A Night in the Cemetery

AN AMBULANCE

Hey, people, let them pass through! The police sergeant and the town clerk are coming!”

“Good day, George Alpatych,” the crowd greets the sergeant. “We hope you are fine, and that everything will be all right.”

Several give him happy wishes for the future. The drunken local police sergeant tries to say something, but he cannot. He makes a vague gesture with his fingers in the air, bulges his eyes, and pumps his thick red cheeks with such force as if he were playing the highest note on a trombone. The city clerk, a tiny man with a short red nose and a jockey’s hat, puts an energetic expression on his face as he moves through the crowd.

“Where is the person who was drowning?” he asks. “Where is he?”

“Here he is,” someone yells in answer.

A tall and very thin elderly man dressed in a long robe and peasant’s shoes has just been pulled out from the water by local farmers, and he is soaked from head to toe. He stretches his hands and legs to his sides, and sits in a puddle, at the edge of the river, mumbling to himself.

“Oh, my friends! I am from the Ryazan region, from Zaraisk County. Both my sons work, as do I. I work for Mr. Prokhor Sergeev in construction, painting houses. He pays me seven rubles and tells me, ‘Now, Fyodor, you should respect me as if I am your son.’ Hey, get out of here!”

“Where are you from?” the town clerk asks him.

“He says that I should respect him like a son! Hey, get out of here! Do I have to work for him for seven rubles?”

“He has been mumbling like this for quite some time, and we cannot understand a word,” the local police deputy Anisim is yelling in a high, excited voice. His face is beaded with sweat, and he seems very excited by the ongoing events.

“I will tell you everything, Egor Makarych! Quiet down! He comes from Kurnovo, a neighboring village. So he comes—Listen up! So, he comes from Kurnovo and he decided to take a short cut and cross the river here. He was very drunk, and he could not control himself. It was dumb of him to get into the water. He then fell down and the current began to carry him around like a twig. He was crying for help at the top of his lungs, when I was coming by with Alexander. ‘Who is yelling? What’s happening?’ I asked. Taking the situation in quickly, I said, ‘Alexander, throw away your accordion, for we have to save this man!’

“The water was coming fast. The current was very strong. One of us pulled him by the shirt, and the other grabbed his hair. Then others ran to the bank of the river, making a lot of noise, and everyone wanted to save him, but they couldn’t decide who should go! So we are tortured, George Makarovich, and if you had not come, he really could have drowned.”

“What is your name? Where are you from? Who are you?” the town clerk asks loudly as he bends down to look the old man in the face.

The man glances around blankly with his empty eyes and keeps silent.

“He is a bit crazy,” Anisim says. “His lungs are full of water. My dear man, tell us who you are? Look, he is silent! I wonder if there is much life left in him? Probably his soul has almost escaped from his body. Look at what can happen over a weekend to a man. He could die any minute now. God save us from this! Look, his face is all blue!”

“Hey, you.” The town clerk is shaking the man by his shoulder. “Hey, you! Answer me! Where are you from? Is your brain filled with water? Hey, you!”

“Only for seven rubles?” the man mumbles. “Get out of here! I don’t want to work for you anymore! I don’t want to!”

“Speak clearly, man. What exactly is it that you do not want? Tell us!”

The drowned man shakes his head in the air, teeth shattering.

“It only looks as if you are alive. You do not look like a man in his right mind,” Anisim says. “We should give him some drops.”

“You and your drops,” the clerk says in a mocking tone. “What drops are you talking about? The man here has nearly drowned. We should revive him, bring him back to life properly, and you want to give him drops! Have you no feelings? Quickly! Run to the town hall, grab a blanket, and we will be able to get him dry as fast as possible. Do it, fast!”

Several people rush to the village to fetch a blanket.

The clerk gets inspired. He folds up his sleeves, touches the sides of his body with both hands, and makes numerous small movements with his body, showing that he is filled with energy and decisiveness.

“Hey, everyone! If you don’t belong here, get going! Have you sent for the police? You had better go home, dear George Alpatych! You are drunk today, and the best thing you can do is to go home and relax.”

The sergeant waves his fingers in the air again, trying to say something, getting redder and redder as he fails to speak.

“Put it down here!” the clerk commands as they bring the blanket. “Take him by his arms and legs, like so. And now, put him in the middle of the blanket.”

“Hey, get out of here!” the old man mumbles, without resisting their efforts, seemingly unaware that they had lifted him up on a blanket. “I do not want it, your job!”

“It’s all right, my friend,” the town clerk says. “Don’t be afraid! We are going to throw you up in the air a little. You will feel better. In a little while, a village policeman will come and write a report. Now, let us bundle him up and get ready to throw him.”

Eight strong and tall farmers, including the sheriff Anisim, pick up the folds of cloth. First they throw the man up tentatively as if they are not certain of their strength.

But then, getting the hang of it, with a cruel and concentrated expression, they do it faster and stronger, eagerly throwing the man up. They try to straighten their bodies, standing up on their tiptoes, and hop, as if they would like to fly in the sky together with the man on the blanket.

“One, two, three! One, two, three!”

The very short town clerk is trying to stand up on his tiptoes, as if he is trying to touch a little bit of the cloth with his hands. He yells instructions in a voice that does not seem to be his normal voice.

“Faster, faster! All together, now! One, two, three! Keep going! Anisim, I am asking you to do it faster! Go! Go!”

They take a short break, and for a moment they can see the old man’s pale face surrounded by messy hair, wearing an expression of puzzlement, horror, and physical pain.

The next second, the face disappears again as the cloth is thrown up and to the right, then quickly goes down and then is thrown up and to the left.

The crowd of spectators cheers,

“That’s it, boys. Good job! You are doing great! Keep it up!”

“Good, Egor Makarovich, you are doing a great job, we will not let him go. In a minute he will be on his feet, and he will buy us a drink of vodka.”

“Hey you, I will whip you!” someone cries from behind the crowd.

“Look, neighbors, here comes the local lady with her estate manager.” The cart stops near the crowd, and they see a rather fat, old woman in fashionable eyeglasses, with an umbrella shielding her from the sun. Next to her sits her property manager. The landlady looks frightened.

“What has happened? What are you doing?” she asks.

“We are trying to revive a drowned man. How are you? We are a little bit drunk, because it’s such a nice day. We were walking across the village celebrating, as today is a holiday!”

“Oh my God!” the old landlady says in horror. “They are trying to revive the drowned man! Anthony,” she addresses the manager, “go, for God’s sake, and tell them not to do it. They’ll kill him. You cannot revive a drowned man by tossing him up in the air. You need to rub him with alcohol, and resuscitate him. Go, I order you!”

Anthony goes down and pushes through the crowd toward the men throwing the drowned man in the air. He looks strict.

“What are you doing? You cannot revive a drowned man by throwing him up!”

“So then, how are we to revive him?” the town clerk asks. “He has nearly drowned recently.”

“So what? I know that. People who are drowned should not be thrown up, but rubbed with alcohol. It is written in the calendar of wisdom. Stop doing this, and start doing what I tell you to do.”

The clerk is confused. He shrugs his shoulders and steps aside. The people throwing the old man place him on the ground and stare at the landlady with surprised looks, glancing either at her or at her manager, Anthony.

The drowned man is already lying with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

“Hey, you drunks!” Anthony becomes angry.

“My dear sir!” The clerk, out of breath, comes closer and puts his hand to his heart in respect. “Why use this tone? Do you think we are animals, and we do not understand?”

“Men, do not throw him up. Take his clothes off. We will rub him with alcohol.”

“Men! We should rub him with alcohol, so do it!”

The drowned man is removed from his clothes, and under the guidance of Anthony they begin rubbing him. The landlady, who does not want to see the naked man, moves off to the side.

“Oh, Anthony,” she moans. “Anthony! Come here. Do you know how to do rescue breathing? You need to roll him from side to side, and then push on his chest and his stomach.”

“Hey, guys, roll him from one side to another,”says Anthony, coming back to the crowd. “Then, push him in his stomach, but not very hard!”

The town clerk, who after his previous energetic activity feels a little tired, comes closer through the crowd to the old man and begins to push his chest and rub him.

“Help me, boys,” he implores. “I need assistance!”

“Anthony,” the lady asks, “come over here. Give him some burned feathers to breathe and tickle him. Tell them to tickle him well. Do it!”

Five minutes passes, then ten. The lady looks at the crowd and watches all this activity.

All that can be heard is the sound of the busy farmers breathing heavily, and Anthony and the town clerk giving commands. The smell of burnt feathers and alcohol fills in the air.

Finally, another ten minutes later, the crowd moves to the sides and Anthony steps out, completely red and soaked with sweat. Anisim follows him.

“We should have rubbed him from the very beginning,” Anthony says. “Now we can do nothing.”

“What could we do? We started late, far too late!” Anisim agrees.

“What now?” the landlady asks. “Is he still alive?”

“No, he is dead, God bless his soul.” Anisim sighs deeply. “When we had pulled him out of the water, his eyes were open, but now his body is completely cold.”

“It is a pity.”

“This was his unlucky day. His destiny is to accept death not on firm land, but in the chilly water. Can we have some tips for our efforts, dear lady?”

Anthony jumps on the cart and looks disgustedly at the crowd that now is moving away from the corpse. The cart shudders, and begins to move away …