Полное собрание сочинений в 10 томах. Том 6. Художественная проза

«None of that,» cried Mitia and a knife gleamed in his hand. «You will go back where you came from, now, immediately, or...»

«What, you here my good Sir?» interrupted Vania’s gentle tones. «It is pleasant travelling, isn’t it? The weather is so beautiful. Mitia had sat down to smoke a cigarette and I was hunting for wild strawberries. Look how big and sweet they are. Will you taste one?»

«Listen, Vania —,» began Mesentzeff, «I have something very serious to tell you...»

«I say Vania,» interrupted Mitia in his turn, «do you know that this gentleman has decided to come along with us and see all the interesting things; visit to make the acquaintance of our brotherhood and visit our wonderful city in the mountains? But to allow it, we must impose a few conditions. Leave us a moment. You are in the way. Trot off for another little walk...»

«All right,» answered the unsuspecting Vania, «but hurry up, for it’s time for supper.»

And he strolled away eating his strawberries. «Look here, Sir,» began Mitia in persuasive accents, «I won’t touch you. I’m not as bad as you think. But don’t tell Vania yet about Masha. You may tell him tomorrow... later... meanwhile I promise to show you in return things that you dwellers in towns don’t even suspect the existence of. The peasants have the appearance only of being simple. Once try and see them as they really are; and all your life long you’ll not forget the experience. You will see a town too that is on no map and which is of more importance to the world than Moscow. And though you don’t like me, I will be a good friend to you.»

Mesentzeff was too mentally tired to pursue the drama... besides at the back of his mind was the recollection of Mitia’s knife, which he had no wish to see again. His ethnographical curiosity was aroused, moreover, and he could not let slip the opportunity of a unique adventure that might establish his fame for ever in the 4th department of the Academy of Science at Petrograd.

«Very good,» he answered sharply. «I will not speak tonight: only don’t forget, Mitia...» he stopped, not knowing how to frame his threat and Mitia seemed satisfied...

«Then let’s have supper,» he cried. «There is bread and onions. What more can a man want?»

II

By following the high road, Mesentzeff, Mitia and Vania came in sight of the village of O. ... In the course of the last few days, Mitia had become wonderfully sweet in his manner to Mesentzeff, much to the latter’s surprise. He smoked Mesentzeff’s cigarettes, showed him how to keep warm when they slept at night in the open fields and once in sudden burst of confidence, after first begging permission with an appealing glance, rested his head on the other’s knee. Mesentzeff felt flattered, though ashamed to admit it even to himself.

The red twilight was too red, the heat overpowering. A fetid wind covered the road with little columns of dust, spinning slowly. The peasants say that if these columns are cut with a sickle or scythe, a drop of blood remains upon the steel.

Vania picked blades of grass and chewed them, murmuring, «My soul glorifies the Lord,» while Mitia scanned the horizon, his hand raised to protect his eyes, for the sun was quite low.

«What a sky! what a sky!» he exclaimed at last, rubbing his palms together in glee.

«Why, what a sky?» asked Mesentzeff who was getting tired.

«Arrayed by prayer, burnt by fire, and scarred by the flight of dragons! In the olden times the dragons flew freely about Russia, trying to catch the Russian maids. The men were not worth much. It’s only the legends that make them out to be heroes; but the girls!.. Nowadays there are none like them. The dragons were eagles; red, red eagles, flecked with blue... They had tails like horses and beaks like martins and this was their fate. When a dragon carried away a maid beyond the Caspian and fed on the sweet-tasting crab-apples of her breasts, the girl died. And when the girl died, the dragon died also. That is why the race has disappeared. Maids are common, but dragons are rare.»

«That’s all nonsense,» said Vania.

«It may be nonsense; but old people will tell you so; and Vania is not a universal genius or an Aristotle!» replied Mitia sharply and almost immediately burst out again in a joyful tone: «There’s Misha. The dove is out of his cote! He must have discovered something.»

On the outskirts of the village a figure rather resembling a bear was limping at a slow pace towards the travellers.