Egorooshka knelt up, or rather sat back on his heels. When the rain pattered on to the mat, he leant forward with his body to protect his knees, but on the other hand, in less than a minute, he felt an uncomfortable dampness behind, in the lower part of his back and in the calves. He returned to his former position, left his knees to the rain, and thought over what was to be done to adjust the invisible mat in the dark. His hands were wet and his sleeves. Water was trickling down his collar, and he was chilly about the shoulders; so he rlecided to do nothing but sit still and wait till it was all over.
"Holy, holy, holy . . ." he murmured.
Suddenly, with a fearful deafening din, the skies were smashed just above his head; he crouched and held his breath, waiting for the fragments to rattle down on his head and back. He involuntarily opened his eyes, and saw a blinding bright light as it were bursting and gleaming five times at the tips of his fingers, along his wet sleeves, and down the trickles flowing over the mat, the bales, and down on to the ground. There was another clap of thunder louder and more alarming than ever. It was no longer a rattle and a rumble overhead, but a crisp crackling noise like the dry crackle of a falling tree.
"Trrrach! Tach! Tach! Tach! " clearly rapped out the thunder, rolling about the sky, stumbling somewhere over the foremost waggon, or else somewhere far behind gave it up with a last spiteful exclamation of "Trra!"
At first the lightning had only been alarming, now with this thunder it was fraught with malice. Its magic light trans- pierced one's closed eyelids, and sent a cold shiver through one's body. What was to be done not to see it?
Egorooshka decided to turn and face the other way. Very carefully, as if afraid that he was being watched, he stood on all fours, and pressing the palms of his hands on the wet bale of wool, he turned himself round.
"Trrrach! Tach! Tach!" again sounded over his head, fell by the waggon, and died away with a "Rrr!"
Again Egorooshka involuntarily opened his eyes, and saw a new danger this time: behind the waggons walked three enonnous giants with pikes! The lightning darted about the points of their pikes and clearly admitted their forms to be descried. They were of immense size, with invisible faces, bowed heads, and a ponderous tread. They seemed to be sad and low-spirited, absorbed in deep meditation. Very likely they were not marching behind the waggons to do them any harm, yet their presence was fearsome.
Egorooshka quickly turned the other way, and, trembling alJ over, called out:
"Panteli! Dad!"
"Trrach! Tach! Tach!" answered the heavens.
He looked to see if the drivers were there: the lightning flashed on both sides, and lit up the highway to its farthest end, all the train of waggons and the drivers. Alongside the road there were flowing streams all over bubbles. Panteli was tramping along by the waggon ; he had covered his head and shoulders with a small mat, he evinced no alarm or uneasine^, no more than if he had been deaf to the thunder and blind to the lightning.
"Dad! The giants!" Egorooshka called to him, sobbing.
But the old dad did not hear. Farther on walked Emilian; he was covered in a large mat from head to foot, and formed an exact triangle. Vassia had no covering, and was stepping along as woodenly as ever, raising each foot very high and not bending his knees. At each flash of lightning it looked as if the train of waggons was at a standstill, as if the drivers had congealed and Vassia's leg was numbed. . . . Ego- rooshka again called the old man. Receiving no answer, he sat there motionless, no longer expecting it all to be over. He was convinced that the thunder would kill him the very next minute, that his eyes would open unexpectedly and he would see the dreadful giants. He no longer crossed himself, nor called the old dad, nor thought of his mother; he simply grew torpid with cold and the conviction that the thunder- storm would never end.
Suddenly there was the sound of a voice.
"Egor—ho there! Are you asleep?" shouted Panteli from below. "Come down! Are you deaf, little fool?"
"That a storm!" said an unknown deep voice, as husky as if the owner had but just swallowed an excellent glass of vodka.
Egorooshka opened his eyes. Below stood Panteli, the tri- Angular Emilian, and the giants. These latter were now of much smaller stature, and when he examined them Ego- rtoshka saw they were ordinary moujiks, carrying on their shoulders not pikes but the usual pitchforks. In the space between Panteli and Emilian shone the light from the window of a low little cottage. Evidently the waggons were standing in a village. Egorooshka threw off the mat, picked up his bundle, and hurried off the waggon. Now that people were talking quite close to him and there was the light of a window, he was no longer afraid, although the thunder was crackling as before and the lightning was streaking the skies.
"It was a fine thunderstorm, nitchevo," mumbled Panteli. ''Thank God . . . my feet are a little better from the bit of rain—they're all right. . . . You coming, Egor? So, go into the cottage! . . . Nitchevo . . ."
"Holy, holy, holy . . ." said Emilian hoarsely. "It must have struck somewhere . . . . Are you of this place?" he asked the giants
"Nay, from Glinov. . . . \Ye are Glinovskis. \\"e work for the master Platerov."
"Threshing, eh?"
"Various things; at present we are wheat-gathering. Ancl the lightning—eh, the lightning! It's a long time since there's been such a storm. . . ."
Egorooshka went into the cottage; he was met by a lean hump-backed old woman with a pointed chin. She held in her hand a tallow candle, screwed up her eyes, and breathed heavily.
"Such a storm God sent us!" she said. "Our folk are in the steppe for the night, a bit rough, poor dears. Undress, batushka, undress. . . ."
Trembling with cold and with a squeamish hesitancy. Egorooshka discarded his soaking coat, and stood for a long while without moving, with his legs apart and his arms held far from his body. The smallest movement recalled to him the unpleasantness of being cold and wet. The sleeves and back of his shirt were wet, his trousers clave to his legs, water was dripping from his head. . . .
"How now, laddie, what do you make bandv-legs for?" said the old woman. "Come and sit down."
Keeping his legs well apart, Egorooshka walked up to the: table, and sat down on a bench close to someone's head. The head moved, heaved a deep breath through its nose, chewed a bit, and then was quiet. There was a mound stretch- ing away from the head covered in a sheep-skin coat. lt was some sleeping woman.
The old woman sighed, went out, and soh returll('d a water-melon and a melon.
"Eat, batushka, there's nothing else . . ." she said yawn- ing, then fumbling on the table she produced from there a long sharp knife, very similar to those wherewith robbers cut merchants' throats in taverns. "Eat, dear sir!"
Egorooshka, trembling as if he had fever on him, ate a slice of melon with some black bread. Then a slice of water-melon; after that he felt even colder.
"Our folk are in the steppe for the night . . ." sighed the old woman whilst he was eating. "Our Saviour's Passion! . . . I'd light the little lamp before the image, but I don't know where Stepanida has put it. Eat, batushka, eat. . . ."
The old woman yawned, and, bending her right arm, scratched her left shoulder.
"Must be two o'clock by now," she said. "Soon time to get up. Our folk are in the steppe. . . . They11 all be wet. . . ."
"Batushka," said Egorooshka, "I'm sleepy."
"Lie down, batushka, lie down . . ." sighed the old woman with a yawn. "Lord Jesus Christ! Myself I was sleeping, and heard as 'twere a knocking. I awoke and said 'It's God's own storm.' . . . I'd light the little lamp, but can't find it."