Through Russia Part 60

And, similarly, when next I offered to recite over her husband each and every prayer and psalm that I could contrive to recall to my recollection, on condition that all present should meanwhile leave the hut (for I felt that, since the task would be one novel to me, the attendance of auditors might hinder me from mustering my entire stock of pet.i.tions), she so disbelieved me, or failed to understand me, that for long enough she could only stand tottering in the doorway as, with twitching nose, she drew her sleeve across her worn, diminutive features.

Nevertheless she did, at last, take her departure.

Low over the steppe, stray flashes of summer lightning still gleamed against the jet black sky as they flooded the hut with their lurid shimmer; and each time that the darkness of the sultry night swept back into the room, the candle flickered, and the corpse's p.r.o.ne figure seemed to open its half-closed eyes and glance at the shadows which palpitated on its breast, and danced over the white walls and ceiling.

Similarly did I glance from time to time at HIM, yet glance with a guarded eye, and with a feeling in me that when a corpse is present anything may happen; until finally I rallied conscience to my aid, and recited under my breath:

"Pardon Thou all who have sinned, whether they be men, or whether they, being not men, do yet stand higher than the beasts of the field."

However, the only result of the recitation was to bring to my mind a thought directly at variance with the import of the words, the thought that "it is not sin that is hard and bitter to ensue, but righteousness."

"Sins wilful and of ignorance," I continued. "Sins known and unknown.

Sins committed through imprudence and evil example. Sins committed through forwardness and sloth."

"Though to YOU, brother," mentally I added to the corpse, "none of this, of course, applies."

Again, glancing at the blue stars, where they hung glittering in the fathomless obscurity of the sky, I reflected:

"Who in this house is looking at them save myself?"

Presently, with a pattering of claws over the beaten clay of the floor, there entered the dog. Once or twice it paced the length of the room.

Then, with a sniff at my legs, and a grumble to itself, it departed as it had come. Perhaps the creature felt too old to bay a dirge to its master after the manner of its kind. In any case, as it vanished through the doorway, the shadows--so I fancied--sought to slip out after it, and, floating in that direction, fanned my face with a breath as of ice, while the flame of the candle flickered the more--as though it too were seeking to wrest itself from the candlestick, and go floating upwards to join the band of stars--a band of luminaries which it might well have deemed to be of a brilliance as small and as pitiful as its own. And I, for my part, since I had no wish to see what light there was disappear, followed the struggles of the tiny flame with a tense anxiety which made my eyes ache. Oppressed and uneasy all over as I stood by the dead man's shoulder, I strained my ears and listened, listened ever, to the silence encompa.s.sing the hut.

Eventually, drowsiness began to steal over me, and proved a feeling hard to resist. Yet still with an effort did I contrive to recall the beautiful prayers of Saints Makari Veliki, Chrysostom, and Damarkin, while at the same time something resembling a swarm of mosquitos started to hum in my head, the words wherein the Sixth Precept issues its injunction to: "all persons about to withdraw to a couch of rest."

And next, to escape falling asleep, I fell to reciting the kondak [Hymn for the end of the day] which begins:

"Oh Lord, refresh my soul thus grievously made feeble with wrong doing."

Still engaged in this manner, suddenly I heard something rustle outside the door. Then a dry whisper articulated:

"Oh G.o.d of Mercy, receive unto Thyself also my soul!"

Upon that, the fancy occurred to me that probably the old woman's soul was as grey and timid as a linnet, and that when it should fly up to the throne of the Mother of G.o.d, and the Mother should extend to that little soul her tender, white, and gracious hand, the newcomer would tremble all over, and flutter her gentle wings until well nigh death should supervene.

And then the Mother of G.o.d would say to Her Son:

"Son, pray see the fearfulness of Thy people on earth, and their estrangement from joy! Oh Son, is that well?"

And He would make answer to Her--

He would make answer to Her, and say I know not what.

And suddenly, so I fancied, a voice answered mine out of the brooding hush, as though it too were reciting a prayer. Yet so complete, so profound, was the stillness, that the voice seemed far away, submerged, unreal--a mere phantom of an echo, of the echo of my own voice. Until, on my desisting from my recital, and straining my cars yet more, the sound seemed to approach and grow clearer as shuffling footsteps also advanced in my direction, and there came a mutter of:

"Nay, it CANNOT be so!"

"Why is it that the dogs have failed to bark?" I reflected, rubbing my eyes, and fancying as I did so that the dead man's eyebrows twitched, and his moustache stirred in a grim smile.

Presently a deep, hoa.r.s.e, rasping voice vociferated in the forecourt:

"What do you say, old woman? Yes, that he must die--I knew all along,--so you can cease your chattering? Men like him keep up to the last, then lay them down to rise to more... WHO is with him? A stranger? A-ah!"

And, the next moment, a bulk so large and shapeless that it might well have been the darkness of the night embodied, stumbled against the outer side of the door, grunted, hiccuped, and lurching head foremost into the hut, grew wellnigh to the ceiling. Then it waved a gigantic hand, crossed itself in the direction of the candle, and, bending forward until its forehead almost touched the feet of the corpse, queried under its breath:

"How now, Vasil?"

Thereafter, the figure vented a sob whilst a strong smell of vodka arose in the room, and from the doorway the old woman said in an appealing voice:

"Pray give HIM the book, Father Demid."

"No indeed! Why should I? I intend to do the reading myself."

And a heavy hand laid itself upon my shoulder, while a great hairy face bent over mine, and inquired:

"A young man, are you not? A member of the clergy, too, I suppose?"

So covered with tufts of auburn hair was the enormous head above me--tufts the sheen of which even the semi-obscurity of the pale candlelight failed to render inconspicuous--that the ma.s.s, as a whole, resembled a mop. And as its owner lurched to and fro, he made me lurch responsively by now drawing me towards himself, now thrusting me away.

Meanwhile he continued to suffuse my face with the hot, thick odour of spirituous liquor.

"Father Demid!" again essayed the old woman with an imploring wail, but he cut her short with the menacing admonition:

"How often have I told you that you must not address a deacon as 'Father'? Go to bed! Yes, be off with you, and let me mind my affairs myself! GO, I say! But first light me another candle, for I cannot see a single thing in front of me."

With which, throwing himself upon a bench, the deacon slapped his knee with a book which he had in his hands, and put to me the query:

"Should you care to have a dram of gorielka? [Another name for vodka.]

"No," I replied. "At all events, not here."

"Indeed?" the deacon cried, unabashed. "But come, a bottle of the stuff is here, in my very pocket."

"This is no place in which to be drinking."

For a moment the deacon said nothing. Then he muttered:

"True, true. So let us adjourn to the forecourt.... Yes, what you say is no more than the truth."

"Had you not better remain seated where you are, and begin the reading?"

"No, I am going to do no such thing. YOU shall do the reading. Tonight I, I--well I am not very well, for I have been drinking a little."

And, thrusting the book into my stomach, he sank his head upon his breast, and fell to swaying it ponderously up and down.