‘Look lads, a crayfish!’ Kiryukha cried triumphantly, pointing out what was in fact a crayfish.
Yegorushka swam to the reeds, dived and started grubbing among the roots. As he delved in the slimy, liquid mud he felt something sharp and nasty – a crayfish, perhaps? – but just then someone grabbed his leg and hauled him to the surface. Gulping and coughing, Yegorushka opened his eyes and saw before him the wet, mocking face of Dymov the bully. That trouble-maker was breathing heavily and from the look in his eyes was evidently eager to carry on with his horseplay. He seized Yegorushka firmly by the leg and his other hand was already raised to grab his neck, but Yegorushka shrank from him with fear and repulsion, as if afraid the bully was going to drown him and managed to break free from his grasp.
‘You fool! I’ll smash your face in!’ he muttered.
Feeling that this did not adequately express his loathing, he reflected for a moment and then added, ‘You rotten swine! Son of a bitch!’
Just as if nothing had happened, Dymov paid no further attention to Yegorushka and swam off towards Kiryukha.
‘Hey there!’ he shouted. ‘Let’s catch some fish! Come on lads, let’s fish!’
‘Why not?’ agreed Kiryukha. ‘Must be loads of ’em here.’
‘Styopka, run to the village and ask ’em for a net.’
‘They won’t give us one.’
‘Oh, yes they will! Just ask. Tell ’em it’s their duty as good Christians, seeing as we’re all pilgrims – or as near as dammit!’
‘You’re right!’
Styopka emerged from the water, quickly dressed and without his cap, his wide trousers flapping, ran off to the village. After the clash with Dymov, the water lost all attraction for Yegorushka, so he climbed out and started to dress. Panteley and Vasya were sitting on the steep bank, dangling their legs and watching the bathers. Close to the bank stood Yemelyan, naked and up to his knees in water, clutching the grass with one hand to stop falling over and stroking his body with the other. With his bony shoulderblades and that swelling under the eye, stooping and clearly terrified of the water, he was a comical sight. His face was stern and solemn and he looked at the water angrily, as if about to curse it for having once given him a cold when bathing in the Donets and robbing him of his voice.
‘Why don’t you have a swim?’ Yegorushka asked.
‘Well… er… I don’t fancy it,’ replied Vasya.
‘Why is your chin swollen?’
‘It hurts… Once I worked in a match factory, young sir… The doctor said that was why me jaw got all swelled up. The air was bad in there. And besides me, three other lads got swollen jaws – with one of ’em it clean rotted away!’
Soon Styopka returned with a net. From their long stay in the water Dymov and Kiryukha were turning mauve and wheezing, but they set about fishing with great relish. At first they went along the reeds where it was deep. Here Dymov was up to his neck and the squat Kiryukha out of his depth. The latter was swallowing mouthfuls of water and blowing bubbles, while Dymov kept falling over and became entangled in the net as he stumbled on the prickly roots. They both noisily floundered and their fishing turned out nothing more than a pure frolic.
‘Cor, it’s deep!’ croaked Kiryukha. ‘We won’t catch nothing ’ere!’
‘Stop pulling, damn you!’ cried Dymov as he tried to bring the net into position. ‘Hold it there!’
‘You won’t catch nothing ’ere!’ Panteley shouted from the bank. ‘You’re only scaring the fish, you silly fools! Try a bit more to the left, it’s shallower there!’
Once a big fish gleamed above the net. Everyone gasped and Dymov hit out at the place where it had vanished, frustration written all over his face.
‘Ugh, you lot!’ cried Panteley, stamping his feet. ‘You’ve let a perch get away! It’s gone!’
Moving the net over to the left, Dymov and Kiryukha gradually managed to reach a shallow spot and there the fishing began in earnest. They were about three hundred yards away from the wagons now and they could be seen barely moving their legs, silently endeavouring to haul the net as deep and close as possible to the reeds. To frighten the fish and drive them into the net they thrashed the water with their fists, making the reeds crackle. From the reeds they went over to the far bank, trawled around with the net and then, with a disappointed look and knees held high, they returned to the reeds. They were in active discussion, but what they were discussing no one could hear. Meanwhile the sun was burning their backs, flies were biting them and their bodies had turned from mauve to crimson. They were followed by Styopka, bucket in hand, his shirt tucked right up under the armpits, holding the hem between his teeth. After each successful catch he held the fish high above his head so that it glittered in the sun.
‘Look at that for a perch!’ he cried. ‘And we’ve caught five like that!’
Every time Dymov, Kiryukha and Styopka pulled in the net they could be seen rooting about for a long time in the mud, putting things in the bucket and throwing others out. Occasionally they passed something that was caught in the net from hand to hand, examined it with curiosity and then threw that away too…
‘What’ve you caught?’ came shouts from the bank.
Styopka gave some sort of answer but it was hard to make out what he was saying. Then he emerged from the water, grasped the bucket with both hands, forgot to let his shirt down and ran towards the wagons.
‘This one’s full!’ he shouted, panting heavily. ‘Give me another!’
Yegorushka peered into the bucket: it was full to the brim. A young pike poked its ugly snout out of the water, whilst around it teemed crayfish and minnows. Yegorushka touched the bottom and stirred the water with his hand. The pike disappeared under the crayfish and in its place a perch and a tench floated upwards.
Vasya too looked into the bucket. His eyes glinted and his face softened as it had done when he saw the fox. He picked something out, put it in his mouth and started chewing. There was a crunching sound.
‘Lads!’ Styopka cried out in astonishment. ‘Vasya’s eating a live gudgeon. Ugh!’
‘It ain’t no gudgeon, it’s a chub,’ Vasya calmly replied and carried on munching. He took the tail from his mouth, lovingly examined it and put it back. While he was chewing and crunching Yegorushka felt that it was no human being he was watching. Vasya’s swollen chin, lacklustre eyes, his exceptionally keen eyesight, the fish tail in his mouth and the loving affection with which he chewed the gudgeon – all this gave him the appearance of an animal.
Yegorushka began to find his company tiresome. And besides, the fishing was over. He strolled by the wagons, reflected for a moment and plodded off to the village out of sheer boredom.
A few moments later he was standing in the church, leaning his forehead on someone’s back that smelled of hemp and listening to the choir. The service was drawing to a close. Yegorushka understood nothing about church singing and felt indifferent towards it. He listened for a while, yawned and began examining people’s backs and necks. One of these heads, reddish-brown and wet from the recent bathe, he recognized as Yemelyan’s. At the back the hair had been cut evenly and higher than usual; the hair on his temples was also cut higher than fashion dictated; his red ears stuck out like burdock leaves and they seemed to sense they were out of place. As he studied the back of his head and his ears Yegorushka thought for some reason that Yemelyan was probably very unhappy. He remembered his conducting, his hoarse voice, those timid looks when he was bathing and he felt an intense pity for him. He had an urge to say a few kind words to him.