A black dog, barking hoarsely, rolled under the horse’s feet, then another, this one white. Then yet another black one, until there must have been at least a dozen of them. Ergunov noticed the biggest, swung his arm and lashed out at the dog with all his force. A small long-legged dog raised his pointed muzzle upward and howled in a high-pitched, piercing voice.
Ergunov had been standing at the window knocking for a long time, until the frost glowed red on the trees next to the house, the gate creaked open, and a muffled female figure appeared holding a lantern.
“Dear granny, let me in to get warm,” said Ergunov. “I was going to the hospital, and I’ve lost my way. It’s such weather, Lord forbid. Don’t be afraid, granny, we’re not strangers, right?”
“All the strangers are at home by now, as they are not invited,” said the figure sternly. “Why did you feel the need to knock? The gate was not locked.”
Ergunov drove through the gate into the yard and stopped at the porch, requesting that the stable boy take his horse from the old granny.
“I’m no granny.” And indeed, she was not a granny. When she blew out the lantern, her features came to light and the doctor recognized Lyubka.
“What helpers are you talking about?” she said as she went into the house. “Those who are drunk are asleep, and the rest left for Repino in the morning. The holiday’s coming….”
As the boy fastened his horse up under the shed, Ergunov heard a whinny, and distinguished another horse in the dark, with a Cossack saddle on. It meant there was someone else in the house apart from the owners. Just in case, Ergunov took the saddle off his horse, and on his way to the house, he took both his purchases and the saddle with him.
The first room he entered was spacious, well heated, and smelled of freshly washed floors. A short, lean peasant of about forty, with a small, light brown beard, wearing a blue shirt, was sitting at the table under the icons. It was Kalashnikov, an arrant knave and horse-stealer, whose father and uncle kept an inn in Bogalyovka, who traded in stolen horses at any opportunity. He, too, had been to the hospital more than once, but he would come not for medical treatment, but to negotiate with the doctor about horses: whether there was any for sale, and whether the dear doctor, his honor, wished to trade his chestnut mare for a lovely dun gelding. Now, with his hair greased back and a silver earring glittering in his ear, he looked quite festive. Frowning, with his lower lip pulled down, he was attentively examining a big book with pictures, frayed and dog-eared. Another peasant lay stretched out on the floor near the stove, his face, shoulders, and chest covered by a sheepskin as he slept. There were two dark pools of melted snow near his new boots, with shining pieces of metal on the soles.
Seeing the doctor, Kalashnikov greeted him.
“Yeah, the weather’s awful,” said Ergunov, rubbing his chilled knees with the palms of his hands. “The snow’s gone down my neck; I’m soaked through, I’d say, like a rat. And I think my revolver is also, well….” He took out his revolver, looked at it all over, and put it into his bag again. But the revolver produced no reaction whatsoever; the peasant kept his eyes on his book. “Yeah, the weather…. I lost my way, and had it not been for the dogs here, I’d have been dead, I believe. Yeah, there would have been something to talk about. And where’s the hostess?”
“The old woman has gone to Repino, so the girl is cooking dinner,” answered Kalashnikov.
Silence followed. Shivering, Ergunov blew on his hands, huddling, and pretending he was extremely warm and well rested. The dogs were still heard barking outside. It was getting boring.
“You are from Bogalyovka, aren’t you?” Ergunov asked the peasant strictly.
“Yes, I am.”
As he did not have anything better to do, Ergunov started to think about that village of Bogalyovka. It was a big village that lay in a deep ravine, so that when one drove along the big road on a moonlit night, and looked down into the dark ravine and then up at the sky, it seemed that the moon was hanging over a bottomless abyss and it was the end of the world. The road down to the village was steep, serpentine, and so narrow that when one drove to Bogalyovka for any reason, one had to scream at the top of one’s voice, or whistle loudly, to ensure safe passage through the pass, as there was only room for one to travel.
The peasants of Bogalyovka had the reputation of being good gardeners and horse-stealers. Their gardens always yielded large crops. In spring time, the whole village drowned in white cherry blossoms, and in summer, you could pay three kopecks and pick a pail of cherries for yourself. The peasants’ wives were well groomed and well fed, they were fond of lovely clothing, and did nothing even on workdays. They would sit on the ledges of their houses, and gossip.
At that moment someone’s steps were heard. Lyubka, a girl of twenty, entered the room in her bare feet, wearing a red dress. She looked swiftly at Ergunov and walked from one corner of the room to another a few times. She did not move simply, but with little steps, holding her head up high. She obviously enjoyed walking barefooted on the freshly washed floor, and had taken off her shoes for exactly that reason.
Kalashnikov grinned at something, beckoning her with his finger. She went over to the table, and he showed her a picture of the prophet Elijah driving three horses rushing up to the sky. Lyubka leaned her elbows on the table; a long reddish plait tied with a red ribbon at the end fell across her shoulder and almost touched the floor. She also grinned.
“That’s a remarkable picture,” said Kalashnikov. “Remarkable,” he repeated, and made a movement with his hands as if he wanted to take the reins instead of Elijah.
The wind droned in the stovepipes; something growled and squeaked as if a big dog had strangled a rat.
“Hear that? That’s the sound of evil forces,” said Lyubka.
“That’s the wind,” said Kalashnikov; then, after a pause, he raised his eyes to Ergunov and asked: “And what’s your expert opinion, Osip Vasilich—are there devils in this world or not?”
“What shall I say, young fellow?” answered Ergunov, shrugging one shoulder. “If we reason scientifically, then of course, there are no devils, it’s just a prejudice. If we talk about it simply, as we are doing right now, then they do exist, to put it briefly. I’ve experienced many things in my lifetime. After I finished school, I served as medical assistant in the army in a regiment of dragoons. I was in the war, of course. I was awarded a medal and a decoration of the Red Cross. After the peace treaty of San Stefano, I returned to Russia and began working for the county government. And I should say, having been around, I’ve seen many things that others could not even imagine. I have seen devils; I don’t mean the kind with a tail and horns, for that’s rubbish but, some kind of devil …”
“Where?” asked Kalashnikov.
“Different places. Not long ago. Last summer. You know, it’s not good to speak of him at night. I came across him right here, near this very inn. Well, I was going to Golyshino; I remember it, to vaccinate against smallpox. You know, it’s always like that, racing the horse, carrying all the necessary stuff besides my watch, and so I was riding and on the alert. Tramps are always around, you know. So I headed down into the Zmeinaya gully, when, well, this thing approached me! Black hair, black eyes, even his whole face looked blackish, too, as if completely covered in smoke! He came up to my horse and took hold of the left rein right away, commanding us to: ‘Stop!’ He looked at the horse, then at me, and then dropped the rein. Without saying a bad word, he asked, ‘Where are you going?’ as he bared his teeth, with a malicious glint in his eyes. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘you must be the devil!’ ‘I’m here to vaccinate against smallpox,’ I answered, ‘And what difference is it to you?” He replied: ‘If that’s the case, then vaccinate me, too,’ as he thrust his arm right into my face. Of course, I didn’t go on talking with him, just immediately vaccinated him to get rid of him. And then I looked at my lancet and as I said ‘Here we go’ I realized that it had gone all rusty.”