hunter notes

Chapter 38 Singer (1)
The small village of Kolotovka originally belonged to a landowner who was nicknamed Pompas by the villagers because of her fierce temperament (her real name is no longer known), but now belongs to a Peterburger from Germany. all over.This small village is located on a bare hillside, and a sinister valley cuts the hillside in two from top to bottom. In the middle of the street, more strictly than the river, over which at least a bridge can be built, divides the poor little village in two.A few lonely firecracker willows hang timidly on the sandy slopes on both sides of it.On the dry valley floor, as yellow as copper, there are huge paving stones made of clay.This is not a pleasing sight, needless to say.But all the inhabitants of the neighborhood knew the way to Kolotovka very well, and they liked it very much.

At the head of the ravine, a few paces from the slit where the ravine began, stood a small, square cabin, all alone and at a great distance from the others.The little wooden roof was covered with straw, and had a chimney, and a window like a piercing eye looking out over the valley.On winter nights, lights are lit in the windows, and it can be seen from a distance through the hazy cold. It winks at many passing farmers like a guiding star.A light blue board is nailed to the door frame of the hut. This is a hotel called Anleju.The wine in the hotel is not necessarily cheaper than the stated price, but the business is much more prosperous than other similar shops in the neighbourhood.The reason for this lies in the bartender Nikolai Ivanitch.

Nikolay Ivanitch, who had been a well-proportioned young man with curly hair and rosy cheeks, was now a very fat, gray-haired man with a puffy face, sly and gentle eyes, a broad forehead, and There are wrinkles like lines - he has lived in the village of Kolotovka for more than 20 years.Nikolai Ivanitch, like most bartenders, was quick-witted and clever.He wasn't particularly friendly, and he didn't talk much, but he had a knack for attracting and keeping customers. We sat at his counter and felt at ease under the piercing but genial gaze of the sober host. Very happy.He is full of unique insights; he is well versed in the lives of landowners, farmers and market merchants; Always willing to stand on the sidelines, and at best to use roundabout, seemingly pointless hints to guide his guests—or those he likes—in the right direction.He was good at everything Russians loved and valued: horses and other domestic animals, forests, bricks, utensils, cloth and leather, song and dance.When no one is visiting, he always sits on the ground in front of his wine house with his two thin legs crossed like a sack, and greets all passers-by with kind words.He has seen a lot in his life, and dozens of little nobles who came to him to buy brandy have become a thing of the past before his eyes; he knows everything that happens within a hundred versts, but he never reveals anything about him. Seen and heard, not even a whit of what he knew that even the sharpest-sighted chief of police suspected.He was always silent, smiling and looking at the wine glass.He was respected by the neighbors, and even Sherepichenko, the highest civil servant in the county, greeted him humbly whenever he passed the door of his house.Nikolai Ivanitch was a powerful man: once a well-known horse thief stole a horse from his friend's house, and he made the thief return the horse; the peasants of the neighboring villages disobeyed The new deacon, he had persuaded them; and many such things.It should not be thought, however, that he did these things out of a love of justice, and of service to those near him--he was merely a precaution against everything that might disturb his peaceful life.Nikolai Ivanitch was married and had a child of his own.His wife, a quick-witted, quick-witted businesswoman, had recently become a bit fat like her husband.He gave her all his belongings, and entrusted her with the key to the cash box.Drunk people are afraid of her.She didn't like such people, because they got very little benefit from them, and they made a lot of noise.She prefers people who are sad and silent.Nikolai Ivanitch's children were still young.The first few who were born died, but the few that remained were very much like their parents.It is very happy to see the smart little faces of these healthy children.

On an unusually hot day in July, I took a slow walk with my dog ​​along the Kolotovka valley, up to the Comfort Hotel.The sun scorched the sky violently; the steam and scorching heat persisted; the air was filled with choking dust.Rooks and crows with bright feathers opened their mouths and looked pitifully at the passers-by, as if asking for their sympathy; only the sparrows were not worried at all, and their feathers were ruffled up, chirping more vigorously than before, and twittered on the fence. They kept arguing, and occasionally they flew together from the dusty road, hovering over the green marijuana fields like dark clouds.I am very thirsty.There is no water around, and in Kolotovka, as in many other steppe villages, the peasants drink muddy water from ponds because there are no springs or wells... But who can call such muddy water Where about water?I want to go to Nikolai Ivanitch for a beer or kvass.

To tell the truth, Kolotovka has no pleasant sights throughout the year.But here, especially sad, are the hot glares of July that blaze on these landscapes: the brown, dilapidated roofs; the deep ravines; Thin long-legged chickens walk hopelessly to and fro; the gray poplar frame, with only a few holes in the windows, is the remains of a former landowner's mansion, and now grows nettles, weeds, and absinthe; A dark, hot pond with goose feathers floating on it, surrounded by half-dried mud and a sideways embankment; around the embankment, on the dusty mud, were sheep, panting from the heat, and Sneezing, they clung to each other sadly, lowering their heads as much as possible with the remaining patience, as if waiting for when this nasty heat would leave.Finally, weary, I approached Nikolai Ivanitch's tavern, arousing the astonishment of the children, making them look at me nervously and meaninglessly, and the dogs too. Indignation made them bark so hoarse and ferocious as if their guts were bursting, and then they themselves coughed and couldn't breathe.At this moment, a tall man suddenly appeared at the door of the hotel. This man was not wearing a hat, but was wearing a thick wool coat with a light blue belt tied under his waist.He appeared to be a domestic servant in appearance, with thick gray hair that rose unkempt over the upper part of his dry, lined face.He was calling someone there, waving his hands hastily, and his hands were obviously waving much more than he himself hoped.From this we can see that he was drunk.

"Come on, come on!" he mumbled, pushing up his bushy eyebrows, "come on, wink, come on! Man, look at your slowness, really. That's not fair, man. Everyone is waiting for you, but you are so dawdling... Hurry up!"

"Oh, here we come, here we come." A trembling voice came, and a fat, crippled man came out from the right side of the room.He wore a very neat woolen coat, pulled in one sleeve; and a tall pointed hat, pressed down over his eyebrows, gave a sly and comic expression to his round face.His small yellow eyes kept moving back and forth, his thin lips were always in an unnatural smile, and his long, pointed nose protruded shamelessly forward like a rudder. "Here it is, honey," he continued, limping towards the hotel, "what did you tell me to do? . . . who's waiting for me?"

"What did I ask you to do?" The man in the thick woolen coat was slightly dissatisfied, "Blink, you are so weird, man, I asked you to come to the hotel, and you still asked 'what to do?' Many good friends are waiting You: Yakov the Turk. The wild master, and the contractor from Zizdra. Yakov and the contractor made a big beer bet—who would win, that is, who would sing better... …Do you understand?"

"Yakov is going to sing?" said the man nicknamed Wink happily. "Aren't you lying, you fool?"

"I'm not lying," the fool replied seriously. "You're talking nonsense yourself. Since you've made a bet, of course you're going to sing. You wretch, you cunning, wink!"

"Let's go then, nerd," replied Wink. "Okay, but at least you have to kiss me, my darling," muttered the fool, spreading his arms wide. "Look at you childish Aesop." Blink replied with a look of contempt, elbowed him away, and the two of them bent down and walked into the low door.

This conversation I heard deeply aroused my curiosity.I have heard many times that Yakov the Turk is the best singer in the neighbourhood, and today I chanced upon him to compete with another famous singer.I took a few steps and walked into the hotel.

Few of my readers have had the opportunity to see a country hotel, and yet there is nowhere we hunters have not been.The structure of this hotel is extremely simple.Most of them consist of a dark front room and an inner room with a chimney, which is divided into two rooms by a partition into which no customers can enter.In the wainscot, above a broad oak table, was a rectangular alcove.The wine is sold on this table (aka counter).On the shelf facing this wall hole, sealed bottles of wine of various sizes are neatly placed.The front part of the inner room was reserved for customers, with benches and two or three empty casks, and a table in one corner.Country inns are mostly gloomy, and you seldom see on their log walls the brightly colored pop engravings that are so indispensable in farmhouses.

When I walked into Anleju, there were already many customers gathered inside.

Behind the counter Nikolai Ivanitch was still standing, his body filling almost the entire wall.He wore a calico shirt, with a lazy smile on his full cheeks, and with his fat, white hands poured out two glasses of wine for the friend and the fool who had just entered.In the corner behind him, near the window, his keen-eyed wife could be seen.In the center of the room stood the Turk Yakov, a thin and well-proportioned man of about twenty-three, wearing a long blue homecloth coat with long trains.He looked like an active factory worker in less than perfect health.His cheeks are sunken, his big gray eyes look restless, his nose is straight, his nostrils are small and flutter frequently, his forehead is white and smooth, his light golden curly hair is combed back, his lips are thick but beautiful, and his expression is Rich - his whole face does not reveal that he is a sensitive and warm person.He was very excited: his eyes were blinking, his breathing was rapid, his hands were trembling—he was suffering from a fever, one of those bewildered, sudden seizures of speaking or singing in front of a crowd. fever.Beside him stood a man of about forty years of age, with broad shoulders, prominent cheekbones, a low forehead, small eyes like those of a Tartar, a short and flat nose, a square chin, and a black and shiny Hair is as strong as a mane.The aspect of his dark and leaden face, and especially his pale lips, were almost savage, if not for a certain poise.He hardly moved, except sometimes to poke around slowly like a yoked bull.He wore a shabby frock coat with smooth brass buttons; and an old black silk scarf round his thick neck, and everyone called him Wild Lord.On the bench directly opposite him, under the icon, sat Yakov's rival, the contractor from Zizdra.He was a man of about 23 years old, with a short build and a strong physique. He had pockmarked face, curly hair, a flat snub nose, bright brown eyes and a thin beard.He put his hands under his body and looked around shrewdly, his legs in his handsome boots with rims were swaying and tapping leisurely.He was wearing a new, thin gray tweed jacket with a velveteen collar that set off the edge of the red shirt that was fastened at his throat.Opposite this, to the right of the door, sat at a table a peasant in an old gray robe with a large hole in the shoulder.The thin yellow band of the sun shone in through the dusty glass of the two small windows, but it seemed unable to sweep away the customary darkness in the room, and there were very few patches of light reflected on all the objects.But it was cool in here, and the suffocation and heat were gone as soon as I stepped across the threshold.

My presence—I could see this—disturbed Nikolai Ivanitch's guests a little at first, but when they saw him greet me as if he were an acquaintance, they all calmed down and paid no attention. me.I ordered a beer and sat in the corner next to the peasant in his torn robe. "Hey, how's it going!" the fool drank the wine in one breath, and suddenly shouted loudly, and at the same time accompanied his shout with a wave of his hand, obviously, he couldn't say a word without this wave . "What are you waiting for? Let's start, eh? Yakov? . . . " "We can begin, we can begin," said Nikolai Ivanitch approvingly.

"Let's get started," said the contractor with a confident smile. "I'm ready."

"I'm ready too." Yakov said excitedly. "Okay, let's go! Brothers, let's go!" Blink screamed.However, despite the unanimous agreement, no one spoke first, and the contractor did not even get up from his bench—everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

"Let's begin!" Master Ye said deeply.Yakov shuddered.The contractor stood up, pulled down his belt, and coughed a few times.

"But who will sing first?" he asked the wild master in a slightly changed voice, but the wild master was still standing motionless in the middle of the room, with his fat legs spread wide and his thick hands in the crotch of his wide trousers. bag, barely up to the elbow.

"You go first, you go first, contractor," murmured the fool.Master Ye frowned and glanced at him.The foolish screamed slightly, became embarrassed, looked at the ceiling, shrugged his shoulders, and fell silent. "Draw lots," said the old man flatly, "and put the wine on the counter." Nikolai Ivanitch stooped, picked up the wine from the floor with a wheezing sound, and put it on the table.The wild master looked at Yakov and said: "Come!" Yakov reached into his pocket for a while, took out a half-copeck piece, and made a mark on it with his teeth.The contractor took out a new leather purse from under the hem of his coat, undid it unhurriedly, poured out a lot of change, and selected a new half-copeck from it.The fool took out his old hat, which was broken and the brim was falling off, and Yakov threw his coppers into it, and the contractor threw his own.

(End of this chapter)