hunter notes

Chapter 21 Cassian of the Beauty River (2)
Seriously, I look at Cassian more than I look at my dog.He really deserves the nickname Flea.His little black, uncovered head (however his hair would have substituted for any hat) flashed among the bushes.He walks very quickly, seems to be jumping all the time, often bends down, picks some grass, puts it in his arms, mutters a few words to himself, and looks at me and my dog ​​from time to time. Put on a curious look.In the low bushes and cleared ground there are often little gray birds, which are constantly changing from tree to tree, chirping, and flying up and down the ground.Cassian imitated them and echoed them; a small quail flew up from his feet chirping, and Cassian chirped to follow it; He flew down—and Cassian sang along with it.He and I haven't spoken to each other... The weather is fine, better than before, but the heat remains the same.In the clear sky, tall and sparse clouds floated slightly, milky white like late spring snow, flat and slender like unloaded sails.Their cotton-like fluffy and soft lace, slowly but obviously changing at every moment--these clouds are melting away, they cast shadows.Cassian and I wandered the reclamation for a long time.Twigs less than 1 arshin high, with their smooth young stems around low stumps in black clusters; round spongy knots with gray edges, which can be boiled into tinder and adhere to On these stumps; here the strawberries put out their pink tendrils;Two feet often caught in the long, sun-baked grass; the young reddish leaves on the trees dazzled with metallic brilliance, here and there clusters of pale blue vetch, Ranunculus, half-purple and half-yellow pansies are colorful.Beside the deserted path marked by red grass ruts, in several places stood stacks of firewood blackened by the wind and rain, the unit of a cubic sand rope; The light shadow of the rhomboid - not much shadow elsewhere.The breeze blows now and then; sometimes it blows all the way to your face, as if at full strength--everything is cheerfully noisy, swaying, and moving, and the soft tips of the ferns are dancing--and you want to enjoy it The wind...but suddenly it stopped again, and everything was still again.Only the grasshoppers squeaked in unison, as if exasperated—a constant, dull, dull cry that bored one.The cry was well suited to the obstinate heat of noon; it seemed to be born of this heat, and it was called by this heat from the blazing earth.

We didn't come across a nest of birds, and later came to a new clearing.There, freshly felled aspens lay sadly on the ground, weighing down some grass and small shrubs; some of the aspens still had green leaves, but they were dead and hung gaunt and motionless. on the branches of the other poplars; the leaves on the other aspens are dry and curled.Fresh, pale blond wood chips, piled up next to damp stumps, exude a special, refreshing bitterness.In the distance, near the woods, the ax made a dull sound, and every once in a while, a lush tree stretched its arms as if bowing, and fell solemnly and slowly... I haven't found any wild birds for a long time.At last, out of a vast wormwood-grown oak bush flew a crake.I fired; it turned over in the air and fell.When Cassian heard the gunshot, he quickly covered his eyes with his hands and remained motionless until I loaded the gun and picked up the crake.After I walked away, he went to the place where the dead crake had fallen, bent over the grass with a few drops of blood, shook his head, and gave me a frightened look... Then I heard him mutter: "Guilty! ... Oh, what a crime!"

The heat finally forced us to hide in the woods.I ran under a tall hazel clump, and above it a young, trim maple spread its light branches gracefully.Cassian sat down at the thick end of a felled birch tree.I studied him carefully.The leaves swayed gently on high, and their pale green shadows slid slowly back and forth on his thin body, which was casually wrapped in a dark coat, and on his small face.He didn't look up.Tired of his silence, I lay on my back and began to watch the tangle of leaves play peacefully in the bright high sky.Lying on your back in the woods and looking up is a lot of fun!You will feel that you are looking at the unfathomable sea, which spreads "below" you. The trees do not rise from the ground, but are like the roots of huge plants, extending downward, falling vertically in this clear and mirror-like place. The leaves are sometimes as translucent as emeralds, and sometimes they become dense and become a golden dark green.Somewhere far, far away, a single leaf at the end of a twig stood motionless in a transparent blue sky, and beside it another leaf was swaying like fish in a pond, It seems to be moving by itself, not because of the wind.Clouds of white clouds floated silently like enchanted underwater islands, and quietly departed.Suddenly the sea, the radiant sky, the sun-drenched branches and leaves, all flowed and shook like flashes, and then there was a fresh and trembling rustle, like the sudden microwave The endless tiny splashing sound.You stay quietly, you look out, the joy, tranquility and sweetness in your heart cannot be described by pen and ink.As you gaze, the deep and clear blue sky draws a smile as pure as it on your lips; a series of happy memories drifts slowly across your mind, like clouds moving in the sky, and as if together with clouds It’s like moving; you just feel that your gaze is getting farther and farther, pulling you into the calm, bright bottomless depth, and it is impossible to escape from this high place, this depth... "Master, hello, sir !” Suddenly Cassian spoke in his sonorous voice.

I raised my body in surprise, he was not willing to answer my question before this, but now he spoke automatically.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Why did you kill that bird?" he said, staring into my face. "What and why?...crake—this is wild game, it's edible."

"You didn't kill it to eat it, sir, you wouldn't eat it! You killed it for the fun of it."

"Don't you yourself eat geese or chickens?" "Those birds are ordained by God to be eaten by man, but the crake is a wild bird in the woods. Not only the crake, but many others, all in the woods creatures of the fields and rivers, of the moors and meadows, of the high places and of the low places—it is a sin to kill them, and let them live in the world till the end of their days... Man has his own food .Man has something else to eat and drink: bread—a gift from God—and water from heaven, and livestock from his ancestors.”

I looked at Cassian in surprise.He spoke smoothly, without hesitation in a word, calmly and excitedly, gently and solemnly, sometimes with his eyes closed.

"So, in your opinion, is killing a fish a sin?" I asked. "The blood of a fish is cold," he replied confidently. "A fish is a silent creature. It has no fear, no joy. A fish is a silent creature. It has no feelings, and neither does the blood in its body." Live... blood," he said after a moment of silence, "blood is a sacred thing! Blood cannot see the sun in the sky, blood must be protected from light... Letting blood see the light is a great sin, a great sin, It's a terrible thing... Oh, what a crime!"

He sighed and lowered his head.I looked at this strange old man and was really surprised.His words didn't sound like those of a farmer. Ordinary people can't say such things, and neither can garrulous people.It's prudent, serious and strange... I've never heard anything like it. "Cassian, please tell me," I began, keeping my eyes on his slightly flushed face, "what do you do?" He didn't immediately answer my question.His eyes rolled uneasily for a moment.

"I live by the commandment of God," he answered at last, "and as for trade--no, I don't have any trade. I was brought up to be very ignorant. I worked when I could, and I did it very well. Not good... how can I do it! I have poor health and clumsy hands. In spring, I will catch nightingales."

"Catching a nightingale? . . . Didn't you say that all creatures in the woods and fields and elsewhere should not be touched?"

"It is wrong to kill them. Death comes naturally. Take Maldon the carpenter. Malden the carpenter lived, but died after a short life; his wife now grieves for her husband, and Worrying about a young child... No one, no creature can avoid death. Death does not come to haunt you, but you cannot escape it; but it is not right to help death... I will not kill you Nightingales—never! I didn't catch them to torture them, or kill them, but to please, to make me happy."

"Did you go to Kursk to catch nightingales?" "I have also been to Kursk, and sometimes farther afield. Spending nights in moors and forests, alone in wild and lonely places; where there are sandpipers Birds are chirping, there are rabbits chirping, there are ducks quacking... I watch at night, listen carefully in the morning, and cast nets on the bushes at dawn... Some nightingales sing So bleak, tactful... really bleak."

"Do you sell nightingales?" "Sell to kind-hearted people." "Then what else do you do?" "What do you do?" "What do you do?" The old man was silent for a while.

"I don't do any work. . . I suck at it. But I can read."

"You can read?" "I can. God and some good people help me." "Do you have any family?"

"No, no family." "Why? Are they all dead?" "No, it is, I'm not very lucky. It's all God's arrangement, and we all live by God's arrangement; Integrity—that's all that matters! That is, to be after the mind of God."

"Do you have any relatives?" "Yes... um... yes..." The old man couldn't speak in a daze.

"Please tell me," I said again, "I just heard my coachman ask why you didn't cure Mal. Would you cure him?" "Your coachman is an honest man," Cassian replied thoughtfully, "It's not without sin. Call me a doctor... What kind of doctor am I!... Who can heal? Everything depends on God. Some... Oh, flowers, they do have curative properties. For example, ghost needles are good for people, and so is plantain; there is no shame in talking about these grasses, because they are holy grasses--God's. Grass. Not so with other grasses, which are useful, but sinful; sinful even to speak of them. Except for prayers...well, of course there are some spells...but only believers Saved." He lowered his voice and added.

"Didn't you give Malden any medicine?" I asked. "I know too late," answered the old man, "but what does it matter! A man's lifespan is fixed. Maldon the carpenter was a short-lived man, and he did not live long in the world, that's all." .No, whoever does not live long in the world, the sun does not warm him as it does other people, and the bread is of no use--as if calling him back... Well, may his soul rest in peace!"

"Has it been a long time since you emigrated to our side?" I asked after a little silence.

Cassio shuddered.

(End of this chapter)