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Chapter 40 Singer (3)
"Hey, let go of him, let go of him, stalker..." said with a wink of regret, "let him sit down and rest for a while, you see he's tired...you fool, man, what a fool ! Why do you keep holding on to him?"

"Okay, then let him rest, I'll drink to his health." The fool said, and walked towards the counter. "You're busy, man," he added, turning to the contractor.

The contractor nodded, sat down on the bench, took out a towel from his hat, and began to wipe his face; the fool drank his glass of wine hastily, gurgled in the habit of alcoholics, and then pretended to be A worried look.

"Brilliant singing, old man, great singing," said Nikolai Ivanitch kindly. "Now it's up to you, Yakov, to be careful and bold. Let's see who is better." , let's take a look... The contractor sings really well, it's really wonderful."

"Excellent," said Nikolai Ivanitch's wife, looking at Yakov with a smile.

"Okay!" muttered my neighbor in a low voice. "Ah, Poleha the sluggish!" the fool suddenly yelled, approaching the peasant with the hole in his shoulder, prodding him with his fingers, and laughing intermittently and tremblingly. "Poreha! Poreha! Poreha, get out of here, slug! What are you doing here, slug?" he cried, laughing.

The poor farmer began to panic, and was about to stand up and run away, when suddenly he heard the clang of the wild master's gong.

"Why is this beast so annoying?" he said sternly. "I don't have anything," muttered the fool, "I don't have anything... I just..." "Well, then, be quiet!" said the wild master. "Yakov, sing now!"

Yakov raised his hand and pressed it to his throat.

"Oh man... this... um... I don't know, this..."

"Cough, come on, what are you afraid of? Aren't you shy!...Why are you coy?...Sing whatever you want."

Master Ye bowed his head and waited.Yakov was silent for a moment, looked around, and covered his face with one hand.Everyone fixed their eyes on him, especially the contractor. In addition to his usual self-confidence and complacency, there was also an unconscious and slight uneasiness on his face.He leaned against the wall and put his hands behind him again, but his feet had stopped swinging.Finally, Yakov's face appeared—a face as pale as death, with eyes that shimmered through drooping lashes.He took a deep breath, and then sang... The first note he uttered was weak and uneven, and it seemed not to come from the heart, but from afar, as if he had flown here by chance.This slightly trembling, silvery sound had a strange effect on everyone present. Everyone looked at each other, and Nikolai Ivanitch's wife actually stood up.After the first sound burst out, the second sound followed. This sound is more firm and long-lasting, but still trembling, as if the string was suddenly plucked by the fingers and made a sound, and finally calmed down rapidly. After the second sound, the third appeared, and then gradually became agitated, spread out, and blew out a mournful song."There is more than one road in a field," he sang, and we all felt good and scared.It is really rare for me to hear such an extraordinary voice: it is slightly broken, like the crisp sound of pearls falling on a jade plate; there is even a morbid feeling at the beginning, but there are real emotions in it, including youth, strength, and Wonderful sentiment, there is a tear-jerking sadness.The real and passionate soul of Russia swims in it, it plucks your heartstrings, and it almost captures the core of Russian grace.The singing was flying up and stirring up.Yakov was clearly intoxicated.He was no longer timid, he was utterly blissful; his voice no longer trembled—it trembled, but it was a faint, inner trembling of passion that shot like an arrow into the heart of the listener, the voice Constantly intensify, become stronger, and become mightier.I remember one evening, when the tide went down, and the waves of the sea rolled majestically and heavily in the distance, I saw a huge white gull on the flat sand of the coast, its white and smooth chest reflected the fiery red sunset glow, It does not move at all, sitting upright, only occasionally facing the familiar sea and facing the rosy sunset, slowly stretching its long wings--I heard Yakov's singing, and the appearance of the white gull emerged.He performed with ecstasy, completely oblivious to his rival and us all, but evidently supported by our silence and ardent sympathy, as a brave swimmer is supported by wave and spray.He performed to his heart's content, and every sound of his singing gave people a feeling of intimacy and vastness, as if the familiar grassland was endlessly unfolding in front of you.I felt tears rolling in my heart and welling up in my eyes.Suddenly a hoarse, deep cry startled me... I looked back and saw that the bartender's wife had her chest pressed against the window, already weeping.Yakov glanced at her sharply, and his voice grew louder and more beautiful.Nikolai Ivanitch lowered his head and turned his face away with a wink; the limp fool stood there with his mouth open; the peasant in the gray robe was quietly weeping in a corner. , humming sadly in a low voice, shaking his head; even on Mr. Ye's iron, expressionless face, under his frowning brows, huge tears slowly flowed out; the contractor put his clenched fist on the In front of the forehead, the body froze there... If it hadn't been for Yakov's sudden end on a very high and particularly high-pitched note, as if his voice had cracked, I really don't know when the distress of the entire audience would end.No one made a sound, no one even blinked, everyone seemed to be waiting, waiting for him to continue singing.But he seemed to be surprised by our silence, opened his eyes wide, and looked around everyone with doubts in his eyes, he knew he had won... "Yakov." Master Ye called out, putting his hand on him shoulder, and no longer speak.

We all seemed transfixed.The contractor stood up quietly and approached Yakov. "The wine...is yours...you win." Finally he spoke with great effort, and ran out of the room...His quick and resolute action seemed to awaken the audience from their dreams, and everyone laughed and chattered in an instant .The fool jumped up, murmured under his breath, waved his hands like windmill blades; with a wink he approached Yakov and kissed him; Nikolai Ivanitch stood He straightened his body and solemnly announced that he would add another bottle of beer himself; the wild master smiled so kindly that I never thought he would have such an expression on his face; the peasant in the gray robe wiped his eyes with his sleeves , cheeks, nose and beard, and in a corner of herself repeated inadvertently: "Oh, well, that's good, even if I was born of a dog, that's good!" Nikolai Ivanitch's wife blushed Flushed, she quickly stood up and walked away.Yakov enjoyed his victory like a young child. His face was completely different from the original one, especially his eyes, which shone with happiness.They pulled him to the counter, and he called the weeping peasant in the gray robe, and sent the bartender's youngest son for the contractor, but he didn't see where he was, and they all started drinking. "You'll give us another show, and you'll sing for us till night." The fool raised his hands high and kept repeating what he said.

I gave Yakov one more look and left.I don't want to stay any longer, for fear of damaging the impression in my mind.But the heat is still embarrassing.It seemed to form a thick layer covering the ground.In the deep blue sky, there seemed to be a tiny, faint spark, swirling back and forth through the extremely fine, almost black dust.Everything is still, and in the serenity of the weary nature, there is a hopeless oppression in the heart.I went to the hayloft and lay down on the freshly cut grass that was almost dry.I couldn't sleep for a long time, Yakov's irresistible voice kept hovering in my head... Finally the heat and fatigue took over, and I fell into a deep sleep like death.When I woke up, everything around me had been plunged into darkness.The loose grass smelled rich and was a little damp.Through the thin slats that separate the scattered roofs, I see scattered pale stars.I go out.The sunset glow has long since dissipated, and its last afterglow remains a light fish-belly white on the horizon, but in the sultry air not long ago, through the cool night air, I can still feel the presence of heat, and I still look forward to the cool wind in my chest.There was no wind and no clouds.The whole sky was silent, dark and clear, silently twinkling with countless faintly visible and blinking stars.Occasional lights flickered in the village.From the nearby, brightly lit hotel came an indistinct tumult of noise, in which I thought I heard Yakov's voice.From time to time came loud laughter.I walked over to the window and pressed my face against the glass.I saw an unpleasant, albeit colorful, scene: everyone was drunk—everyone, starting with Yakov.With his chest bare, he was sitting crookedly on a stool, making a vulgar dance tune with a hoarse voice, while plucking the strings of his six-stringed harp idly.Locks of sweat-soaked hair hung down his frighteningly pale face.In the middle of the hotel, the foolish man with his upper body naked, as if his nerves were completely out of order, was dancing foolishly in front of the farmer in the gray robe.The farmer, too, was stamping and rubbing his feeble feet on the ground with great effort, smiling meaninglessly through his shaggy beard, and sometimes he raised and lowered his hands, as if to say: "Just do it! "It would be impossible to find a more ridiculous face.No matter how much he raised his eyebrows, the heavy eyelids always refused to be lifted, and the small but beautiful eyes were tightly closed.He was in a state of drunken elation, and any passer-by who glanced in his face was bound to say, "That's great, man, that's great!" Blinking red as a boiled shrimp, He dilated his nostrils and grinned viciously in the corner of the room.Only Nikolai Ivanitch, who was still the real bartender, kept his unaltered calm.Many new characters have been added to this room, but there is no figure of the wild master.

I turned away and walked quickly towards the hill where the village of Kolotovka was located.At the foot of the hill stretched an endless plain; immersed in the restless night mist, the plain seemed all the more vast, and seemed to merge with the dark sky.I strode down along the road beside the valley, when suddenly a boy's loud and sharp voice came from a distance in the open space: "Antropka! Antropka——! . . . " he cried in a tenacious and plaintive tone of despair, dragging out the last word for a long, long time.

He paused for a moment, then cried out again.His voice echoed loudly in the still, oppressive air.He called Antropka's name no less than 30 times. Suddenly, from the other side of the plain, as if from another dimension, came a vague answer: "What-what-thing?" The child immediately yelled with delighted anger: "Come here, little-ghost!"

"Because Daddy is going to—hit—you." The first voice picked up hastily.The second voice stopped responding, and the boy started calling Antropka again.Gradually the calls became less and less frequent and fainter, and by the time dusk had completely fallen they continued to reach my ears as I was heading towards the perimeter four versts from the village of Kolotovka. Walking in the direction of the woods in my village... "Antropka—!" The voice seemed to be still echoing in the night.

(End of this chapter)