For some reason he grabbed the bow that was lying near the house, and started off with a feeling as if he had just killed an animal. And he didn’t find himself ridiculous at all.
He saw Rodik first, scaring off the chickens which were already afraid of him anyway. He was hardly able to keep himself from telling Rodik what it had been like. He even let a few syllables slip, and then cut himself off, idly moving his awkward lips.
Ksyusha came out. Katya followed her.
“Well, have they killed the pig?” asked Katya, widening her eyes, and with a look as if the dead pig was going to show up right there, snorting and squelching about with its slit throat.
Ksyusha also looked frightened:
“We could hear the squealing from here. Katya and I closed all the doors and windows,” she said.
Zakharka looked at the sisters, his happy eyes moving from one pretty face to the other — it was wonderful, and he looked for the word that he should start with to explain about his heart, his throat, his blood… but then in a second, he suddenly understood that he had nothing to say.
“Do you have any empty cans?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Ksyusha, shrugging her shoulders. “I think there were some over there in the trash.”
Zakharka cut the lids off of three cans. He cut each of the lids in half with big scissors. With some flat-nosed pliers he curled them around yesterday’s cattails and hammered the resulting spike.
The sisters went off to attend to their affairs, and only Rodik was left pattering around, repeating sometimes “Ow!” and responding to Zakharka’s “Arrows! Say: arrows!” with a long, doubtful silence.
“Ah-ah.”
“Exactly”, agreed Zakharka.
He stretched the bow string, and released the arrow. It soared swiftly, then it seemed to pause for a moment in the air, and gently fell down, sticking into the ground.
“Wow,” said Ksyusha, coming out on to the porch with a mop. “That’s beautiful.”
Swaying in the breeze, the arrow stuck up into the air.
“It’s standing up,” Ksyusha added dreamily.
She’s in a good mood today, Zakharka thought. She’s washing the floors.
He couldn’t resist, and asked:
“Why are you doing the dirty work?”
“We’re starting renovations today. Our Ksyusha is so eager to paint her room orange that she’s prepared to make any sacrifice,” Katya replied for Ksyusha.
Ksyusha, offended by her sister and cousin, squeezed the dirty water out of the mop.
Zakharka wandered around the garden, reluctantly munching on an apple.
He carried Rodik around on his shoulders, and then the boy was sent off to nap. Zakharka, in order not to get in the way of the energetically tidying sisters, went back to his room.
In the yard, Grandma had already wiped away the blood, and nothing was left of the pig: only meat in basins.
He entered the hut, creaking open the door.
It was stuffy inside. He pulled off his shorts, and climbed, somewhat disheveled, out of his t-shirt. He fell on the bed, bouncing on its springs. He turned over on his side, and reached out for an old book with a tattered cover and missing many pages, but did not take it up. He rested his cheek against the pillow, and lay still. He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t had enough sleep, and closed his eyes, immediately seeing Katya, nothing but Katya…
He lay there, remembering the sound of squealing in the morning, the flight of the arrow, the black water from the mop, the taste of the apple, the apple tree is shaking and swaying, the bark is near, the dark bark, the rough bark, the bark, the bark…
The door squeaked, and he woke up instantly. Katya, his heart skipped a beat.
Ksyusha came in, wearing a funny bathing suit: all string ties and bows.
Prying open his eyes, Zakharka looked at her.
“Did I wake you up, were you asleep?” she asked quickly.
He didn’t answer, and stretched.
“We were going swimming,” Ksyusha added, sitting on the bed so that her hip touched her cousin’s hip. “The paint is giving us a headache: we started painting. The doors.”
Zakharka nodded and stretched again.
“Why don’t you say anything?” Ksyusha asked. “Why are you always silent?” she repeated more cheerfully, and at a higher pitch — in the voice that usually precedes action. And it did: Ksyusha lightly threw her left leg over Zakharka and sat on his legs, firmly resting her hands on his knees, pressing them lightly. She looked as if she was getting ready to jump.
I didn’t think I was silent… Zakharka thought, looking his cousin over with interest.
From time to time he felt her cold, firm buttocks with the soles of his feet, she rocked gently from side to side on her bottom, and suddenly sat higher, unacceptably higher — she pressed her legs against his hips and gently tickled Zakharka under his armpits.
“Are you ticklish?” she asked, and without a pause: “You’ve got such a hairy chest… Like a sailor. Where are you going to serve in the army? Will you join the sailors? They’ll take you.”
Ksyusha looked completely calm, as if nothing unusual was happening.
But while she moved and wriggled on top of him, Zakharka clearly felt that under the fabric of her funny outfit, all in bows, there was something alive, very alive…
This continued just until both of them realized that it couldn’t go on like this anymore, that they needed to do something else, something impossible.
Ksyusha looked down at him with calm and clear eyes.
“I don’t feel comfortable like this,” Zakharka suddenly said. He made Ksyusha get off and sat opposite her, pressing his knees to his chest.
They talked for another two minutes, and Ksyusha left.
“Well, shall we go swimming?” she asked when she was outside, turning around.
“Sure, let’s go,” Zakharka replied, accompanying her to the door.
“Then I’ll call Katya. And we’ll come by to get you.” With a wag of her bows, Ksyusha went out of the yard.
“I’ll call Katya…” he repeated meaninglessly, like an echo.
He went to the wash basin, which resembled an upside-down German helmet. An iron rod stuck out of a hole in the center of the basin. If you raised it, water flowed out.
Zakharka stood motionless, closely looking over the wash basin, running the end of his tongue over the back of his teeth. He raised the iron rod it little: it gave a weak jangle. There was no water. He pulled the rod down.
Unexpectedly, he noticed a dried bloodstain on it.
“Grandpa probably tried to wash his hands when he slaughtered the pig…” he guessed.
In the evening Ksyusha went out dancing, and Katya and Rodik came to stay the night with Grandma and Grandpa, so the little boy wouldn’t get ill from the strong smells of the renovations.
The meal lasted a long time. Lethargic from the food, they talked tenderly. The votive light by the icon flickered. Zakharka, having drunk three half shot glasses with Grandpa, looked at the icon for a long time, sometimes seeing Katya’s features in the female face, only to lose them again. Rodik did not resemble the baby at all.
He had already been sent to bed several times, but he screamed loudly in protest.
Zakharka didn’t want to go to his hut, delighting in his relatives, who were somehow especially wonderful on this evening.
He suddenly had a warm and cheerful premonition of himself as an adult, perhaps even an unshaven man, with a definite smell of of tobacco, although Zakharka himself didn’t smoke yet.
And there he is, unshaven, with tobacco crumbs on his lips, and Katya is his wife. And they are sitting together, and Zakharka gazes at her lovingly.