The Cossacks (16 page)

“You know Girei Khan from Syuk-su?” Lukashka asked, evidently proud that he knew him. “He’s a blood brother of mine.”

“He’s my neighbor,” the scout said.

“A good man!” Lukashka said and with keen interest began talking to the scout in Tatar.

The Cossack lieutenant and the village elder arrived on horseback, accompanied by two Cossacks. The lieutenant, a recently commissioned Cossack officer, greeted the men, but they did not return the greeting with a “Good health, Your Honor!” the way soldiers of the Russian army would greet a lieutenant, and only a few of the Cossacks even bothered to acknowledge him with a nod. Some of the men, including Lukashka, got up and stood at attention. The sergeant reported that at the checkpoint all was well. Olenin thought this was very funny—it was as if the Cossacks were playing at being soldiers. But the formalities were quickly dropped, and the lieutenant, who was as much a dashing Cossack as the others, was soon in lively conversation in Tatar with the scout. The Cossacks wrote up some kind of document, handed it to the scout, took the money he held out to them, and then gathered around the dead man.

“Which one of you is Luka Gavrilov?” the lieutenant asked.

Lukashka took off his hat and stepped forward.

“I sent a report about your feat to the colonel. I don’t know what will come of it, but I’ve put you up for a medal. You’re too young to be made sergeant. Can you read and write?”

“No, I can’t.”

“But you’re a fine fellow!” the lieutenant said, continuing to play the commanding officer. “You can put your hat back on. Which of the Gavrilovs is he from? Broad-back Gavrilov?”

“He’s his nephew,” the sergeant replied.

“Ah, I see. Well, men, lend the Chechens a hand,” he said, turning to the Cossacks.

Lukashka’s face shone with joy, and he looked even handsomer than usual. He put his hat on and sat down again next to Olenin.

The Chechen’s body was placed in a boat, and his brother walked down to the riverbank, the Cossacks stepping aside to let him pass. He pushed the boat away from the bank with his powerful leg and jumped on. For the first time, Olenin noticed, the Chechen quickly ran his eye over the Cossacks and gruffly asked his companion a question. The scout, still on the bank, said something and pointed at Lukashka. The Chechen looked at him and, turning away, gazed at the opposite bank. There was no hatred in his eyes, only cold contempt. He again said something.

“What did he say?” Olenin asked the restless scout.

“Your men slaughter ours, ours butcher yours,” the scout said, clearly making it up. He laughed, baring his white teeth, and jumped into the boat.

The dead man’s brother sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the opposite bank. He was filled with such contempt that there was nothing on the Cossacks’ side of the river that could arouse his curiosity. The scout stood at the back of the boat, talking continuously as he steered, dipping the paddle skillfully now on one side, now on the other. The boat grew smaller and smaller as it cut across the current, the Chechens’ voices barely audible, until the Cossacks saw it reach the opposite bank, where horses were waiting. The Chechens lifted the body out of the boat and carried it to one of the horses, laying it, though the horse shied, over its saddle. They mounted their horses and slowly made their way along the road that led past the Chechen village, from which a crowd of people had come to look.

Back on their side of the river, the Cossacks were very pleased. The men joked and laughed, and the lieutenant and the village elder went inside the hut to drink some vodka. Lukashka sat down cheerfully next to Olenin, his elbows resting on his knees as he chipped away at a stick. He tried to give his expression a serious look.

“Why are you smoking?” Lukashka asked, feigning interest. “Is it
really good?” He was saying this only because he had noticed that Olenin was uncomfortable among the Cossacks, who were ignoring him.

“It’s just a habit,” Olenin said. “Why?”

“Well, if one of us smoked, there’d be trouble!” Lukashka said. “Look how close the mountains seem,” he added, pointing toward the gorge. “But you’ll have a hard time reaching them. How are you going to get back to the village alone in the dark? I can take you there, if you want—but you have to ask the sergeant.”

“What a fine fellow!” Olenin thought, looking at Lukashka’s cheerful face. He thought of Maryanka and of the kiss he had heard by the gate, and felt sorry for Lukashka and his rough ways. “What nonsense this is!” he thought. “A man kills another and is happy, pleased, as if he had done the most wonderful thing. Can Lukashka not be aware there is nothing to be cheerful about? That happiness lies not in killing but in sacrificing oneself?”

“You’d better not run into that Chechen again,” one of the Cossacks, who had seen the boat off, said to Lukashka. “Did you hear him asking about you?”

Lukashka raised his head. “My godchild?” he replied, meaning the Chechen he had killed.

“Your godchild won’t be asking any more questions—I mean that redheaded brother of his.”

“Let him thank God my bullet wasn’t aimed at him,” Lukashka said, laughing.

“Why are you so happy?” Olenin asked. “If it had been your brother who was killed, would you be happy?”

Lukashka looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. It was as if he understood Olenin but was above such considerations. “Well, isn’t that how things are? Aren’t they killing our brothers too?”

The lieutenant and the village elder left. Olenin, as a favor to Lukashka, and so that he would not have to go through the dark forest alone, asked the sergeant to give Lukashka leave to accompany him
back to the village, and the sergeant complied. Olenin thought that Lukashka wanted to see Maryanka and was quite pleased at having the companionship of such a handsome and gregarious Cossack. Involuntarily he united Lukashka and Maryanka in his imagination and found pleasure in thinking of them together. “He loves Maryanka,” he thought, “and I could love her too.” A new and powerful feeling of tenderness took hold of him as they walked through the dark forest. Lukashka also felt lighthearted. Something resembling love touched these two young men, who were so different from one another. Whenever their eyes met, they wanted to laugh.

“Through which gate are you going into the village?” Olenin asked.

“The middle one. But I’ll take you as far as the marsh; after that you won’t have anything to fear.”

“Why? Do you think I’m afraid? You can head back to the checkpoint,” Olenin said, laughing. “I’ll manage well enough on my own.”

“It’s not as if I have anything else to do. But how come you’re not afraid—I am!” Lukashka said, also laughing.

“In that case, come over to my place. We’ll talk, we’ll drink, and you can go back tomorrow morning.”

“You think I can’t find myself a place to spend the night?” Lukashka said with a grin. “But the sergeant told me I had to be back tonight.”

“I heard you sing a song last night, and then I saw you …”

“You did, did you?” Lukashka replied with a nod.

“Is it true you’re getting married?” Olenin asked.

“My mother wants me to. But I don’t even have a horse.”

“Aren’t you a regular soldier?”

“No, no! I’ve only just enlisted. I don’t have a horse yet, and there’s no way I can get one. That’s why I can’t get married.”

“How much does a horse cost?”

“The other day some men were trying to buy a horse across the river, and they wouldn’t give it to them for sixty rubles—but it was a Nogai horse.”

“Would you like to come along on the campaign as my orderly?” Olenin asked suddenly. “I can see to everything, and give you a horse too. Really, as it is I have two.”

“What do you mean?” Lukashka said, laughing. “Why should you give me such a present? I’ll make do, with God’s help.”

“I mean it! Or don’t you want to be an orderly?” Olenin said, happy that he had thought of making Lukashka a present of his horse. Yet for some reason he suddenly felt ill at ease and ashamed, and did not know what to say.

Lukashka was the first to break the silence. “So, you have your own house back in Russia?” he asked.

Olenin could not refrain from telling Lukashka that he had not one house but several.

“Good houses? Bigger than ours?” Lukashka asked good-naturedly.

“Much bigger, ten times bigger, and three stories high.”

“And you have horses as good as ours?”

“I have a hundred horses, even better than yours, each worth three or four hundred rubles, and I mean silver rubles. Racing horses, you know. But I like the ones here better.”

“Did you come here of your own free will, or were you drafted?” Lukashka asked banteringly. “See this? This is where you got lost,” he added, pointing at a path beside them. “You should have headed to your right.”

“I came here of my own free will,” Olenin said. “I wanted to see your land and go on campaigns.”

“I’d love to go on a campaign!” Lukashka said. “Do you hear those jackals howling?” he added, stopping to listen.

“Aren’t you frightened because you killed a man?” Olenin asked.

“Why should I be frightened? I’d love to go on a campaign!” Lukashka repeated. “I really would!”

“Maybe we can go together. My company is going to march before the holiday, and the Cossack Regiment too.”

“You came to the Caucasus of your own free will? You have houses, you have horses and serfs? I would do nothing but carouse! So, what’s your rank?”

“I’m a cadet, but I’ve been put up for a commission.”

“If your house is as big as you say it is, and you’re not bragging, I would have stayed there. I’d never go anywhere! Do you like living among us?”

“Yes, very much,” Olenin replied.

It was completely dark by the time the two men arrived at the village. They were still immersed in the black gloom of the forest. The wind moaned in the treetops. The jackals seemed to be howling, cackling, and crying right next to them, but from the village ahead came the sound of women talking and dogs barking, and the two men could clearly see the outline of the houses. Fires flickered, and the aroma of burning dung hung in the air. That evening Olenin felt, more than ever before, that his home, his family, all his happiness were here in the village, and that he would never live anywhere as happily as he did here. That evening he was filled with love for everyone, particularly Lukashka. When they came to his lodgings, Olenin led the horse he had bought in Grozny out of the barn. It was not the one he always rode but the other one—not a bad horse, though no longer young. To Lukashka’s great surprise, Olenin gave it to him.

“Why would you give me your horse?” Lukashka asked. “I haven’t done anything for you yet.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to me,” Olenin replied. “Take it. Perhaps you will give me a present someday. We might ride out on a campaign together.”

Lukashka was embarrassed. “But why are you giving it to me? An animal like that costs a lot of money,” he said, without looking at the horse.

“Go on, take it! If you don’t, I’ll be offended. Vanyusha, take the horse over to his house.”

Lukashka took hold of the reins. “Well, thank you very much. I never expected this, never!”

Olenin was as happy as a twelve-year-old boy.

“You can tether her here. She’s a good horse, I bought her in Grozny. You should see her gallop. Vanyusha, bring us some Chikhir. Let’s go inside.”

The wine was brought, and Lukashka sat down and picked up a mug. “God grant that I may be of service to you,” he said, emptying it. “What’s your name?”

“Dmitri Andreyevich.”

“Well, Dmitri Andreyevich, God save you! We’ll be blood brothers. You must come and visit us—we’re not rich people, but we know how to treat a blood brother. I’ll tell my mother to give you clotted cream, grapes, anything you need. And if you come out to the checkpoint, you can count on me for hunting, crossing the river, anything you want. You should have seen the wild boar I killed a few days ago! I shared the meat with the other Cossacks, but if I’d known, I’d have given it to you.”

“That’s all right, thank you anyway. By the way, don’t harness the horse, she’s never pulled a cart.”

“I’d never harness her! Ah, and you know,” Lukashka said, lowering his head, “I have a blood brother, Girei Khan. He wants me to lie in ambush with him by the road that leads down from the mountains. If you want, you can come along. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll be your
murid
.”
*

“Ah yes, I will come along one of these days.”

Lukashka seemed to have calmed down. His composure surprised Olenin, and even put him off a little. They talked for a long time, and it was late at night when Lukashka, who had drunk a lot but was not intoxicated (for he was never intoxicated), shook hands with Olenin and left. Olenin looked out the window to see what he would do. He was walking quietly, his head lowered. He led the horse out the gate, suddenly shook his head briskly, sprang into the saddle like a cat, grabbed the reins, and with a whoop galloped down the street. Olenin had thought Lukashka would cross the courtyard to celebrate his good fortune with Maryanka, but even though Lukashka did not do that, Olenin was in high spirits as never before. He could not refrain from telling Vanyusha not only that he had made Lukashka a present of the horse but also his whole theory of happiness. Vanyusha objected to this theory and declared that since
l’argent il n’y a pas
, the whole thing was foolish.

Lukashka rode home, jumped off the horse, and told his mother to send it out to graze with the Cossack herd, as he had to return to the checkpoint. His deaf-mute sister offered to take care of the horse and
mimicked with signs that if she saw the man who had given it to him, she would bow down to the ground before him. The old woman only shook her head, certain that Lukashka had stolen the horse, and so told her daughter to take it out to the herd well before dawn.

Lukashka returned to the checkpoint alone, puzzling over why Olenin had given him the horse. He knew it was not a particularly good one, but it was worth at least forty rubles, and he was very pleased with the gift. But he could not understand why the gift had been made and so was not in the least thankful. Quite the opposite: Vague suspicions that Olenin might be harboring wicked intentions filled his head, but he could not figure out what these might be, nor could he accept the idea that a stranger would make him a present of a forty-ruble horse out of the goodness of his heart. If Olenin had been drunk and swaggering about, it would have made some sense. But he had been sober, and might well have intended the horse as a bribe to get him to do something bad. “We’ll find out soon enough,” Lukashka thought. “I got the horse, and we’ll see what’s next! I’m nobody’s fool! We’ll see who’ll get the better of whom! We’ll see!” he thought, convinced that he would have to be on his guard. Feelings of hostility toward Olenin stirred in him.