Short Fiction Leonid Andreyev (best books to read .txt) 📖

“Are there many wounded?” asked I.

He waved his hand.

“A great many madmen. More so than wounded.”

“Real madmen?”

“What others can there be?”

He was looking at me, and his eyes wore the same fixed, wild expression, full of cold horror, that the soldier’s had, who died of sunstroke.

“Stop that,” said I, turning away.

“The doctor is mad also. Just look at him.”

The doctor had not heard. He was sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, swaying to and fro, soundlessly moving his lips and fingertips. And in his gaze there was the same fixed, stupefied, blunt, stricken expression.

“I feel cold,” said he, and smiled.

“Hang you all!” cried I, moving away into a corner of the carriage. “What did you call me up for?”

Nobody answered. The student stood gazing out at the mute spreading glow, and the back of his head with its curly hair was youthful; and when I looked at him, I do not know why, but I kept picturing to myself a delicate woman’s hand passing through that hair. And this image was so unpleasant, that a feeling of hatred sprang up in my breast, and I could not look at him without a feeling of loathing.

“How old are you?” I asked, but he did not turn his head and did not answer.

The doctor kept on rocking himself.

“I feel cold.”

“When I think,” said the student, without turning round, “when I think that there are streets, houses, a University⁠ ⁠…”

He broke off, as if he had said all and was silent. Suddenly the train stopped almost instantaneously, making me knock myself against the wall, and voices were to be heard. We jumped out. In front of the very engine upon the rails lay something, a not very large lump, out of which a leg was projecting.

“Wounded?”

“No, dead. The head is torn off. Say what you will, but I will light the headlight. Otherwise we shall be crushing somebody.”

The lump with the protruding leg was thrown aside; for an instant the leg lifted itself up, as if it wanted to run through the air, and all disappeared in a black ditch. The headlight was lit and the engine instantly grew black.

“Listen!” whispered somebody, full of silent terror.

How was it that we had not heard it before! From everywhere⁠—the exact place could not be defined⁠—a groan, unbroken and scraping, wonderfully calm in its breadth, and even indifferent, as it seemed, was borne upon us. We had heard many cries and groans, but this resembled none of those heard before. On the dim reddish surface our eyes could perceive nothing, and therefore the very earth and sky, lit up by a never-rising sun, seemed to be groaning.

“The fifth verst,” said the engine-driver.

“That is where it comes from,” and the doctor pointed forwards. The student shuddered, and slowly turned towards us.

“What is it? It’s terrible to listen to!”

“Let’s move on.”

We walked along in front of the engine, throwing a dense shadow upon the rails, but it was not black but of a dim red colour, lit up by the soft motionless flares, that stood out mutely at the different points of the black sky. And with each step we made, that wild unearthly groan, that had no visible source, grew ominously, as if it was the red air, the very earth and sky, that were groaning. In its ceaselessness and strange indifference it recalled at times the noise of grasshoppers in a meadow⁠—the ceaseless noise of grasshoppers in a meadow on a warm summer day. And we came upon dead bodies oftener and oftener. We examined them rapidly and threw them off the rails⁠—those indifferent, calm, limp bodies, that left dark oily stains where the blood had soaked into the earth where they had lain. At first we counted them, but soon got muddled, and ceased. They were many⁠—too many for that ominous night, that breathed cold and groans from each fibre of its being.

“What does it mean?” cried the doctor, and threatened somebody with his fist. “Just listen⁠ ⁠…”

We were nearing the sixth verst, and the groans were growing distinct and sharp, and we could almost feel the distorted mouths, from which those terrible sounds were issuing.

We looked anxiously into the rosy gloom, so deceitful in its fantastic light, when suddenly, almost at our feet, beside the rails, somebody gave a loud, calling, crying, groan. We found him instantly, that wounded man, whose face seemed to consist only of two eyes, so big they appeared, when the light of the lantern fell on his face. He stopped groaning, and rested his eyes on each of us and our lanterns in turn, and in his glance there was a mad joy at seeing men and lights⁠—and a mad fear that all would disappear like a vision. Perhaps he had seen men with lanterns bending over him many times, but they had always disappeared in a bloody confused nightmare.

We moved on, and almost instantly stumbled against two more wounded, one lying on the rails, the other groaning in a ditch. As we were picking them up, the doctor, trembling with anger, said to me: “Well?” and turned away. Several steps farther on we met a man wounded slightly, who was walking alone, supporting one arm with the other. He was walking with his head thrown back, straight towards us, but seemed not to notice us, when we drew aside to let him pass. I believe he did not see us. He stopped for an instant near the engine, turned aside, and went past the train.

“You had better get in!” cried the doctor, but he did not answer.

These were the first that we found, and they horrified us. But later on we came upon them oftener and oftener along the rails or near them, and the whole field, lit up by the motionless red flare of the conflagrations, began stirring as if it were alive, breaking out into loud cries, wails, curses and groans. All those dark mounds stirred and crawled about like half-dead lobsters let out of