hunter notes

Chapter 20 Cassian of the Beauty River (1)
Returning from hunting in a bumpy pony cart, troubled by the sweltering heat of a cloudy summer day (which, as we all know, is sometimes hotter than a sunny day, especially when there is no wind), I dozed, swayed, and endured melancholy, letting the fine white dust rising up from the broken road under the cracked wheels eat away at my body——Mute, my coachman is unusual The uneasy emotions and panicked movements caught my attention. He was more sleepy than me at this moment.He tugged on the reins a few times, fidgeted in the driver's seat, and yelled at the horse, looking aside from time to time.I looked around, and our carriage was walking on a wide, cultivated plain, some of which were not very high, and were also cultivated hills, forming a very gentle slope, extending here in waves, looking out. About five versts of desolate wilderness could be seen, and in the distance only the jagged tops of small birches broke the almost straight line of the horizon.Narrow paths ran round the field, submerged in hollows, and encircled the hills; one of them, five hundred paces ahead, intersected our main road, and I saw a procession walking on that path. .This is what my coachman looked at.

This is the funeral procession.In front, a priest ambles along in a carriage with a horse harnessed to it.A church deacon sat next to him and drove the car.Behind the wagon were four peasants without hats, carrying a coffin covered with a white cloth.Two women followed behind the coffin.The thin, mournful voice of one of them suddenly reached my ears.I listened carefully, she was crying and complaining.This melodious, monotonous, mournful and hopeless tone floats desolately in the empty field.The coachman urged the horse, he wanted to pass the ranks.It is a bad omen to meet a dead person on the way.Sure enough, he overtook the dead before they reached the road.But we hadn't walked more than a hundred steps when suddenly our carriage shook violently, tipped over, and almost fell over.The coachman reined in the galloping horse, waved his hand, and spat.

"What's wrong?" I asked.My coachman climbed out of the carriage slowly and silently. "What's the matter?" "Axle broken... scorched," he replied grimly, and suddenly and furiously adjusted the leather harness of the horse, causing the horse to completely tilt to one side, but it held on, He snorted, shook his head, and scratched the calf of its front foot with his teeth as if nothing had happened.

I got out of the car and stood for a while on the road, lost in a state of unpleasant confusion.The right wheel was almost completely crushed under the car, and seemed to stretch its hub upwards with indescribable desperation.

"What now?" I asked. "Those people are to blame!" said my coachman, pointing with his whip at the procession which had turned off the road and was coming towards us. "I've been taboo about this before," he continued, "it's a good omen—meeting dead people... Really."

He went to work on the side horse again.The horse saw that he was in a bad mood, had a stern manner, and was determined to stand still, except for an occasional humbly wag of its tail.I wandered back and forth for a while, then stood in front of the wheel again.

By this time the ranks of the dead had overtaken us.The way was blocked by us, and the sad procession turned slowly from the road into the meadow, rounding our carriage.The coachman and I took off our hats, bowed to the priest, and exchanged glances with the coffin bearers.They strode with laborious strides, their broad chests heaving high.One of the two women who followed the coffin was quite old and pale, and her face, dull and distorted with sorrow, maintained a serious and solemn expression.She walked silently, occasionally raising a thin hand to press her thin sunken lips.The other woman was a young woman about 25 years old, her eyes were moist and red, and her whole face was swollen from crying.She stopped crying as she passed us, and hid her face in her sleeves... But as the dead man passed us and returned to the road, her mournful, moving wailing resumed.My coachman turned his head to me after silently watching the rhythmically shaking coffin pass by.

"This is the funeral of Muldoon the carpenter," said he, "the one with the little wave."

"how do you know?"

"I didn't know until I saw those two women. The older one was his mother, and the younger one was his wife."

"Did he die of illness?" "Yes...fever...the housekeeper sent for the doctor the day before yesterday, but the doctor was not at home...the carpenter is a good man; a little drinkable, but he is a good carpenter. You Look how sad his woman is... But then again, a woman's tears are worthless. A woman's tears are like water... Really."

He bent down, got under the bridle of the lieutenant, and took hold of the yoke with both hands. "But," I said, "what shall we do?" My coachman put his knee on the shoulder of the shaft horse, shook the yoke twice, adjusted the shaft saddle, and then slipped under the bridle of the second horse. He came out, pushed the horse's mouth, and walked to the wheel.Standing there, watching the wheels, he slowly produced a flat birch-bark snuffbox from under the hem of his coat, slowly pulled the strap, opened the lid, and slowly He put his two big fingers into the box (the two fingers could barely get in), rubbed the snuff, first turned his nose to one side, and snuffed the snuff one after another.Every time I sniffed, I let out a long sneezing sound, and then narrowed or blinked my tear-filled eyes uncomfortably, and fell into deep thought.

"Hey, what should I do?" I finally asked.My coachman put his snuff-box carefully in his pocket, shook his cap on his brows with a mere movement of his head, without using his hands, and climbed preoccupiedly to the bridge. "Where are you going?" I asked him, not without surprise. "Sit down, please," he replied calmly, taking the reins. "But how can this car go?"

"I can still walk." "But the axle..." "Please come up and sit down." "But the axle is broken..."

"It's broken, but we can drive to the immigrant village...Of course we have to drive slowly. After passing through the woods in front, there is an immigrant village on the right called Yujine."

"Do you think we can get there?" My coachman did not answer me. "I'd better walk." I said. "As you please..." So he flicked his whip, and the carriage started.

We actually made it to the settlement, although the right front wheel barely supported and turned very oddly.On a knoll the wheel nearly came off, and my coachman yelled angrily, and we went down the knoll without incident.

The Yudine immigrant village consists of six small farmhouses that are already crooked, although they probably haven't been built for long—the yards of the farmhouses haven't been fully fenced yet.Our car drove into this immigrant village, but we didn't meet a single person.Not even a chicken, not even a dog; just a black bob-tailed terrier jumping hastily in front of us from a dry laundry chute Going to the trough), without a sound, slipped in from under the gate in a panic.I went into the first farmhouse, opened the front door, and called the master—no answer.I yelled again, and I heard a hungry yelling from the other door.I kicked the door open, and a skinny cat slid past me with green eyes shining in the dark.I poked my head into the room: it was dark, smoky, and empty.I went out into the yard—a calf lowed in the fence, and a lame gray goose limped a little sideways.I went into the second farmhouse—this one was also empty.I walked into the yard... In the very center of the sunlit yard, the so-called most sunny place, there was a man lying there with his face turned to the ground and his head covered with clothes; I thought it was a boy.Under the eaves a few steps away from him, beside an old small carriage, stood a scrawny horse in tattered harness.The sunlight streaming down through the narrow holes in the battered eaves made bright spots on its shaggy, bay-coloured fur.In a tall starling cage nearby, starlings twittered and looked down with quiet curiosity from their lofts in the sky.I went to the sleeping man and woke him up... He looked up, saw me, and cried out... "What's the matter? What are you doing? What's going on?" He muttered half asleep .

I didn't answer him right away because I was terrified by his appearance.Picture a dwarf in his fifties, with a small, dark, wrinkled face, a pointed nose, brown eyes that are barely visible, and curly, thick black hair that spreads out like a mushroom cap. on his little head.His body is extremely weak and thin, and his eyes are special and weird, it is really hard to describe in words.

"What are you doing?" he asked me again.I told him about it.He listened to me, and his slowly blinking eyes kept staring at me. "Can you get us a new axle?" I said at last. "I'd be happy to pay." "Who are you? Are you hunters?" he asked, after he had looked me over from head to toe. . "It's a hunter."

"Perhaps you are shooting birds in the sky?... Beasts in the woods?... You kill the birds of God and shed innocent blood. Isn't this a crime?"

The strange little old man spoke slowly.His voice also surprised me.Not only can there be no trace of aging in his voice, but it is surprisingly sweet, youthful and soft like a woman.

"I don't have an axle," he added, after a little silence, "and this axle won't fit (he pointed to his little buggy). Yours must be big?"

"Then can it be found in the village?"

"This is not a village! ... No one here has an axle ... Besides, no one is at home, they are all working. Go away, please," he said suddenly, and lay down on the ground again.

I never expected such a result. "Hey, old man," I said, patting him on the shoulder, "please help me." "Go away! I'm tired. I just got back from a trip to town." He said to me, pulling his coat on top superior. "Excuse me," I continued, "I...I will pay you." "I don't want your money." "Please help, old man..." He got up and crossed his thin legs sitting.

"Perhaps I can lead you to the clearing. The merchant bought a wood over there--a crime, cut down the woods, and built an office, a crime. You could have an axle ordered there, or you could buy A ready-made."

"That's great!" I exclaimed happily. "Brilliant! . . . Let's go."

"Oak axle, very good," he went on, not rising to his feet.

"Is it far to the reclaimed land?" "Three versts."

"It's nothing! We can go in your pony carriage." "No..."

"Then let's go," I said, "come, old man! The coachman is waiting for us in the street."

The old man stood up reluctantly and walked into the street with me.My coachman is getting angry because he wants to give the horses water, but the well is so little, and it tastes bad, which, according to the coachmen, is the most important thing... But when he sees the old man, He grinned, nodded, and shouted:
"Ah, Cassian! Hello!" "Hello, Ye Luofei, you are an upright person!" Cassian replied in a muffled voice.I immediately told the coachman his suggestion; Yeluofei agreed, and drove the carriage into the yard.While he busied himself methodically about unharnessing, the old man stood with his shoulders leaning against the gate, looking now at him and at me sullenly.He seemed a little confused, and I don't think he welcomes uninvited guests like us.

"Have you been moved here too?" Ye Luofei asked him suddenly as he took off the yoke.

"Well, I've been relocated, too." "Ah!" said my coachman vaguely through his teeth, "you know, Muldoon the carpenter . "I know it." "Hey, he's dead. We just met his coffin." Cassian shuddered. "Dead?" he said, lowering his head.

"Yes, dead. Why don't you cure him, eh? People say you can. You're a doctor."

My coachman was evidently making fun of the old man, and was laughing at him. "Why, is this your carriage?" he went on, shrugging his shoulders towards the carriage. "be mine."

"Ah, wagon . . . wagon!" he repeated, taking it up by the pole, almost turning it upside down... "Wagon! . . . What will take you to clearing? . . The horses can’t fit into this pole, our horses are big, and what is this?”

"I really don't know." Cassian replied. "What will take you there, or this animal," he added with a sigh.

"Use this animal?" Ye Luofei took the words, approached Cassian's nasty horse, and poked its neck contemptuously with the middle finger of his right hand. "Look," he said accusingly, "it's asleep, the fool!"

I asked Ye Luofei to equip it quickly.I would like to go to the clearing with Cassian myself, because there are often grouse.When the pony carriage was finally equipped, I took my dog ​​and sat in the uneven bark body, Cassian huddled up, with the previous depressed expression on his face. He was also sitting on the railing in front—at this time Ye Luofei came up to me and whispered mysteriously:
"Go with him, sir, and be careful. You have to understand that he is a strange man, he is a madman, and his nickname is Flea. I don't know how you know him..."

I want to tell Ye Luofei: Cassian has been a very sensible person until now, but my coachman immediately continued in the same tone:
"Just watch out and see if he's taking you there. Pick out the axle yourself, a solid one. . . . Now, Flea," he went on loudly, "can you get some bread here?"

"Go and find it, you may find it." Cassian replied, pulled the rein, and we set off.

To my surprise, his horse ran pretty well.Along the way, Cassian didn't say a word, and answered my questions intermittently and not very willingly.We soon reached cleared land, and there we found the office again—a tall wooden house standing alone on a small ravine that had been so carelessly dammed and turned into a pond.I met two young fellows in this office, their teeth were as white as snow, their eyes were sweet, their voices were sweet and bright, and their faces were sweet and sly smiles.I bought an axle from them and went back to the clearing.I thought Cassian would stay by the horse and wait for me, but suddenly he came towards me.

"Why, are you going bird hunting?" he said, "Huh?" "Yes, if I can find it." "I'll go with you . . . all right?" "Yes, yes."

We went.A total of about 1 verst was cut down.

(End of this chapter)