Chapter 29 Small spring scene on the river

Small spring scene on the river "The ice is moving!" cried one fine spring day. "Guys, the ice cube is floating!" Every spring, the ice on the river must move, but even so, the floating of ice is always a big event and a sensational news.If you lived in the city, and you heard this cry, you would run to the bridge, and you would put on a serious face, as if there had been a murder or day robbery on the bridge.It doesn't matter whether it's the little boy running past you, the cab driver, or the saleswoman, they all have that look on their faces.Many people have gathered on the bridge.There were middle-school students with schoolbags on their backs, ladies in raincoats, two or three priests in cassocks, little dark-skinned apprentices with little leather ears from freshly made boots in their hands, some wearing All kinds of men with pleated waist coats, including soldiers.Everyone leaned on the bridge railing, not saying a word, motionless, looking at the river below with doubts.It was as silent as a grave, except for a policeman telling a gentleman in a fur coat with a shawl in the back how much the river had risen.Occasionally a cab rolled rattling across the bridge.The policeman spoke in a low voice.He spoke of the water rising a few arshins, and his face became serious, elongated, almost panicked.But when he talked about a few inches, he had a look of pity and tenderness on his face, as if the inches were his children.

You, too, crouched on the railing of the bridge, looking at the river, but what a disappointment! You expected pops and booms, but you heard nothing, just a low, monotonous sound like distant thunder.You don't see big pieces of ice bursting and bumping into each other and squeezing together, but the ice is broken and the pieces are piled together smoothly and motionless, the whole river from bank to bank.The surface of the river had been dug and loosened, as if a giant farmer had walked across it and loosened it with a gigantic plow.Not a drop of water to be seen, just ice, ice, ice.There are some small icebergs standing there, but you feel dizzy, as if the bridge is carrying you, and the group of people, floating somewhere.The heavy bridge was galloping along the river, carrying the banks along, breaking up piles of ice with its piers.At this time, a big ice block floated over, desperately resisting the bridge pier, and did not let the bridge run away for a long time, but suddenly, it seemed to be alive, and began to climb up the pier, straight towards your The face rushed towards you, as if it was going to say goodbye to you, but unexpectedly it was too heavy to support, so it broke into two pieces and fell powerlessly.It seemed that those ice cubes looked sad and depressed.

They felt as if they had been expelled from their homeland, and were drifting away to the terrible Volga, where they would die and disappear after seeing all kinds of thrilling scenes. Soon, those icebergs gradually became thinner, and black water appeared between the ice cubes, rushing on and on.Now the illusion is gone, and you begin to see that it is not the bridge that moves, but the river.Towards evening, there was almost no trace of ice in the river. Occasionally there were some remaining ice cubes, but they were very few, not enough to prevent the street lights from shining on the water like looking in a mirror.

"It's not drift ice!" said the man on the bridge. "Wait till the ice comes down from upstream, and there won't be drift ice to see! . . . At lunch today, a man from so-and-so county came here. He said the ice over there was already moving. . . . Then we won't see it until tomorrow." See you here." Sure enough, the next day was cloudy with a damp cold wind blowing.Such sudden changes in the weather indicated that somewhere in a large area, there was ice flowing. ... People stopped on the bridge again, looking into the river.The water has risen, but the surface of the river is still clear and smooth.The spectators yawned anxiously and shrank from the cold.But then, a large block of ice appeared on the river.Immediately afterwards, like a flock of sheep following the leading sheep, some relatively small ice cubes followed from a considerable distance. ... Then there was the sound of ice hitting the pier.The ice shattered, and the fragments panicked, spun, collided with each other, and ran under the bridge one after another. . . . where there was another block of ice at the bend of the river, and then a second, and then a third, .What you see is no longer local ice, but ice elsewhere, drifting from far upstream.

Soon the ice was gone, too, but the river's spring revival process hadn't ended with the ice gone.Immediately after the drift ice passed, the rafts began to appear. The raft should not be viewed in the city, but far away, even to the mysterious upstream, to the place where the remnants of ice floated. Here, on the little Sicha River, a very long line of rafts is going down the current, winding like a long snake.In summer the Schicza is only a shallow bay, which you cannot see through the thickets of willows, and you can wade in any part of the river if you like.But now, it was unrecognizable.You look at it and wonder to yourself: Where did such a rapid come from?It keeps expanding, stretching its fangs and claws, threatening to submerge the entire land.It treats large rafts as it treats small wood chips.These rafts came late, were the last of the bunch, and most likely ran aground halfway.The merchant Makitrov had released six batches of rafts yesterday, and should have stopped there, but greed got the better of him, and despite warnings that the water level had dropped, he released the seventh batch today.

Twenty peasants and village women were busy on the raft.Real farmers, well fed and clothed, don't do this kind of wood transporting business, so all you see here are poor peasants.They were short, stooped, and sullen, as if they had been bitten by something.They were all wearing bark shoes and shabby clothes, and it looked as if if you grabbed a farmer by the shoulders and shook him hard, the rags that hung on him would fall off.Their faces were different: some were brown and red as clay, and others were as black as the Arabs, and some had barely grown beards, while others were bearded like wild beasts.Everyone wears their own shabby hats, wears their own shabby clothes, and speaks in different voices, but to unaccustomed eyes, they look exactly the same, and you have to spend a lot of time with them before you learn to tell which is which. It's Mitley, who's Ivan, who's Kuzma.Their astonishing resemblance was formed by a common imprint, which was stamped on each of their pale, sullen faces, on each of their rags and hats: poverty.

They work non-stop.Every step the raft made made the river make a turn, so they ran from side to side on the raft now and then, propping their poles into the water so that the raft wouldn't hit the bank in the rapids, or hit the cliffs and scatter. ... All of them were flushed, sweating, and out of breath. ... Although there was some hay in the middle of the raft for people to sit on, no one went there to sit on it. ... Village women do the same work as men. They are thin, their clothes are ragged, and their bottoms are wet and swaying. ... Both banks of the river were bathed in the bright midday sun.Pictures flashed before the eyes of the raft workers, each more beautiful than the last.The woods, the fields, the country, the manors, flew before them, as swift as birds. ... Then they saw ahead on the high and steep bank a white church with green vaults.A minute later, the church was no longer there, and only a plain could be seen, and the angry Sicha flooded the plain far away.Behind the plain is an endless stretch of black cultivated land, dotted with some rooks, which may also be jays. ...At this time a farmer on the bank, lanky and rake-like, was driving a scrawny cow with only one horn. ... Then came the landowner's manor.There was a lady on the balcony, standing with an umbrella, pointing hastily to a girl at the raft.A young man in a hussar's tunic and high boots was looking into a fishing cage. ... and then the fields, the woods, the country. ... If you look back now, you will see the white church looming on the horizon, and the cowman is nowhere to be seen. ...but don't think the raft has gone very far.After a while, the raftman saw something white on the horizon. ... They began to look carefully, what kind of miracle is this?It turned out that the church they had just left behind was there, and they were galloping towards it. ...the nearer they got to it, the more convinced they were that it was indeed the church with the green vaults on the steep bank earlier.

... Well, now you can see its windows, the cross on the steeple, and the chimney on the house. ... A moment later, the raftman would rush up to the church, only to make a sharp turn of the raft and the church would be left behind again. …Three or four raftmen took some time off and gathered in the center of the raft, looking at each other and panting.They are resting.You see only one of them wearing boots, and they're terrible boots, crooked and faded, but they're boots.Even if a church has been abandoned, it is still a church!Those boots were tucked into the thin legs of a pair of wool trousers, but the trousers were so worn out that it was a crime to criticize them.The person wearing leather boots was wearing a torn leather jacket, and a vest could be seen from the hole.On his big head was an unwanted middle-school cap, the brim snapped off, and the brim beyond dirt.His face was haggard and flabby, unlike the faces of the other raftmen. ...In a word, this man is the kind of character that is indispensable to any labor union, any hotel, any group of beggars and poor people in Russia at present.  … Such a man is so struck by fate that he feels so deeply that his position has plummeted, that despite the suspicion of his "noble birth," he does everything possible to conceal it.

... He will feel much more at ease in the ragged leather jacket worn by the peasants than in the ragged overcoat or waistcoat that you thought of giving him at the time of your generosity.As for who he is, where he came from, who he was in the past, and what he thinks now, you can't bear to ask, and it's useless to ask.If you ask him, he will tell you that he was an officer, an actor, and was imprisoned. ... The people on the raft called this man Diomede.Diomedes came to work as a raftman, not so much because he wanted to earn three or four rubles, but because he was secretly glad to take this opportunity to go to the city without paying for it, instead of walking. ... This work was novel and attracted him. He worked hard and refused to lag behind the farmers.He ran from one side of the raft to the other like them, bustling about, holding on to the pole, sweating, and out of breath, yet every movement of his showed that he was not used to this kind of work. live.He was not familiar with this kind of work, and besides being weak, he soon tired out. . . . Whenever he saw two or three people stopping to rest, he made sure to go up to them.

The rest looked at each other and began to chat.The talk on the raft was always the same: "Things are . "Five years ago, any raftman would earn eight rubles, and he wouldn't do it for less. You'd pay eight rubles, and I'd do it, and I wouldn't. . . Come out, isn't it? It's terrible! Only the Lord knows how it came to this point!" "There are more people now..." a man with a shovel-like beard said in a hoarse voice. "There is no place for so many people. You don't want to do it for four rubles, but others do it for three rubles. You used to see women come on rafts to earn money, but now, you see, they do it." What a lot of girls! Girls are stupid, and if they can earn a ruble, they'll do it. . . . " "Four rubles . banks of the river. "Four rubles. . . . Strange thing!"

Diomedes had not come on the raft for money, so it did not matter to him whether it was four rubles or eight rubles.Still, in order to take part in the conversation, he felt it necessary to echo their claims. "Well, yes, ..." he said. "Too little money. Boy, it's all because the merchants eat too much. They can't afford money. . . . " The interlocutor did not answer Diomede's words.They looked ahead, and the raft was galloping by.They see a white blob.It turned out that the raft ran past the former white church again.The sun shone on its crosses and its bright green vaults, and the temple eyed them affectionately, as if promising to never leave them again. "Hey, the river keeps going round and round!" said Diomede. "We walked and walked, but we kept going in circles. . . . " "It's fifty versts to the city if you follow the straight road. But if you follow the river, it's six hundred versts." Well. Oh, God only, don't let the water go back, and we'll be there tomorrow evening. . . . " The day went on without incident, but toward evening the raft ran into trouble.In the twilight that had just fallen, the raftman suddenly saw an obstacle on the river: a ferryboat was fastened firmly to the bank on this side, and a wooden raft bridge had just been erected from this ferryboat to the opposite bank. How did the raft get there?People travel frequently between the two sides of the strait.A few men came running up to the raft, waving their hands and shouting, "Stop! Stop! Dog!" The raftman panicked and stopped the raft. "Don't go any further!" shouted a fat, red-faced man in a long wool coat. "I'm going to send you and your rafts to the devil, so that you can't live! My wooden raft bridge has been demolished twice, and you are not allowed to demolish it again!" The raftman looked at each other, hesitated, and took off his hat. "Big boss, what should we do?" Someone asked. "Do as you please, anyway, I don't allow you to demolish this wooden raft bridge. People under me have to go to work in the factory all the time, and we can't do anything without the wooden raft bridge." "Master, please take care of yourself!" cried the raftman in a tearful voice. "You do a good job! We will erect your wooden raft bridge, fasten it firmly in place, and do everything well... Do it with conscience! Let us pray to God for you forever and ever!" "Well, yes, I know you guys! Don't move!" Redface raised his hand threateningly, and walked away.The raftmen were downcast. "How dare he act like this?" Diomede said passionately. "How high-handed! He has no right to dictate when bridges can be demolished! Folks, ignore him! Don't listen to that fool!" Diomede spoke passionately and eloquently for a long time.The raftman took off his hat and walked up and down the bank, bowing and saluting, till late into the night, but in vain. ... They had no choice but to accept their fate. Throughout the night, a bonfire was lit beside the wooden raft bridge.The raftmen carried their logs across the raft bridge and tied them into a new raft.They were drenched all over, trembling unceasingly, did not speak a word, did not rest for a moment.They performed this extremely laborious work like ants until the next morning. In the morning, they had to prop up the raft again! "Notes" ① 1 Russian inch is equal to 4.4 centimeters.