hunter notes

Chapter 10 My Neighbor Rakilov (1)
In autumn, the woodcock usually inhabits the old linden garden.There are many such gardens in our Orel province.When our ancestors chose a place to settle down, they must choose a good land of about two dessia acres to open up an orchard with a linden grove.After about 50 years, up to 70 years, these manors, these "nobility's nests", gradually disappeared from the ground; the houses collapsed, or were demolished and sold, and the stone outbuildings became piles. Ruins, dead apple trees for firewood, fences and hedges all gone.Only the bodhi tree is still thriving, now surrounded by plowed fields, and is telling our wandering children and grandchildren the past of "father and brother who have long since rested".Such an old linden tree is a fine tree... not even the pitiless axes of the Russian peasants will touch it.Its leaves are small, its powerful branches stretch out in all directions, and it is always cool under the tree.

Once, when Ermolai and I went hunting partridges in the field, I saw a deserted garden nearby, so I walked towards it.Just walking into the woods, a woodsnipe flapped its wings and flew up from the bushes.I fired, and at that very instant there was a cry from some distance away, and the frightened face of a young woman peeped out from behind a tree, and then disappeared.Yermolay came running towards me. "Why did you shoot here? There are landlords living here." Before I could answer him, and before my dog ​​proudly brought the dead bird to me, I heard a rush of footsteps, a A tall man with a moustache came running from the woods and stopped before me with an air of displeasure.I tried to apologize, gave my name, and gave him back the bird that had been shot on his property.

"Very well," he said to me, smiling, "I'll accept your game, but please promise to eat with us."

To be honest, I didn't like his proposal very much, but it was impossible to refuse. "I am the lord here, and I am your neighbor. My surname is Rajilov. You may have heard of it," continued my new acquaintance. "Today is Sunday. The food at my house should be decent, otherwise I I dare not invite you."

I said a few words to him as would be expected in a similar situation, and walked away with him.The freshly cleaned path soon led us out of the linden grove and we walked through the vegetable garden.Among the old apple trees and thick gooseberry bushes grow some round, pale green cabbages, snakeskins spirally wound on poles, and small brown sticks entwined with dry peas stand densely on the field In the garden, big flat pumpkins seemed to be rolling on the ground, yellow cucumbers sprouted from the dusty horned leaves, tall nettles swayed against the fence, and in two or three places grew tartar. Honeysuckle, elderberry, briar--remnants of the old "flower beds."Next to the small fish pond filled with red, slimy water, there was a well surrounded by puddles.Ducks lapped or plodded happily in these puddles; a dog trembling all over, squinting, biting bones on the grass; a piebald cow was lazily chewing grass, From time to time, it pats its thin back with its tail.The path turned a corner, and behind the thick firecracker willows and birch trees was an old-fashioned gray house with a plank roof and crooked steps.Rakilov stopped.

"But," he said, looking at me kindly, "I think maybe you don't want to come to my house, if that's the case..."

I didn't wait for him to finish, and told him firmly that, on the contrary, I was very happy to go to his house for dinner.

"Oh, please come in." We walked into the house.A young man in a long blue pea coat stood on the steps to meet us.Rakilov immediately ordered him to fetch schnapps for Yermolay, and my hunter bowed respectfully behind the generous benefactor.We walked into a small room from the front room with various colorful pictures and hanging some birdcages - this is Rachilov's study.I took off my hunting jacket and put my gun in the corner of the room; the young man in the long-legged overcoat was frantically dusting me.

"Now let us go into the drawing room," said Rachilov kindly, "and I will introduce you to my mother."

I followed him into the living room. On the central couch was an old lady of short stature, dressed in coffee-colored clothes and a white cap, with a kind and thin face and shrinking and sad eyes.

"Well, mother, let me introduce you. This is our neighbor ×××."

The old lady bowed and bowed to me, her skinny hand was always holding the bag-like coarse woolen handbag.

"Have you been with us for a long time?" She blinked and asked me in a soft and slight voice.

"No, I just came here." "Are you going to live here for a long time?" "I plan to live until winter." The old lady was silent.

"This is," continued Rachilov, pointing to a tall, thin man whom I hadn't noticed when I entered the drawing room, "his name is Fyodor Mikhich... Hey, Fyodor, come here Show off your skills to the guests. Why are you hiding in the corner?"

Fyodor Mihech quickly got up from his chair, took a poor violin from the window, took the bow--not by the end, as the others did, but by the middle, and put Prop the violin on your chest, close your eyes, sing, squeak and groan the strings, and dance.He looked seventy years old, his long dungaree coat dangling uncoordinatedly over his bony limbs.He danced, his little bald head swaying bravely at times, at other times he seemed to lose his mind and swayed slightly, stretched his veined neck, stepped on the ground, and sometimes bent his knees with great difficulty.His toothless mouth made mournful noises.Rajilov probably guessed from my facial expression that Fedor's "skill" did not bring me much pleasure.

"Oh, well, old man, that's all right," he said, "you can go and have a rest."

Fyodor Mikhich immediately put the violin on the window, bowed first to my guest, then to the old lady, and finally to Rachilov, and went away.

"He was a landowner too," explained my new friend, "and very rich, but broke—and now lives with me. . . . When he was rich, he was the most prestigious man in the province, He robbed two married women, there is a singer at home, and he is also very good at singing and dancing... Would you like soju? The meal is ready."

A young girl, the same one I had seen in the garden, came into the room.

"This is Olya!" Rajilov turned his head slightly and said, "Please give me your advice... Then, let's go to dinner."

(End of this chapter)