Chapter 9 "Prairie" II

two It was almost noon, the carriage left the avenue, turned right, took a few steps slowly, and stopped.Yegorushka heard a soft, pleasant murmur, and felt a different air on his face, like a cool velvet.In front of it was a hill made of grotesquely shaped stones by nature, from which the water flowed in a trickle through a small pipe made of ratwort which some good man had placed there.The water fell to the ground, clear and cheerful, shining in the sun, making a slight murmur, and went off somewhere to the left quickly, as if it thought it were a mighty torrent.Not far from the hill, the creek widened into a small pool.The scorching sun and scorched earth drank greedily of the pool's water, draining it of its strength.But a little further on, the small pool probably joined another such stream, because a hundred steps away from the hill, along that stream, there were dense and lush sedges, and it was a piece of green.As the carriage drove past, three sandpipers flew out from there, chirping.

Passengers get off at the stream to rest and feed the horses.Kuzmitchov, Father Christopher, and Yegorushka spread out a blanket in the faint shadow cast by the carriage and unloaded horses, and sat down to eat.The beautiful, happy thoughts that had been frozen in Father Christopher's head by the heat demanded expression after he drank a little water and ate a hard-boiled egg.He glanced affectionately at Yegorushka, chewed, and said: "I have studied myself, little brother. God has given me thoughts and ideas since I was very young, and I have followed Others are different, and only you have comforted parents and teachers with my intelligence when you were your age. Before I was fifteen, I could speak Latin, compose poems in Latin, and speak Russian, Poems in Russian are just as good. I remember being a scepter to Bishop Christopher.

Once, as I still remember, it was the name-day of the late and most pious Emperor Alexander Pavlovich, the bishop, after Mass, took off his cassock on the altar, looked at me kindly, and asked: "Puer bone, quam appellaris?" ①I answered: "Christophorus Sum." ②He said: "Ergo connominati sumus.'That is to say, we are people with the same name.... Then he asked in Latin:"Are you whose son? ’ I replied, also in Latin, that I was the son of Sillysky, the deacon of the village of Lebedinskye.The old man saw that I answered fluently and clearly, so he blessed me and said: "You write to your father, saying that I will not forget to promote him, and I will take good care of you." The high priests and priests standing on the altar I am also amazed to hear us talking in Latin, and everyone praises me and is very satisfied. Before I grew a beard, my little brother, I knew how to read Latin, Greek, French, and learned philosophy, mathematics, and worldly literature. History and various subjects. The memory God gave me is really amazing. I often only read an article twice before I can recite it. My teachers and guardians are strange, predicting that I will become a university student in the future Or, to become the light of the church. I really plan to go to Kiev to continue my studies, but my parents don't agree. 'You miss the book all your life,' my father said, 'then when are we going to wait for you?' Hearing this If so, I stopped studying and went to find a job. Of course, I did not become a scholar, but I did not disobey my parents. When they were old, I gave them comfort and gave them a dignified burial. Obedient, Bi Chizhai It's more important than prayer!"

"I'm afraid you have forgotten all that knowledge by now!" said Kuzmitchov. "How can I not forget? Thank God, I am over seventy years old! I remember a little bit of philosophy and rhetoric, but I have forgotten all foreign languages ​​and mathematics." Father Christopher narrowed his eyes, pondered for a moment, and said in a low voice: "What is an essence? An essence is an object in itself, and does not need anything else to complete it." He shook his head and smiled emotionally. "Food for thought!" he said. "Indeed, matter nourishes the body, and spiritual food nourishes the soul!"

"Learning is learning," Kuzmitchov sighed, "but if we don't catch up with Varlamov, learning won't do us much good." "A man is not a needle. We will always find him. Now he is wandering around here." The three sandpipers they had seen before, now flying over the sedge, could be heard in their chirps of alarm and annoyance, for they had been driven away from the stream.The horse chewed solemnly and snorted.Deniska walked up and down beside them, trying to pretend not to pay any attention to the cucumbers, pies, and eggs that the hosts were eating, and devoted herself to beating the horseflies and flies that clung to the horses' backs and bellies.He slapped the victims to death mercilessly, with a special, vicious and triumphant sound coming from his throat.Whenever he missed, he would clear his throat in annoyance and stare at the flying insect that was lucky enough to escape death.

"Deniska, what are you doing there! Come and eat!" said Kuzmitchov, taking a deep breath, which meant that he was full. Deniska went shyly to the mat and took five thick, yellow "old cucumbers" as the saying goes (he was ashamed to take the thinner, fresher ones), and two blackened, cracked cucumbers. He ate a hard-boiled egg, then hesitated, as if fearing that his outstretched hand would be beaten, and touched the tart with his fingers. "Take it, take it!" Kuzmitchov urged him. Deniska resolutely picked up the pie, went a little way to the side, sat down on the ground, and turned her back to the carriage.Immediately there was a very loud chewing sound, and even the horse turned to look suspiciously at Deniska.

After dinner, Kuzmitchov took a bag containing something from the carriage, and said to Yegorushka: "I'm going to sleep, so be careful, don't let this bag be pulled out from under my head." go." Father Christopher took off his cassock, his girdle, and his long coat, and Yegorushka looked at him in astonishment.It had never occurred to him that priests wore trousers, but Christopher wore canvas trousers tucked into high boots, and a short, thin coat of denim.Looking at him, Yegorushka thought he looked like Robinson Crusoe in this suit, out of proportion to his dignified position, and with his long hair and beard.Kuzmitchov and Father Christopher took off their coats, lay face to face in the shadow under the carriage, and closed their eyes.Deniska finished chewing, lay down on her back in the sun, and closed her eyes too.

"Be careful, don't let the horse be led away!" he said to Yegorushka, and immediately fell asleep. There was silence.There was no sound, only the snorting and chewing of horses, and the snoring of sleepers.Somewhere in the distance, there is a crested wheat hen screaming.Sometimes, the three snipe chirped and flew over to see if the uninvited guests had left.The murmur of the brook was soft and gentle, but all this did not break the silence, nor disturb the stagnant air, but rather put nature to sleep. After eating, Yegorushka felt that the weather was so hot that he couldn't breathe, so he ran to the sedge and looked around from there.What he saw now was exactly the same as he had seen in the morning, nothing but plains, low mountains, sky, and lavender distances.But the mountain is a little closer, the windmill is gone, and it has fallen far behind.Behind the rocky mountain from which the stream flowed rose another hill, much flatter and wider.There is a small village on the mountain, where five or six families live.Around the farmhouses there were no people to be seen, no trees, no shadows, as if the village were drying up, choked by the hot air.Yegorushka had nothing to do, so he caught a cricket in the grass, put it in his empty fist, brought it to his ear, and listened for a long time to the thing playing its instrument.When he got tired of listening to its music, he chased a group of yellow butterflies, and the group of butterflies flew to the place where the livestock drank among the sedges.He chased and chased, and came back to the carriage without noticing.His uncle and Father Christopher were fast asleep, and they must have slept another two or three hours, until the horses had rested. ... How did he pass such a long time?Where would he go to escape the heat?What a puzzle. ... Yegorushka involuntarily put his mouth to the spout to catch the water that was pouring out; his mouth was cool and tasted of rat parsley.At first, he drank vigorously, then reluctantly, and he drank until a sharp cooling sensation spread from his mouth to the whole body, and the water soaked his shirt.Then he went up to the carriage and looked at the sleeping figures.Uncle's face was as solemn and indifferent as usual.Kuzmitchov was so passionate about his business that he never forgot about it even in his sleep or when he was praying in church and listening to "They, little angels" , and now he probably dreamed of bales of wool, wagons, prices, Varlamov. ... Father Christopher, a gentle, free-spirited, joking fellow, never in his life realized that any career could wrap itself around his soul like a boa constrictor.Among the many trades he had worked in in his life, it was not the trades themselves that attracted him, but the hustle and the dealings with people that were necessary in each trade.So it was not the wool, Varlamov, or the price that interested him on this present journey, but the long journey, the conversations on the road, the sleeping under the carriage, the irregular meals. ... Now, judging from his face, he must have dreamed of Bishop Christopher, conversations in Latin, his wife, bread and butter, and all kinds of things that Kurzweichov would never dream of. thing.

Yegorushka was looking at their sleeping faces when he heard soft singing.Somewhere in the distance, a woman was singing, but it was unclear where she was or in which direction.The singing is low, long, and sad, like a dirge, and it is hard to hear clearly. Sometimes it comes from the right, sometimes from the left, sometimes from above, sometimes from the ground, as if there is a ghost invisible to the naked eye Fly and sing over the grasslands.Yegorushka looked around, but could not tell where the strange singing was coming from.Later, when he listened carefully, he felt that the grass must be singing.The grass is half-dead and withered, and there are no words in its song, yet sadly and earnestly telling someone that it has no sin of its own, while the sun roasts it for no reason.It kept saying that it wanted to live passionately, that it was still young, that it would have grown beautifully if it hadn't been for the hot and dry weather, that it was innocent, but it begged forgiveness, and swore that it was in unbearable pain, Sad, pity yourself. ... After listening to Yegorushka for a while, it seemed to Yegorushka that this sad and long song made the air more stuffy, hotter, and stagnant. ... In order to drown out the singing, he hummed and ran to the sedge with all his might.There, looking in all directions, he saw the singer.Near a farmhouse at the end of the village stood a peasant woman, in a short shirt, with long legs like a heron, sifting something, and from the bottom of her sieve a stream of white powder was lazily falling down the hillside.Now I can see clearly that she is singing.A few yards away from her stood a little boy without a hat and a blouse, motionless.As if fascinated by the singing, he stood there looking down, probably at Yegorushka's red shirt.

The singing stopped.Yegorushka sauntered back to the carriage, having nothing to do, and went to drink at the running water. Again came the lengthy singing.It was sung by the long-legged peasant woman in the village on the other side of the mountain.Yegorushka's boredom suddenly returned.He stepped away from the hose and looked up.When he saw this, it was really unexpected, and he couldn't help being a little panicked.It turned out that above his head, on a heavy and heavy stone, stood a plump little boy wearing only a shirt, with a big belly and thin legs. It was the same boy who had stood next to the peasant woman.He opened his mouth wide and looked at Yegorushka's red shirt and carriage without blinking, with dull surprise and even a little terror in his eyes, as if he was seeing a ghost from another world.

The red color of the shirt seduced him, touched his heart.The carriage and the people sleeping under it aroused his curiosity.Maybe he didn't think that the pretty red color and curiosity attracted him from the small village, so he was probably wondering how brave he was.Yegorushka looked at him for a long time, and he looked at Yegorushka for a long time. They were silent, feeling a little awkward.After a long silence, Yegorushka asked: "What's your name?" The strange child's cheeks bulged out more than before.With his back against the stone, his eyes wide open, his lips moving, he answered in a husky low voice, "Kit!" The two children did not speak to each other again.The mysterious Kit was silent for a while, then, still keeping his eyes on Yegorushka, he groped with his heels for a place to step down, and climbed onto the stone, from where he stepped back, watching Yegorushka intently. Gorushka, as if afraid that he might hit him from behind.He mounted another rock, and in this way climbed up until he had passed the top and was completely out of sight. Yegorushka, seeing him off with his eyes, threw his arms around his knees and bowed his head. ... The scorching sun was drying the back of his head, neck, and back.The mournful song faded away for a moment, and flew again in the stagnant and sultry air.The brook murmured monotonously, the horses chewed and ate, and time dragged on endlessly, as if they were also frozen.It seemed that a hundred years had passed since morning. . . . Does God want Yegorushka, the carriage, and the horses to freeze in this air, to turn to stone like those mountains, and to stay in one place forever? Yegorushka raised his head and looked ahead with listless eyes; the lavender distance, which had been steady until now, was now shaking and flying away with the sky somewhere further away. ... It pulled away the brown weeds and sedges along the way, and Yegorushka followed the running distance very quickly.There was a force that dragged him silently to nowhere, and the hot and boring singing followed behind him.Yegorushka hung his head and closed his eyes. ... Deniska woke up first.Something stung him, and he jumped up, scratched his shoulder hastily, and said, "Damn you! I wish you could die!" Then he went to the stream, drank water, and washed his face for a long time.Yegorushka was awakened from his lethargy by the sound of his breathing and splashing water.The boy looked at his wet, marble-like face covered with drops of water and dotted with large freckles, and asked, "Are we leaving soon?" Janiska glanced at the sun high in the sky and replied, "Probably leaving soon." He wiped his face dry with the bottom of his shirt, made a serious face, and hopped around on one leg. "Come on, let's see who gets to the sedge first!" he said. Yegorushka was weakened by the heat and sleepiness, but he danced with him anyway.Deniska was nearly twenty years old, became a coachman and was about to marry, but she was still childish.He liked to fly kites, fly pigeons, play sheep, chase people, and was always involved in children's games and quarrels.As soon as the master went away or fell asleep, Janiska would start playing, jumping on one leg, throwing stones, for example.Any adult who sees him jumping up and down with the big children sincerely and fascinatedly can't help but say: "What a fool!" , but I don't think it's strange: let him play, as long as he doesn't fight!It's like puppies seeing an enthusiastic big dog running over and starting to play with them, and they don't think there is anything strange about it. Deniska overtook Yegorushka, and was evidently pleased with it.His eyes were blinded, and in order to boast that he could jump as far as he wanted on one leg, he proposed to Yegorushka whether he should jump along the road, and then, without resting for a moment, jumped back from the road to the carriage. Come.Yegorushka declined his offer, because he was so out of breath that he had no energy left. Suddenly Deniska put on a serious face, which he had never done even when Kuzmitchov scolded him or waved his stick at him.He listened attentively, and quietly dropped to one knee, with that expression of sternness and horror which one receives only when one hears heresy.He fixed his eyes on one place, slowly raised one hand to make an empty fist, and suddenly threw himself down, his stomach pressed against the ground, and his empty fist was clasped on the grass. "Caught it!" he gasped triumphantly, getting up and holding a katydid before Yegorushka's eyes. Yegorushka and Deniska ran their fingers over the broad green back of the katydid and touched its tentacles, thinking that this would make it feel better.Then Janiska caught a fat fly that had sucked enough blood and gave it to the katydid.The katydid paid no attention to it, as if he and Deniska had known each other for a long time, moved its big jaw like a faceplate, and bit off the belly of the fly with one bite.They released katydids.It flashed the pink undercoat of its wings, jumped into the grass, and immediately began to chirp and sing.They also released the flies.It spread its wings, and even though it had no stomach, it flew to the horse. A deep sigh came from under the carriage.That was Kuzmitchov waking up.He raised his head hastily, looked anxiously into the distance, and his eyes flitted over Yegorushka and Deniska indifferently; it was clear from his eyes that when he woke up he thought of wool and Varlamo. husband. "Father Christopher, get up, it's time!" he said anxiously. "Don't go to sleep, it's too late! Deniska, harness the horse!" Father Christopher woke up with the same sleepy smile on his face. He had slept through so many wrinkles that his face seemed to have shrunk in half.After washing and dressing, he calmly took out a small, dirty volume of "Psalms" from his pocket, stood facing east, read it in a low voice, and crossed himself. "Father Christopher!" Kuzmitchov said reproachfully. "It's time to go, the horses are harnessed, and you, really..." "In a moment, in a moment..." muttered Father Christopher. "A hymn has to be said. . . . Haven't read it today." "You can save it and read it later." "Ivan Ivanitch, this is my daily routine. . . . I must read it." "God will not punish you." Father Christopher, facing east, stood motionless for a full quarter of an hour, moving his lips; Kuzmitchov looked at him almost with hatred and shrugged his shoulders impatiently.He was particularly annoyed by the fact that Father Christopher would take a deep breath every time he finished his hymn, make the sign of the sign of the sign of the sign of the sign of the sign of the cross quickly, and repeat it three times in a loud voice, so that others would sign the sign too. Cross: "Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!" At last, Father Christopher smiled, raised his eyes to the sky, put the Psalter back in his pocket, and said: "Fini!" ⑥ After a minute, the carriage started to move on the road.The carriage seemed to be going backwards instead of forwards, and the passengers saw exactly the same scenery as they had seen before noon.The mountains are still hidden deep in the purple distance, and there is no end to them. Weeds and stones kept flashing before my eyes.Fields of stubble flitted past, and then there were still rooks, and still a hawk circling over the steppe with its wings solemnly flapping.The air was more stagnant than before, with heat and stillness. Docile nature is numb in silence. ... There is no wind, no cheerful fresh sounds, no clouds. But at the end, when the sun began to set, the grasslands, mountains, and air could no longer bear the oppression, lost patience, exhausted, and planned to break free from the shackles on their bodies.Unexpectedly, a fluffy, gray cloud emerged from behind the mountain.It winked at the grassland, as if to say: "I'm ready," and the sky turned cloudy.Suddenly, something exploded in the stagnant air; suddenly a gust of wind blew up, circling over the grassland, howling and whistling.Immediately, the green grass and last year's withered grass complained, and the dust rolled into a spiral on the road, rushed across the grassland, wrapped up wheat straw, dragonflies, and feathers along the way, like a spinning black pillar, soared into the sky, darkening the sun .On the prairie, in all directions, the tumbleweeds staggered, hopped and ran, and one of them was wrapped in the whirlwind, circled like a bird, flew into the sky, became a black spot, and disappeared.After this, another one flew up, and then a third, and Yegorushka saw two of them meet in the blue sky, twisting each other, as if wrestling. A little bustard was flying by the side of the avenue.It flapped its wings and wriggled its tail, soaking in the sun, and looked like a little fish-shaped metal hook used for fishing, or like a small butterfly on a pond, with its wings and The tentacles can't be clearly distinguished, it seems that tentacles have grown from the front, back, left, and right. ... The little bustard was trembling in the air, like an insect, showing colorful colors, flying up to the sky in a straight line, and then it was probably frightened by the dust and fog, and flew into the slant, and it could still be seen flashing for a long time Shining brightly. ... At this moment, a crake was frightened by the whirlwind, and it didn't know what happened, so it flew up from the grass.It does not fly against the wind like all birds, but flies along with the wind, so its feathers are fluffy, and its whole body is swollen as big as a hen. It looks very angry and mighty.Only those crows who have lived to old age on the grassland and are used to all kinds of disturbances on the grassland fly calmly on the green grass, or are indifferent, not caring about anything, and stick out their thick beaks to peck the hard ground. There was a dull rumbling of thunder from behind the mountain, and a gust of wind blew.Deniska gave a whimper of joy and whipped the horse.Father Christopher and Kuzmitchov tightened their hats and stared intently at the distant mountains. . . . It would be nice if it rained as soon as possible! It seems that with a little more effort and a little more struggle, the grassland will gain the upper hand. But the oppressive force invisible to the naked eye gradually subdued the wind and air, suppressed the dust, and then, as if nothing had happened, the silence returned.The clouds hide, the mountains scorched by the sun frown, and the air calms down docilely. Only those disturbed crested wheat hens wailed from somewhere, complaining about their fate. ... Shortly after this, evening came. "Notes" ① Latin: good boy, what's your name? ②Latin: My name is Christopher. ③The protagonist in "Robinson Crusoe" written by the British writer Defoe (1661-1731). ④ 1 Russian foot is equal to 2.134 meters. ⑤The cheering language commonly used in Judaism, and later adopted by Christianity, meaning "praise God". ⑥Latin: finished!