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Read Online The village. [Translation from the original Russian text by Isabel Hapgood] by 1870-1953 Ivan Alekseevich Bunin - Free Book Online
Authors: 1870-1953 Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
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years in that one week, replied to them with such insolent vituperation that even her own mother was terrified by her face at such moments. But the discussions provoked by the rumours did not cease, and every one awaited with immense impatience the arrival of Rodka and his chastisement of his wife. Much agitated—once more jarred out of his rut—Tik-hon Hitch also awaited that impending chastisement, having heard from his own labourers of what had occurred in the garden. Why, that scandal might end in murder! But it ended in such a manner that it is still a matter of doubt which would have startled the Durnovka folks more powerfully—murder, or such a
THE VILLAGE
termination. On the night before the Feast of St. Michael, Rodka, who had returned home "to change his shirt," and who had not laid a finger on the Bride, died suddenly of "stomach trouble"! This became known in Vorgol late in the evening; but Tikhon Hitch instantly gave orders to harness his horse, and drove at top speed, through the darkness and the rain, to his brother. And after having gulped down, on top of his tea, a whole bottle of fruit brandy, he made confession to him, in his burning excitement, with passionate expressions, and eyes wildly rolling: '"Tis my fault, brother; the sin is mine!"
Having heard him out, Kuzma held his peace for a long time, and for a long time paced up and down the room plucking at his fingers, twisting them, cracking their joints. At last he said: "Just think it over: is there any nation more ferocious than ours? In town, if a petty thief snatches from a hawker's tray a pancake worth a farthing, the whole population of the eating-house section pursues him, and when they catch him they force him to eat soap. The whole town turns out for a fire, or a fight, and how sorry they are that the fire or the fight is so soon ended! Don't shake your head, don't do it: they are sorry! And how they revel in it when some one beats his wife to death, or thrashes a small boy within an inch of his life, or jeers at him! That's the most amusing thing in the world."
Tikhon Hitch inquired: "What's your object in saying that?"
THE VILLAGE
"Just for the sake of talking!" replied Kuzma, angrily, and went on: "Take that half-witted girl, Fesha, who wanders about Durnovka, for example. The young fellows squander their last coppers on her—■ put her down on the village common and set to work whacking her over her cropped head, at the rate of ten whacks for a farthing! And is that done out of ill-nature? Yes, out of ill-nature, certainly; and also from a sort of stupidity, curse it! Well, and that's the case with the Bride."
"Bear in mind," interrupted Tikhon Hitch hotly, "that there are always plenty of blackguards and blockheads everywhere."
"Exactly so. And didn't you yourself bring that— well, what's his name?"
"Duck-headed Motya, you mean?" asked Tikhon Hitch.
"Yes, that's it. Didn't you bring him here for your own amusement?"
And Tikhon Hitch burst out laughing: he had done that very thing. Once, even, Motya had been sent to him by the railway in a sugar-cask. The town was only about an arm's length distant, and he knew the officials—so they sent the man to him. And the inscription on the cask ran: "With care. A complete Fool."
"And these same fools are taught vices, for amusement!" Kuzma went on bitterly.—"The yard-gates of poor brides are smeared with tar! Beggars are hunted with dogs! For amusement, pigeons are knocked off
THE VILLAGE
roofs with stones! Yet, as you know, 'tis a great sin to eat those same pigeons. The Holy Spirit Himself assumes the form of a dove, you see!"
XIII
THE samovar had long since grown cold, the candle had guttered down, smoke hung over the room in a dull blue cloud, the slop-basin was filled to the very brim with soggy, reeking cigarette butts. The ventilator—a tin pipe in the upper corner of the window—was open, and once in a while a squeaking and a whirling and a terribly tiresome
THE VILLAGE
termination. On the night before the Feast of St. Michael, Rodka, who had returned home "to change his shirt," and who had not laid a finger on the Bride, died suddenly of "stomach trouble"! This became known in Vorgol late in the evening; but Tikhon Hitch instantly gave orders to harness his horse, and drove at top speed, through the darkness and the rain, to his brother. And after having gulped down, on top of his tea, a whole bottle of fruit brandy, he made confession to him, in his burning excitement, with passionate expressions, and eyes wildly rolling: '"Tis my fault, brother; the sin is mine!"
Having heard him out, Kuzma held his peace for a long time, and for a long time paced up and down the room plucking at his fingers, twisting them, cracking their joints. At last he said: "Just think it over: is there any nation more ferocious than ours? In town, if a petty thief snatches from a hawker's tray a pancake worth a farthing, the whole population of the eating-house section pursues him, and when they catch him they force him to eat soap. The whole town turns out for a fire, or a fight, and how sorry they are that the fire or the fight is so soon ended! Don't shake your head, don't do it: they are sorry! And how they revel in it when some one beats his wife to death, or thrashes a small boy within an inch of his life, or jeers at him! That's the most amusing thing in the world."
Tikhon Hitch inquired: "What's your object in saying that?"
THE VILLAGE
"Just for the sake of talking!" replied Kuzma, angrily, and went on: "Take that half-witted girl, Fesha, who wanders about Durnovka, for example. The young fellows squander their last coppers on her—■ put her down on the village common and set to work whacking her over her cropped head, at the rate of ten whacks for a farthing! And is that done out of ill-nature? Yes, out of ill-nature, certainly; and also from a sort of stupidity, curse it! Well, and that's the case with the Bride."
"Bear in mind," interrupted Tikhon Hitch hotly, "that there are always plenty of blackguards and blockheads everywhere."
"Exactly so. And didn't you yourself bring that— well, what's his name?"
"Duck-headed Motya, you mean?" asked Tikhon Hitch.
"Yes, that's it. Didn't you bring him here for your own amusement?"
And Tikhon Hitch burst out laughing: he had done that very thing. Once, even, Motya had been sent to him by the railway in a sugar-cask. The town was only about an arm's length distant, and he knew the officials—so they sent the man to him. And the inscription on the cask ran: "With care. A complete Fool."
"And these same fools are taught vices, for amusement!" Kuzma went on bitterly.—"The yard-gates of poor brides are smeared with tar! Beggars are hunted with dogs! For amusement, pigeons are knocked off
THE VILLAGE
roofs with stones! Yet, as you know, 'tis a great sin to eat those same pigeons. The Holy Spirit Himself assumes the form of a dove, you see!"
XIII
THE samovar had long since grown cold, the candle had guttered down, smoke hung over the room in a dull blue cloud, the slop-basin was filled to the very brim with soggy, reeking cigarette butts. The ventilator—a tin pipe in the upper corner of the window—was open, and once in a while a squeaking and a whirling and a terribly tiresome
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