'You a Bogalyovka llUn?' Yergunov asked the peasant sternly.
'Yes, I am.'
To pass the time, Yergunov thought about Bogalyovka—a large village set in a gulley so deep that when you drove along the high road on a moonlit night and looked do^ into the dark ravine, and then up at the sky, the moon seemed to hang above a bottomless pit, and it was like the end of the world. The road do^ was steep, winding, and so narrow that when you went to Bogalyovka during an epidemic or to do vaccinations, you must whistle all the time, or bellow at the top of your voice—for if you met a cart coming up you would never get by. The Bogalyovka peasants are kno^ as expert gardeners and horse-thieves. Their gardens are well-stocked, with the whole village buried iindcr white cherry-blossom in spring, and cherries sold at three copecks the pail in summer—you pay your three copecks and pick your own. The peasants' wives are good-looking and sleek, and they like wearing their best clothes. Even on working days they do nothing biit sit on the banks by their huts searching each others' heads for insects.
Then footsteps were heard, and Lyubka came in—a barefoot girl of about twenty in a red dress.
She gave Yergunov a sidelong glance, and walked from one comer of the room to another a couple of times—in no ordinary manner, but with tiny steps, thrusting hcr bosom forward. She obviously enjoyed padding about in bare fcet on the newly scrubbed floor, having taken off her shoes on purpose.
Laughing at something, Kabshnikov beckoned her with his finger. She came up to the table, and he showed her the prophet Elijah in his book—driving a carriage dra^ by three horses hurtling into the sky. Lyubka leant her clbows on the table. Her hair flew ovcr her shoulder —a long auburn plait tied with red ribbon at the end—and almost touched the floor. She laughed too.
'What a fme picture—marvellous!' said Kalashnikov.
'Marvellous!' he repeated, moving his hands as ifhe wanted to take the reins in Elijah's place.
The wind soughed in the stove. There was a growl and a squeak, as if a big dog had killed a rat.
'Whew! We must be haunted,' Lyubka said.
'It's the wind,' said Kalashnikov. He paused and raised his eyes to the orderly.
'What do you think, Mr. Yergunov, you being a scholar?' he asked. 'Are there such things as devils or aren't there?'
'Now, how can I put it, my dear fellow?' answered the orderly with a shrug of one shoulder. 'Scientifically speaking, there ain't no such thing as devils of course, because that's all superstition. But taking a plain man's view, as you and I are now—yes, devils do exist, to cut a long story short. I've been through a lot in my time. After my training I was posted to the dragoons as medical orderly, and I was in the war, of course—I have a medal and a decoration from the Red Cross. But after San Stefano I came back to Russia and took a job with the rural council. Having been around such a lot in my day, I've seen more things than some have even dreamt of. I've seen devils too sometimes. I don't mean with horns or a tail—that's all rubbish—but ordinary ones, as you might say, or something of the sort.'
'Where?' asked Kalashnikov.
'In various places—no need to go far afield. Last year, between you and me, I met one right here—by this very inn, like. I'm driving to Golyshino, as I recall, to do some vaccinations and all that. Well, you know how it is, I have my racing sulky as usual, my horse, the various trappings I need, besides which I have my watch on me and so forth, so I'm on my guard as I drive along, just in case something happens— there are enough tramps about. I come to that blasted Snake Gulch, and I start going do^. Then, suddenly, I notice someone or other on foot and all that—black hair, black eyes, his whole face seeming smutted with soot. He comes up to my horse and takes the left rein.
"'Stop!" says he.
'He looks the horse over, then me, see? Then he throws do^ the rein, doesn't utter a bad word.
"'Where are you off to?" he asks, his teeth bared and his eyes vicious.
'"Ah," t^^s I, "you devil, you!"
"'I'm going to do smallpox vaccinations," say I. "And what buanes is it of yours?"
"'Well, if that's how it is," he says, "then you can vaccinate me too,"—and he bares his arm and shoves it under my nose.
'I don't stop to argue of course, I just vaccinate to get rid of him. Then I look at my lancet—and it's rusty all over.'
The peasant sleeping by the stove suddenly turned over and threw off his coat. To his amazement, Yergunov recognized the very stranger whom he had met that day in Snake Gulch. The peasant's hair, beard and eyes were black as soot, and his face was swarthy, besides which he had a black spot the size of a lentil on his right cheek. He looked at Yergunov contemptuously.
'I did take hold of your left rein,' said he. 'That's quite true. But about the vaccination you are lying, sir. We never even mentioned vaccination, you and I.'
The orderly was taken aback.
'l wasn't talking about you,' he said. 'So if you're lying dowi, lie down.'
The swarthy peasant had never been to the hospital, and Yergunov did not know who he was or where he came from. Looking at the man now, he decided that he must be a gypsy. The peasant stood up, stretched himself, gave a loud ya^, went up to Lyubka and Kalash- nikov, sat down beside them and also started looking at the book. Rapture and envy appeared on his sleepy face.
'Look, Merik,' said Lyubka to him, 'you bring me horses like that, and I'll drive to heaven.'
'Sinners can't go to heaven,' said Kalashnikov. 'You have to be a saint.'
Then Lyubka laid the table, serving a large hunk of bacon fat, salted gherkins and a wooden platter of stewed meat cut in small pieces, followed by a frying-pan with sausage and cabbage hissing in it. A cut-glass spirits decanter also appeared on the table, wafting a smell of orange peel through the room after everyone had been poured a glass.
Yergunov was annoyed that Kalashnikov and the dark-skinned Merik should talk to each other and ignore him—he might just as well not have been there. And he wanted to talk to them, wanted to brag, have a drink and a good meal—and a spot of fun with Lyubka if possible. While they supped, she sat downwn near him half a dozen times, touching him with her lovely shoulders as if by accident, and stroking her broad hips with her hands. She was a hearty, laughing, flighty, restive girl who kept sitting do^ and standing-up. While sitting, she would keep turning her breast or her back to her neighbour—she was a proper fidget—and was always brushing against him with elbow or knee.
Yergunov was also displeased by the peasants drinking only a glass apiece, and it was somehow awkward for him to drink on his own. But he could not stop himself taking a second glass, then a third, and he ate up all the sausage. Not wanting the peasants to cold-shoulder him, he decided on flattery so as to be accepted as one of the boys.
'You've some great lads in Bogalyovka!' he said with a w:>g of his head.
'Great in what way?' Kalashnikov asked.
'Oh, you know, take that horse business. Great rustlers, that lot are!'
'What's so great about them? They're drunkards and thieves, more like.'
'That's all over and done with,' said Merik after a short pause. 'Old Filya's about the only one of them left now, and he's blind.'
'Yes, there's only Filya,' sighcd Kalashnikov. 'He must be about seventy now, I reckon. Some German settlers put out one of his eyes, and he doesn't see too well with the other. Wall-eyed, he is. There was a time when the police inspector would see him, and—"Hallo there, Sharnil!" he'd shout. And the peasants all said the same. Shamil, they always called him, but now he's only known as One-eyed Filya. He was a proper lad! He and old Andrew—Lyubka's father that was— made their way into Rozhnovo one night when some cavalry regi- ments were stationed there. They stole nine military mounts, the pick of the bunch, and they weren't frightened of the sentries. And that very morning they sold all these horses to Gypsy Afonka for twenty roubles. Aye! But nowadays your thief is more concerned to steal a horse from someone who's drunk or asleep. He's lost to shame, he'll steal the very boots off a drunkard—and thcn he's so grasping he'll take the'horse over a hundred miles away, and try to sell it in a market, haggling like a Jew till the police sergeant arrests him, the fool. That's no fun, it's a thorough disgrace. They're a miserable lot, I must say!'