Ergunov took the key off the chain and gave it to her. She suddenly stretched out her neck, as if listening to something. Her face grew cold, stern, almost sly, to Ergunov. All of a sudden he remembered his horse, brushed past her, and ran out into the yard.
A sleepy pig was grunting contentedly in the shed, and the cow’s bell could be heard. Ergunov lit a match. He was able to see the pig, the cow, and the dogs who rushed toward him at the sign of the light, but there was no trace of his horse. Shouting and waving his arms at the dogs, he stumbled through the snowdrifts and sank into the snow as he tried to get a glimpse of the road outside the gate. He strained his eyes but could only see the heavily fallen snowflakes and the shapes they made as they fell—a white laughing skull, a white horse ridden by an Amazon in a muslin dress, or a string of white swans flying overhead….
Shaking with anger and cold, not knowing what else to do, Ergunov took a shot with his revolver at the dogs, missed, and angrily rushed back to the house.
As he entered the house he distinctly heard someone dart out of the main room and the door slam behind them. It was dark in the room. Ergunov pushed against the door and found tit was locked. Lighting match after match, he rushed back through the hallway, into the kitchen, and from the kitchen into a little dressing room filled with dresses and skirts, with a bed with a huge pile of pillows standing in the corner by the stove. The room smelled of cornflowers and dill; he figured it must be the old widow’s room.
As he left the room, he passed into another little room, and there he found Lyubka. She was lying down, covered with a multicolored patchwork cotton quilt, pretending to be asleep. A little icon lamp was burning above the head of her bed.
“Where is my horse?” Ergunov asked firmly. Lyubka did not stir.
“Where is my horse, I ask you!” Ergunov asked again in a louder voice as he tore the quilt off her. “I’m asking you, witch!” he shouted.
She jumped up onto her knees, holding her nightgown with one hand and trying to grasp the quilt with the other, pressing her back against the wall. She looked at Ergunov with a combination of disgust and fear, her eyes darting like a trapped animal watching his every move.
“Tell me where my horse is, or I’ll beat the life out of you,” shouted Ergunov.
“Get away from me, you villain!” she said hoarsely.
Ergunov seized her gown by the neck and tugged at it. Immediately, unable to control himself, he embraced her with all his might. Hissing with fury, she slipped out of his arms. One arm was still tangled in her nightgown, but freeing the other, she reach up and struck him on the head.
He suddenly felt dizzy with pain, as his ears rang from the blow. He stumbled back just as she hit him again, this time on his forehead. Staggering and grabbing at the doorjambs to remain on his feet, he made his way to the main room where his things were and lay down for a minute. He took a matchbox out of his pocket and began to light match after match for no reason, which he did over and over until no matches remained.
Meanwhile the air was getting bluer outside as the roosters began to crow. His head still ached, and he felt as if he were sitting under a railroad bridge as a train passed overhead. Somehow he managed to put on his sheepskin jacket and cap. He could not find his saddle or his purchases, for his bag was empty. He now knew why he thought he had seen someone darting out of the room when he came in from the yard late last evening.
He took a poker from the kitchen to defend himself against the dogs and headed outside, leaving the door wide open. The snowstorm had begun to subside and it was quiet outside. As he went out through the gate, the white field looked barren, without a single bird in the morning sky. A small forest appeared blue along both sides of the road and far ahead off in the distance.
Ergunov began thinking about how he would be received at the hospital coming back empty-handed. What was the doctor going to say to him? He needed to prepare for any question they might throw at him. However, he could think of nothing besides Lyubka, and the robbers. He remembered how Lyubka looked at him, with her hair loosened from its plait right after she hit him the second time. He grew confused the more he thought. Why should there be a world filled with doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and peasants? Why shouldn’t everyone live free to make their own choices, like the animals and birds do, and Merik—fearless and not dependent on anyone? Whose bright idea was it to make one get up in the morning, have lunch at noon, and go to bed in the evening? Why were doctors more important than medical assistants? Why should you only love one woman for the rest of your life? Why not have lunch at night and sleep during the day? Who said we can’t? Oh, how nice it would be to jump on a horse without caring whose it is, riding like the wind, going wherever your fancy took you, loving many women and making fun of whoever you wanted to!!
Ergunov thrust the poker into the snow, pressed his forehead to the cold, white trunk of a birch, and continued to sink deeper in thought. His gray, monotonous life, filled with low wages, his lowly position, working in the pharmacy with the never-ending bustle with pots and blisters—it all seemed contemptible and loathsome.
“Who says it’s a sin to have fun?” he asked himself, annoyed. “Those who say so have never lived a free life like Merik and Kalashnikov; have never loved a woman like Lyubka. They have been begging all their lives, never enjoying themselves, nor loving anyone but their froglike wives.”
He realized that it was only due to his lack of opportunity that he had not become a thief or a cheat.
A year and a half passed. Late one evening that spring, Ergunov, long since fired from the hospital and out of work, left an inn in Repino, content to wander the streets with no real purpose. He headed into a field, enjoying the fresh spring air and the light wind blowing under a starry sky. My God, thought Ergunov, how deep the sky is and how it stretches over the world! If all was right in the world, then what made people divide themselves into those who drank and those who remained sober, those with jobs and those who were unemployed, etc.? Why do the sober and well fed sleep comfortably at home while the drunk and hungry must wander around the field without shelter? Why do the homeless have to go hungry, without decent clothing? Whose idea was it? Why do birds and beasts in the forest not go to work, yet all they need is provided for them?
Far away in the sky, open wide above the horizon, a beautiful crimson glow glittered. Ergunov stood gazing at it for a long time, realizing that something was on fire in the distance. He kept on reflecting: why is it a sin if yesterday someone stole someone else’s samovar and sold it for the cost of a drink in a tavern? Why?
Two carts drove by on the road: a woman lay sleeping in one, and an old man without a cap sat in the other one.
“Grandfather, where is that fire burning?” asked Ergunov.
“Andrei Chirikov’s inn,” answered the old man.
Immediately Ergunov recalled what had happened to him a year and a half ago, that winter in that very inn, especially the threat Merik had made. He imagined the old woman and Lyubka, with their throats cut, burning, and he envied Merik.
As he headed back to the inn, looking at the houses of the rich land owners, cattle dealers, and blacksmiths, he reflected how nice it would be to break into some rich man’s house!
MURDER
(Abridged)
Matthew was sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of baked potatoes. Near the stove, Aglaya and Dashutka were facing one another, winding yarn. An ironing-board, with a cold iron on it, was stretched between the stove and the table where Matthew was sitting.
“Sister,” Matthew asked, “let me have a little oil!”