smiling face of Von Koren—obviousIy certain from the sUrt that his adverary would fire into the air—Layevsky thought tlut it wouId all be over any moment now, thank God, and that he only had to squeeze the trigger hard.
He felt a heavy jolt against his shoulder, the shot rang out, and the echo from the mountaimreplied with a double thud.
Von Koren cocked his pistol and looked towards Ustimovich—still pacing up and do*wn with his hands bchind his back and ignoring the proceedings.
'Doctor,' s;tid the zoologist, 'would you mind not walking up and down like that, you're putting me off.'
The doctor stood still, and Von Koren began to take aim at Layevsky.
'It's all over now,' Uyevsky thought.
The pistol barrel levelled straight at Layevsky's face, Von Koren's posture, his whole figure so expressive of hatred and contempt, this decent man about to commit daylight murder in front of other decent men, the hush, the strange force which made Layevsky hold his ground and stopped him running away—how mysterious, incomprehensible and terrible it all was! Von Koren seemed to take so long aiming— longer than an entire night, Layevsky felt. He glanced imploringly at the seconds. They did not move, and were pale.
'Oh, hurry up :and shoot,' thought Layevsky, sensing that his white, trembling, pathetic face must make Von Koren hate him even more.
Tll kill him now,' thought Von Koren, aiming at the forehead, and already fingering the trigger. 'Yes, of course I will.' 'He'II kill him!'
The despairing cry was suddenly heud somewhere quite near.
And then the shot rang out.
Seeing Uyevsky sund his ground, still upright, everyone looked towards the cry—and uw the deacon. Pale, his wet hair plastered over brow and cheeks, thoroughly soaked and muddy, he stood in the maize on the far bank, smiling strangely and waving his wet hat. Sheshkovsky laughed withjoy, burst into tears and withdrew to one side.
XX
A little later Von Koren and the deacon met near the bridge. The deacon wa.s upset, breathing heavily and avoiding people's eyes. He was ashamed of his panic md his wet, muddy clothes.
'I thought you meant to kill him,' he muttered. 'How contrary to human nature! How very unnatural!'
'But where did you spring from?' the zoologist said.
'Don't ask mc!' The deacon made a gesture of disgust. 'The foul fiend tempted me—lured me on and on. So on and on I went, and nearly died offright in the maizc. But now, thank God, thank God—. I'm very pleased with you,' muttercd the deacon. 'And old Grand- father Tarantula will bc plcascd too. What a lark, I must say! Only don't tell anyone I was hcre, I beg you most urgently, or else I may catch it in thc neck from the authorities. They'll say a deacon acted as second.'
'Gentlemen,' said Von Koren. 'The deacon asks you not to tell anyone you saw him hcre. It could lead to unpleasantness.'
'How contrary to human nature,' sighed the deacon. 'Be generous, forgive mc—but looking at your face I thought you definitely meant to kill him.'
'I did fcel strongly tempted to do thc swine in,' said Von Koren. 'But your shout put me off, and I missed. This whole procedure is rcpulsive if you're not used to it, I must s:^y. It's tired me out, Deacon, I feel terribly exhaustcd. Let's drive home.'
'No, let mc walk. I must dry out. I'm wet through and frozen.'
'All right, do as you like,' said the weary zoologist in a tired voice, climbing into his carriage and closing his cycs. 'Suit yourself.'
While they werc coming and going near the carriages and taking thcir seats, Kcrbalay stood by the road clutching his stomach with both hands, bowing low and showing his tecth. He thought the gentlemen had comc out to enjoy thc vicw and have tea—why they should be getting into their carriagcs, he could not think.
The convoy moved off amid general silcnce, leaving only the dcacon near thc inn.
'Me go inn. Me drink tca,' he told Kcrbalay. 'Me want cat.'
Kerbalay spoke good Russian, but the deacon thought the Tatat would understand him more easily if hc addrcssed him in pidgin.
'You makc omelctte, you bring cheesc.'
'Come, comc, pricst,' said Kcrbalay, bowing. 'I give you cverything. Is checsc, is wine. Eat all you want.'
'What's the Tatar word for God?' asked the dcacon, cntcring thc im.
'Your God and my God arc same,' said Kerbalay, not undcrstanding. 'God is same for all, only peoples is different. Is Russians, is Turks, is English, is many peoples, but God is one.'
'Very well, then—if al people3 worship one God, why do you Moslerru look on Christiaru ^ your ete^l enemies?'
'Why you angry?' uked Kerbahy, seizing his belly in both ^mru. 'You are pricst—1 am Moslem. You you hungry—1 give you Only rich men make diffcrence which God is his and which mine. For ^^r man is no diffcrencc. Comc :md e4t plc4SC.'
Whilc this thcological di^^uon procccdcd in thc inn, Laycvsk.y wa on his way home, rcmcmbering thc ccric serultion of driving Jong at iwn when road, cliflfs and mounuiru wcrc wct and dark., and thc futurc lud loomcd ahcad unknown and tcrrifying as a bottomless pit. But now nindrops hung on gra!S :md stones, glittering diamond- likc in thc sun, naturc smilcd luppily and that tcrrifying future semcd a thing of the p^t. Hc gclass="underline" mccd at Sh^^ovsky's grim, tcar-s^rncd face, then looked ahcad at thc two arriages convcying Von Koren, his seconds and thc doctor, and hc fclt as if they wcrc al on thcir way homc from a ccmctcry whcrc thcy lud just buried somc abys^J borc who lud madc everyonc's lifc a misery.
'It's all ovcr,' hc thought, with rcfcrcncc ro his p^t, carcfuly stroking his ncck with his fmgcrs.
A small swelling about as long and as wide ^ his littlc fingcr lud comc up on thc right of his ncck nur thc collar, and it hurt ^ if somc- onc had passed a hot iron ovcr it. It a we-41 madc by thc buLet.
Oncc arrivcd home, hc found thc long, strange, swcct stretching out in front of him, vague as oblivion. As if rele4sed from prison or hospiul, hc g^d at objccts long familiar, amazcd that ubles, win^mdows, chairs, light :md sea should cvokc this vivid, childlikc joy to which he lud all too long becn a strangcr. Palc and wan, N adezh^ did not undcrstand his tcndcr voicc, his strangc walk. She hastcncd to tcll him cverything tlut lud luppencd to her.
Hc must be unablc to hcar hcr properly or makc hcr out, shc fclt— for ifhc knew all about it, hc would curse hcr, kill hcr. But hc listened, Jtrokcd hcr facc and hair, lookcd into her cyes.
'I havc no onc but you,' hc uid.
Thcn they ut for a long timc in the gardcn, clinging to each othcr in alencc. Or they mused aloud about thcir happy futurc, speaking in short, brokcn sentences, and hc fclt as if hc had ncvcr spokcn at such lcngth or so cloqucntly beforc.
XXI
Over three months had passed.
The day ofVon Koren's scheduled departure broke. A cold, drench- ing rain set in at dawn, a north-easterly gale blew up, and the sea roughened. The ste.amer could hardly get into the roadstead in such weather, it was said. It should have arrived before ten in the morning according to the timetable, but going on to the beach at rridday and in the afternoon, Vori Koren saw nothing through his binoculars except grey waves and rain veiling the horizon.
By the end of the day it had stopped raining and the wind had dropped considerably. Now reconciled to the impossibility of leaving that day, Von Koren had settled do^ to a game of chess with Samoy- lenko, but after nightfall the orderly announced that lights had appeared out at sea, and a rocket had been seen.