‘No, can’t say that I ’ave,’ he replied. ‘Yeryomka, our gamekeeper, said he sent up a covey on Elijah’s Day1 near Pustoshye, but I dare say he was lying. Ain’t many birds about…’
‘No, my friend, not many at all… it’s the same everywhere! If you look at it practically the hunting’s woeful, pitiful. There’s just no game at all and what there is isn’t worth soiling your hands for – it’s not even fully-grown! So tiny it makes you feel real sorry.’
Meliton grinned and waved dismissively. ‘What’s happening in the world’s enough to make you laugh – and that’s all! Birds are so daft nowadays they sit on their eggs late and there’s some that aren’t off them come St Peter’s Day. Oh yes!’
‘Everything’s heading the same way,’ said the shepherd, raising his head. ‘Last year there weren’t much game and this year there’s even less. You mark my words – in another five years there won’t be any at all. As I see it, ’fore long there won’t be birds of any kind left – let alone game-birds.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Meliton after pausing for thought. ‘That’s true.’
The shepherd laughed bitterly and shook his head.
‘I’m just flabbergasted!’ he exclaimed. ‘What’s become of ’em all? Twenty years ago, as I remember, there were geese here, cranes, ducks and black grouse – the place was swarming with ’em! The gents used to go out shooting and all you’d hear was bang-bang, bang-bang! There was no end of woodcock, snipe and curlews, and little teal and pipers was as common as starlings or sparrows, let’s say – just swarms of ’em! And where have they all gone? Nowadays you don’t even see birds of prey. Eagles, falcons, eagle-owls – all wiped out! There’s not many beasts of any kind left. These days, my friend, you can count yourself lucky if you see a wolf or a fox, let alone a bear or a mink. Time was when there were even elk! For forty years I’ve been keeping an eye on God’s works – year in year out – and as I see it everything’s heading one way.’
‘What way?’
‘Towards what’s bad, my lad. Towards ruination, it seems. The time’s come for God’s world to perish.’
The old man put on his cap and began to gaze at the sky.
‘It’s a real shame!’ he sighed after a short silence. ‘Lord, what a crying shame! Of course, it’s all God’s will – it wasn’t us who made the world. All the same, my friend, it’s a terrible shame. If a single tree withers away or, let’s say, one of your cows dies, you feel sorry. So what will it be like, my friend, if the whole world goes to wrack and ruin? There is so much that’s good, Lord Jesus Christ! The sun, the sky, the woods, the rivers, living creatures – they’ve all been created and fashioned so they fit in with each other. Everything has its allotted task and knows its place. And all this must perish!’
A sad smile passed over the shepherd’s face and his eyelids trembled.
‘You say that the world’s heading for ruin,’ Meliton said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe the world will end soon, but you can hardly take just birds as a sign.’
‘It’s not only birds,’ said the shepherd. ‘It’s beasts as well – cattle, bees and fish… If you don’t believe me ask any old man. Every one of them’ll tell you that fish ain’t anything like what they used to be. Every year there’s less and less fish in the seas, lakes and rivers. Here in the Peschanka, as I remember, you could catch two-foot pike and there was burbot and ide and bream – all goodly-sized fish. But now you can thank your lucky stars if you catch a small pike or a six-inch perch. There’s not even decent ruff. Every year it gets worse and worse and soon there won’t be any fish at all! As for the rivers – they’ll dry up, most likely!’
‘You’re right – that they will!’
‘That’s it! Every year they get shallower and shallower, there’s no longer those nice deep pools there used to be, me friend. See those bushes over there?’ asked the old man, pointing to one side. ‘Behind them there’s an old river-bed – “the backwater” it’s called. In my father’s day that’s where the Peschanka flowed, but now look where the devil’s taken it! It keeps changing course and you see, it’ll keep changing course till it dries up altogether. Other side of Kurgasov there used to be marshes and ponds, but where are they now? And what became of all them little streams? In this very wood there used to be a stream with so much water in it the peasants only had to dip their creels in to catch pike, and wild duck used to winter there. But even at spring flood there’s no decent water in it now. Yes, me friend, things are bad everywhere you look. Everywhere!’
There was silence. Lost in thought, Meliton stared before him. He wanted to think of a single part of nature as yet untouched by the all-embracing ruin. Bright patches of light glided over the mist and the slanting sheets of rain as if over frosted glass, only to vanish immediately – the rising sun was trying to break through the clouds and glimpse the earth.
‘Yes – and the forests too,’ Meliton muttered.
‘And the forests too,’ repeated the shepherd. ‘They’re being cut down, they catch fire or dry up and there’s no new growth. What does grow is felled right away. One day it comes up and the next it’s chopped down and so it goes on till there’s nothing left. Ever since we got our freedom,2 me friend, I’ve been minding the village herd and before that I was one of squire’s shepherds too – grazed this very spot – and I can’t remember one summer’s day when I wasn’t here. And all the time I keep watching God’s works. I’ve been able to keep a close watch on things in me lifetime and as I sees it now all kinds of plants are dying out, whether it’s rye, vegetables, flowers – everything’s heading one way…’
‘But people are better now,’ observed the bailiff.
‘How are they better?’
‘They’re cleverer.’
‘Cleverer they may be, my lad, but what good is that? What use is being clever to those that’s on the brink of ruin? You don’t need any brains to perish! What use is brains to a huntsman if there’s no game about? As I reckon, God’s given folk brains, but he’s taken their strength away. Folk have become feeble, mighty feeble. Take me, for example. I know I’m not worth a brass farthing, I’m the lowliest peasant in the whole village, but I still have me strength, lad. As you can see, I’m in me sixties, but I still mind the herd, come rain or shine. And at night I keep watch over the horses for a couple of copecks and I don’t fall asleep or suffer from the cold. My son’s cleverer than me, but just put him in my place and next day he’ll be asking for a rise or he’ll be off to the doctor’s. Oh yes! I don’t need nothing but bread – “give us our daily bread” as it is written. And me father ate nothing but bread – and me grandpa, too. But these days your peasant wants his tea and vodka and fancy white rolls. He needs to sleep from dusk to dawn, keeps going to the doctor’s – pampers himself silly, he does. And why? Because he’s grown feeble, he’s got no backbone. He’d rather not sleep, but his eyes start to close – and there’s nothing he can do about it.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Meliton. ‘These days peasants are a useless bunch.’
‘There’s no escaping the fact, we get worse every year. Just consider the gentry, they’re even feebler than the peasants now. These days gents might think they know everything, but they know things they don’t need to know – and where’s the sense in that? Fair breaks your heart to look at them… all skinny and weedy, like some Magyar or Frenchie. No class, no dignity – they’re only gents by name. The poor devils’ve got no place in society, no work to do and you can never make out what they really want. Either they sit with their rod catching fish or they lie belly up reading a book. Or they’re knocking around with the peasants and telling them all sorts of things. And there’s those what’s hungry and get jobs as clerks. And so they fritter their time away and it never enters their heads to try and get down to some real work. Time was when half the gentry were generals, but nowadays they’re sheer trash!’