The rain was long delayed for some reason, and the boy—hoping that the thunder cloud might pau over—peeped out from his mat. It was fearfully dark, and he could see neither Panteley nor the bale nor ^mself. He squinted towards where the moon had been, but it was pitch black there, as on the wagon. In the darkness the lightoing flashes seemed whiter and more blinding, hurting the eyes.
He called Panteley's name, but there was no answer. Then. in the end, the wind gave a last rip at the mat and flew off. A low, steady throb was heard, and a large, cold drop fell on the boy's btee, while another crawled do^wn his hand. Realizing that his knees were un- covered, he tried to rearrange the matting, but then came a pattering and a tapping of something on the road, and on the shafts and the bale. Rain. It seemed to have an understanding with the mat, for the two started some discussion—rapid, cheerful and exceedingly objectionable, like a couple of magpies.
Yegorushka knelt up—squatted, rather, on his boots. Whcn the rain rapped the mat he leant forward to shield his suddenly soaked btees. He managed to cover them, but in less than a minute he felt an unpleasant penetrating wetnes behind, on back and calves. He resumed his former position and stuck his knees out into the rain, wondering what to do and how to rearrange the mat that he could not see in the dark. But his arms were already wet, water was ^^ing downwn his sleeves and behind his collar, his shoulder-blades were cold. And so he decided to do nothing, but to sit still and wait for it all to end. 'Holy, holy, holy,' he whispered.
Suddenly, directly over his head, ^rne an almighty deafening crash and the sky broke in two. He bent forwards—holding his breath, expecting the pieces to fall on his neck and back. He chanced to open his eyes, blinking half a dozen times as a penetrating, blinding light flared up, and he saw his fingers, his wet sleeves and the streams flow- ing off the mat, over the bale and downwn below on the earth. Then a new blow, no less mighty and awesome, resounded. No longer did the sky groan or rumble, but gave out crackles like the splitting ofa dry tree.
The thunder's crash-bang beats were precisely enunciated as it rolled downwn the sky, staggered, and—somewhere by the leading wagons or far behind—tumbled over with a rancorous, staccato dru^rning.
The earlier lightning flashes had been awesome, but with thunder such as this they seemed downwnright menacing. The weird light pene- trated your closed eyelids, percolating chillingly through your whole body. Was therc a way to avoid seeing it? The boy decided to his face backwards. CarefuUy, as if afraid of being observed, he got on al fours, slid his palms over the wet bale and ^med round.
The great drumming swooped over his head, collapsed under the wagon and exploded.
Again his eyes chanced to open and he saw a new danger. Behind the wagon stalked three giants with long pikes. The lightning flashed on the points of their pikes, distinctly lighting up their figures. These were people ofvast dimensions with hidden faces, bowed heads and heavy footsteps. They seemed sad, despondent and lost in thought. Their aim in stalking the convoy may not have been to cause damage, but there was something horrible in their proximity.
The boy quickly turned forwards. 'Panteley! Grandad!' he shouted, shaking all over.
The sky answered him with a crash, bang, crash.
As he opened his eyes, to see whether the carters were there, the lightning flashed in two places, illuminating the road to the far horizon, the entire convoy and all the men. Rivulets streamed do^ the road, and bubbles danced. Panteley strode by his wagon, his high hat and shoulders covered with a small mat. His figure expressed neither fear nor alarm, as though he had been deafened by the thunder and blinded by the lightning.
'Grandad, see the giants!' the boy shouted at him, weeping.
But the old man heard nothing. Further ahead Yemelyan walked along, covered with a large mat from head to foot and triangular in shape. Vasya, who had nothing over him, stepped out in his usual clockwork style—lifting his feet high, not bending his knees. In the lightning the convoy seemed motionless, with the carters rooted to the spot and Vasya's raised leg frozen rigid in position.
Yegorushka called the old man again. Receiving no ^^'er, he sat still, but he was no longer expecting it aU to end. He was certain that the thunder would kiU him that very instant, that he would open his eyes by accident and see those frightful giants. No longer did he cross himself, caU the old man or think of his mother—he was simply n^b with cold and the certainty that the storm would never end.
Suddenly voices were heard.
'Yegorushka, you asleep, or what?' shouted Panteley from below. 'Get do^wn. Has he gone deaf, the silly lad?'
'Quite a storm!' It was a deep, unfamiliar voice, and the speaker cleared his throat as ifhe had tossed do^ a glassful of vodka.
The boy opened his eyes. Do^ near the wagon stood Panteley, triangle-shaped Yemelyan and the giants. The latter were now much shorter and ^med out, when Yegorushka got a proper sight of them, to be ordinary peasants shouldering iron pitch-forks, not pikes. In the space between Panteley and the triangular Yemelyan shone the window of a low hut—the wagons must have halted in a village. Yegorushka threw offhis mat, took his bundle and hurried do^wn from the wagon. Now, what with people speaking near by and the lighted window, he no longer felt afiraid, though the thunder crashed as loudly as ever and ligh^rng scourged the' whole sky.
'A decent storm—not bad at all, praise the Lord,' muttered Panteley. 'My feet have gone a bit soft in the rain, but no matter. Are you downwn, boy? Well, go in the hut. It's all right.'
'It must have struck somewhere, Lord save us,' wheezed Yemdyan. 'You from these parts?' he asked the giants.
'Nay, from Glinovo. From Glinovo we be. We work at the squire's place—name of Plater.'
'Threshers, are you?'
'We do different things. Just now we be getting in the wheat. But what ligh^mg, eh? There ain't been a storm like this for many a moon.
Yegorushka went into the hut, where he was greeted by a lean, hunchbacked old woman with a sharp chin. She held a tallow candle, screwing up her eyes and giving prolonged sighs.
'What a storm God has sent us!' she said. 'And our lads are spending the night on the steppe—what a time they'll have of it, poor souls. Now, take your clothes off, young sir^<ome on.'
Trembling with cold, s^^&ng fastidiously, the boy pulled off his wet overcoat, spread his hands and feet far apart and did not move for a long time. The slightest motion evoked a disagreeably damp, cold sensation. The sleeves and the back of his shirt were sopping, his trousers stuck to his legs, his head was dripping.
'Don't stand there splayed out like,' said the old woman. 'Come and sit do-wn, lad.'
Straddling his legs, Yegorushka went to the table and sat on a bench near someone's head. The head moved, emitting a stream of air through the nose, made a chewing sound and subsided. From the head a mound covered with a sheepskin stretched along the bench—a sleep- ing peasant woman.
Sighing, the old woman went out and suddenly <^me back with a big water-melon and a small sweet melon. 'Help yourself, young man, I've nothing else for you.'
Ya^ing, she dug into a table drawer and took out a long, sharp knife much like those used by highwaymen to cut merchants' throats in inns. 'Help yourself, young sir.'
Trembling as if in fever, the boy ate a slice of sweet melon with black bread, and then a slice of water-melon, which made him even colder.