Part 21 (1/2)

Zhilin began to understand their language. Some of the Tartars got used to him. When they needed him, they called, ”Ivan, Ivan!” but others looked at him awry, as at an animal.

The red Tartar did not like Zhilin. Whenever he saw him, he frowned and turned away, or called him names. There was also an old man; he did not live in the village, but came from farther down the mountain. Zhilin saw him only when he came to the mosque, to pray to G.o.d. He was a small man; his cap was wrapped with a white towel. His beard and moustache were clipped, and they were as white as down; his face was wrinkled and as red as a brick. His nose was hooked, like a hawk's beak, and his eyes were gray and mean-looking; of teeth he had only two tusks. He used to walk in his turban, leaning on a crutch, and looking around him like a wolf. Whenever he saw Zhilin, he grunted and turned away.

One day Zhilin went down-hill, to see where the old man was living. He walked down the road, and saw a little garden, with a stone fence, and inside the fence were cherry and apricot trees, and stood a hut with a flat roof. He came closer to it, and he saw beehives woven from straw, and bees were swarming around and buzzing. The old man was kneeling, and doing something to a hive. Zhilin got up higher, to get a good look, and made a noise with his stocks. The old man looked around and shrieked; he pulled the pistol out from his belt and fired at Zhilin. He had just time to hide behind a rock.

The old man went to the master to complain about Zhilin. The master called up Zhilin, and laughed, and asked:

”Why did you go to the old man?”

”I have not done him any harm,” he said. ”I just wanted to see how he lives.”

The master told the old man that. But the old man was angry, and hissed, and rattled something off; he showed his teeth and waved his hand threateningly at Zhilin.

Zhilin did not understand it all; but he understood that the old man was telling his master to kill all the Russians, and not to keep them in the village. The old man went away.

Zhilin asked his master what kind of a man that old Tartar was. The master said:

”He is a big man! He used to be the first dzhigit: he killed a lot of Russians, and he was rich. He had three wives and eight sons. All of them lived in the same village. The Russians came, destroyed the village, and killed seven of his sons. One son was left alive, and he surrendered himself to the Russians. The old man went and surrendered himself, too, to the Russians. He stayed with them three months, found his son there, and killed him, and then he ran away. Since then he has stopped fighting. He has been to Mecca, to pray to G.o.d, and that is why he wears the turban. He who has been to Mecca is called a Hadji and puts on a turban. He has no use for you fellows. He tells me to kill you; but I cannot kill you,--I have paid for you; and then, Ivan, I like you.

I not only have no intention of killing you, but I would not let you go back, if I had not given my word to you.” He laughed as he said that, and added in Russian: ”You, Ivan, good, me, Abdul, good!”

IV.

Zhilin lived thus for a month. In the daytime he walked around the village and made things with his hands, and when night came, and all was quiet in the village, he began to dig in the shed. It was difficult to dig on account of the rocks, but he sawed the stones with the file, and made a hole through which he meant to crawl later. ”First I must find out what direction to go in,” he thought; ”but the Tartars will not tell me anything.”

So he chose a time when his master was away; he went after dinner back of the village, up-hill, where he could see the place. But when his master went away, he told his little boy to keep an eye on Zhilin and to follow him everywhere. So the boy ran after Zhilin, and said:

”Don't go! Father said that you should not go there. I will call the people!”

Zhilin began to persuade him.

”I do not want to go far,” he said; ”I just want to walk up the mountain: I want to find an herb with which to cure you people. Come with me; I cannot run away with the stocks. To-morrow I will make you a bow and arrows.”

He persuaded the boy, and they went together. As he looked up the mountain, it looked near, but with the stocks it was hard to walk; he walked and walked, and climbed the mountain with difficulty. Zhilin sat down and began to look at the place. To the south of the shed there was a ravine, and there a herd of horses was grazing, and in a hollow could be seen another village. At that village began a steeper mountain, and beyond that mountain there was another mountain. Between the mountains could be seen a forest, and beyond it again the mountains, rising higher and higher. Highest of all, there were white mountains, capped with snow, just like sugar loaves. And one snow mountain stood with its cap above all the rest. To the east and the west there were just such mountains; here and there smoke rose from villages in the clefts.

”Well,” he thought, ”that is all their side.”

He began to look to the Russian side. At his feet was a brook and his village, and all around were little gardens. At the brook women were sitting,--they looked as small as dolls,--and was.h.i.+ng the linen. Beyond the village and below it there was a mountain, and beyond that, two other mountains, covered with forests; between the two mountains could be seen an even spot, and on that plain, far, far away, it looked as though smoke were settling. Zhilin recalled where the sun used to rise and set when he was at home in the fortress. He looked down there,--sure enough, that was the valley where the Russian fortress ought to be.

There, then, between those two mountains, he had to run.

The sun was beginning to go down. The snow-capped mountains changed from white to violet; it grew dark in the black mountains; vapour arose from the clefts, and the valley, where our fortress no doubt was, gleamed in the sunset as though on fire. Zhilin began to look sharply,--something was quivering in the valley, like smoke rising from chimneys. He was sure now that it must be the Russian fortress.

It grew late; he could hear the mullah call; the flock was being driven, and the cows lowed. The boy said to him, ”Come!” but Zhilin did not feel like leaving.

They returned home. ”Well,” thought Zhilin, ”now I know the place, and I must run.” He wanted to run that same night. The nights were dark,--the moon was on the wane. Unfortunately the Tartars returned toward evening.

At other times they returned driving cattle before them, and then they were jolly. But this time they did not drive home anything, but brought back a dead Tartar, a red-haired companion of theirs. They came back angry, and all gathered to bury him. Zhilin, too, went out to see. They wrapped the dead man in linen, without putting him in a coffin, and carried him under the plane-trees beyond the village, and placed him on the gra.s.s. The mullah came, and the old men gathered around him, their caps wrapped with towels, and took off their shoes and seated themselves in a row on their heels, in front of the dead man.

At their head was the mullah, and then three old men in turbans, sitting in a row, and behind them other Tartars. They sat, and bent their heads, and kept silence. They were silent for quite awhile. Then the mullah raised his head, and said:

”Allah!” (That means ”G.o.d.”) He said that one word, and again they lowered their heads and kept silence for a long time; they sat without stirring. Again the mullah raised his head: