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Read books online » Fiction » The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (leveled readers .txt) 📖

Book online «The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (leveled readers .txt) 📖». Author graf Tolstoy Leo



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the table.

 

‘I have all I want. I have victuals, thank God!’ he said proudly.

‘Well, and what of Mosev?’ he added.

 

Lukashka, evidently wishing to know the old man’s opinion, told

him how the officer had taken the gun from him.

 

‘Never mind the gun,’ said the old man. ‘If you don’t give the gun

you will get no reward.’

 

‘But they say. Daddy, it’s little reward a fellow gets when he is

not yet a mounted Cossack; and the gun is a fine one, a Crimean,

worth eighty rubles.’

 

‘Eh, let it go! I had a dispute like that with an officer, he

wanted my horse. “Give it me and you’ll be made a cornet,” says

he. I wouldn’t, and I got nothing!’

 

‘Yes, Daddy, but you see I have to buy a horse; and they say you

can’t get one the other side of the river under fifty rubles, and

mother has not yet sold our wine.’

 

‘Eh, we didn’t bother,’ said the old man; ‘when Daddy Eroshka was

your age he already stole herds of horses from the Nogay folk and

drove them across the Terek. Sometimes we’d give a fine horse for

a quart of vodka or a cloak.’

 

‘Why so cheap?’ asked Lukashka.

 

‘You’re a fool, a fool, Mark,’ said the old man contemptuously.

‘Why, that’s what one steals for, so as not to be stingy! As for

you, I suppose you haven’t so much as seen how one drives off a

herd of horses? Why don’t you speak?’

 

‘What’s one to say. Daddy?’ replied Lukashka. ‘It seems we are not

the same sort of men as you were.’

 

‘You’re a fool. Mark, a fool! “Not the same sort of men!”’

retorted the old man, mimicking the Cossack lad. ‘I was not that

sort of Cossack at your age.’

 

‘How’s that?’ asked Lukashka.

 

The old man shook his head contemptuously.

 

‘Daddy Eroshka was simple; he did not grudge anything! That’s why

I was kunak with all Chechnya. A kunak would come to visit me and

I’d make him drunk with vodka and make him happy and put him to

sleep with me, and when I went to see him I’d take him a present—

a dagger! That’s the way it is done, and not as you do nowadays:

the only amusement lads have now is to crack seeds and spit out

the shells!’ the old man finished contemptuously, imitating the

present-day Cossacks cracking seeds and spitting out the shells.

 

‘Yes, I know,’ said Lukashka; ‘that’s so!’

 

‘If you wish to be a fellow of the right sort, be a brave and not

a peasant! Because even a peasant can buy a horse—pay the money

and take the horse.’

 

They were silent for a while.

 

‘Well, of course it’s dull both in the village and the cordon,

Daddy: but there’s nowhere one can go for a bit of sport. All our

fellows are so timid. Take Nazarka. The other day when we went to

the Tartar village, Girey Khan asked us to come to Nogay to take

some horses, but no one went, and how was I to go alone?’

 

‘And what of Daddy? Do you think I am quite dried up? … No, I’m

not dried up. Let me have a horse and I’ll be off to Nogay at

once.’

 

‘What’s the good of talking nonsense!’ said Luke. ‘You’d better

tell me what to do about Girey Khan. He says, “Only bring horses

to the Terek, and then even if you bring a whole stud I’ll find a

place for them.” You see he’s also a shaven-headed Tartar—how’s

one to believe him?’

 

‘You may trust Girey Khan, all his kin were good people. His

father too was a faithful kunak. But listen to Daddy and I won’t

teach you wrong: make him take an oath, then it will be all right.

And if you go with him, have your pistol ready all the same,

especially when it comes to dividing up the horses. I was nearly

killed that way once by a Chechen. I wanted ten rubles from him

for a horse. Trusting is all right, but don’t go to sleep without

a gun.’ Lukashka listened attentively to the old man.

 

‘I say. Daddy, have you any stone-break grass?’ he asked after a

pause.

 

‘No, I haven’t any, but I’ll teach you how to get it. You’re a

good lad and won’t forget the old man…. Shall I tell you?’

 

‘Tell me, Daddy.’

 

‘You know a tortoise? She’s a devil, the tortoise is!’

 

‘Of course I know!’

 

‘Find her nest and fence it round so that she can’t get in. Well,

she’ll come, go round it, and then will go off to find the stone-break grass and will bring some along and destroy the fence.

Anyhow next morning come in good time, and where the fence is

broken there you’ll find the stone-break grass lying. Take it

wherever you like. No lock and no bar will be able to stop you.’

 

‘Have you tried it yourself. Daddy?’

 

‘As for trying, I have not tried it, but I was told of it by good

people. I used only one charm: that was to repeat the Pilgrim

rhyme when mounting my horse; and no one ever killed me!’

 

‘What is the Pilgrim rhyme. Daddy?’

 

‘What, don’t you know it? Oh, what people! You’re right to ask

Daddy. Well, listen, and repeat after me:

 

‘Hail! Ye, living in Sion, This is your King, Our steeds we shall

sit on, Sophonius is weeping. Zacharias is speaking, Father

Pilgrim, Mankind ever loving.’

 

‘Kind ever loving,’ the old man repeated. ‘Do you know it now? Try

it.’

 

Lukashka laughed.

 

‘Come, Daddy, was it that that hindered their killing you? Maybe

it just happened so!’

 

‘You’ve grown too clever! You learn it all, and say it. It will do

you no harm. Well, suppose you have sung “Pilgrim”, it’s all

right,’ and the old man himself began laughing. ‘But just one

thing, Luke, don’t you go to Nogay!’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Times have changed. You are not the same men. You’ve become

rubbishy Cossacks! And see how many Russians have come down on us!

You’d get to prison. Really, give it up! Just as if you could! Now

Girchik and I, we used…’

 

And the old man was about to begin one of his endless tales, but

Lukashka glanced at the window and interrupted him.

 

‘It is quite light. Daddy. It’s time to be off. Look us up some

day.’

 

‘May Christ save you! I’ll go to the officer; I promised to take

him out shooting. He seems a good fellow.’

Chapter XVII

From Eroshka’s hut Lukashka went home. As he returned, the dewy

mists were rising from the ground and enveloped the village. In

various places the cattle, though out of sight, could be heard

beginning to stir. The cocks called to one another with increasing

frequency and insistence. The air was becoming more transparent,

and the villagers were getting up. Not till he was close to it

could Lukishka discern the fence of his yard, all wet with dew,

the porch of the hut, and the open shed. From the misty yard he

heard the sound of an axe chopping wood. Lukashka entered the hut.

His mother was up, and stood at the oven throwing wood into it.

His little sister was still lying in bed asleep.

 

‘Well, Lukashka, had enough holiday-making?’ asked his mother

softly. ‘Where did you spend the night?’

 

‘I was in the village,’ replied her son reluctantly, reaching for

his musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully.

 

His mother swayed her head.

 

Lukashka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little

bag from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began

filling, carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag.

Then, having tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and

examined them, he put down the bag.

 

‘I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been

done?’ he asked.

 

‘Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night. Why, is

it time for you to be going back to the cordon? I haven’t seen

anything of you!’

 

‘Yes, as soon as I have got ready I shall have to go,’ answered

Lukashka, tying up the gunpowder. ‘And where is our dumb one?

Outside?’

 

‘Chopping wood, I expect. She kept fretting for you. “I shall not

see him at all!” she said. She puts her hand to her face like

this, and clicks her tongue and presses her hands to her heart as

much as to say—“sorry.” Shall I call her in? She understood all

about the abrek.’

 

‘Call her,’ said Lukashka. ‘And I had some tallow there; bring it:

I must grease my sword.’

 

The old woman went out, and a few minutes later Lukashka’s dumb

sister came up the creaking steps and entered the hut. She was six

years older than her brother and would have been extremely like

him had it not been for the dull and coarsely changeable

expression (common to all deaf and dumb people) of her face. She

wore a coarse smock all patched; her feet were bare and muddy, and

on her head she had an old blue kerchief. Her neck, arms, and face

were sinewy like a peasant’s. Her clothing and her whole

appearance indicated that she always did the hard work of a man.

She brought in a heap of logs which she threw down by the oven.

Then she went up to her brother, and with a joyful smile which

made her whole face pucker up, touched him on the shoulder and

began making rapid signs to him with her hands, her face, and

whole body.

 

‘That’s right, that’s right, Stepka is a trump!’ answered the

brother, nodding. ‘She’s fetched everything and mended everything,

she’s a trump! Here, take this for it!’ He brought out two pieces

of gingerbread from his pocket and gave them to her.

 

The dumb woman’s face flushed with pleasure, and she began making

a weird noise for joy. Having seized the gingerbread she began to

gesticulate still more rapidly, frequently pointing in one

direction and passing her thick finger over her eyebrows and her

face. Lukashka understood her and kept nodding, while he smiled

slightly. She was telling him to give the girls dainties, and that

the girls liked him, and that one girl, Maryanka—the best of them

all—loved him. She indicated Maryanka by rapidly pointing in the

direction of Maryanka’s home and to her own eyebrows and face, and

by smacking her lips and swaying her head. ‘Loves’ she expressed

by pressing her hands to her breast, kissing her hand, and

pretending to embrace someone. Their mother returned to the hut,

and seeing what her dumb daughter was saying, smiled and shook her

head. Her daughter showed her the gingerbread and again made the

noise which expressed joy.

 

‘I told Ulitka the other day that I’d send a matchmaker to them,’

said the mother. ‘She took my words well.’

 

Lukashka looked silently at his mother.

 

‘But how about selling the wine, mother? I need a horse.’

 

‘I’ll cart it when I have time. I must get the barrels ready,’

said the mother, evidently not wishing her son to meddle in

domestic matters. ‘When you go out you’ll find a bag in the

passage. I borrowed from the neighbours and got something for you

to take back to the cordon; or shall I put it in your saddle-bag?’

 

‘All right,’ answered Lukashka. ‘And if Girey Khan

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