Fifty-Two Stories

CHAPTER SIX / A TROUBLED NIGHT

Auntie had a dog dream one night that a janitor was chasing her with a broom, and she woke up in a fright.

Her little room was quiet, dark, and very stuffy. The fleas were biting. Auntie had never been afraid of the dark before, but now for some reason she was terrified and felt like barking. In the next room, her master sighed loudly, then, a little later, the pig grunted in her shed, and then everything was silent again. One always feels easier at heart when thinking about food, and so Auntie began thinking about a chicken leg she had stolen from Fyodor Timofeyich that day and hidden in the living room between the cupboard and the wall, where there were many cobwebs and a lot of dust. It might not be a bad idea to go and see if the leg was still there. It was quite possible that her master had found it and eaten it. But she was forbidden to leave the room before morning—that was the rule. Auntie closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep quickly, because she knew from experience that the sooner one falls asleep, the sooner morning comes. But suddenly, not far from her, a strange cry rang out that made her shudder and jump to her feet. It was Ivan Ivanych, and the cry was not his usual persuading babble but a wild piercing and unnatural shriek, like the creaking of a gate opening. Unable to see or understand anything in the darkness, Auntie felt all the more frightened and growled:

“Gr-r-r…”

Some time passed, as long as it takes to gnaw a good bone, but the scream was not repeated. Auntie gradually calmed down and dozed off. She dreamed of two big black dogs with clumps of last year’s fur on their haunches and flanks; they were greedily eating mash from a big basin, which gave off white steam and a very delicious smell. Every once in a while they turned around to Auntie, bared their teeth, and snarled, “We won’t give you any!” Then a peasant in a sheepskin coat ran out of the house and chased them away with a whip. Auntie went over to the basin and started to eat, but no sooner had the peasant gone out the gate than the two black dogs rushed growling at her, and suddenly, there was another piercing scream.

“Ka-ghee! Ka-ghee-ghee!” cried Ivan Ivanych.

Auntie woke up, jumped to her feet, and, not leaving her mattress, broke into a howling bark. This time it seemed to her that it was not Ivan Ivanych but someone else, some stranger, who was screaming. For some reason, the pig grunted again in her shed.

There was the sound of shuffling slippers, and the master came into the room in his robe, carrying a candle. The wavering light danced over the dirty wallpaper and the ceiling and chased away the darkness. Auntie saw that there was no stranger in the room. Ivan Ivanych was sitting on the floor. He was not asleep. His wings were spread wide, his beak was open, and he generally looked as if he were very tired and thirsty. Old Fyodor Timofeyich was not asleep either. He, too, must have been awakened by the scream.

“What’s wrong, Ivan Ivanych?” the master asked the goose. “Why are you screaming? Are you sick?”

The goose was silent. The master felt his neck, stroked his back, and said:

“You’re a funny one. You don’t sleep yourself, and you won’t let anyone else sleep.”

When the master went out and took the light with him, darkness came again. Auntie was afraid. The goose did not scream, but again it began to seem to her that a stranger was standing in the dark. The most frightening thing was that she could not bite this stranger, because he was invisible and had no form. And for some reason she thought that something very bad was bound to happen that night. Fyodor Timofeyich was restless too. Auntie heard him stirring on his mat, yawning and shaking his head.

Somewhere outside there was a knocking at a gate, and the pig grunted in the shed. Auntie whined, stretched her front paws out, and put her head on them. In the knocking at the gate, in the grunting of the pig, who for some reason was not asleep, in the darkness and silence, she imagined something as anguished and terrifying as Ivan Ivanych’s scream. Everything was uneasy and anxious, but why? Who was this stranger who could not be seen? Now next to Auntie two dull green sparks lit up. It was Fyodor Timofeyich, who approached her for the first time in their acquaintance. What did he want? Auntie licked his paw and, not asking why he had come, howled softly in different tones.

“Ka-ghee!” cried Ivan Ivanych. “Ka-ghee-ghee!”

The door opened again, and the master came in with the candle. The goose was still in the same position, with his beak open and his wings spread. His eyes were shut.

“Ivan Ivanych!” the master called.

The goose did not move. The master sat down on the floor in front of him, looked at him silently for a moment, and said, “Ivan Ivanych, what’s the matter? Are you dying or something? Ah, now I remember, I remember!” he cried, clutching his head. “I know what it is! It’s because that horse stepped on you today! My God! My God!”

Auntie did not understand what her master was saying, but from the look on his face she saw that he, too, was expecting something terrible. She stretched her muzzle towards the dark window, through which it seemed to her some stranger was looking, and howled.

“He’s dying, Auntie!” her master said, clasping his hands. “Yes, yes, dying! Death has come to your room! What are we to do?”

Pale and disturbed, the master went back to his bedroom, sighing and shaking his head. Auntie dreaded being left in the dark, so she followed him. He sat down on his bed and said several times, “My God! What are we going to do?”

Auntie walked around his feet and, not understanding what was causing him such anguish and where all this agitation came from, but trying to understand, she watched his every movement. Fyodor Timofeyich, who rarely left his mat, also came into the master’s bedroom and began rubbing against his legs. He shook his head, as if he wanted to shake the painful thoughts out of it, and looked suspiciously under the bed.

The master took a saucer, poured some water into it from a washstand, and went back to the goose.

“Drink, Ivan Ivanych,” he said tenderly, setting the saucer down in front of him. “Drink, my dear.”

But Ivan Ivanych did not move or open his eyes. The master brought his head down to the saucer and dipped his beak in the water, but the goose did not drink, he only spread his wings wider and let his head lie in the saucer.

“No, there’s nothing we can do!” the master sighed. “It’s all over. Ivan Ivanych is done for!”

And glittering drops, such as one sees on windowpanes when it rains, ran down his cheeks. Not understanding what was wrong, Auntie and Fyodor Timofeyich huddled close to him, staring in horror at the goose.

“Poor Ivan Ivanych!” said the master, sighing mournfully. “And I was dreaming of how I’d take you to the country in the spring, and we’d go for a walk in the green grass. Dear animal, my good comrade, you’re no more! How can I manage now without you?”

It seemed to Auntie that the same thing was going to happen to her, that she, too, for some unknown reason, would close her eyes, stretch out her paws, open her mouth, and everybody would look at her with horror. Apparently, similar thoughts were wandering through Fyodor Timofeyich’s head. Never before had the old cat been so sullen and gloomy as now.

Dawn was breaking, and the invisible stranger who had frightened Auntie so much was no longer in the room. When it was already quite light, the janitor came, picked the goose up by the legs, and carried him out. Later the old woman came and took away the trough.

Auntie went to the living room and looked behind the cupboard. The master hadn’t eaten her chicken leg; it was still there, covered with dust and cobwebs. But Auntie felt dull, sad, and wanted to cry. She didn’t even sniff the leg. She got under the sofa, lay down, and began to whine softly in a thin voice:

“Hnnn…hnnn…hnnn…”