the witch and other stories-第11章

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condemned　to　penal　servitude　for　twenty　years；　and　I；　on　account
of　my　youth；　only　to　seven。〃

〃And　why　were　you　sentenced？〃

〃As　an　accomplice。　I　handed　the　glass　to　the　master。　That　was
always　the　custom。　Mamma　prepared　the　soda　and　I　handed　it　to
him。　Only　I　tell　you　all　this　as　a　Christian；　brothers；　as　I
would　say　it　before　God。　Don't　you　tell　anybody。　。　。　。〃

〃Oh；　nobody's　going　to　ask　us；〃　said　Ptaha。　〃So　you've　run　away
from　prison；　have　you？〃

〃I　have；　dear　friend。　Fourteen　of　us　ran　away。　Some　folks；　God
bless　them！　ran　away　and　took　me　with　them。　Now　you　tell　me；　on
your　conscience；　good　man；　what　reason　have　I　to　disclose　my
name？　They　will　send　me　back　to　penal　servitude；　you　know！　And　I
am　not　fit　for　penal　servitude！　I　am　a　refined　man　in　delicate
health。　I　like　to　sleep　and　eat　in　cleanliness。　When　I　pray　to
God　I　like　to　light　a　little　lamp　or　a　candle；　and　not　to　have　a
noise　around　me。　When　I　bow　down　to　the　ground　I　like　the　floor
not　to　be　dirty　or　spat　upon。　And　I　bow　down　forty　times　every
morning　and　evening；　praying　for　mamma。〃

The　tramp　took　off　his　cap　and　crossed　himself。

〃And　let　them　send　me　to　Eastern　Siberia；〃　he　said；　〃I　am　not
afraid　of　that。〃

〃Surely　that's　no　better？〃

〃It　is　quite　a　different　thing。　In　penal　servitude　you　are　like　a
crab　in　a　basket：　crowding；　crushing；　jostling；　there's　no　room
to　breathe；　it's　downright　hell　　such　hell；　may　the　Queen　of
Heaven　keep　us　from　it！　You　are　a　robber　and　treated　like　a
robber　　worse　than　any　dog。　You　can't　sleep；　you　can't　eat　or
even　say　your　prayers。　But　it's　not　like　that　in　a　settlement。　In
a　settlement　I　shall　be　a　member　of　a　commune　like　other　people。
The　authorities　are　bound　by　law　to　give　me　my　share　。　。　。　ye…es！
They　say　the　land　costs　nothing；　no　more　than　snow；　you　can　take
what　you　like！　They　will　give　me　corn　land　and　building　land　and
garden。　。　。　。　I　shall　plough　my　fields　like　other　people；　sow
seed。　I　shall　have　cattle　and　stock　of　all　sorts；　bees；　sheep；
and　dogs。　。　。　。　A　Siberian　cat；　that　rats　and　mice　may　not　devour
my　goods。　。　。　。　I　will　put　up　a　house；　I　shall　buy　ikons。　。　。　。
Please　God；　I'll　get　married；　I　shall　have　children。　。　。　。〃

The　tramp　muttered　and　looked；　not　at　his　listeners；　but　away
into　the　distance。　Naive　as　his　dreams　were；　they　were　uttered　in
such　a　genuine　and　heartfelt　tone　that　it　was　difficult　not　to
believe　in　them。　The　tramp's　little　mouth　was　screwed　up　in　a
smile。　His　eyes　and　little　nose　and　his　whole　face　were　fixed　and
blank　with　blissful　anticipation　of　happiness　in　the　distant
future。　The　constables　listened　and　looked　at　him　gravely；　not
without　sympathy。　They；　too；　believed　in　his　dreams。

〃I　am　not　afraid　of　Siberia；〃　the　tramp　went　on　muttering。
〃Siberia　is　just　as　much　Russia　and　has　the　same　God　and　Tsar　as
here。　They　are　just　as　orthodox　Christians　as　you　and　I。　Only
there　is　more　freedom　there　and　people　are　better　off。　Everything
is　better　there。　Take　the　rivers　there；　for　instance；　they　are
far　better　than　those　here。　There's　no　end　of　fish；　and　all　sorts
of　wild　fowl。　And　my　greatest　pleasure；　brothers；　is　fishing。
Give　me　no　bread　to　eat；　but　let　me　sit　with　a　fishhook。　Yes；
indeed！　I　fish　with　a　hook　and　with　a　wire　line；　and　set　creels；
and　when　the　ice　comes　I　catch　with　a　net。　I　am　not　strong　to
draw　up　the　net；　so　I　shall　hire　a　man　for　five　kopecks。　And；
Lord；　what　a　pleasure　it　is！　You　catch　an　eel…pout　or　a　roach　of
some　sort　and　are　as　pleased　as　though　you　had　met　your　own
brother。　And　would　you　believe　it；　there's　a　special　art　for
every　fish：　you　catch　one　with　a　live　bait；　you　catch　another
with　a　grub；　the　third　with　a　frog　or　a　grasshopper。　One　has　to
understand　all　that；　of　course！　For　example；　take　the　eel…pout。
It　is　not　a　delicate　fish　　it　will　take　a　perch；　and　a　pike
loves　a　gudgeon；　the　_shilishper_　likes　a　butterfly。　If　you　fish
for　a　roach　in　a　rapid　stream　there　is　no　greater　pleasure。　You
throw　the　line　of　seventy　feet　without　lead；　with　a　butterfly　or
a　beetle；　so　that　the　bait　floats　on　the　surface；　you　stand　in
the　water　without　your　trousers　and　let　it　go　with　the　current；
and　tug！　the　roach　pulls　at　it！　Only　you　have　got　to　be　artful
that　he　doesn't　carry　off　the　b　ait；　the　damned　rascal。　As　soon
as　he　tugs　at　your　line　you　must　whip　it　up；　it's　no　good
waiting。　It's　wonderful　what　a　lot　of　fish　I've　caught　in　my
time。　When　we　were　running　away　the　other　convicts　would　sleep　in
the　forest；　I　could　not　sleep；　but　I　was　off　to　the　river。　The
rivers　there　are　wide　and　rapid；　the　banks　are　steep　　awfully！
It's　all　slumbering　forests　on　the　bank。　The　trees　are　so　tall
that　if　you　look　to　the　top　it　makes　you　dizzy。　Every　pine　would
be　worth　ten　roubles　by　the　prices　here。〃

In　the　overwhelming　rush　of　his　fancies；　of　artistic　images　of
the　past　and　sweet　presentiments　of　happiness　in　the　future；　the
poor　wretch　sank　into　silence；　merely　moving　his　lips　as　though
whispering　to　himself。　The　vacant；　blissful　smile　never　left　his
lips。　The　constables　were　silent。　They　were　pondering　with　bent
heads。　In　the　autumn　stillness；　when　the　cold；　sullen　mist　that
rises　from　the　earth　lies　like　a　weight　on　the　heart；　when　it
stands　like　a　prison　wall　before　the　eyes；　and　reminds　man　of　the
limitation　of　his　freedom；　it　is　sweet　to　think　of　the　broad；
rapid　rivers；　with　steep　banks　wild　and　luxuriant；　of　the
impenetrable　forests；　of　the　boundless　steppes。　Slowly　and
quietly　the　fancy　pictures　how　early　in　the　morning；　before　the
flush　of　dawn　has　left　the　sky；　a　man　makes　his　way　along　the
steep　deserted　bank　like　a　tiny　speck：　the　ancient；　mast…like
pines　rise　up　in　terraces　on　both　sides　of　the　torrent；　gaze
sternly　at　the　free　man　and　murmur　menacingly；　rocks；　huge
stones；　and　thorny　bushes　bar　his　way；　but　he　is　strong　in　body
and　bold　in　spirit；　and　has　no　fear　of　the　pine…trees；　nor
stones；　nor　of　his　solitude；　nor　of　the　reverberating　echo　which
repeats　the　sound　of　every　footstep　that　he　takes。

The　peasants　called　up　a　picture　of　a　free　life　such　as　they　had
never　lived；　whether　they　vaguely　recalled　the　images　of　stories
heard　long　ago　or　whether　notions　of　a　free　life　had　been　handed
down　to　them　with　their　flesh　and　blood　from　far…off　free
ancestors；　God　knows！

The　first　to　break　the　silence　was　Nikandr　Sapozhnikov；　who　had
not　till　then　let　fall　a　single　word。　Whether　he　envied　the
tramp's　transparent　happiness；　or　whether　he　felt　in　his　heart
that　dreams　of　happiness　were　out　of　keeping　with　the　grey　fog
and　the　dirty　brown　mud　　anyway；　he　looked　sternly　at　the　tramp
and　said：

〃It's　all　very　well；　to　be　sure；　only　you　won't　reach　those
plenteous　regions；　brother。　How　could　you？　Before　you'd　gone　two
hundred　miles　you'd　give　up　your　soul　to　God。　Just　look　what　a
weakling　you　are！　Here　you've　hardly　gone　five　miles　and　you
can't　get　your　breath。〃

The　tramp　turned　slowly　toward　Nikandr；　and　the　blissful　smile
vanished　from　his　face。　He　looked　with　a　scared　and　guilty　air　at
the　peasant's　staid　face；　apparently　remembered　something；　and
bent　his　head。　A　silence　followed　again。　。　。　。　All　three　were
pondering。　The　peasants　were　racking　their　brains　in　the　effort
to　grasp　in　their　imagination　what　can　be　grasped　by　none　but　God
　that　is；　the　vast　expanse　dividing　them　from　the　land　of
freedom。　Into　the　tramp's　mind　thronged　clear　and　distinct
pictures　more　terrible　than　that　expanse。　Before　him　rose　vividly
the　picture　of　the　long　legal　delays　and　procrastinations；　the
temporary　and　permanent　prisons；　the　convict　boats；　the　wearisome
stoppages　on　the　way；　the　frozen　winters；　illnesses；　deaths　of
companions。　。　。　。

The　tramp　blinked　guiltily；　wiped　the　tiny　drops　of　sweat　from
his　forehead　with　his　sleeve；　drew　a　deep　breath　as　though　he　had
just　leapt　out　of　a　very　hot　bath；　then　wiped　his　forehead　with
the　other　sleeve　and　looked　round　fearfully。

〃That's　true；　you　won't　get　there！〃　Ptaha　agreed。　〃You　are　not
much　of　a　walker！　Look　at　you　　nothing　but　skin　and　bone！
You'll　die；　brother！〃

〃Of　course　he'll　die！　What　could　he　do？〃　said　Nikandr。　〃He's　fit
for　the　hospital　now。　。　。　。　For　sure！〃

The　man　who　had　forgotten　his　name　looked　at　the　stern；
unconcerned　faces　of　his　sinister　companions；　and　without　taking
off　his　cap；　hurriedly　crossed　himself；　staring　with　wide…open
eyes。　。　。　。　He　trembled；　his　head　shook；　and　he　began　twitching
all　over；　like　a　caterpillar　when　it　is　stepped　upon。　。　。　。

〃Well；　it's　time　to　go；〃　said　Nikandr；　getting　up；　〃we've　had　a
rest。〃

A　minute　later　they　were　stepping　along　the　muddy　road。　The　tramp
was　more　bent　than　ever；　and　he　thrust　his　hands　further　up　his
sleeves。　Ptaha　was　silent。


THE　PIPE

MELITON　SHISHKIN；　a　bailiff　from　the　Dementyev　farm；　exhausted　by
the　sultry　heat　of　the　fir…wood　and　covered　with　spiders'　webs
and　pine…needles；　made　his　way　with　his　gun　to　the　edge　of　the
wood。　His　Damka　　a　mongrel　between　a　yard　dog　and　a　setter　
an　extremely　thin　bitch　heavy　with　young；　trailed　after　her
master　with　her　wet　tail　between　her　legs；　doing　all　she　could　to
avoid　pricking　her　nose。　It　was　a　dull；　overcast　morning。　Big
drops　dripped　from　the　bracken　and　from　the　trees　that　were
wrapped　in　a　light　mist；　there　was　a　pungent　smell　of　decay　from
the　dampness　of　the　wood。

There　were　birch…trees　ahead　of　him　where　the　wood　ended；　and
between　their　stems　and　branches　he　could　see　the　misty　distance。
Beyond　the　birch…trees　someone　was　playing　on　a　shepherd's　rustic
pipe。　The　player　produced　no　more　than　five　or　six　notes；　dragged
them　out　languidly　with　no　attempt　at　forming　a　tune；　and　yet
there　was　something　harsh　and　extremely　dreary　in　the　sound　of
the　piping。

As　the　copse　became　sparser；　and　the　pines　were　interspersed　with
young　birch…trees；　Meliton　saw　a　herd。　Hobbled　horses；　cows；　and
sheep　were　wandering　among　the　bushes　and；　snapping　the　dry
branches；　sniffed　at　the　herbage　of　the　copse。　A　lean　old
shepherd；　bareheaded；　in　a　torn　grey　smock；　stood　leaning　against
the　wet　trunk　of　a　birch…tree。　He　stared　at　the　ground；　pondering
something；　and　played　his　pipe；　it　seemed；　mechanically。

〃Good…day；　grandfather！　God　help　you！〃　Meliton　greeted　him　in　a
thin；　husky　voice　which　seemed　incongruous　with　his　huge　stature
and　big；　fleshy　face。　〃How　cleverly　you　are　playing　your　pipe！
Whose　herd　are　you　minding？〃

〃The　Artamonovs'；〃　the　shepherd　answered　reluctantly；　and　he
thrust　the　pipe　into　his　bosom。

〃So　I　suppose　the　wood　is　the　Artamonovs'　too？〃　Meliton　inquired；
looking　about　him。　〃Yes；　it　is　the　Artamonovs'；　only　fancy　。　。　。
I　had　completely　lost　myself。　I　got　my　face　scratched　all　over　in
the　thicket。〃

He　sat　down　on　the　wet　earth　and　began　rolling　up　a　bit　of
newspaper　into　a　cigarette。

Like　his　voice；　everything　about　the　man　was　small　and　out　of
keeping　with　his　height；　his　breadth；　and　his　fleshy　face：　his
smiles；　his　eyes；　his　buttons；　his　tiny　cap；　which　would　hardly
keep　on　his　big；　closely…cropped　head。　When　he　talked　and　smiled
there　was　something　womanish；　timid；　and　meek　about　his　puffy；
shaven　face　and　his　whole　figure。

〃What　weather！　God　help　us！〃　he　said；　and　he　turned　his　head　from
side　to