in his tranquillity and sedateness
there was more of animation and strength than in all Nazárka’s
loquacity and bustle. He reminded one of a playful colt that with a
snort and a flourish of its tail suddenly stops short and stands as
though nailed to the ground with all four feet. Lukáshka stood quietly
in front of the girls, his eyes laughed, and he spoke but little as he
glanced now at his drunken companions and now at the girls. When
Maryánka joined the group he raised his cap with a firm deliberate
movement, moved out of her way and then stepped in front of her with
one foot a little forward and with his thumbs in his belt, fingering
his dagger. Maryánka answered his greeting with a leisurely bow of her
head, settled down on the earth-bank, and took some seeds out of the
bosom of her smock. Lukáshka, keeping his eyes fixed on Maryánka,
slowly cracked seeds and spat out the shells. All were quiet when
Maryánka joined the group.
“Have you come for long?” asked a woman, breaking the silence.
“Till tomorrow morning,” quietly replied Lukáshka.
“Well, God grant you get something good,” said the Cossack; “I’m glad
of it, as I’ve just been saying.”
“And I say so too,” put in the tipsy Ergushóv, laughing. “What a lot of
visitors have come,” he added, pointing to a soldier who was passing
by. “The soldiers’ vodka is good—I like it.”
“They’ve sent three of the devils to us,” said one of the women.
“Grandad went to the village Elders, but they say nothing can be done.”
“Ah, ha! Have you met with trouble?” said Ergushóv.
“I expect they have smoked you out with their tobacco?” asked another
woman. “Smoke as much as you like in the yard, I say, but we won’t
allow it inside the hut. Not if the Elder himself comes, I won’t allow
it. Besides, they may rob you. He’s not quartered any of them on
himself, no fear, that devil’s son of an Elder.”
“You don’t like it?” Ergushóv began again.
“And I’ve also heard say that the girls will have to make the soldiers’
beds and offer them _chikhir_ and honey,” said Nazárka, putting one
foot forward and tilting his cap like Lukáshka.
Ergushóv burst into a roar of laughter, and seizing the girl nearest to
him, he embraced her. “I tell you true.”
“Now then, you black pitch!” squealed the girl, “I’ll tell your old
woman.”
“Tell her,” shouted he. “That’s quite right what Nazárka says; a
circular has been sent round. He can read, you know. Quite true!” And
he began embracing the next girl.
“What are you up to, you beast?” squealed the rosy, round-faced
Ústenka, laughing and lifting her arm to hit him.
The Cossack stepped aside and nearly fell.
“There, they say girls have no strength, and you nearly killed me.”
“Get away, you black pitch, what devil has brought you from the
cordon?” said Ústenka, and turning away from him she again burst out
laughing. “You were asleep and missed the _abrek_, didn’t you? Suppose
he had done for you it would have been all the better.”
“You’d have howled, I expect,” said Nazárka, laughing.
“Howled! A likely thing.”
“Just look, she doesn’t care. She’d howl, Nazárka, eh? Would she?” said
Ergushóv.
Lukáshka all this time had stood silently looking at Maryánka. His gaze
evidently confused the girl.
“Well, Maryánka! I hear they’ve quartered one of the chiefs on you?” he
said, drawing nearer.
Maryánka, as was her wont, waited before she replied, and slowly
raising her eyes looked at the Cossack. Lukáshka’s eyes were laughing
as if something special, apart from what was said, was taking place
between himself and the girl.
“Yes, it’s all right for them as they have two huts,” replied an old
woman on Maryánka’s behalf, “but at Fómushkin’s now they also have one
of the chiefs quartered on them and they say one whole corner is packed
full with his things, and the family have no room left. Was such a
thing ever heard of as that they should turn a whole horde loose in the
village?” she said. “And what the plague are they going to do here?”
“I’ve heard say they’ll build a bridge across the Térek,” said one of
the girls.
“And I’ve been told that they will dig a pit to put the girls in
because they don’t love the lads,” said Nazárka, approaching Ústenka;
and he again made a whimsical gesture which set everybody laughing, and
Ergushóv, passing by Maryánka, who was next in turn, began to embrace
an old woman.
“Why don’t you hug Maryánka? You should do it to each in turn,” said
Nazárka.
“No, my old one is sweeter,” shouted the Cossack, kissing the
struggling old woman.
“You’ll throttle me,” she screamed, laughing.
The tramp of regular footsteps at the other end of the street
interrupted their laughter. Three soldiers in their cloaks, with their
muskets on their shoulders, were marching in step to relieve guard by
the ammunition wagon.
The corporal, an old cavalry man, looked angrily at the Cossacks and
led his men straight along the road where Lukáshka and Nazárka were
standing, so that they should have to get out of the way. Nazárka
moved, but Lukáshka only screwed up his eyes and turned his broad back
without moving from his place.
“People are standing here, so you go round,” he muttered, half turning
his head and tossing it contemptuously in the direction of the
soldiers.
The soldiers passed by in silence, keeping step regularly along the
dusty road.
Maryánka began laughing and all the other girls chimed in.
“What swells!” said Nazárka, “Just like long-skirted choristers,” and
he walked a few steps down the road imitating the soldiers.
Again everyone broke into peals of laughter.
Lukáshka came slowly up to Maryánka.
“And where have you put up the chief?” he asked.
Maryánka thought for a moment.
“We’ve let him have the new hut,” she said.
“And is he old or young,” asked Lukáshka, sitting down beside her.
“Do you think I’ve asked?” answered the girl. “I went to get him some
_chikhir_ and saw him sitting at the window with Daddy Eróshka.
Red-headed he seemed. They’ve brought a whole cartload of things.”
And she dropped her eyes.
“Oh, how glad I am that I got leave from the cordon!” said Lukáshka,
moving closer to the girl and looking straight in her eyes all the
time.
“And have you come for long?” asked Maryánka, smiling slightly.
“Till the morning. Give me some sunflower seeds,” he said, holding out
his hand.
Maryánka now smiled outright and unfastened the neckband of her smock.
“Don’t take them all,” she said.
“Really I felt so dull all the time without you, I swear I did,” he
said in a calm, restrained whisper, helping himself to some seeds out
of the bosom of the girl’s smock, and stooping still closer over her he
continued with laughing eyes to talk to her in low tones.
“I won’t come, I tell you,” Maryánka suddenly said aloud, leaning away
from him.
“No really ... what I wanted to say to you, ...” whispered Lukáshka.
“By the Heavens! Do come!”
Maryánka shook her head, but did so with a smile.
“Nursey Maryánka! Hallo Nursey! Mammy is calling! Supper time!” shouted
Maryánka’s little brother, running towards the group.
“I’m coming,” replied the girl. “Go, my dear, go alone—I’ll come in a
minute.”
Lukáshka rose and raised his cap.
“I expect I had better go home too, that will be best,” he said, trying
to appear unconcerned but hardly able to repress a smile, and he
disappeared behind the corner of the house.
Meanwhile night had entirely enveloped the village. Bright stars were
scattered over the dark sky. The streets became dark and empty. Nazárka
remained with the women on the earth-bank and their laughter was still
heard, but Lukáshka, having slowly moved away from the girls, crouched
down like a cat and then suddenly started running lightly, holding his
dagger to steady it: not homeward, however, but towards the cornet’s
house. Having passed two streets he turned into a lane and lifting the
skirt of his coat sat down on the ground in the shadow of a fence. “A
regular cornet’s daughter!” he thought about Maryánka. “Won’t even have
a lark—the devil! But just wait a bit.”
The approaching footsteps of a woman attracted his attention. He began
listening, and laughed all by himself. Maryánka with bowed head,
striking the pales of the fences with a switch, was walking with rapid
regular strides straight towards him. Lukáshka rose. Maryánka started
and stopped.
“What an accursed devil! You frightened me! So you have not gone home?”
she said, and laughed aloud.
Lukáshka put one arm round her and with the other hand raised her face.
“What I wanted to tell you, by Heaven!” his voice trembled and broke.
“What are you talking of, at night time!” answered Maryánka. “Mother is
waiting for me, and you’d better go to your sweetheart.”
And freeing herself from his arms she ran away a few steps. When she
had reached the wattle fence of her home she stopped and turned to the
Cossack who was running beside her and still trying to persuade her to
stay a while with him.
“Well, what do you want to say, midnight-gadabout?” and she again began
laughing.
“Don’t laugh at me, Maryánka! By the Heaven! Well, what if I have a
sweetheart? May the devil take her! Only say the word and now I’ll love
you—I’ll do anything you wish. Here they are!” and he jingled the money
in his pocket. “Now we can live splendidly. Others have pleasures, and
I? I get no pleasure from you, Maryánka dear!”
The girl did not answer. She stood before him breaking her switch into
little bits with a rapid movement of her fingers.
Lukáshka suddenly clenched his teeth and fists.
“And why keep waiting and waiting? Don’t I love you, darling? You can
do what you like with me,” said he suddenly, frowning angrily and
seizing both her hands.
The calm expression of Maryánka’s face and voice did not change.
“Don’t bluster, Lukáshka, but listen to me,” she answered, not pulling
away her hands but holding the Cossack at arm’s length. “It’s true I am
a girl, but you listen to me! It does not depend on me, but if you love
me I’ll tell you this. Let go my hands, I’ll tell you without.—I’ll
marry you, but you’ll never get any nonsense from me,” said Maryánka
without turning her face.
“What, you’ll marry me? Marriage does not depend on us. Love me
yourself, Maryánka dear,” said Lukáshka, from sullen and furious
becoming again gentle, submissive, and tender, and smiling as he looked
closely into her eyes.
Maryánka clung to him and kissed him firmly on the lips.
“Brother dear!” she whispered, pressing him convulsively to her. Then,
suddenly tearing herself away, she ran into the gate of her house
without looking round.
In spite of the Cossack’s entreaties to wait another minute to hear
what he had to say, Maryánka did not stop.
“Go,” she cried, “you’ll be seen! I do believe that devil, our lodger,
is walking about the yard.”
“Cornet’s daughter,” thought Lukáshka. “She will marry me. Marriage is
all very well, but you just love me!”
He found Nazárka at Yámka’s house, and after having a spree with him
went to Dunáyka’s house, where, in spite of her not being faithful to
him, he spent the night.