'Out on the steppe our lads are tonight,' sighed the old woman while he ate. ' 'Tis a proper botheration. I did ought to light a candle before the icon, but I don't know where Stepanida's put it. Help your- self, young man, do.' The old woman ya^ed, reached back with her right hand, and scratched her left shoulder. 'Two o'cl^& it must be/ she said. 'Time to get up soon. Our lads are outside for the night. Soaked to the skin they'll be, for sure.'
'I'm sleepy, Grannie/ said the boy.
'Then lie do^wn, young man, do,' sighed the old woman, ya^^mng. 'I was asleep meself, when—Lord God Almighty!—I hear someone a-knocking. I wake up and I see God's sent us a storm. I'd light a candle, dear, but I couldn't find one.'
Talking to herself, she pulled some rags off the bench, probably her bedding, took two sheepskins from a nail near the stove, and began making up a bed for the boy. ' 'Tis as stormy as ever,' she muttered. 'I'm afeared it might start a fire, you never <can tell. The lads are out on the steppe all night. Lie do^wn, young man, go to sleep. God ble« you, my child. I won't clear away the melon—happen you'll get up and have a bite.'
The old soul's sighs and the measured breathing of the
sleeping woman, the hut's dim light, the sound of rain through the window—it all made him sleepy. Shy of taking his clothes off in the old woman's presence, he removed only his boots, lay do^ and covered with the sheepskin.
A minute later Panteley's whisper was heard. 'Is the lad lying downwn?'
'Yes,' whispered the old woman. ' 'Tis a proper botheration. Bang, crash, bang—no end to it.'
'It'll soon be over,' wheezed Panteley, sitting do^. 'It's quieter now. The lads have gone to different huts, and a couple have stayed with the horses. Aye, the lads. Have to do it, or else the horses ^^ be stolen. Well, I'll stay a while, and then take my ^m. Have to do it, or they'll be stolen.'
Panteley and the old woman sat side by side at Yegorushka's feet, ^^mg in sibilant whispers punctuated by sighs and yawnwns. But the boy just could not get warm. He had a warm, heavy sheepskin over him, but his whole body shivered, his hands and legs were convulsed with cramps, his inndes trembled. He undressed under the sheepskin, but it made no difference. The shivering bec^e more and more pronounced.
Panteley left to take his t^ with the horses and then came back again, but still could not sleep, and was stiU shivering all
over. His head and ^est felt ^mhed and oppresed by—by what he did not know. Was it the old people whispering or the strong smeU of the shee^^m? The melons had left a ^^ metalic taste in his mouth, besides which he was being bitten by fleas. 'I'm cold, Grandad,' he said, not reco^^rng his voice.
'Sleep, son, sleep,' sighed the old woman.
Titus approached the bed on his thin legs, waved his ^rn, and then grew as tall as the ceiling and ^med into a windmill. Father Christo- pher—not as he had been in the brit:zka, but in full vestments and carrying his aspergiJl^m, walked around the mill, sp^^^g it with holy water and it stopped ^^g. Knowing he was delirious, the boy opened his eyes. He called to the old 'Water!'
No answer. Finding it unbearably close and uncomfortable lying there, Yegorushka stood up, dr^&d and went out of the hut. It was morning now and the sky was overcast, but the ^m had stopped. Trembling, wrapping his wet overcoat round ^m, he walked up and downwn the muddy yard, ^^g to catch a sound amid the silence. Then his eyes lighted on a smaU shed with a half-open door made of thatch. He looked in, entered and sat in a dark comer on a heap of dry dung.
His head felt heavy, his mind was in a whirl and there was a dry, unple^^t s^ration in his mouth owing to the metallic taste. He looked at his hat, straightened its peacock feather, and remembered going to buy it with his mother. Putting his hand in his pocket, he took out a liump of bro^wn, sticky paste. How did that stuff get in there? He thought, he sniffed it. A smeU of honey. Ah, yo—the Jewish cake. How sodden the poor thing was!
The boy looked at his overcoat—grey with big bone buttons, cut like a frock-<oat. A new and expensive garment, it had not hung in the haU at home, but with his mother's dresses in the bedroom. He was only aUowed to wear it on holidays. The sight of it moved to pity—he recalled that he and the overcoat had both been abandoned to their fate, and would never go home again. And he sobbed so loudly that he nearly fell off the dung pile.
A big white dog, sopping wet and with woolly tufts like curling papers on its muzzle, came into the shed and stared quizzically at the boy. It was obviously wondering whether to bark or not, but decided that there was no need, cautiously approached the boy, ate the lump of paste and went out.
'Them's Varlamov's men,' someone shouted in the street.
Having cried his eyes out, the boy left the shed, skirted a puddle and made his way to the street, where some wagons stood immediately in front ofthe gates. Wet carters with muddy feet, listless and drowsy as autu^ flies, drifted near by or sat on the shafts. Looking at them, Yegorushka thought what a boring, uncomfortable business it was, being a peasant. He went up to Panteley and sat downwn on the shaft beside him. 'I'm cold, Grandad.' He shivered and thrust his hands into his sleeves.
'Never mind, we'll be there soon,' yawnwned Panteley. 'You'll get warm, never fear.'
It was quite cool, and the convoy made an early start. Yegorushka lay on his bale, trembling with cold, though the sun soon came out and dried his clothes, the bale and the ground. Barely had he closed his eyes when he saw Titus and the windmill again. Nauseated, feeling heavy all over, he fought to dispel these images, but as soon as they disappeared the bullying Dymov would pounce on him—roaring, red-eyed, his fists raised, or would be heard lamenting how 'bored' he was. Varlamov rode past on his Cossack pony, and happy Con- stantine walked by with his smile and his bustard. How depressing, intolerable and tiresome they all were!
In the late afternoon the boy once raised his head to ask for a drink. The wagons had halted on a large bridge over a wide river. Downwn below the river was shrouded in smoke through which a steamer could be seen towing a barge. Ahead, beyond the river, was a huge vari- coloured mountain dotted with houses and churches. At its foot a railway engine was being shunted round some goods wagons.
Never had the boy seen steamers, railway trains or wide rivers before, but as he glanced at them now he was neither frightened nor surprised. Nor did his face even express any semblance of curiosity. Nauseated, he quickly lay downwn with his chest on the bale's edge, feeling ready to vomit. Panteley saw him, grunted and shook his head.
'Our little lad's poorly,' said he. ' 'Tis a chill on the stomach, I'll be bound. Aye, and that far from home like. 'Tis a bad business.'
VIII
The wagons had stopped at a large commercial inn not far from the harbour. Climbing downwn from the wagon, Yegorushka heard a familiar voice and someone gave him a hand. 'We arrived yesterday evening. We've been cxpecting you all day. Wc meant to catch you up yestcrday, but it didn't work out and we took a different route. Hey, what a mess you've made of your coat! Your uncle will give you what for!'
Gazing at the speaker's mottled face, Yegorushka remembered it as Deniska's.
'Your uncle and Father Christopher are in their room at the inn having tea. Come on.'
He took the boy to a big two-storey building—dark, gloomy, resembling the almshouse at N. By way of a lobby, a dark staircase and a long, narrow corridor Yegorush.ka and Deniska came to a small room where Ivan Kuzmichov and Father Christopher indeed were seated at a tea table. Both old men showed surprise and joy at seeing the boy.
'Aia, young sir! Master Lomonosov in person!' intoned Father Christopher.
'So it's the gentleman of the family,' said Kuzmichov. 'Pleased to see you.'