The Cossacks (23 page)

“Yes, I am,” he replied and for some reason suddenly felt ashamed and awkward. He wanted to leave but could not. He also felt that sitting
there silently would be impossible. But Ulitka’s brother came to his rescue, calling for some wine, and he and Olenin drank a glass. Then Olenin drank another glass with Eroshka, and another with an old Cossack from the neighborhood who dropped in. The more Olenin drank, the heavier his heart was. But the old men were intent on having fun. The two girls climbed up onto the bench above the stove and sat whispering, watching them drink one glass after another. Olenin sat silently, drinking more than the others. The old Cossacks began shouting and singing. Ulitka tried to make them leave, refusing to give them any more Chikhir. The girls laughed at Uncle Eroshka’s antics, and it was already ten o’clock when they all went out on the porch. The old men invited themselves over to Olenin’s house to drink through the night, and Eroshka led the way. Ustenka hurried home, and Old Ulitka went to the milk shed to close it up for the night. Maryanka stayed alone in the house. Olenin suddenly felt fresh and cheerful, as if he had just woken up. He seized the opportunity and, letting the old men go on ahead, hurried back to the cornet’s house, where Maryanka was getting ready to go to bed. He went up to her and wanted to say something, but his voice broke. She sat down on her bed, pulled up her legs, and moved back to the furthest corner. She looked at him with wild, startled eyes. She was clearly frightened. Olenin felt this. He was sad and ashamed but at the same time proud and pleased that he could awaken any kind of feeling in her.

“Maryanka!” he said. “Will you never take pity on me? I love you more than I can say!”

She shrank back even further. “It’s the wine that’s speaking. You’ll get nothing from me.”

“No, it’s not the wine. Don’t marry Lukashka. I’ll marry you!” he said, and then thought: “What am I saying? Will I be able to say it tomorrow?” But an inner voice answered: “I will, of course I will!”

“Marry me?” she asked, looking at him gravely, her fear apparently gone.

“Maryanka! I will go out of my mind, I’m not myself! I will do whatever you command!” And a stream of crazed, tender words poured from him.

“Stop babbling,” she interrupted, suddenly seizing the hand he held
stretched out to her, gripping it tightly with her strong, hard fingers. “Since when do gentlemen marry simple Cossack girls? Go away!”

“But will you? Everything I …”

“And what about Lukashka? What would we do with him?” she asked, laughing.

He tore his hand out of her grip and threw his arms around her, but she sprang up like a wild deer and ran barefoot out onto the porch. He came to his senses and was horrified at himself. He again felt vile in comparison to her but did not for an instant repent what he had said. He went home. Ignoring the old men drinking there, he went to bed and slept more soundly than he had for a long time.

The following day was the day of the festival. In the evening all the villagers came out into the streets, their finery sparkling in the setting sun. More wine than usual had been pressed, and the villagers were finally free from their labor. The Cossacks were going to embark on a campaign within a month, and many families were quickly preparing weddings.

Most of the people had gathered on the square in front of the village council and near two stores, one of which sold sweets and sunflower seeds, the other kerchiefs and calico. Outside the council, old men in somber gray and black coats without gold trim or other decoration were sitting and standing. In placid voices they talked among themselves about the wine harvest, village matters, and the old days, while they gazed on the younger generation with regal indifference. Women and girls stopped to bow to them, and young men respectfully slowed their gait, raised their hats, and held them for a while above their heads. The old men looked at the passersby, some sternly, some kindly, and slowly raised their hats in response.

The girls had not yet gathered into a circle for the round dance. They sat chatting and laughing in little groups on the ground and on the mounds that surrounded the houses, wearing bright jackets and white kerchiefs tied over their heads and faces. Children were running about the square, shouting and squealing, throwing a ball high into the
clear sky. At the other end of the square some of the older girls had already begun their round dance, singing in weak, timid voices. Young Cossacks who were not on active duty, or who had just returned from their squadrons for the feast, cheerfully walked arm in arm in twos and threes, wearing dapper white or red Circassian coats with gold trim. They walked among the groups of girls, stopping to banter and flirt. The Armenian storekeeper, in a gold-trimmed jacket of delicate blue cloth, stood smugly in front of his open door, through which could be seen piles of folded colored kerchiefs. He waited for customers with the pride of the Oriental tradesman. Two red-bearded Chechens who had come from across the Terek to see the feast were squatting barefoot outside the house of a Cossack they knew. They nonchalantly smoked their small pipes and spat, throwing quick, guttural words at each other as they eyed the crowd. From time to time a drab Russian soldier in an old coat hurried across the square through the brightly colored crowd. Some of the carousing Cossacks were already beginning to sing drunken songs. All the houses were locked up, and the porches had been washed clean the night before. Even the old women were out in the streets, which by now were littered with the husks of melon and pumpkin seeds. The air was warm and still, and the clear sky crystalline and blue. The dull, white mountains beyond the roofs seemed close and glowed pink in the rays of the setting sun. Now and then the distant boom of a cannon came from across the river, and a blend of cheerful, festive sounds echoed over the village.

Olenin had paced up and down the yard all morning, waiting to catch a glimpse of Maryanka. But she had put on her finery and gone to mass at the chapel, after which she and the other girls sat outside the house, cracking seeds and hurrying in and out, Maryanka throwing cheerful glances at Olenin. He was afraid of addressing her in a familiar tone in front of others. He wanted to continue the conversation of the night before and make her give him a definite answer. He was waiting for another opportunity to be alone with her, but it did not arise, and he felt he no longer had the strength. She came out into the street again, and a few minutes later he followed her. He passed the corner where she was sitting, radiant in her blue satin jacket, and with a heavy heart heard the girls’ laughter behind him.

Beletsky’s house was on the square. As Olenin walked past, he heard Beletsky calling him and went inside. They chatted for a while, then sat by the window. A little later Uncle Eroshka joined them in his new jacket and sat next to them on the floor.

“What an aristocratic gathering,” Beletsky said with a smile, pointing his cigarette at the brightly colored crowd on the square. “Look, mine’s there too—the one in red. A new dress!” And leaning out the window he shouted, “Hey, when will the dances start?” He turned to Olenin and continued, “Let’s wait till the sun sets, then we’ll go too. And after that we’ll invite them all over to Ustenka’s. We’ll arrange
un petit bal
for them.”

“I’ll come to Ustenka’s too,” Olenin said abruptly. “Will Maryanka be there?”

“Yes, she will! You must come!” Beletsky said, without a hint of surprise. “But I must say, all this is very attractive,” he added, again pointing at the colorful crowd.

“Yes, very,” Olenin agreed, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m always surprised that people at these festivals are suddenly so cheerful and pleased simply because today, for instance, might be the fifteenth. You can see the festival in everything—everything is festive: people’s eyes, faces, voices, movements, clothes, the air, the sun. Yet back in Russia we don’t have festivals anymore.”

“Indeed we don’t,” Beletsky replied, irritated at such musings, and turning to Eroshka said, “But you’re not drinking anything!”

Eroshka winked at Olenin and nodded toward Beletsky. “He’s a good host, your blood brother here!”

Beletsky raised his glass. “
Allah birdi!”
*
he said, and emptied it.

“Saul bul!”
^†
Eroshka replied with a smile, emptying his glass. “You think this is a festival?” he said to Olenin, standing up and looking out the window. “This isn’t what
I’d
call a festival, my friend! You should have seen what they were like in the old days! The women all came out in real finery, with gold trimmings and coin necklaces, and golden
headdresses, and you should have heard the clink-clink-clink of the gold when they walked! Every woman looked like a princess, and they came out in flocks, singing songs. There was carousing all night long. The men would roll barrels into the yards and sit drinking till dawn, and then they would all walk through the village arm in arm. They went from house to house, and took along anyone they met. They drank and danced for three whole days. I remember my father would come home without his hat, all bloated and red, his clothes ripped to shreds, and lie down to sleep. Mother knew exactly what to do: She brought him fresh caviar and some Chikhir for his hangover, and then she’d go through the village looking for his hat. And Father would sleep for two whole days! That’s how people were back then, and look at them now!”

“And the girls back then in their finery, what were they doing? They weren’t carousing too, were they?” Beletsky asked.

“Yes, some of them were. The men would call out to each other, ‘Let’s break up the girls’ dances!’ Then they would ride over to where the girls were, and the girls would grab cudgels and go at them. On Shrovetide young men would ride up to a line of girls and get a real beating—the girls would beat them and their horses too—but if one of the men managed to break through the line of girls, he could grab hold of whichever one he liked and ride off with her. Believe me, he could love her as much as he liked. Ah, those girls! They were like czarinas!”

Just then two Cossacks rode into the square from a side street. One was Nazarka, the other Lukashka, sitting jauntily on his well-fed Kabardinian bay, which stepped lightly on the hard mud of the street, tossing its handsome head and fine, glossy mane. Lukashka was riding in from a distant, dangerous place, his rifle hanging in its sling, his pistol jutting from his belt, and his cloak rolled into a bundle behind the saddle. His rakish bearing, the casual flick of his hand as he tapped the horse’s flank with his whip, and the way his flashing black eyes narrowed as he looked about expressed the strength and conceit of youth.
Have you ever seen a more dashing Cossack? his eyes seemed to say. The stately horse with its ornamented silver bridle, the fine rifle, and Lukashka’s handsome looks drew the attention of the whole square, while Nazarka, scrawny and short, cut a sorry figure.

Lukashka rode past the old men and stopped to raise his sheepskin hat from his closely cropped head.

“I hear you’ve rustled quite a few Nogai horses,” a thin old man said, glaring at him with a dark frown.

“You’ve counted them, have you, Grandpa?” Lukashka replied, turning away.

“At least don’t take Nazarka with you,” the old man said, his frown growing darker.

“The old devil knows everything,” Lukashka muttered to himself, a worried expression flitting over his face. But he saw a large group of girls gathered at the corner of the square and rode over to them.

“Good evening, girls,” he called out in his powerful, sonorous voice, reining in his horse. “How you’ve all grown while I was away, you witches you!” he added with a grin.

“Greetings, Lukashka, greetings!” the girls cheerfully called back.

“Brought back a lot of money?”

“Treat us to some tasty sweets!”

“Are you back for long?”

“It’s been such a while since you were here in the village!”

Lukashka tapped his horse with his whip and rode closer to the girls. “Me and Nazarka have ridden in for a night of fun.”

“You’ve been away so long that Maryanka’s forgotten all about you,” Ustenka squeaked and, giggling, nudged Maryanka with her elbow.

Maryanka moved away from the horse, threw back her head, and gazed calmly at Lukashka with large, glittering eyes.

“Yes, it has been a while, hasn’t it! Are you trying to trample us with that horse of yours?” she said sharply and turned away. Maryanka’s cold words took him aback, and his face, which had been sparkling with joy and bravado, suddenly darkened. “Jump up onto my horse and I’ll gallop to the mountains with you!” he called out to her, as if trying to chase away his dark thoughts, and went riding through the crowd of girls doing stunts on the saddle in a wild display of horsemanship.

Riding past Maryanka, he shouted: “Wait and see how I’ll kiss you! Wait and see!”

Their eyes met. She blushed and stepped back. “Really! Your horse is going to trample me!” she said. She lowered her eyes and glanced at her pretty feet in their tight blue stockings and red slippers trimmed with silver lace. Lukashka rode up to Ustenka, and Maryanka sat down next to a Cossack woman who was holding a baby. The baby reached out to her, its fat little hands grabbing for the coin necklace hanging across her blue jacket. Maryanka leaned toward the baby, watching Lukashka out of the corner of her eye. Lukashka reached into his jacket pocket, took out a packet of sweets and seeds, and handed it to Ustenka. “These are for you girls,” he told Ustenka, glancing at Maryanka with a smile.

Embarrassment flitted over Maryanka’s face, and her beautiful eyes misted over. She pulled the kerchief from across her face and, quickly leaning toward the baby that was holding on to her necklace, began covering its little white face with kisses. The baby opened its toothless mouth and screamed, pushing against Maryanka’s breasts.

“You’ll smother him!” the baby’s mother said, pulling it away from Maryanka and opening her smock to feed it. “You’d do better to be talking to your young man over there.”

“I’ll just see to my horse, and then me and Nazarka will come back! We’re going to drink and dance all night,” Lukashka said, flicking his horse with the whip and riding off with Nazarka. The two men rode into a side street and headed for their houses, which stood side by side.