On reaching the edge of the forest, Efímushka and his companion decided
to take a rest, and seated themselves on the grass, near a large oak
stump. The prisoner slowly drew the wallet from his shoulders, and
indifferently inquired of the policeman:
"Would you like some bread?"
"If you give it, I'll chew it," replied Efímushka, with a smile.
And so they began, in silence, to chew their bread. Efímushka ate
slowly, sighing all the while, and gazing off somewhere into the
distance, across a field on his left, but his companion was entirely
engrossed in the process of satisfying his hunger, ate fast, and
munched noisily, measuring his crust of bread with his eyes. The field
darkened, the grain had already lost its golden hue, and had become
rosy-yellow, tufts of dark clouds crept up the sky from the southwest,
and shadows fell from them upon the plain,--fell, and crept over the
ears of grain to the forest, where sat the two dark human figures. And
the trees, also, cast dark shadows on the earth, and from the shadow
sadness breathed upon the soul.
"I thank thee, oh Lord!--" exclaimed Efímushka, gathering up from the
skirts of his smock the crumbs of bread, and licking them from his palm
with his tongue. "The Lord has fed me--no one saw it, and he who saw
it, took no offence! Friend! Shall we sit here a little hour? Shall we
get to the cooler soon enough?"
The friend shook his head.
"Well, then, see here.... This place is very beautiful, it's a
memorable spot to me ... Yonder, to the left, the manor of the
Tutchkóffs used to stand...."
"Where?" ... asked the prisoner quickly, turning in the direction in
which Efímushka waved his hand....
"Why, yonder--beyond the point of forest ... Everything around here
used to belong to them. They were the richest of gentry, but after the
Emancipation they went to decay.... I used to belong to them,--all of
us used to be their serfs. It was a big family ... The Colonel himself
was Alexánder Nikítitch Tutchkóff. There were children: four sons--what
has become of them all now? It's as if people were blown away by the
wind, like the leaves in autumn. Only Iván Alexándrovitch remains,--I'm
taking you to him now, he's our Rural Chief ... He's an old man...."
The prisoner began to laugh. He laughed in a low tone, with a peculiar
sort of internal laughter,--his chest and belly heaved, but his face
remained immovable, only through his grinning teeth broke forth dull
sounds, resembling a bark.
Efímushka shrivelled up apprehensively, and drawing his cudgel nearer
to his hand, he asked him:
"What's the matter with you? Have you got a fit, or what?... hey?"
"Nothing ... it will pass off," said the prisoner spasmodically but
amiably. "You were telling me, you know...."
"Well, ye-es! So you see, these Tutchkóff gentry were great folks, and
now they are gone.... Some have died, others have disappeared, and left
no trace behind them.... There was one in particular...? the youngest
of them all. His name was Víctor ... Vítya. He and I were chums.... At
the time when the Emancipation was proclaimed, he and I were fourteen
years old.... What a boy he was, may the Lord remember his soul for
good! Pure as a brook! Like it he streamed on all day long, and
rippled like it.... Where is he now? Is he alive or not?"
"How was he so good?" his companion softly asked Efímushka.
"In every way!"--exclaimed Efímushka.--"In beauty, brains, kind
heart.... Akh, you strange man! my darling, my ripe berry! you ought
to have seen us two in those days ... aï, aï, aï! What games we
played, how merry life was,--the sweetest of the sweet! He used to
shout--'Efímka![1]--let's go hunting!' He had a gun,--his father gave
it to him on his saint's day,--and I used to carry the gun. And we
would ramble about here in the forest for one day, two days, three
days! When we got home, he got a scolding and I got a thrashing;
and, behold, the next day, it was again: 'Efímka! let's go after
mushrooms!--' He and I killed birds by the thousand! We gathered
puds[2] of mushrooms! He used to catch butterflies and beetles, and
stick them on pins, in little boxes. It was a busy time! He taught me
to read and write ... 'Efímka,' says he, 'I'll teach you. Go ahead!--'
Well, and so I began. 'Say A,' says he! I yell--'A-A!' We laugh! At
first I looked on the matter as a joke--what does a peasant want with
reading and writing? Well, and he exhorted me: 'Your mind is given to
you, you fool, so that you may learn.... If you know how to read and
write,' says he, 'you'll know how a man must live, and where to seek
the truth.' ... Of course, a little child is apt, evidently he had
heard that sort of speech from his elders, and began to talk like that
himself.... It was all nonsense, of course.... That sort of knowledge
is in the heart, and the heart will point out about the right....
It--the heart--is quick-sighted. Well, and so he taught me, and he got
so interested in that matter, that he wouldn't let me rest! I was worn
out! I entreated him! 'Vítya,' says I, 'reading and writing are beyond
my power, I can't conquer them,' says I. Then ho-ow he did roar at me!?
I'll thrash you with papa's kazák whip,--learn your lesson!--' 'Akh,
have mercy! I'll learn....' Once I ran away from my lesson. I just
jumped up and took to my heels! Then he hunted me all day long, with
his gun--he wanted to shoot me. He said to me afterward--' if I had
met you that day,' says he, 'I'd have shot you!' You see what a sharp
fellow he was! Inflexible, fiery--a real gentleman.... He was fond of
me; he had a flaming soul.... Once my daddy decorated my back with
the reins, and when he, that Vítya, saw it, he came to our hut,--and
my heavens!--what a row! he turned all pale, and shook all over, and
clenched his fists, and wanted to go after daddy in the loft! 'How
dared you do it?' says he. Daddy says--'I'm his father! Aha!--' 'Well,
very good, father, I won't come to an agreement with you, until your
back is just like Efímka's.' He burst out crying after these words and
ran away.... Well, and what do you say to that, father? For he kept
his word. Evidently, he instigated the house-servants, or something of
that sort, only, one day daddy came home grunting; he tried to take off
his shirt, but it had dried fast to his back.... Father was very angry
with me that time--'all on account of you,' says he, 'I'm suffering,
you nobleman's toady.' And he gave me a healthy licking. But as for my
being a nobleman's toady, he was wrong about that,--I wasn't anything
of the sort...."
[1] Efímushka and Efímka are both diminutives of
Efím,--Euthymus.--Translator.
[2] A _pud_ is thirty-six pounds.--Translator.
"That's true, Efímka, you were not!" said the prisoner in confirmation,
and trembled all over. "It's immediately apparent that you could not
be a nobleman's toady," he added rather hastily.
"Exactly so!" exclaimed Efímushka ... "I simply loved him, that Vítya
... He was just the sort of a child whom everyone loved,--and not I
alone.... He used to make various remarks ... I don't remember what
they were, more than thirty years have passed since those days--Akh,
oh Lord! where is he now? I think, that if he is still alive, he must
be either occupying a very lofty place, or ... be seething in the very
gulf of misery.... Such is human life! It boils and boils, and nothing
sensible ever comes of it ... And people disappear ... and one feels
sorry for the people, deadly sorry!--" Efímushka, sighing heavily, hung
his head upon his breast. The silence lasted for a minute.
"And are you sorry for me?" asked the prisoner merrily. Merrily is
the only way to describe his manner of asking, his whole face was
illuminated by such a fine, kind smile ...
"Yes, you queer man!--" exclaimed Efímushka,--"how can I help being
sorry for you? What are you, when you stop to think about it? If you
tramp about in this way, evidently, it is because you have nothing
of your own on earth, neither nook nor chip ... But perhaps you
are bearing a great sin with you--who knows? you're an unfortunate
man--that's the only word for it...."
"Exactly so,--" said the prisoner.
And again they fell silent. The sun had set now, and the shadows had
grown more dense. The air smelled of damp earth, and flowers, and
forest mould ... They sat for a long time, thus silent.
"Well, however beautiful it is here, we must go on ... We have still
eight versts to walk.... Come on there, father, get up!"
"Let us sit a little longer,--" entreated the father.
"Well, I have no objection, I'm fond of being near the forest by night
myself ... Only, when shall we get to the Rural Chief? He'll scold
me--tell me I'm late."
"Never mind, he won't scold...."
"Do you mean to speak a word for me?--" grinned the policeman.
"Yes."
"You don't say so?"
"Why not?"
"You're a joker! He'll pepper you!"
"Will he thrash me?"
"He's fierce! And clever--he'll give you a whack in the ear, and it
will be as good as a scythe through your legs."
"Well, we'll give him as good as he sends," said the prisoner
confidently, tapping his escort on the shoulder in a friendly way.
This was familiar, and Efímushka did not like it. Look at it as you
might, he was one of the authorities, and that goose must not forget
that Efímushka had his brass shield of office in his breast. Efímushka
rose to his feet, took his stick in his hand, hung the shield outside,
in the very middle of his breast, and said sternly:
"Get up, come along!"
"I won't!" said the prisoner.
Efímushka was abashed, and, with starting eyes, he made no reply for a
minute, not understanding how the prisoner had come to be such a jester
all of a sudden.
"Well, don't loll there, come along!" he repeated more gently.
"I won't come along!" repeated the prisoner, with decision.
"Do you mean that you won't come with me?" shouted Efímushka, in wrath
and amazement.
"Exactly that. I want to spend the night here with you ... Come now,
light a fire."
"I'll teach you to spend the night! I'll light such a fire in your
ribs--I'll make it pleasant for you!" menaced Efímushka. But, in the
depths of his soul, he was amazed. The man said, "I won't go"--but he
offered no opposition, did not begin a fight, but simply lay still on
the ground, and nothing more. What was he to do?
"Don't yell, Efím,--" the prisoner calmly advised him.
Again Efímushka was reduced to silence, and shifting from foot to foot,
over his prisoner, he stared at him with bursting eyes. And the man
stared at him, stared and smiled. Efímushka pondered heavily what he
was to do next.
And what had made this vagabond, hitherto so surly and cross, now
suddenly turn so amiable? And what if he were to fall upon him, bind
his hands, give him a cut or two across the throat, and so end it all?
And in the very severest tone of authority which he had at his command,
Efímushka said:
"Well, you burnt-out scrap, see here--you've put on airs enough, and
I've had enough of it! Get up! Or I'll bind you, and then you'll go,
never fear! Understand? Well? Look out--I'll thrash you!"
"Me, do you mean?" laughed the prisoner.
"Whom do you suppose?"
"You, Efím Grýzloff, will thrash Vítya Tutchkóff?"
"Akh--you're firing high!--" exclaimed Efímushka, in
astonishment,--"but who are you, anyway? What sort of an exhibition are
you going through with me?"
"Come, stop shouting, Efímushka, it's time you recognized me,--" said
the prisoner, with a calm smile, and rose to his feet,--"won't you
exchange greetings!"
Efímushka staggered back from the hand which was extended to him, and
stared, with all his eyes, into the face of his prisoner. Then his lips
quivered, and his whole face wrinkled up....
"Viktor Alexándrovitch, and is it really you?" he asked in a whisper.
"If you like--I will show you my papers? But the best way of all is--to
recall old times.... Come now ... how you fell into the wolfs hole, in
the Ramén pine woods? And how I climbed a tree for a bird's nest, and
hung head downward from a bough? And how we stole cream from the old
dairy-woman, Petróvna? And the fairy-tales she used to tell us?"
Efímushka sat down heavily on the ground, and began to laugh in a
confused manner.
"Do you believe me?" the prisoner asked him, and sat down beside him,
gazing into his face, and laying his hand on the other's shoulder.
Efímushka remained dumb. It had become completely dark around them.
A confused rustling and whispering arose in the forest. Far away,
somewhere in the underbrush, a nocturnal bird was moaning. A dark cloud
crept over the forest, with an almost imperceptible movement.
"Well, Efím,--aren't you glad to see me? Or are you glad? Ekh, you ...
saintly soul! You are exactly as you were when you were a child ...
aren't you, Efím? Come, say something, you dear monster!"
Efímushka began to blow his nose violently on the tail of his smock....
"Come, brother! Aï, aï, aï!--" the prisoner shook his head
reproachfully. "What ails you? Shame on you! You're almost fifty years
old, and you busy yourself with such a nonsensical matter! Stop it!--"
and embracing the policeman's shoulders, he shook him gently. The
policeman began to laugh in a quivering tone, and, at last, he began
to speak, but without looking at his companion:
"Well, what's the matter with me?... I'm glad ... So it is really you?
How am I to believe it? You, and ... such an affair! Vítya ... and in
such a guise! In the cooler.... Without a passport ... You nourish
yourself on bread.... You have no tobacco.... Oh Lord! Is that right?
If it had been I, and you had been the policeman ... it would have been
easier to bear! But now, how has it turned out? How can I look you
in the eye? I have always remembered you with joy ... Vítya,--I have
thought, and my very heart leaped with gladness. But now--what have you
come to! Oh, Lord ... why, if I were to tell the folks, they wouldn't
believe me...."
He muttered his broken phrases, with his eyes riveted obstinately on
his feet, and his hand kept clutching at his breast and at his throat.
"But don't you tell the folks about all this, it's not necessary. And
stop grieving--is it any fault of yours? Don't worry about me ... I
have my papers, I did not show them to the Elder, because I did not
wish to have them recognize me there.... My brother Iván will not put
me in prison, but, on the contrary, he will help me to get oh my feet
... I shall stay with him, and you and I will go hunting again together
... You see how well everything is arranging itself."
Vítya said this affectionately, in the tone with which grown-up people
soothe grieving children. Out of the forest, to meet the dark cloud,
rose the moon, and the edge of the cloud, silvered by her rays, took
on soft, opalescent hues. The quails were calling among the grain, a
corncrake was chattering somewhere ... The night mist grew denser and
denser.
"That's a fact...." began Efímushka, softly, "Iván Alexándrovitch will
rejoice to see his own brother, and you, of course, will adapt yourself
to life again ... That's all true.... And we will go hunting ... Only,
everything isn't as it should be ... I thought you were doing great
deeds in life! But instead ... just see...."
Vítya Tutchkóff burst out laughing.
"I have done deeds enough, brother Efímushka ... I have run through my
share of the estate, I have not grown rich in the service, I have been
an actor, I have been a clerk in the timber trade, then I kept actors
myself ... then I was burnt out, I got over head and ears in debt, and
got mixed up in a scandal ... ekh! I've done every sort of thing....
And everything has been a failure!"
The prisoner waved his hand, and began to laugh good-humoredly.
"I'm no longer a gentleman, brother Efímushka.... I've cured myself of
that. Now you and I will begin to live! Won't we? Come, now! Gather
your wits together."
"Why, I don't mind..." began Efímushka, in a suppressed voice,--"only,
I'm ashamed. Here I've been saying all sorts of things to you ...
nonsensical words, and, in general ... a peasant--everybody knows what
he's like ... So we are to pass the night here, you say? I'll just
build a fire...."
"All right, go ahead...."
The prisoner stretched himself out on the ground, breast upward, and
the policeman vanished into the border of the forest, whence there
immediately proceeded a crackling and a rustling of branches. Efímushka
speedily made his appearance, with an armful of dry brush-wood, and a
moment later a serpent of fire began to crawl merrily among the twigs
on the little hillock.
The old comrades gazed thoughtfully at it, as they sat opposite each
other, and smoked the pipe by turns.
"It's exactly as it used to be,"--remarked Efímushka sadly.
"Only the times are different,"--said Tutchkóff.
"Ye-es, life has become harsher in character.... Here ... it has ...
broken you up...."
"Well, that isn't certain, as yet--whether it has conquered me, or I
have conquered it...." laughed Tutchkóff.
They fell silent.
"Ah? Oh Lord God! Vítya! And here's a nice Sunday greeting!"[1]
exclaimed Efímushka bitterly.
"Eh, enough of that! What's past is past,--" Tutchkóff comforted him
philosophically.
Behind them rose the dark wall of the forest, which was softly
whispering about something, the fire crackled merrily, around it the
shadows danced noiselessly, and over the plain lay impenetrable mist.
[1] It is customary to congratulate one another on Sundays and
holidays. In the higher circles of society, kisses are often
exchanged.--Translator.