The island on which Grandfather had built his cottage was, of course, the most mysterious place in the world. There were two large, deep ponds behind the house. Their dark waters and the surrounding old willows gave the place a gloomy feel. On the hill beyond the ponds stood an impenetrable tangle of nut trees. Beyond the trees stretched several meadows filled with flowers up to your waist whose fragrance on a sultry day was enough to give you a headache. Past the meadows a thin trail of smoke rose from Grandfather’s crude hut by the beehives. And beyond the hut lay unexplored lands – rocky hills of red granite covered in creeping vines and wild strawberries. There were small pools of rainwater amid the rocky hollows. Little wagtails, shaking their bright feathers, drank the warm water in these pools. Cheeky bumblebees, having clumsily splashed down into the water, spun around and buzzed, vainly calling for help.
The rocks ended in a steep cliff above the Ros. We were forbidden from going this far, but once in a while we crawled out to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The sight of the torrent of clear water rushing down the Ros made our heads spin. Just below the surface of the water, skinny fish, struggling against the current, slowly made their way upstream.
Spread out along a slope on the far side of the river was the forest preserve of Countess Branitskaya. The green forest was so thick the sun could not penetrate it. It was rare when a ray of sunlight managed to break through the trees to reveal the amazing forest depths. Little birds darted into the beam like twinkling dust motes. They chirped as they chased each other and then dived into the leaves as if into green water.
But the ponds were my favourite place to visit.
Father went there to fish every morning, and he took me with him. We went out very early, moving slowly through the heavy, wet grass. Catching the first light of day, the willow branches shone like tranquil slivers of gold amid the dark, as yet nocturnal foliage. The carp splashed, disturbing the quiet water. Clumps of water lilies, knotweed and arrowhead hung as though suspended somehow above a black abyss.
This mysterious world of water and weeds opened itself before me. I was so enchanted by this world that I could have sat on the banks from sunrise to sunset.
Father would silently cast his line and light a cigarette. The smoke drifted over the water and wound through the rushes. I gathered a pail of water from the pond, threw in a handful of weeds, and waited. Red floats rested motionless on the surface of the water. Then one of them would begin to tilt, creating slight ripples, before either diving to the bottom or shooting to one side. Father hooked a fish, the line tightened, the wooden rod bowed into an arc and then a thrashing, splashing row erupted in the haze over the pond. The ripples rocked the lilies and sent the pond skaters scuttling in all directions, and then, finally, out of the mysterious depths there appeared a quivering streak of gold. It was impossible to know just what it was until Father landed the heavy carp on the trampled grass. It lay on its side gasping for air and moving its fins. The carp’s scales smelled of a wondrous, underwater realm.
I dropped the fish in the pail. It thrashed about among the weeds, smacking its tail all of a sudden and splashing me with water. I licked the water from my lips and felt a deep urge to drink from the pail, but Father wouldn’t let me.
It seemed to me that the water in the pail with the carp and the weeds tasted as delicious and refreshing as rainwater. We little boys loved to drink rainwater and we believed it could make you live to the age of one hundred and twenty. At least that’s what Nechipor always said.
4
Pleurisy
Thunderstorms at Gorodishche were common. They began on the peasant festival of Ivan Kupala and lasted all July. They besieged the island with enormous multi-coloured clouds, which flashed and crashed, shaking the house and frightening Aunt Dozia half to death.
These storms are connected with the memory of my first childhood love affair. I was nine years old at the time. On the festival of Ivan Kupala the girls from Pilipchi arrived on the island in their finest dresses like a brightly feathered flock of birds to float wreaths down the river. They wove the wreaths out of wild flowers. In the centre of each wreath, they affixed a wooden crosspiece which held a wax candle-end. The girls lit the candles at dusk and then released the wreaths into the river. The candles told the girls’ fortunes – the one whose candle was the last to go out would know the most happiness. But the most fortunate of all were the girls whose wreaths drifted into the whirlpool and slowly spun around and around in the eddy just before the rapids. The air here was still and the flame would burn with unusual intensity such that you could even hear the wick crackle from the banks.
Everyone – children and grown-ups – loved these wreaths on Ivan Kupala Day. Nechipor alone grunted dismissively and liked to say: ‘Bunch of nonsense! Those wreaths are pointless!’
Hannah, a distant cousin, came with the girls. She was sixteen. She braided orange and black ribbons in her thick reddish plaits. Around her neck hung a necklace of dull coral. Hannah had sparkling, greenish eyes. Every time Hannah smiled, she lowered her eyes and then raised them slowly as if they were too heavy to lift. Her cheeks were always burning red. I used to hear Mama and Aunt Dozia speaking of Hannah with pity. I wanted to know why, but they always fell silent as soon as I approached.
One Ivan Kupala Day I went down to the river with Hannah to see the girls. On the way she asked: ‘Kostik, what are you going to be when you grow up?’
‘A sailor,’ I answered.
‘Oh no, don’t do that!’ said Hannah. ‘Sailors drown out at sea. Someone will then cry their eyes out over you.’
I didn’t pay any attention to what Hannah said. I held her hot, suntanned hand in mine and told her about my first trip to the sea.
Early that spring my father had taken me with him to Novorossiisk on a three-day business trip. The sea appeared to be far off, like a blue wall. For a long time I couldn’t tell what it was. Then I caught sight of the green bay and the lighthouse and heard the sound of the breakers, and the sea filled me like the memory of a confused but magnificent dream. Two black battleships with yellow funnels sat anchored in the harbour: the Twelve Apostles and the Three Bishops. My father and I visited the ships. I was amazed by the sunburned officers, with their white uniforms and gold-hilted daggers, and by the oily warmth of the engine room. But I was most amazed by my father. I had never seen him like this before. He laughed, he joked and he carried on lively conversations with the officers. We even visited one of the ship’s engineers in his cabin. The two men drank cognac together and smoked pink Turkish cigarettes with gold Arabic lettering on them.
Hannah listened with her head lowered. For some reason I felt bad for her, and I said that when I became a sailor, I would immediately take her with me aboard my ship.
‘As what?’ Hannah asked. ‘The ship’s cook or the laundress?’
‘No!’ I answered, fired by my schoolboy enthusiasm. ‘You’ll be my wife.’
Hannah stopped and looked me square in the eyes. ‘Promise!’ she whispered. ‘Swear on it in your mother’s name!’
‘I swear!’ I answered, not even thinking what I was saying.
Hannah smiled, her eyes turned as green as seawater, and she gave me a big kiss on the forehead. Her lips were hot. Neither of us said a word the rest of the way to the river.
Hannah’s candle was the first to go out. A massive dark storm cloud had appeared over Countess Branitskaya’s forest, but, distracted by the wreaths, we did not notice it until the wind struck, thrashing the reeds and bending them to the ground, and the first flash of lightning lit the sky in a blinding explosion of thunder. The girls ran screaming into the woods. Hannah tore the shawl from her shoulders, wrapped it around me, grabbed my hand, and off we ran. She dragged me behind her, but the downpour was catching up with us and I knew there was no way we’d ever make it home in time.