Thus Jilin and his comrade lived for a month. Their master was always
cheerful. “You, good fellow, Ivan! I, Abdul, good fellow, too!” But he
fed them badly. All the food they got was some unleavened bread of
millet flour, or millet cakes, and sometimes nothing but raw dough.
Kostilin sent another letter home and did nothing but mope and wait for
the money to arrive. He would sit in the barn day after day, either
counting the days for the letter to come or sleeping. Jilin knew that
his letter would not reach home, but he never wrote another.
“Where on earth could mother get so much money from?” he thought. “She
lived mostly on what I used to send her, and if she has to procure five
hundred roubles she’ll be quite ruined. With God’s help I’ll get away
myself.”
So he kept his eyes open, planning how to run away.
He would walk about the village whistling, or doing something with his
hands, such as modelling dolls out of clay, or plaiting baskets out of
twigs. Jilin was very clever with his hands.
One day he modelled a doll with a nose, arms and legs and in a Tartar
shirt, and he put this doll on the roof of the shed. The Tartar girls
went to fetch water. The master’s daughter Dina caught sight of the
doll, and called to the others. They put down their pitchers and looked
up laughing. Jilin took down the doll and held it out to them. They
laughed, but dared not take it. He left the doll and went into the shed
to see what would happen.
Dina ran up, looked about her, snatched up the doll and ran off with it.
The following morning, at daybreak, Dina came out on the threshold with
the doll. She had bedecked it in bits of red stuff, and was rocking it
to and fro like a baby and singing a lullaby. An old woman came out and
began to scold her. She snatched the doll away from the child and broke
it, and sent Dina off to her work.
Jilin made another doll--a better one this time--and gave it to Dina.
One day Dina brought Jilin a jug, and sitting down, she looked up at
him, laughing and pointing to the jug.
“What is she so pleased about?” Jilin thought. He took up the jug to
have a drink, thinking it was full of water, but it turned out to be
milk. “How nice!” he said, and finished it. Dina was overjoyed.
“Nice, nice, Ivan!” She jumped up and clapped her hands in glee, then
she seized the jug and ran away.
After that she brought Jilin milk in secret every day. When the Tartar
women used to make cheese cakes out of goat’s milk, which they baked on
the roof, she would steal some and bring them to him. Once the master
killed a sheep, and Dina brought Jilin a piece of the flesh hidden in
her sleeve. She would throw the things down and run away.
One day there was a terrible storm; the rain poured down in torrents for
a whole hour. The rivers became turbid. At the ford, the water rose till
it was seven feet high and the current was so strong that it moved the
stones along. Rivulets flowed everywhere and there was a roar in the
hills. After the storm streams flowed down the village everywhere.
Jilin asked his master for a knife, and with it he shaped a small
cylinder and made a wheel out of a piece of board, to which he fixed two
dolls, one on each side. The little girls brought him some bits of stuff
with which he dressed the dolls--one as a peasant, the other as a
peasant woman. He made them fast and set the wheel so that the stream
should work it. When the wheel began to whirl the dolls danced.
The whole village gathered round--boys and girls and women and men came
to look on, the latter clacking their tongues.
“Ah, Russ! Ah, Ivan!” they said.
Abdul had a Russian watch which was broken. He called Jilin and showed
it to him. Jilin said, “Give it to me and I’ll mend it.”
He took it to pieces with the knife, sorted the pieces out, put them
together again and the watch went quite well.
The master was pleased and presented him with one of his old tunics, all
in holes. Jilin had to take it, besides, it would come in useful to
cover up with at night.
From that day Jilin’s fame as a man skilled in handiworks spread fast.
People began to flock to him from distant villages, one bringing the
lock of a rifle or a pistol that wanted mending; another a watch or a
clock. The master gave him some tools--pincers, gimlets and a file.
One day a Tartar fell ill, and they came to Jilin, saying, “Come and
heal him.” Jilin did not know how to heal the sick, but he went just the
same thinking, “The man will recover of his own accord.” He disappeared
into the shed and mixed up some sand and water. In the presence of the
Tartars he mumbled some words over the mixture, and gave it to the sick
man to drink. Fortunately the Tartar got well.
Jilin began to understand a little of their tongue. Some of the Tartars
got quite used to him, and when they wanted him would call “Ivan, Ivan!”
Others again looked at him askance as at some wild beast.
The red-bearded Tartar did not like Jilin. He frowned when he saw him,
and either turned away or cursed. There was another old man, who did
not live in the village, but somewhere at the foot of a hill. He came to
the village only sometimes. Jilin saw him when the man went to the
Mosque to say his prayers. He was short and had a white towel wound
round his cap. His beard and moustaches were clipped and white as down;
his face was wrinkled and brick-red. He had a hooked nose like a hawk’s,
and cruel grey eyes. He had no teeth, but two tusks in front. He would
pass with his turban on his head, leaning on his staff, and peering
round like a wolf. When he saw Jilin he snorted and turned away.
One day Jilin went to the hills to find out where the old man lived. He
strolled down a path and saw a little garden and a stone wall; within
the stone wall were wild cherry trees and peaches and a hut with a flat
roof. He came a little closer and saw some hives made of plaited straw
and humming bees flying hither and thither. The old man was on his
knees, doing something to the hives. Jilin stood on tiptoe in order to
get a better view; his shackles rattled. The old man turned and gave a
yell and pulling a pistol out of his belt he aimed at Jilin, who just
managed to shield himself behind the stone wall.
The old man came to the master to complain. The master summoned Jilin
and laughing, asked him, “Why did you go to the old man’s place?”
“I didn’t mean to do him any harm,” he said. “I only wanted to see how
he lived.”
The master conveyed his words to the old man.
But the old man was angry. He jabbered away, showing his tusks, and
shook his fists menacingly at Jilin.
Jilin could not understand all he said, but he gathered that the old man
was warning the master not to keep any Russians about the place, but to
have them all killed.
The old man went away.
Jilin asked the master who the old man was, and the master said, “He is
a great man! He was the bravest of us all, and killed many Russians,
and he was rich, too. He had three wives and eight sons, who all lived
in the same village. The Russians came, destroyed the village, and
killed seven of his sons. One son only remained, and he surrendered to
the Russians. The old man followed them, and also gave himself up. He
lived with the Russians for three months, when he found his son. With
his own hand he killed him and escaped. After that he gave up fighting.
He went to Mecca to pray to God; that is why he wears a turban. Any man
who has been to Mecca is called a _Hadji_ and has to wear a turban. He
does not like you Russians. He wanted me to kill you, but I can’t kill
you because I paid money for you. Besides, I have taken a fancy to you,
Ivan; I would not let you go at all, if I had not given my word.” He
laughed and added in Russian, “You are a good fellow, Ivan, and I,
Abdul, am a good fellow too.”