the witch and other stories-第16节

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name？〃

〃Luka　the　Poor。〃

〃Well；　good…bye；　Luka！　Thank　you　for　your　good　words。　Damka；
ici！〃

After　parting　from　the　shepherd　Meliton　made　his　way　along　the
edge　of　the　wood；　and　then　down　hill　to　a　meadow　which　by　degrees
turned　into　a　marsh。　There　was　a　squelch　of　water　under　his　feet；
and　the　rusty　marsh　sedge；　still　green　and　juicy；　drooped　down　to
the　earth　as　though　afraid　of　being　trampled　underfoot。　Beyond
the　marsh；　on　the　bank　of　the　Pestchanka；　of　which　the　old　man
had　spoken；　stood　a　row　of　willows；　and　beyond　the　willows　a　barn
looked　dark　blue　in　the　mist。　One　could　feel　the　approach　of　that
miserable；　utterly　inevitable　season；　when　the　fields　grow　dark
and　the　earth　is　muddy　and　cold；　when　the　weeping　willow　seems
still　more　mournful　and　tears　trickle　down　its　stem；　and　only　the
cranes　fly　away　from　the　general　misery；　and　even　they；　as　though
afraid　of　insulting　dispirited　nature　by　the　expression　of　their
happiness；　fill　the　air　with　their　mournful；　dreary　notes。

Meliton　plodded　along　to　the　river；　and　heard　the　sounds　of　the
pipe　gradually　dying　away　behind　him。　He　still　wanted　to
complain。　He　looked　dejectedly　about　him；　and　he　felt
insufferably　sorry　for　the　sky　and　the　earth　and　the　sun　and　the
woods　and　his　Damka；　and　when　the　highest　drawn…out　note　of　the
pipe　floated　quivering　in　the　air；　like　a　voice　weeping；　he　felt
extremely　bitter　and　resentful　of　the　impropriety　in　the　conduct
of　nature。

The　high　note　quivered；　broke　off；　and　the　pipe　was　silent。


AGAFYA

DURING　my　stay　in　the　district　of　S。　I　often　used　to　go　to　see
the　watchman　Savva　Stukatch；　or　simply　Savka；　in　the　kitchen
gardens　of　Dubovo。　These　kitchen　gardens　were　my　favorite　resort
for　so…called　〃mixed〃　fishing；　when　one　goes　out　without　knowing
what　day　or　hour　one　may　return；　taking　with　one　every　sort　of
fishing　tackle　as　well　as　a　store　of　provisions。　To　tell　the
truth；　it　was　not　so　much　the　fishing　that　attracted　me　as　the
peaceful　stroll；　the　meals　at　no　set　time；　the　talk　with　Savka；
and　being　for　so　long　face　to　face　with　the　calm　summer　nights。
Savka　was　a　young　man　of　five…and…twenty；　well　grown　and
handsome；　and　as　strong　as　a　flint。　He　had　the　reputation　of
being　a　sensible　and　reasonable　fellow。　He　could　read　and　write；
and　very　rarely　drank；　but　as　a　workman　this　strong　and　healthy
young　man　was　not　worth　a　farthing。　A　sluggish；　overpowering
sloth　was　mingled　with　the　strength　in　his　muscles；　which　were
strong　as　cords。　Like　everyone　else　in　his　village；　he　lived　in
his　own　hut；　and　had　his　share　of　land；　but　neither　tilled　it　nor
sowed　it；　and　did　not　work　at　any　sort　of　trade。　His　old　mother
begged　alms　at　people's　windows　and　he　himself　lived　like　a　bird
of　the　air；　he　did　not　know　in　the　morning　what　he　would　eat　at
midday。　It　was　not　that　he　was　lacking　in　will；　or　energy；　or
feeling　for　his　mother；　it　was　simply　that　he　felt　no　inclination
for　work　and　did　not　recognize　the　advantage　of　it。　His　whole
figure　suggested　unruffled　serenity；　an　innate；　almost　artistic
passion　for　living　carelessly；　never　with　his　sleeves　tucked　up。
When　Savka's　young；　healthy　body　had　a　physical　craving　for
muscular　work；　the　young　man　abandoned　himself　completely　for　a
brief　interval　to　some　free　but　nonsensical　pursuit；　such　as
sharpening　skates　not　wanted　for　any　special　purpose；　or　racing
about　after　the　peasant　women。　His　favorite　attitude　was　one　of
concentrated　immobility。　He　was　capable　of　standing　for　hours　at
a　stretch　in　the　same　place　with　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　same　spot
without　stirring。　He　never　moved　except　on　impulse；　and　then　only
when　an　occasion　presented　itself　for　some　rapid　and　abrupt
action：　catching　a　running　dog　by　the　tail；　pulling　off　a　woman's
k　erchief；　or　jumping　over　a　big　hole。　It　need　hardly　be　said
that　with　such　parsimony　of　movement　Savka　was　as　poor　as　a　mouse
and　lived　worse　than　any　homeless　outcast。　As　time　went　on；　I
suppose　he　accumulated　arrears　of　taxes　and；　young　and　sturdy　as
he　was；　he　was　sent　by　the　commune　to　do　an　old　man's　job　　to
be　watchman　and　scarecrow　in　the　kitchen　gardens。　However　much
they　laughed　at　him　for　his　premature　senility　he　did　not　object
to　it。　This　position；　quiet　and　convenient　for　motionless
contemplation；　exactly　fitted　his　temperament。

It　happened　I　was　with　this　Savka　one　fine　May　evening。　I
remember　I　was　lying　on　a　torn　and　dirty　sackcloth　cover　close　to
the　shanty　from　which　came　a　heavy；　fragrant　scent　of　hay。
Clasping　my　hands　under　my　head　I　looked　before　me。　At　my　feet
was　lying　a　wooden　fork。　Behind　it　Savka's　dog　Kutka　stood　out
like　a　black　patch；　and　not　a　dozen　feet　from　Kutka　the　ground
ended　abruptly　in　the　steep　bank　of　the　little　river。　Lying　down
I　could　not　see　the　river；　I　could　only　see　the　tops　of　the　young
willows　growing　thickly　on　the　nearer　bank；　and　the　twisting；　as
it　were　gnawed　away；　edges　of　the　opposite　bank。　At　a　distance
beyond　the　bank　on　the　dark　hillside　the　huts　of　the　village　in
which　Savka　lived　lay　huddling　together　like　frightened　young
partridges。　Beyond　the　hill　the　afterglow　of　sunset　still
lingered　in　the　sky。　One　pale　crimson　streak　was　all　that　was
left；　and　even　that　began　to　be　covered　by　little　clouds　as　a
fire　with　ash。

A　copse　with　alder…trees；　softly　whispering；　and　from　time　to
time　shuddering　in　the　fitful　breeze；　lay；　a　dark　blur；　on　the
right　of　the　kitchen　gardens；　on　the　left　stretched　the　immense
plain。　In　the　distance；　where　the　eye　could　not　distinguish
between　the　sky　and　the　plain；　there　was　a　bright　gleam　of　light。
A　little　way　off　from　me　sat　Savka。　With　his　legs　tucked　under
him　like　a　Turk　and　his　head　hanging；　he　looked　pensively　at
Kutka。　Our　hooks　with　live　bait　on　them　had　long　been　in　the
river；　and　we　had　nothing　left　to　do　but　to　abandon　ourselves　to
repose；　which　Savka；　who　was　never　exhausted　and　always　rested；
loved　so　much。　The　glow　had　not　yet　quite　died　away；　but　the
summer　night　was　already　enfolding　nature　in　its　caressing；
soothing　embrace。

Everything　was　sinking　into　its　first　deep　sleep　except　some
night　bird　unfamiliar　to　me；　which　indolently　uttered　a　long；
protracted　cry　in　several　distinct　notes　like　the　phrase；　〃Have
you　seen　Ni…ki…ta？〃　and　immediately　answered　itself；　〃Seen　him；
seen　him；　seen　him！〃

〃Why　is　it　the　nightingales　aren't　singing　tonight？〃　I　asked
Savka。

He　turned　slowly　towards　me。　His　features　were　large；　but　his
face　was　open；　soft；　and　expressive　as　a　woman's。　Then　he　gazed
with　his　mild；　dreamy　eyes　at　the　copse；　at　the　willows；　slowly
pulled　a　whistle　out　of　his　pocket；　put　it　in　his　mouth　and
whistled　the　note　of　a　hen…nightingale。　And　at　once；　as　though　in
answer　to　his　call；　a　landrail　called　on　the　opposite　bank。

〃There's　a　nightingale　for　you　。　。　。〃　laughed　Savka。　〃Drag…drag！
drag…drag！　just　like　pulling　at　a　hook；　and　yet　I　bet　he　thinks
he　is　singing；　too。〃

〃I　like　that　bird；〃　I　said。　〃Do　you　know；　when　the　birds　are
migrating　the　landrail　does　not　fly；　but　runs　along　the　ground？
It　only　flies　over　the　rivers　and　the　sea；　but　all　the　rest　it
does　on　foot。〃

〃Upon　my　word；　the　dog　。　。　。〃　muttered　Savka；　looking　with
respect　in　the　direction　of　the　calling　landrail。

Knowing　how　fond　Savka　was　of　listening；　I　told　him　all　I　had
learned　about　the　landrail　from　sportsman's　books。　From　the
landrail　I　passed　imperceptibly　to　the　migration　of　the　birds。
Savka　listened　attentively；　looking　at　me　without　blinking；　and
smiling　all　the　while　with　pleasure。

〃And　which　country　is　most　the　bird's　home？　Ours　or　those　foreign
parts？〃　he　asked。

〃Ours；　of　course。　The　bird　itself　is　hatched　here；　and　it　hatches
out　its　little　ones　here　in　its　native　country；　and　they　only　fly
off　there　to　escape　being　frozen。〃

〃It's　interesting；〃　said　Savka。　〃Whatever　one　talks　about　it　is
always　interesting。　Take　a　bird　now；　or　a　man　。　。　。　or　take　this
little　stone；　there's　something　to　learn　about　all　of　them。　。　。　。
Ah；　sir；　if　I　had　known　you　were　coming　I　wouldn't　have　told　a
woman　to　come　here　this　evening。　。　。　。　She　asked　to　come　to…day。〃

〃Oh；　please　don't　let　me　be　in　your　way；〃　I　said。　〃I　can　lie　down
in　the　wood。　。　。　。〃

〃What　next！　She　wouldn't　have　died　if　she　hadn't　come　till
to…morrow。　。　。　。　If　only　she　would　sit　quiet　and　listen；　but　she
always　wants　to　be　slobbering。　。　。　。　You　can't　have　a　good　talk
when　she's　here。〃

〃Are　you　expecting　Darya？〃　I　asked；　after　a　pause。

〃No　。　。　。　a　new　one　has　asked　to　come　this　evening　。　。　。　Agafya；
the　signalman's　wife。〃

Savka　said　this　in　his　usual　passionless；　somewhat　hollow　voice；
as　though　he　were　talking　of　tobacco　or　porridge；　while　I　started
with　surprise。　I　knew　Agafya。　。　。　。　She　was　quite　a　young　peasant
woman　of　nineteen　or　twenty；　who　had　been　married　not　more　than　a
year　before　to　a　railway　signalman；　a　fine　young　fellow。　She
lived　in　the　village；　and　her　husband　came　home　there　from　the
line　every　night。

〃Your　goings　on　with　the　women　will　lead　to　trouble；　my　boy；〃
said　I。

〃Well；　may　be　。　　。　。　。〃

And　after　a　moment's　thought　Savka　added：

〃I've　said　so　to　the　women；　they　won't　heed　me。　。　。　。They　don't
trouble　about　it；　the　silly　th