The boy raised his head and looked ahead with glazed cyes. The distant, lilac-coloured background, hitherto motionless, lurched and soared off, together with the sky, into the even furthcr beyond, dragging the bro-wn grass and sedge behind it, while Yegorushka hurtlcd after the retreating perspcctive with phenomenal spced. An unknown force silently drew him along with the heat and the weari- some song careering in his wake. He bowed his head, closing his eyes.
Deniska was the first to awake. Somcthing must havc bittcn him, for he jumpcd up and quickly scratched his shoulder with a 'damn you, blast you and perdition take you!'
Then he went over to the brook, drank and slowly washed. His snorting and splashing roused Yegorushka from oblivion. The boy looked at the man's \vet face, covcred with drops and large freckles that created a mottlcd effect. 'Shall wc be leaving soon?' he asked.
Deniska checked the sun's height. 'Soon, that's for sure.' He dried himself on his shirt tail, assumcd an air of the utmost gravity and bcgan hopping on one foot. 'Come on, hop! Race you to the sedgc!'
Yegorushka was drowsy and ediausted by the heat, but hopped aftcr him all the same. Deniska was about twenty, a working coach- man, and was going to bc married. But he was still a boy at heart. He was fond of flying kites, of racing pigeons, of playing knuckle- boncs and tag, and he was always taking part in children's games and quarrels. His employers only had to go away or fall asleep for him to start hopping, throwing stones and similar antics. Noting his genuine enthusiasm when cavorting in juvenile company, adults found it hard not to remark what a 'great oaf' he was. But children saw nothing odd in their domain being invaded by a large coachman—let him play so long as he wasn't too rough. Similarly, small dogssee nothing strange in an ^ophisticated big dog intruding on them and playing with them.
Deniska overtook Yegorushka, obviously delighted to do so. He winked, and—to show that he could hop any distance on- one foot— proposed that the boy should hop along the road with him, and then back to the carriage without stopping. This proposal Yegorushka declined, being out of breath and exhausted.
Suddenly asstuming an air even graver than that which he wore when Kuzmichov rebuked him or threatened him with his stick, Deniska cocked his ears and dropped quietly on one knee. A stem and fearful expresion, as of someone hearing heretical talk, appeared on his face, and he fixed his eyes on one spot, slowly raised his hand— holding it like a scoop—and then suddenly flopped on his stomach and slapped the scoop on the grass.
'Got him!' he hoarsely gloated, rising to his feet and presenting a big grasshopper to the boy's gaze.
T^^^g to please the grasshopper, Yegorushka and Deniska stroked its broad green back with their fingers and touched its whis- kers. Then Deniska caught a fat, blood-gorged fly and offered it to the grashopper. With sublime nonchalance—as if it were an old friend of Deniska's—the creature moved its large, visor-shaped jaws and bit off the fly's belly. They let the grasshopper go, and it flashed the pink lining of its wings, landed on the grass, and at once resumed trilling. They let the fly go too. It preened its wings and flew off to the horses minus a stomach.
From beneath the carriage a deep sigh proceeded—Kuzmichov had woken up. He quickly raised his head, cast a troubled look into the distance, a look that slid unconcernedly past Yegorushka and Deniska and showed that his waking thoughts had been ofwool and Varlamov.
'Father Christopher, get up—time to start,' he said anxiously. 'We've slept enough, we'll have missed our deal as it is. Hitch up the horses, Deniska.'
Father Christopher woke up, smiling the smile with which he had dozed off. Sleep had so creased and wrinkled his face that it seemed half its usual size. He washed, drnsed, unhurriedly took a small, greasy psaltcr out of his pocket, faced east and began a whispered rccital, croaing hi^^lf.
'Time to be off, Father Christopher,' Kuzmichov reproached him. 'The horses are ready. Now, look here '
)ust a minute,' muttered Father Christopher. 'Must read my doxG- Iogy. Didn't do it earlier.'
'Your doxology can wait.'
'I have to do one section every day, Kuzmichov, I really do.'
'God would forgive you.'
For a full quarter of an hour Father Christopher stood stock-still, facing east and moving his lips, while Kuzmichov looked at him almost with hatred, his shoulders fidgeting impatiently. He was par- ticularly enraged when—after each 'Glory!'—Father Christopher took a deep breath, quickly crossed himself and thrice intoned his 'Hal- leluja, halleluja, halleluja, glory be to Thee, O Lord!' in a deliberately loud voice so that the others had to cross themselves too.
At last he smiled, looked at the sky, put the psalter in his pocket, and said 'Finis'.
A minute later the britzka was under way. It might have been going back instead of preKing on, for the travellers saw the same scene as before noon. The hills still swam in the lilac-hued distance and there still seemed to be no end to them. High weeds and boulders flined past and strips of stubble sailed by, while the same rooks, and the same kite with its steadily flapping wings, flew over the steppe. More and more the air seemed to congeal in heat and silence, submissive naturc became petrified and soundless. There was no wind, no chcering fresh sound, no cloud.
But then at last, as the sun began setting in the west, the prairie, the hills and the air could stand the strain and torment no longer, lost patience and tried to cast off the burden. Behind the hills, a fleecy ash- grey cloud unexpectedly appeared. It exchanged glances with the steppe, as if to say 'I'm ready', and fro^ed. In the stagnant air something suddenly snapped, and a violent squall of wind swirled, roaring and whistling, about the area. At once the graK and last year's vegetation raised a murmur, while a dust spiral eddied over the road and sped along the prairie, swecping straw, dragonflies and feathers behind it in a gyrating black column, soarcd up into the sky, and obscured thc sun. Hither and thither over the hcath tufts ofloosc herbage raced off, stumbling and bobbing. One of them was caught by the whirlwind, pirouetted like a bird, flew aloft, t^ned into a black speck and van- ished. After it swept another, and then a third. Yegorushka saw two such tufts clash and grapple like wrestlers in the azure heights.
Right by the roadside a bustard flew up. Bathed in sunshine, wings and tail gleaming, it looked like an angler's artificial fly or a pond moth whose wings, as it darts over the water, merge with the whiskers that seem to have sprouted in front, behind and on all sides. Vibrating in the air like an insect, the bird soared vertically aloft with a shimmer of bright colours, and then—probably scared by a dust cloud— sw^ed aside, the glint of it remaining visible for a long time.
Then, alarmed and baffled by a whirlwind, a corncrake sprang up from the gras. It flew with the wind, not against it like other birds, and so its feathers were ruffled, puffing it out to a hen's size, and giving it a furious, imposing look. Only the rooks—grownwn old in the steppe and accustomed to its upsets—calmly floated over the grass, or pecked non- chalantly and heedlessly at the hard earth with their thick beaks.
There was a dull growl ofthunder from beyond the hills, and a puff of fresh air. Deniska whistled cheerfully, belabouring his horses, while Father Christopher and Kuzmichov held their hats and stared at the hills. A shower would not come amiss.
With a little more effort, with one more heave, the steppe would assert itself, it seemed. But an invisible, oppressive force gradually i^mobilized wind and air, laying the dust, until stillness reigned again as if it had never been broken. The cloud vanished, the scorched hills frownwned, and the subdued air was still, with only the troubled lapwings somewhere weeping and bemoaning their fate.
Soon evening came on.
III
A large bungalow with a rusty iron roof and dark windows showed up in the gloaming. It was called a posting in, though it had no stableyard, and it stood in the middle of the prairie with no fencing round it. A wretched little cherry orchard and some hurdles made a dark patch somewhat to one side, and under the windows stood sleepy sunflowers, their heavy heads drooping. In the orchard a miniature windmill rattled, having been put there to scare the hares. Near the house there was nothing to see or hear but the prairie.