The Cossacks (24 page)

“Here we are at last! Come back as fast as you can!” Lukashka called out to his friend, dismounting at his own gate. He carefully led his horse into the yard.

“Hello, Stepka!” he called to his deaf sister. She was out on the street, dressed up for the festival like the other girls, but hurried back into the yard to take his horse. With signs he asked her to take the horse into the stable but not unsaddle it. She hummed and smacked her lips, pointing at the horse and kissing it on its muzzle, indicating that she thought it a fine animal.

“Hello, Mother!” he called, steadying his rifle as he jumped onto the porch. “How come you’re not outside with the others?”

The old woman opened the door for him. “Well, look who’s here!” she said. “Kirka told us you wouldn’t be coming back tonight.”

“Can I have some Chikhir? Nazarka will be coming over to celebrate the holiday.”

“I’ll get you some right away,” the old woman replied. “All the girls are out having fun, your sister too.” She took the keys and hurried to the shed.

Nazarka, after putting away his rifle and seeing to his horse, went over to Lukashka’s house.

“To your health!” Lukashka said, taking a full cup of Chikhir from his mother and carefully raising it to his lips.

“The thing is,” Nazarka said, “Uncle Burlak was asking how many horses you’ve already rustled. It looks like he knows something.”

“The old devil!” Lukashka replied, tossing his head. “I don’t care! The horses are all across the river already—I’d like to see him go out looking for them.”

“It’s not good though, is it?”

“What’s not good? Take him some Chikhir tomorrow and everything will be fine. Let’s have some fun now! Drink!” Lukashka shouted the way old Eroshka always did. “We’ll go out into the streets and join the girls for some fun! Go buy sweets and honey, or I’ll find my sister and send her. We’ll have fun all night!”

Nazarka grinned. “Are we staying in the village for long?”

“Let’s have fun! Go get some vodka, here’s the money!”

Nazarka obediently headed over to Yamka’s. Uncle Eroshka and Ergushov, swooping down like birds of prey where fun and liquor were to be had, came staggering into Lukashka’s house.

“Bring out another jug of Chikhir!” Lukashka called to his mother.

“Will you tell us where you rustled those horses, you young devil?” Eroshka shouted. “Good boy! I love you!”

“Ha! You love me?” Lukashka replied laughing. “If you love me, then why do you bring my girl sweets from that Russian cadet, you old devil!”

“That’s a lie! That’s a lie!” the old man shouted with a guffaw. “But you should have seen that rogue begging me! Go over to her, he begged, fix things up for me! He even gave me a rifle. But I didn’t do it, by God! It would have been easy enough, but I felt sorry for you. So, tell me where you’ve been!” Eroshka added, slipping into Tatar.

Lukashka began talking vigorously in Tatar, and Ergushov, who did not speak it too well, interjected something in Russian here and there. “One thing I know,” Ergushov said, “is he’s rustled those horses. I’m certain of it!”

“We set off with Gireika,” Lukashka said. That he called Girei Khan by a nickname like Gireika was a sign to the other Cossacks of Lukashka’s boldness. “Across the river Gireika kept bragging that he knows the steppe like the back of his hand and would show us the way. But when darkness came we were still riding and riding—old Gireika had gotten lost, and we didn’t know which way we were heading anymore. He couldn’t find the village. I think we had veered off too far to the right. It was midnight and we were still looking. But then finally we heard the dogs barking.”

“What fools!” Eroshka said. “We too used to lose our way on the steppe at night—it’s a devil of a place—but what I used to do was ride up onto a hillock and start howling like a wolf. Like this!” He put his hands to his mouth and began to howl. “Then the dogs in the village howled right back. So, go on. Did you find the horses?”

“We rounded them up, but then Nazarka was almost caught by some Nogai women.”

“Yes, they almost caught me,” Nazarka said in an offended tone as he came back in with the vodka.

“We rode off, and Gireika got lost again! We ended up in the dunes. We thought we were riding toward the Terek, but it turned out we were going in the opposite direction.”

“You should have looked at the stars,” Uncle Eroshka said.

“Yes, you should have,” Ergushov chimed in.

“That’s easy enough to say, but you should have seen how dark it was. We rode this way, we rode that way. Finally I got off my horse and put the saddle on one of the mares we had stolen. I thought maybe my horse would take us back. So what do you think? Well, the horse
snorts, then snorts again, puts his nose down to the ground, and off he gallops, straight back to our village. And not a minute too soon, because it was getting light already. We barely managed to hide the horses in the forest. Nagim came from across the river and led them away.”

Ergushov shook his head. “Very smooth! Did you make a lot?”

“It’s all here,” Lukashka said, slapping his pocket. But his mother came back into the room, and he did not continue.

“Drink, everybody!” he shouted.

“Many years ago, Girchik and I rode out late one night,” Eroshka began.

“We’ll never hear the end of this,” Lukashka interrupted. “I’m off!” He emptied his cup of wine, tightened his belt, and went out into the street.

It was already dark outside. The autumn night was fresh and still. A golden full moon floated above the black poplars standing on one side of the square. Smoke was rising from the milk sheds and mixing with the light fog spreading over the village. Lights shone in some of the windows. The smell of dung, pressed grapes, and mist hung in the air. The buzzing sound of talking, laughing, singing, and the cracking of pumpkin seeds was more distinct than during the day. White kerchiefs and sheepskin hats gleamed in the dark near fences and houses.

On the square, outside the open door of the brightly lit store, the crowd shimmered black and white. There was laughter and talking, and voices singing loud songs. The girls danced in a large circle, holding hands, stepping smoothly over the dusty square. A thin, ugly girl was leading the song:

The old women were standing nearby listening to the song, and little boys and girls chased each other through the darkness. The men stood in groups, from time to time pulling girls out of the circle as they danced past and entering the ring themselves. Beletsky and Olenin were standing in a dark doorway wearing Circassian coats and tall sheepskin hats. They spoke quietly to one another in their Moscow speech, aware that they were drawing attention to themselves. Dancing near them in the circle were plump little Ustenka, in a red jacket, and Maryanka, majestic in her new dress.

Olenin and Beletsky were chatting about how they might pull Maryanka and Ustenka out of the circle. Beletsky thought Olenin just wanted to have some fun, but Olenin was waiting for his fate to be decided. He desperately wanted to see Maryanka alone, to tell her everything, to ask her to be his wife. Even though he felt this question had long been answered in the negative, he hoped he would have the strength to tell her everything he felt, so that she would understand him.

“Why didn’t you say before that you wanted to see her?” Beletsky whispered. “I would have gotten Ustenka to arrange things. You’re such a strange fellow!”

“What can I do? Someday, someday very soon, I will tell you everything. But for God’s sake, I beg you to arrange for her to come to Ustenka’s!”

“That’s easy enough,” Beletsky said. For propriety’s sake he walked
up to Maryanka first and asked her: “Who will
you
choose to love instead: surely the handsome warrior of the song, and not Lukashka.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned to Ustenka and whispered that he wanted her to bring Maryanka along. But a new song began, and the girls started dancing the round again.

Lukashka and Nazarka broke into the dancing ring and walked around the line of girls. Lukashka beckoned to them and began singing along in a sonorous voice. “Well,” he called out, “won’t one of you girls join me?” The girls began pushing Maryanka, but she did not want to leave the circle. The sound of tittering whispers and little slaps and kisses mingled with the song. Lukashka nodded pleasantly to Olenin.

“Ah, Dmitri Andreyevich, so you’ve come to watch?”

“Yes, I have,” Olenin replied coldly.

Beletsky leaned toward Ustenka and whispered something in her ear. She wanted to reply, but the line of girls moved on. When she passed Beletsky again, she said quickly, “Fine, we’ll come.”

“Maryanka will come too?” Beletsky asked.

Olenin leaned forward to Maryanka. “Will you? Please come, even if only for a little while. I need to speak to you.”

“The other girls are coming, so I’ll be coming too.”

“Will you give me an answer to what I asked you?” he asked, leaning toward her again. “You seem so happy.”

The row of girls moved on, and Olenin followed Maryanka.

“Will you answer me?”

“Answer you what?”

“What I asked you three days ago,” Olenin whispered. “Will you marry me?”

Maryanka thought for a few moments.

“I’ll answer you,” she said. “I’ll answer you soon enough.”

Her eyes twinkled merrily at Olenin through the darkness. He kept following her. He was happy at the opportunity to be so close to her. But Lukashka, continuing to sing, pulled her out of the ring of dancers into the middle.

“You must come to Ustenka’s,” Olenin barely managed to say and then went back to join Beletsky. The song ended. Lukashka’s lips parted, as did Maryanka’s, and they kissed.

“No, five kisses, five kisses,” Lukashka said.

Talk, laughter, and boisterousness replaced the smooth dance and soft sounds. Lukashka, who seemed already quite tipsy, was handing
out sweets to the girls. “These are for you!” he said with a proud satisfaction both comical and touching. “But any girl who goes off to celebrate the feast with Russian soldiers has to leave the dancing ring now!” he added suddenly, glaring in Olenin’s direction.

The girls clamored to take the sweets, laughing and jostling one another. Beletsky and Olenin moved to the side. Lukashka, as if ashamed of his generosity to the girls, took off his hat, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and went over to Maryanka and Ustenka. “Don’t turn away, don’t turn away,” he said, echoing the words of the song that had just ended. “Don’t turn away,” he repeated angrily. “For when you marry me, when you marry me, a thousand tears you’ll shed!” And he embraced Maryanka and Ustenka. Ustenka struggled free and slapped him so hard on the back that she hurt her hand.

“Are you dancing another round?” he asked.

“The other girls might,” Ustenka snapped, “but I’m going home, and Maryanka’s coming with me.”

“Don’t go, Maryanushka,” he said. “This is the last chance we’ll have for some fun. Go to your house and I will come to see you.”

“What should I do at my house? This is a festival, I want to have some fun—I’m going to Ustenka’s.”

“But I’ll be marrying you.”

“Good,” Maryanka replied, “and when we’re married, then we’ll see.”

“So you’re going?” Lukashka said sternly. He pressed her to him and kissed her on the cheek.

“Stop it!” she said, tearing herself away.

Lukashka shook his head reproachfully. “Maryanka, Maryanka, things will turn out badly. A thousand tears you’ll shed.” And turning away, he called to the girls, “A song, another song!”

Maryanka seemed frightened and angered by what he had said. She followed Ustenka but then stopped. “What will turn out badly?” she asked him.

“That will.”

“What?”

“That you’re having fun with that Russian soldier, that lodger of yours, and won’t love me anymore,” he said.

“Don’t tell me who to love and who not to love! You’re not my father or my mother. I’ll love whoever I want to!”

“Well, good!” Lukashka said. “But just remember what I said!” And he went to the store. “Girls!” he shouted. “Why have you stopped? Another dance! Nazarka, here, get more Chikhir!”

“Will she come too?” Olenin asked Beletsky.

“Yes, she will,” Beletsky replied. “Let’s go, we have to prepare
un petit bal
for the girls.”

It was late at night when Olenin came out of Beletsky’s house with Maryanka and Ustenka. Maryanka’s white kerchief shimmered in the dark street. The golden moon was sinking into the steppe, and a silvery fog hung over the dark houses. The village lay in silence, only the girls’ retreating footsteps were to be heard. Olenin’s heart was pounding. His burning cheeks cooled in the damp air. He looked up at the sky and then at the house from which he had just come—the candles inside had gone out—and then looked again at the girls’ retreating shadows. Maryanka’s white kerchief disappeared in the fog. He felt a horror at being left alone. He was so happy. He jumped off the porch and ran after the girls.