A Night in the Cemetery

THIEVES

A medical nurse, Mr. Ergunov, a simple-minded man, believed to be one of the greatest boasters and drunks in the county, was returning one evening on Christmas week from the little town of Repino, where he had made some purchases for the hospital. The local doctor had loaned him his best horse so that Ergunov might return on time and not be late.

At first the weather was fine and still, but by about eight that night, a violent snowstorm began. By the time he realized he only had four more miles to go, Ergunov was completely lost. He was an inexperienced rider who was unfamiliar with the road, and so he hoped the horse could find the way on its own. Two hours passed; the horse grew exhausted, Ergunov was chilled to the bone. By now he had figured out he would not make it home and he should return to Repino.

At last, through the sound of the storm, he heard a vague barking of a dog, and a blurred red spot appeared ahead of him. Little by little, he could discern a high gate, a long fence with protruding pointed nails, and then a crooked roof came into view beyond the fence. The wind drove away the mist of snow from before his eyes, and where before there had been a red blur, there now appeared a sturdy little house with a steep cane-covered roof. One of three windows, curtained with something red, was lit up.

What kind of place was it? Ergunov recalled that on the right side of the road should be Andrei Chirikov’s inn, three or four miles from the hospital. He also remembered that Chirikov had recently been killed by some robbers. He left behind an elderly wife and a daughter named Lyubka, who had been in the hospital two years earlier for treatment. The inn had a bad reputation, and it was believed quite dangerous to stay there overnight, especially with someone else’s horse. However, Ergunov knew he had no choice. He felt for his revolver in his saddlebag and, after coughing boldly, knocked on the window frame with his whip handle.

“Hey! Anybody there?” he shouted. “Granny, please let me in to get warm!”

A black dog, barking hoarsely, rolled under the horse’s feet, then another, this one white. Then yet another black one, until there must have been at least a dozen of them. Ergunov noticed the biggest, swung his arm and lashed out at the dog with all his force. A small long-legged dog raised his pointed muzzle upward and howled in a high-pitched, piercing voice.

Ergunov had been standing at the window knocking for a long time, until the frost glowed red on the trees next to the house, the gate creaked open, and a muffled female figure appeared holding a lantern.

“Dear granny, let me in to get warm,” said Ergunov. “I was going to the hospital, and I’ve lost my way. It’s such weather, Lord forbid. Don’t be afraid, granny, we’re not strangers, right?”

“All the strangers are at home by now, as they are not invited,” said the figure sternly. “Why did you feel the need to knock? The gate was not locked.”

Ergunov drove through the gate into the yard and stopped at the porch, requesting that the stable boy take his horse from the old granny.

“I’m no granny.” And indeed, she was not a granny. When she blew out the lantern, her features came to light and the doctor recognized Lyubka.

“What helpers are you talking about?” she said as she went into the house. “Those who are drunk are asleep, and the rest left for Repino in the morning. The holiday’s coming….”

As the boy fastened his horse up under the shed, Ergunov heard a whinny, and distinguished another horse in the dark, with a Cossack saddle on. It meant there was someone else in the house apart from the owners. Just in case, Ergunov took the saddle off his horse, and on his way to the house, he took both his purchases and the saddle with him.

The first room he entered was spacious, well heated, and smelled of freshly washed floors. A short, lean peasant of about forty, with a small, light brown beard, wearing a blue shirt, was sitting at the table under the icons. It was Kalashnikov, an arrant knave and horse-stealer, whose father and uncle kept an inn in Bogalyovka, who traded in stolen horses at any opportunity. He, too, had been to the hospital more than once, but he would come not for medical treatment, but to negotiate with the doctor about horses: whether there was any for sale, and whether the dear doctor, his honor, wished to trade his chestnut mare for a lovely dun gelding. Now, with his hair greased back and a silver earring glittering in his ear, he looked quite festive. Frowning, with his lower lip pulled down, he was attentively examining a big book with pictures, frayed and dog-eared. Another peasant lay stretched out on the floor near the stove, his face, shoulders, and chest covered by a sheepskin as he slept. There were two dark pools of melted snow near his new boots, with shining pieces of metal on the soles.

Seeing the doctor, Kalashnikov greeted him.

“Yeah, the weather’s awful,” said Ergunov, rubbing his chilled knees with the palms of his hands. “The snow’s gone down my neck; I’m soaked through, I’d say, like a rat. And I think my revolver is also, well….” He took out his revolver, looked at it all over, and put it into his bag again. But the revolver produced no reaction whatsoever; the peasant kept his eyes on his book. “Yeah, the weather…. I lost my way, and had it not been for the dogs here, I’d have been dead, I believe. Yeah, there would have been something to talk about. And where’s the hostess?”

“The old woman has gone to Repino, so the girl is cooking dinner,” answered Kalashnikov.

Silence followed. Shivering, Ergunov blew on his hands, huddling, and pretending he was extremely warm and well rested. The dogs were still heard barking outside. It was getting boring.

“You are from Bogalyovka, aren’t you?” Ergunov asked the peasant strictly.

“Yes, I am.”

As he did not have anything better to do, Ergunov started to think about that village of Bogalyovka. It was a big village that lay in a deep ravine, so that when one drove along the big road on a moonlit night, and looked down into the dark ravine and then up at the sky, it seemed that the moon was hanging over a bottomless abyss and it was the end of the world. The road down to the village was steep, serpentine, and so narrow that when one drove to Bogalyovka for any reason, one had to scream at the top of one’s voice, or whistle loudly, to ensure safe passage through the pass, as there was only room for one to travel.

The peasants of Bogalyovka had the reputation of being good gardeners and horse-stealers. Their gardens always yielded large crops. In spring time, the whole village drowned in white cherry blossoms, and in summer, you could pay three kopecks and pick a pail of cherries for yourself. The peasants’ wives were well groomed and well fed, they were fond of lovely clothing, and did nothing even on workdays. They would sit on the ledges of their houses, and gossip.

At that moment someone’s steps were heard. Lyubka, a girl of twenty, entered the room in her bare feet, wearing a red dress. She looked swiftly at Ergunov and walked from one corner of the room to another a few times. She did not move simply, but with little steps, holding her head up high. She obviously enjoyed walking barefooted on the freshly washed floor, and had taken off her shoes for exactly that reason.

Kalashnikov grinned at something, beckoning her with his finger. She went over to the table, and he showed her a picture of the prophet Elijah driving three horses rushing up to the sky. Lyubka leaned her elbows on the table; a long reddish plait tied with a red ribbon at the end fell across her shoulder and almost touched the floor. She also grinned.

“That’s a remarkable picture,” said Kalashnikov. “Remarkable,” he repeated, and made a movement with his hands as if he wanted to take the reins instead of Elijah.

The wind droned in the stovepipes; something growled and squeaked as if a big dog had strangled a rat.

“Hear that? That’s the sound of evil forces,” said Lyubka.

“That’s the wind,” said Kalashnikov; then, after a pause, he raised his eyes to Ergunov and asked: “And what’s your expert opinion, Osip Vasilich—are there devils in this world or not?”

“What shall I say, young fellow?” answered Ergunov, shrugging one shoulder. “If we reason scientifically, then of course, there are no devils, it’s just a prejudice. If we talk about it simply, as we are doing right now, then they do exist, to put it briefly. I’ve experienced many things in my lifetime. After I finished school, I served as medical assistant in the army in a regiment of dragoons. I was in the war, of course. I was awarded a medal and a decoration of the Red Cross. After the peace treaty of San Stefano, I returned to Russia and began working for the county government. And I should say, having been around, I’ve seen many things that others could not even imagine. I have seen devils; I don’t mean the kind with a tail and horns, for that’s rubbish but, some kind of devil …”

“Where?” asked Kalashnikov.

“Different places. Not long ago. Last summer. You know, it’s not good to speak of him at night. I came across him right here, near this very inn. Well, I was going to Golyshino; I remember it, to vaccinate against smallpox. You know, it’s always like that, racing the horse, carrying all the necessary stuff besides my watch, and so I was riding and on the alert. Tramps are always around, you know. So I headed down into the Zmeinaya gully, when, well, this thing approached me! Black hair, black eyes, even his whole face looked blackish, too, as if completely covered in smoke! He came up to my horse and took hold of the left rein right away, commanding us to: ‘Stop!’ He looked at the horse, then at me, and then dropped the rein. Without saying a bad word, he asked, ‘Where are you going?’ as he bared his teeth, with a malicious glint in his eyes. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘you must be the devil!’ ‘I’m here to vaccinate against smallpox,’ I answered, ‘And what difference is it to you?” He replied: ‘If that’s the case, then vaccinate me, too,’ as he thrust his arm right into my face. Of course, I didn’t go on talking with him, just immediately vaccinated him to get rid of him. And then I looked at my lancet and as I said ‘Here we go’ I realized that it had gone all rusty.”

The peasant who was sleeping near the stove suddenly turned and threw off his sheepskin. To his great surprise, Ergunov recognized that very stranger he had once met at Zmeinaya gully. The peasant’s hair, beard, and eyes were as black as soot; his face was swarthy; and, on top of it all, there was a black lentil-sized spot on his right cheek. He looked at the hospital assistant sarcastically and said: “I did take hold of the left rein, that’s true, but about the smallpox—here you’ve told lies, sir. We never discussed the smallpox.”

Ergunov was confused and scared. “I was not referring to you, sir.” He did not know who the swarthy peasant was or where he had come from. Now, looking at him, he decided the man must be a gypsy.

The peasant got up, stretching and yawning loudly, and came up to Lyubka and Kalashnikov, sitting down next to them. He, too, looked into the book. His sleepy face softened as a look of envy came over it.

“See, Merik,” Lyubka said to him; “get me such horses and I’ll ride them to heaven.”

“Sinners can’t go to heaven,” said Kalashnikov. “It’s reserved for saints.”

Then Lyubka laid the table for the meal with a big piece of lard, salted cucumbers, a wooden plate of cubed boiled meat, and finally a frying pan still sizzling with sausage and cabbage. A decanter of vodka also appeared on the table, filling the room with the aroma of orange peels as it was poured.

The medical assistant was annoyed that Kalashnikov and Merik were talking to each other, ignoring him completely, as if he were not in the room. He wanted to chat, to boast, to have a drink and a filling meal, and—if he could, flirt with Lyubka. She kept sitting beside him briefly throughout the meal, and as if by accident, kept bumping him with her beautiful shoulders or elbows as she swiveled in her place and stroked her broad hips with her hands. She was a healthy, restless girl, who laughed easily as she was constantly in motion.

Ergunov also found disconcerting the fact that the peasants stopped drinking after only one glass of vodka each, making him feel uncomfortable continuing to drink alone. Eventually he gave in and drank a second glass, then a third, as he ate all the remaining sausage. He now decided to flatter the men so that they would accept him instead of continuing to avoid him.

“You’re a bunch of good guys over there in Bogalyovka!” he commented, as he shook his head.

“Good at what?” asked Kalashnikov.

“Well, with horses, for example. Good at stealing!”

“Hah, good guys, you say. There’s only drunks and thieves left.”

“Yeah, those days are over,” said Merik, after a pause. “There’s just old Filya left, and he, too, is blind.”

“Right, just Filya left,” sighed Kalashnikov. “He must be about seventy now; the German colonists put out his one eye, and now he can barely see out of his remaining one. In the good old days the police officer would see him and shout: ‘Hey, you Shamil!’ until everyone called him that. Now that’s the only name he goes by, One-eyed Filya. He was a nice guy, indeed! One night he, along with Andrei Chirikov, Lyuba’s father, got into Rozhnovo—some cavalry regiments were stationed there at that time—and they stole nine of the soldiers’ horses, the very best ones. They weren’t afraid of the sentry or anything. That same morning they sold them all to the gypsy Afonka for twenty rubles. Yeah! Nowadays, people steal horses when the master is drunk or asleep, having no fear of God, but will take the boots off the man, too. He’ll then head a hundred and fifty miles away to sell that horse at the market, negotiating the price like a wretched Jew, until the police track him down, the idiot. It’s no longer fun, which is such a shame! Lousy people, I must say.”

“And what about Merik?” asked Lyubka.

“Merik is not from our area,” said Kalashnikov. “He is a Kharkov guy, from Mizhirich. And yes, he is a nice fellow. Nothing can be said to the contrary, he is a fine fellow.”

Lyubka turned a playful eye toward Merik, and said: “Yeah, there was a good reason why the folks bathed him in an ice hole.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ergunov.

“Well,” answered Merik, grinning, “Filya stole three horses from the Samoylovka tenants and they accused me. There were ten tenants in Samoylovka—with their hired hands, about thirty altogether, all of them Molokans. So one of them tells me at the market: ‘Come to our place, Merik, we’ve bought new horses from the fair, come take a look.’ Of course, I was interested. When I arrived, they—the thirty of them—tied my hands behind my back and dragged me to the river. ‘Now, we’ll show you the horses, man,’ they said. There was one ice hole already, and they cut another one about seven feet away. They then took a rope, put a loop under my armpits, and tied a crooked stick to the other end, long enough to reach both holes. Well, they thrust the stick in and dragged it through the holes. And I, dressed as I was in my fur coat and boots, went plop! into the ice hole. They stood on the ice, pushing me along with their feet or the stick as they dragged me under the ice and pulled me out through the other hole.”

Lyubka shuddered and grew tense.

“At first I got all hot from the cold,” Merik went on, “but when they pulled me out, I could only just lie down in the snow. The group of them was standing around me beating my knees and elbows with sticks. It hurt like hell. So they beat me up and left me there. I was entirely covered in ice, and freezing to death. Thank God, a woman drove by and gave me a lift.”

Meanwhile, Ergunov had drunk five or six glasses of vodka; everything seemed brighter. He, too, wanted to tell some extraordinary story to prove to them that he, too, was a very nice fellow, who wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Now, let me tell you about what happened once in our province of Penza,” he began. Because he was quite drunk, and maybe in part because they had already caught him lying, the peasants completely ignored him, even refusing to answer his questions. Their discussion turned so frank in his presence that he grew terrified and chilled, which meant that for now they took no notice of him.

Kalashnikov had the respectable manners of a mature and sensible man. He talked about everything in detail, and covered his mouth every time he yawned. Nobody would have thought he was a heartless thief who robbed the poor, who had already been in prison twice, and who had been sentenced by the community to exile in Siberia, had it not been for his father and uncle, rascals just like him, buying his freedom.

Merik behaved like a sharp guy. He understood that Lyubka and Kalashnikov admired him, and he himself believed he was beyond all praise. He would periodically put his arms askew, puff up his chest, and stretch himself so that the bench would creak …

After dinner Kalashnikov stayed in his seat as he prayed to the icon, then shook hands with Merik. The latter, too, prayed, and shook Kalashnikov’s hand. Lyubka cleared the table and then brought out some peppermint cakes, roasted nuts, pumpkin seeds, and two bottles of sweet wine.

“The kingdom of heaven and eternal peace to Andrei Chirikov,” toasted Kalashnikov, clinking glasses with Merik. “When he was alive we used to visit him here, or at brother Martyn’s. Oh, my God! What a company it was, and what conversations we used to have! Remarkable conversations with Martyn, Filya, and Fyodor Stukotey…. And all was done so fine, how it should be…. And what fun we had! We really enjoyed ourselves!”

Lyubka went out and returned after a while with a green kerchief, wearing a necklace. “Merik, have a look at what Kalashnikov brought me today,” she said. She looked in the mirror and shook her head several times to make the beads jingle. She then opened a chest and started to take items out. First, a cotton dress with red and blue spots on it, then a red one with frills that rustled and crackled like paper. She next pulled out a new blue kerchief with an iridescent shimmer. She showed off these items, laughing and tossing up her hands as if stunned at all her treasures.

Kalashnikov tuned the balalaika and began playing it. Ergunov could not make out what kind of song he was playing, whether it was joyful or sad, because at one moment it sounded so sad he wanted to cry, and the next it would turn quite jovial. Merik suddenly jumped on his feet and started stamping with his heels on the same spot. Suddenly he spread his arms wide, walked on his heels from the table to the stove, from the stove to the chest, then sprang up as if he had been stung, clicked the heels of his boots together in the air, then squatted down and went around in circles. Lyubka waved both her arms, shrieked desperately, and followed him. At first she moved sideways menacing, as if she wished to sneak up on somebody and hit him from behind. She tapped fast with her bare heels the way Merik had done with the heels of his boots, then she spun around and around like a top as she squatted down, her red dress blowing out like a bell. Looking at her fiercely and baring his teeth, Merik squatted down, then rushed toward her to crush her with his frightful legs. She jumped up, flinging her head back and waving her arms like an enormous bird flapping its wings, barely touching the floor, as she floated across the room….

“That girl is hot!!” thought Ergunov, sitting down on the chest, watching the dance from there. “She makes my blood boil! Even if you gave her all you could, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He regretted that he was a medical assistant, not a common peasant, and that he was wearing a jacket and a chain with a gilded key, instead of a blue shirt with a rope belt. If he’d only just been a peasant. Then he could have sung bravely, danced, and gotten drunk, and could hug Lyubka with both arms the way Merik did…

A sharp noise, shouting, and whooping made the dishes clink in the cupboard and set the flame of the candle dancing. Lyubka’s necklace thread snapped, scattering beads all over the floor, while her green kerchief fell off her head, until all that was left of her was a flashing red cloud with sparkling dark eyes. Merik’s arms and legs seemed as if they would fall off at any moment.

Finally, Merik stamped his foot for the last time and stopped completely still. Exhausted and hardly breathing, Lyubka leaned against his chest. He drew her tight, hugging her as he looked into her eyes and told her tenderly, as though he were joking, “One day I’ll find out where your old mother hides her money, I’ll kill her, and cut your throat, sweetie. Then I’ll set your inn on fire. People will think you were lost in the fire, and I’ll take your money and head to Kuban, where I will drive herds and keep sheep.”

Lyubka made no reply, only looked up at him and asked: “Is it nice in Kuban, Merik?”

He did not answer. Instead, he went over to the chest, where he sat down and started reflecting on something, most likely Kuban.

“Anyway, it’s time for me to go,” said Kalashnikov, getting up. “Filya must be waiting for me now. Goodbye, Lyubka.”

Ergunov went out into the yard to make sure that Kalashnikov did not steal his borrowed horse. The snowstorm was still going strong. Everything was white, from the grass to the bushes to the open field where it looked like giants in white robes with wide sleeves were spinning round, falling down, and then getting up again to wave their arms and fight. And the wind! The bare birch and cherry trees, unable to endure its rude caresses, bowed low to the ground, crying, “Oh Lord, for what sin did you fasten us to the ground and not set us free?”

“Whoa!” said Kalashnikov, as he saddled his horse. Half of the gate was open, with a high snowdrift lying beside it. “Well, go!” shouted Kalashnikov to the little short-legged nag, who promptly set off and sank up to its stomach in the snowdrift. Kalashnikov appeared completely white from the snow, and soon he, together with his horse, vanished through the gate.

When Ergunov returned to the room, Lyubka was crawling along the floor picking up her beads; Merik was not there.

“She’s a great girl!” thought Ergunov, as he lay down on the bench, putting his head on the sheepskin. “Oh, if only Merik weren’t here.” Lyubka made him nervous as she crawled near the bench. It occurred to him that if Merik had not been there, he would certainly have hugged her, with no one around to see what would happen next. Well, she was still a girl, of course, but not likely to be chaste. Even if she were chaste, who would care about that fact in a den of thieves? Lyubka picked up her beads and left the room.

The candle was fading as it flickered down near its base. Ergunov put his revolver and matches beside him and blew out the candle. The small icon lamp was twinkling so strongly that it hurt his eyes, causing spots of light to dance around the room, and on Lyubka, until it seemed as if she were dancing and spinning around again.

“Oh, if only the evil would take Merik away,” he thought.

The icon lamp blinked for the last time, crackled, and went out. Someone, it must have been Merik, entered the room and sat down on the bench. He puffed away at his pipe, and a swarthy cheek with a black spot got lit up for an instant. The nasty tobacco smoke made Ergunov’s throat itch.

“What nasty tobacco you’ve got, damn it!” commented Ergunov. “It makes me sick.”

“I mix my tobacco with oat flowers,” answered Merik after a pause. “It’s easier to breathe.” He smoked, spat, and walked away again. About half an hour later, a light gleamed in the hallway. Merik entered in a sheepskin jacket and cap, then Lyubka with a candle in her hand.

“Please stay, Merik,” Lyubka was begging.

“No way, Lyubka. Don’t hold me back.”

“Listen, Merik,” said Lyubka, as her voice turned tender. “I know you’ll find mother’s money, and will do away with both her and me, and will go to Kuban to love other girls. Whatever happens will happen. There’s only one thing I ask of you, sweetheart: stay now!”

“No, I want to have fun …” said Merik, tying his belt.

“But you came here on foot, how will you travel now?”

Merik bent down and whispered something quietly in Lyubka’s ear. She looked toward the door and laughed through her tears.

“And he’s sleeping, that puffed-up villain …” she said.

Merik hugged her, kissed her forcefully, and went outside. Ergunov thrust his revolver into his pocket, jumped to his feet, and ran after him.

“Get out of the way!” he said to Lyubka, who hurriedly bolted the door in the hallway and stopped on the threshold. “Let me pass! Why are you in my way?”

“What do you want out there?”

“To check on my horse.”

Lyubka glanced up at him coyly. “Why go look at your horse when you can look at me?” she said, touching the gilded key that hung on his chain with her forefinger.

“Let me pass, or he’ll get away with my horse,” argued Ergunov. “Let me pass, damn it!” he shouted, hitting her angrily on the shoulder. He thrust his chest against her with all his might to try and push her away from the door, but she grasped tightly at the bolt, with an iron grip.

“Let me go!” he shouted, exhausted. “I tell you, he’ll get away.”

“How could he? He won’t.” Breathing heavily and rubbing her sore shoulder, she glanced up at him again, blushed, and laughed. “Don’t go away, darling,” she said. “I get so bored all alone.”

Ergunov looked into her eyes, hesitating only for an instant before putting his arms around her. She did not resist.

“Well, come on, let me go by,” he asked her. She kept silent.

“I overheard you just now,” he said, “telling Merik that you loved him.”

“That doesn’t matter…. My heart knows who I love.” She touched his key again, and said quietly: “Give it to me.”

Ergunov took the key off the chain and gave it to her. She suddenly stretched out her neck, as if listening to something. Her face grew cold, stern, almost sly, to Ergunov. All of a sudden he remembered his horse, brushed past her, and ran out into the yard.

A sleepy pig was grunting contentedly in the shed, and the cow’s bell could be heard. Ergunov lit a match. He was able to see the pig, the cow, and the dogs who rushed toward him at the sign of the light, but there was no trace of his horse. Shouting and waving his arms at the dogs, he stumbled through the snowdrifts and sank into the snow as he tried to get a glimpse of the road outside the gate. He strained his eyes but could only see the heavily fallen snowflakes and the shapes they made as they fell—a white laughing skull, a white horse ridden by an Amazon in a muslin dress, or a string of white swans flying overhead….

Shaking with anger and cold, not knowing what else to do, Ergunov took a shot with his revolver at the dogs, missed, and angrily rushed back to the house.

As he entered the house he distinctly heard someone dart out of the main room and the door slam behind them. It was dark in the room. Ergunov pushed against the door and found tit was locked. Lighting match after match, he rushed back through the hallway, into the kitchen, and from the kitchen into a little dressing room filled with dresses and skirts, with a bed with a huge pile of pillows standing in the corner by the stove. The room smelled of cornflowers and dill; he figured it must be the old widow’s room.

As he left the room, he passed into another little room, and there he found Lyubka. She was lying down, covered with a multicolored patchwork cotton quilt, pretending to be asleep. A little icon lamp was burning above the head of her bed.

“Where is my horse?” Ergunov asked firmly. Lyubka did not stir.

“Where is my horse, I ask you!” Ergunov asked again in a louder voice as he tore the quilt off her. “I’m asking you, witch!” he shouted.

She jumped up onto her knees, holding her nightgown with one hand and trying to grasp the quilt with the other, pressing her back against the wall. She looked at Ergunov with a combination of disgust and fear, her eyes darting like a trapped animal watching his every move.

“Tell me where my horse is, or I’ll beat the life out of you,” shouted Ergunov.

“Get away from me, you villain!” she said hoarsely.

Ergunov seized her gown by the neck and tugged at it. Immediately, unable to control himself, he embraced her with all his might. Hissing with fury, she slipped out of his arms. One arm was still tangled in her nightgown, but freeing the other, she reach up and struck him on the head.

He suddenly felt dizzy with pain, as his ears rang from the blow. He stumbled back just as she hit him again, this time on his forehead. Staggering and grabbing at the doorjambs to remain on his feet, he made his way to the main room where his things were and lay down for a minute. He took a matchbox out of his pocket and began to light match after match for no reason, which he did over and over until no matches remained.

Meanwhile the air was getting bluer outside as the roosters began to crow. His head still ached, and he felt as if he were sitting under a railroad bridge as a train passed overhead. Somehow he managed to put on his sheepskin jacket and cap. He could not find his saddle or his purchases, for his bag was empty. He now knew why he thought he had seen someone darting out of the room when he came in from the yard late last evening.

He took a poker from the kitchen to defend himself against the dogs and headed outside, leaving the door wide open. The snowstorm had begun to subside and it was quiet outside. As he went out through the gate, the white field looked barren, without a single bird in the morning sky. A small forest appeared blue along both sides of the road and far ahead off in the distance.

Ergunov began thinking about how he would be received at the hospital coming back empty-handed. What was the doctor going to say to him? He needed to prepare for any question they might throw at him. However, he could think of nothing besides Lyubka, and the robbers. He remembered how Lyubka looked at him, with her hair loosened from its plait right after she hit him the second time. He grew confused the more he thought. Why should there be a world filled with doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and peasants? Why shouldn’t everyone live free to make their own choices, like the animals and birds do, and Merik—fearless and not dependent on anyone? Whose bright idea was it to make one get up in the morning, have lunch at noon, and go to bed in the evening? Why were doctors more important than medical assistants? Why should you only love one woman for the rest of your life? Why not have lunch at night and sleep during the day? Who said we can’t? Oh, how nice it would be to jump on a horse without caring whose it is, riding like the wind, going wherever your fancy took you, loving many women and making fun of whoever you wanted to!!

Ergunov thrust the poker into the snow, pressed his forehead to the cold, white trunk of a birch, and continued to sink deeper in thought. His gray, monotonous life, filled with low wages, his lowly position, working in the pharmacy with the never-ending bustle with pots and blisters—it all seemed contemptible and loathsome.

“Who says it’s a sin to have fun?” he asked himself, annoyed. “Those who say so have never lived a free life like Merik and Kalashnikov; have never loved a woman like Lyubka. They have been begging all their lives, never enjoying themselves, nor loving anyone but their froglike wives.”

He realized that it was only due to his lack of opportunity that he had not become a thief or a cheat.

A year and a half passed. Late one evening that spring, Ergunov, long since fired from the hospital and out of work, left an inn in Repino, content to wander the streets with no real purpose. He headed into a field, enjoying the fresh spring air and the light wind blowing under a starry sky. My God, thought Ergunov, how deep the sky is and how it stretches over the world! If all was right in the world, then what made people divide themselves into those who drank and those who remained sober, those with jobs and those who were unemployed, etc.? Why do the sober and well fed sleep comfortably at home while the drunk and hungry must wander around the field without shelter? Why do the homeless have to go hungry, without decent clothing? Whose idea was it? Why do birds and beasts in the forest not go to work, yet all they need is provided for them?

Far away in the sky, open wide above the horizon, a beautiful crimson glow glittered. Ergunov stood gazing at it for a long time, realizing that something was on fire in the distance. He kept on reflecting: why is it a sin if yesterday someone stole someone else’s samovar and sold it for the cost of a drink in a tavern? Why?

Two carts drove by on the road: a woman lay sleeping in one, and an old man without a cap sat in the other one.

“Grandfather, where is that fire burning?” asked Ergunov.

“Andrei Chirikov’s inn,” answered the old man.

Immediately Ergunov recalled what had happened to him a year and a half ago, that winter in that very inn, especially the threat Merik had made. He imagined the old woman and Lyubka, with their throats cut, burning, and he envied Merik.

As he headed back to the inn, looking at the houses of the rich land owners, cattle dealers, and blacksmiths, he reflected how nice it would be to break into some rich man’s house!