Old Izergil and other stories / Старуха Изергиль и другие рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Osip started as if a spasm had seized him.

“Me-e?” he repeated, his voice breaking.

“That’s true enough,” Budyrin said in a level, distinct voice.

“Honest, it was you, Uncle Osip,” the Mordvinian bore out the others, but quietly, apologetically. “You must’ve forgotten…”

“Of course you started it,” the ex-soldier ejaculated sullenly and emphatically.

“Forgotten eh!” Boyev cried in fury. “Tell me another one! I know him, he’s trying to shove the blame onto somebody else!”

Osip fell silent and narrowing his eyes surveyed the dripping, half-naked men.

Then emitting a strange whimper – I could not make out whether he was laughing or sobbing – twitching his shoulders and spreading out his arms, he muttered:

“That’s right… true enough, it was my idea… now what do you make of that!”

“Aha that’s better!” Soldier cried triumphantly.

Gazing at the river, which was now seething like a millet gruel coming to a boil, Osip puckered up his face and guiltily looked away.

“My mind must have gone blank like that, by God!” he continued. “How we ever made it I don’t understand… Makes me sick to think of it. Anyway, boys, I hope you won’t hold it against me – after all, there was the holiday coming, wasn’t there? You’ll forgive me. I must have sort of gone off a bit or something… True enough, I started it… old fool that I am…”

“You see?” said Boyev. “And what’d you say if I got drowned?”

It seemed to me that Osip really was stricken by the uselessness and foolishness of what he had done as he sat there on the ground, looking as slippery as a new-born calf licked by its dam; he shook his head, passed his fingers through the sand around him and continued mumbling penitently in a strange voice, all the while avoiding everyone’s eyes.

I looked at him and wondered what had happened to the captain of men who had taken his place at the head of his fellows and led them so considerately, ably and imperiously.

An unpleasant emptiness welled up in my soul. I dropped down beside Osip and, hoping to salvage something from the wreckage, spoke to him in a low voice.

“Don’t, Uncle Osip…”

“Ever see anything like it?” he responded in the same lone, giving me a sidelong glance while his fingers were busy untangling his matted beard. Then he went on as loudly as before for everybody’s benefit: “What a to-do, eh?”

…The dark stubble of the tree-tops on the crest of the hill was silhouetted against the extinguished sky, and the hill itself pressed against the shore like some huge beast. The blue shadows of evening appeared from behind the roofs of the houses that clung scab-like to the dusky hide of the hillside, and looked out from the wide-open rusty-red, moist maw of a clayey gully creating the illusion that it was reaching out thirstily for the river.

The river grew black and the rustle and crunching of the ice became duller and more regular; every now and then an ice floe dug end on into the shore as the hog roots the earth, remained motionless for a moment, then rocked, broke loose and sailed on farther while the next floe crept into its place.

The level of the water rose rapidly, sweeping against the bank and washing away the mud, and the silt spread a dark stain in the murky blue water. Strange noises filled the air – a scrunching and champing as if some tremendous beast were devouring its meal and licking its chops with a giant tongue.

From the direction of the town the sweet and pensive melody of the pealing bells, now muted by distance, floated down.

Like two romping puppies the Dyatlovs dashed down the hillside carrying bottles in their hands while at right angles to them, alone the river front, came a grey-coated police officer and two policemen in black.

“God Almighty!” Osip groaned, tenderly rubbing his knee.

As the police approached, the townspeople cleared a passage for them and an expectant silence fell. The police officer, a lean little chap with a small face and a waxed reddish moustache, strode up to us.

“So you were the devils…” he began sternly in a rather hoarse affected bass.

Osip threw himself back on the ground and began hastily to explain:

“It was me, Your Honor, who started the business… Begging your pardon. Your Honor, it was because of the holidays…”

“You old devil,” the police officer yelled, but his shouting was lost in the avalanche of humble entreaties.

“We live here in town and on the other bank we’ve got nothing; didn’t even have money to buy bread and, Your Honor, the day after tomorrow’s Easter – got to take a bath and go to church like all good Christians, so I says, let’s go, fellows, and take a chance; we weren’t doing anything wrong. I’ve been punished for my fool idea though – leg’s broken, see.

“That’s all very well and good!” the police officer shouted sternly. “But what if you had drowned?”

Osip heaved a deep, tired sigh.

“What would have happened, Your Honor? Begging your pardon, probably nothing…”

The policeman swore, and everybody listened to him in attentive silence as if the man was uttering words of wisdom to be heard and remembered instead of mouthing obscene, brazen insults.

After taking down our names he left. We had drunk down the fiery vodka and feeling warmed up and in better spirits were getting ready to head for home when Osip, chuckling and throwing a look after the receding policeman, jumped lightly to his feet and fervently crossed himself.

“Thank God that’s the end…”

“Why… looks like your legs all right!” Boyev said in his nasal twang, astonished and disappointed. “D’you mean you didn’t break it?”

“You wish I had, eh?”

“Oh, you old comedian! You miserable clown…”

“Come on, boys!” Osip commanded, pulling his wet cap on his head.

…I walked alongside him behind the others, and as we went, he spoke to me in a quiet, tender way as if sharing a secret known only to him.

“No matter what you do and how you try, you just can’t live unless you’re crafty and cunning – that’s life for you, damn it anyway… You would like to climb to the top of the hill but there’s always some devil tripping you up…”

It was dark, and in the gloom, red and yellow lights burst forth as if signalling the message:

“This way!”

We walked up the hill toward the ringing of bells. At our feet rivulets rippled, drowning Osip’s caressing voice in their babble.

“Got around the police neatly, didn’t I? That’s how you’ve got to do it, so that nobody knows what it’s all about and everybody thinks he’s the main spring. Yes… it’s best to let everyone think he’s the one who did it…”

I listened to him, but found it hard to understand what he was saying.

Nor did I want to understand him; as it is my heart was light and at ease. I did not know whether I liked Osip or not, but I was ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, even across the river once more, over ice that would be constantly slipping away from under my feet.

The bells pealed and sang, and the joyous thought came to my mind: How many more times shall I be able to welcome spring!

“The human soul’s got wings,” Osip sighed. “It soars in your dreams…”A winged soul? Wonderful!