hunter notes

Chapter 15 Guo Fu (1)
"Go to Ligofu," Yermolai, who is already familiar to readers, said to me once, "we can hunt many ducks there."

Although wild ducks have no special charm for real hunters, but when there are no other wild birds (this is early September, and the woodcock has not yet flown, I feel that I have had enough fun running around in the wild chasing partridges), I just I agreed to my hunter's proposal and set off for Liguofu.

Ligolph is a large village on the steppe, with a very old stone chapel with a cupola, and two mills on the Roseotta brook, bordered by moors.At a distance of about five versts from Ligov, this small stream turned into a wide pond, around and in the center of which were scattered thick reeds, which the Oryols called "mayir".Right in this pond, in the bays among the reeds, or in out-of-the-way places, live ducks of all kinds: mallards, teals, pintails, teals, morning mallets, and others.Small flocks of ducks would flap their wings on the water from time to time, and when the gunshots sounded, the smoke would rise, causing the hunter to grab his hat with one hand and let out a long cry: "He-ho!" Yermolai and I Walk close to the pond.But, first, ducks are careful birds and do not come near the shore; second, even if some outdated and inexperienced teals were shot by our bullets and died, our dogs would not be able to reach the dense "Mail" to bite it.In spite of their noble devotion, they neither swim nor wade, and are only scratched by the sharp edges of the reeds on their precious noses.

"No," said Yermolai at last, "this is impossible, we must try to get a boat... Let's go back to Ligov."

off we go.We hadn't gone a few steps when we saw a very shabby hunting dog darting out of the thick firecracker willows, and behind it came out a man of medium height, wearing a worn blue overcoat and a yellow waistcoat, darkly. Gray trousers were tucked carelessly into ripped boots, a red scarf was tied around his neck, and he carried a single-barreled gun.Our dogs, with the usual, breed-specific Chinese ritual, sniffed at their new friend, who, visibly frightened, dropped his tail, raised his ears, bared his teeth, straightened his legs, and walked quickly all over. spin around.Just then, the stranger came up to us and bowed with great respect.He looked to be about 25 years old; his long light brown hair, thickly soaked in kvass, stood motionless; his small brown eyes blinked gently, and his face seemed to be pierced with a black kerchief from a toothache. Son, make a sweet smile on your face.

"Permit me to introduce myself," he said in a soft voice. "I am Vladimir the hunter here. I heard that you came here, and that you came to our pond. If you don't mind, I will I want to be of service to you," said Vladimir the hunter, much like a young local actor playing the part of a boy.I agreed to his proposal, and before I reached Liguofu, I found out that he was a redeemed domestic servant, who had learned music in his youth, and later became a servant. He could read and write, as far as I knew, He has read some boring books, and now, like many people living in Russia, he has no cash or a fixed job, and he is dependent on the sky.He was very polite in his manner of speaking, but obviously showing off; he was certainly a lecherous man, and he was generally successful in courting women, because Russian girls like eloquent men.During the conversation, he told me that he sometimes visited neighboring landowners, went to the city as a guest, played with Park Lie Ferrance, and socialized with people in the city.He was good at smirking, and could produce all kinds of smiles; the one that suited him especially was the humble, calm smile that played on his lips when he was listening attentively.He listens to you carefully, he agrees with you completely, but he never lacks in self-respect, as if to let you know that he will also express his opinion when it is appropriate.Yermolai was an uneducated person, let alone "gentle and refined", so he called him "you".The way Vladimir sneered at him when he called "You..." was very beautiful.

"Are you wearing a veil because of a toothache?" I asked him. "No," said he, "it was a mistake. I have a friend who is a good man, but not a hunter, as often happens. One day he said to me: 'My dear friend, bring I'll go hunting, I really want to experience what this thing is all about.' Of course I wouldn't say no to my friend, so I gave him a gun and took him hunting. We fought for a long time, and then We were going to rest. I sat under a tree; but he did not rest, and began to pretend to be practicing with a gun, and aimed at me. I asked him to stop, but he did not heed my advice because of his inexperience. The shot rang My chin and my right index finger are gone."

We came to Ligofu.Both Vladimir and Yermolay said it was impossible to hunt without boats.

"Suzok has a barge," said Vladimir, "but I don't know where he hid it, and I must go find him."

"Who are you looking for?" I asked. "Here lives a man named Sushak." Vladimir took Yermolay to find Sushak.I told them I would wait for them at the chapel.Looking at the graves in the cemetery, I suddenly saw a black oblong tomb with the following inscription: On the first side was written in French: "Ci git Théophile Henri, vicomte de Blangy" (Count Blanche de Blangy). Tomb of Ophelia Anley); on the second side it reads: "Under this stone the remains of the Count Blanche, a French subject; born 1737, died 1799, at the age of 62"; on the third side On the upper side it says: "Rest in peace"; on the fourth side it says:

Beneath the stone lies the French expatriate; he was a nobleman of talent.He lamented the murder of his wife and family members, which made him leave the motherland ravaged by tyrants and travel far away; he set foot on the land of Russia, and obtained the shelter of excellent gifts in his lifetime: raise children, comfort parents...God bless him here rest in peace.

My meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Yermolay, Vladimir, and the man with the strange nickname "Sushak".

Su Rock, who is barefoot, disheveled and ragged, is probably a retired domestic servant, about 60 years old.

"You have a boat, don't you?" I asked. "Yes," he answered in a hoarse and broken voice, "but badly broken."

"What kind?"

"The glue came off, and the stake fell out of the hole."

"It's nothing!" Yermolay went on, "you can stuff it with flax."

"Of course, yes." Su Rock nodded. "what is your job?"

"The landlord's family is a fisherman."

"Since you are a fisherman, why is your boat so dilapidated?"

"There are actually no fish in our rivers."

"Fish don't like pond scum," said my hunter solemnly. "Then," I said to Yermolay, "get some flax, and fix the ship quickly."

Ermolay went away.

"Maybe we're going to sink to the bottom?" I said to Vladimir. "No," he answered, "at any rate, we can see that the pond is not very deep."

"Yes, the pond is not deep," Su Rock said, his voice was a little strange, as if he was half asleep, "the bottom is full of mud and grass, and there are also deep pits."

"But if the grass is too thick," said Vladimir, "it's hard to row."

"The flat-bottomed boats are not for paddling, they need poles. I'll go with you. I have poles there, or you can use a shovel."

"It's not very good to use a shovel, and there are probably places where you can't reach the bottom," Vladimir said.

"It's really not good." I sat on the headstone and waited for Yermolai.Vladimir, out of politeness, stepped aside and sat down.Su Rock still stood there, lowered his head, and habitually folded his hands behind his back.

"I said," I began, "how long have you been a fisherman here?"

"Seven years." He shivered and replied. "What did you do before?"

"Used to be a carriage driver."

"Who lowered you from the coachman?"

"The new mistress."

"Who?"

"That's the one who bought us. You don't know her, Alyona Timofyevna, fat . . . not young."

"Why did she make you a fisherman?"

"Then I don't know. She came to us from Tambov, her hereditary land, and ordered all the servants to be gathered, and she came out to meet us. We kissed her hand at first, but she didn't say anything." What, she was not angry... Then she questioned us one by one: What do you do and what position do you hold? When she came to me, she asked: "What do you do?" I said: "Being a coachman." "Carriage? You How can you be a coachman, look at yourself, how can you be a coachman? You can't be a coachman, you can be a fisherman for me, with your beard shaved off. Every time I come here, you have to offer fish Come and eat, do you hear?'—I've been a fisherman since then.—She said: 'You'll clean up my pond...' How can I clean it up?"

"Who was your previous master?"

"It's Sergei Sergeyitch Pekhterev. He was inherited. But he didn't rule us very long, six years in all. I used to be a coachman with him. . . . of course not in the city—he has a coachman in the city, and I am in the country.”

"Have you been a coachman all your life?"

"Of course not. Sergey Sergeyitch started out as a coachman. I used to be a cook, but not in the town, but in the country."

"Who was the master at that time?"

"It was the old master, Afanasy Nefiditch, Sergey Sergeyitch's uncle. He bought Ligov, Afanasy Nefiditch, Sergey Sergeyitch Ergejitch inherited the land."

"Who did you buy it from?"

"Tatyan Vasilyevna."

"Who?"

"That woman who died the year before last, near Polkhov... yes, near Karachev, a spinster... never married. Don't you know her? We got her from her father Vasily Semyonitch passed it on to her. She has been in charge of us for a long time . . . twenty years, perhaps."

"Did you work as a cook with her too?"

"It was really a chef at first, and then a barista."

"what?"

"coffee maker."

"What kind of job is this?"

"I don't know, sir. To serve in the dining room, call me Anton, not Kuzma. It's the mistress' order."

"Is your original name Kuzma?"

"Kuzma."

"Have you always been a barista?"

"No, not just doing this job all the time, but also being an actor."

(End of this chapter)