hunter notes

Chapter 52 Chertopkhanov and Nedobyskin (3)
Unimaginably, exhaustingly, he admired him, admiring him as a wonderful, wise and learned man.Meanwhile, Chertopkhanov's education, however poor it may have been, was brilliant compared with Tikhon's ups and downs.Kirtopkhanov's knowledge is really shallow, and foreign languages ​​are also very poor, so bad that he was once asked: Vous parlez francais, monsieur?He replied: "It's not hot." After careful consideration, the word "Ba" came again.But he finally remembered that there was a witty writer in the world, Voltaire, and he also knew that King Frederick I of Prussia was also a famous man in the military circle.Among Russian writers, he admired Derchavin and loved Mariinsky. He once named a favorite male dog Amarat Beck... Not long after I first met these two friends, I went to the village of Bessonov to see Ponteley Yeremitch.His house can be seen from a distance.The house stood on the wasteland half a verst from the village, that is to say, "stand alone", like a hawk standing on the cultivated field.All Chertopkhanov's estate consisted of four different dilapidated houses, the lodge, the stables, the shed, and the bathroom.Each house is separated and lined up in a row without walls or gates.My coachman parked thoughtfully around a rotting and choked well at the side of a well.Around the shed several thin, shaggy-haired Borzayas were on the ground biting a dead horse, which must have been Albasan; one of the dogs raised its bloodstained muzzle and After yelling a few times, he went back to gnawing on the ribs that had come off.Beside the horse stood a little boy about seventeen years old, with a swollen and yellow face, wearing a servant's coat, and bare feet; Shameless dog whipped a few times.

"Is anyone here?" I asked. "Who knows him!" the young man replied, "you try." I jumped out of the carriage and went to the stairs of the wing.Mr. Tsartopkhanov's house looks outdated, the logs are black and leaning forward, the chimney is broken, the corners are a bit moldy and very dark, and the small gray-blue windows are crumbling. The underside of the roof looked strangely droopy, like the eyes of some old old woman.I knocked on the door, no one answered.But I heard a loud bang at the door:

"а, б, в; hello, you idiot," said a hoarse voice, "а, б, в, г... Wrong! г, д, е! е!  … Hey, you fool!"

I knock on the door again.It was the person who spoke just now shouted: "Come in, who is it?"

I went into a small antechamber with pale walls, crossed the threshold, and saw Chertopkhanov.He is wearing a dirty bukhara robe, fat-leg trousers and a red turban, sitting at a table, grabbing a small poodle by the muzzle with one hand, and holding a piece of treat in the other, stretching over the dog above the eyes.

"Ah!" he said in astonishment, without moving. "Welcome, please. Sit down. I'm talking to Venzor..." Then he called again: "Tikhon Ivanitch, come here. Guests are here." gone."

"In a moment, here we come," replied Tikhon Ivanitch from the next room. "Masha, bring me the tie."

Tszrtopkhanov turned to Venzor again, and put the cake on his nose.I look around.There was no furniture in the room except a retractable, curved table with thirteen legs of varying heights, and four straw chairs that fell apart; , covered with patches of blue star-shaped spots, the walls have peeled away in many places; between the two windows there is a broken and blurred mirror in a huge mahogany frame.There were long pipes and guns in the corners, and thick black spider silks hung from the ceiling. "A, б, в, г, д," muttered Tsartopkhanov, and suddenly cried out: "e! e! e! . . . You fool! . . .

I saw this poor poodle just shaking its body and never opening its mouth; it sat there as before, curled its tail in pain, twisted its face, blinked its eyes absently, and closed them again , as if silently saying: "Of course it's up to you!"

"Eat, come! Grab!" repeated the bored landowner. "You tortured it to death," I said. "Well, let it do what it wants!" He kicked it.The dog stood up slowly, dropped the crumbs off his nose, and walked very pitifully, as if on tiptoe, into the front room.It is indeed very pitiful. When a strange guest comes for the first time, the owner just bullies it like this.

The door leading to another room opened silently, and Mr. Nedobyskin came out stooping with a smile on his face.

I stood up and responded. "Don't dare to do it, don't dare to do it," he said.We all sit down.Chertopkhanov went into a neighboring room. "Have you been here for a while?" Nedobyskin covered his mouth with his hands and coughed carefully, speaking in a soft tone, keeping his fingers on his lips as he spoke out of politeness. .

"It's been a long time." "Well, yes." We were silent for a while.

"The weather is very good recently," Nedobyskin continued, looking at me with deep eyes, as if the good weather was due to me. "Gu Zi is quite right."

I responded, agreeing.We were silent again. "Pontely Yeremitch's hounds chased two pheasants yesterday,"

Nedobieskin said with difficulty, as if trying to liven up the conversation, "Ah, a big pheasant."

"How is Mr. Chertopkhanov's hound?" "Excellent!" replied Nedobyskin cheerfully, "just the best. (He moves closer to me.) Oh, Bontier Lele Yeremitch is wonderful! Whatever he thinks and knows, he does it immediately, and everything is done with great energy. I tell you, Ponteley Yeremitch..."

Tsartopkhanov came into the room.Nedobyskin smiled and said nothing. He pointed at him out of the corner of his eye, as if to say, "You can see for yourself." We started talking about hunting.

"Would you like to show you my hound?" Tsartopkhanov said loudly, and before I could say anything, he called to Karp.

In came a well-built young man in a blue and green homespun coat.

"Tell Formka," Tsartopkhanov kept saying, "tell him to call Amarat and Saika, do it solemnly, understand?" Karp said with a strange smile. The sound went outside.Formka arrives, his hair neatly combed, his clothes tightly laced up, his high-top shoes, and his dogs.In order not to lose my grace, I admired these hideous brutes (Bolzayas are extremely stupid).Tschertopkhanov spat in Amarat's face a few times, but this did not comfort the dog at all.Nedobyskin also stroked Amarat from behind.We started chatting again.Tsertopkhanov's tone gradually became more casual, no longer hideous, and the expression on his face changed.He looked at me, and at Nedobyskin... "Hey!" he cried, "Why is she sitting there alone? Masha! Hey, Masha! Come here."

There were voices in the next room, but no one spoke. "Ma-Sya," Tsertopkhanov called again enthusiastically, "it's all right to come here, don't be afraid." The door opened slowly, and I saw a young woman with a fine figure. , with a darker gypsy face, a pair of tawny eyes and a beautiful braid, and neat teeth gleaming in full red lips.She wore a white dress, and a red shawl, fastened close to the bosom with a gold brooch, which concealed much of her slender and strong arms.She took two steps forward with the nervous expression of a village woman, stood still, and lowered her head.

"Let me tell you," said Bontely Yeremitch, "that she is my lover and not my lover, but she is almost the same as my wife." Masha felt ashamed and smiled coyly.I bow politely to her.I admire her a lot.The slender aquiline nose with well flared nostrils, the wonderful outline of the high brows, the pale well-defined cheeks--the whole aspect expressed a wayward ardor and a disdainful bravery.Two short rows of jet-black hair stretched down the broad neck beneath the braided braid—a hallmark of blood and strength.

She went to the table and sat down.Without adding to her embarrassment, I started chatting with Tsartopkhanov.Masha turned her head slightly and glanced at me furtively, shyly, and embarrassedly.Her eyes gleamed like snake tongues.Nedobyskin approached her and whispered something in her ear.She smiled again.When she smiled, she wrinkled her nose slightly and raised her upper lip, as if she had a cat-like and tiger-like expression on her face... "Ah, you are a mimosa." I thought to myself, and then secretly observed Her wonderful body, sunken breasts and hard, quick movements.

"Hey, Masha," asked Chertopkhanov, "could you bring some food for the guests, huh?"

"We have jam," she replied.

"Well, bring the jam, and some schnapps. Now, Masha, listen to me," he urged behind her, "and bring the violin."

"Why do you want a banjo? I don't sing." "Why?"

"I don't want to." "Oh, no, you will, but..." "What?" Masha immediately frowned and asked.

"Just ask you." Tsartopkhanov paused for a moment, looking a little embarrassed.

"Ah!" She went out, and after a while came back with jam and brandy, and sat by the window as well.There is also a wrinkle on her forehead, and two eyebrows that sometimes rise and sometimes sink, like the tentacles of a wasp... Has the reader observed how hateful the face of a wasp is? "Well," I thought, "the storm is coming." The conversation faltered.Nedobyskin didn't say anything, but smiled reluctantly.Tsertopkhanov was out of breath, flushed, and staring.I was about to leave... Masha got up suddenly, opened the window abruptly, poked her head out, and angrily called a peasant woman outside: "Aksinya!" The peasant woman was frightened and wanted to turn around. Turning around, I didn't expect to slip my foot, and fell heavily with a slap.Masha, leaning over the table, burst out laughing, Tsartopkhanov laughed too, and Nedobyskin cheered.All of us are interested.One lightning, and the thunderstorm is over...the air is fresh again.

After half an hour, no one knew us anymore, and we were laughing and joking around like children.Masha was the best at playing tricks, and Tsartopkhanov looked at her greedily.Her face grew pale, her nostrils dilated, her eyes brightened and drooped by turns.The country girl is having fun.Nedobyskin followed her with his piggy trotters, like a male duck chasing a female duck.Even Wen Zor came under the bench in the front room, stood at the door for a while, looked at us, and suddenly jumped up and barked.Masha flew to the other rooms, brought the violin, took off the shawl from her shoulders, sat down quickly, adjusted her posture, and sang the gypsy song.Her voice was loud and terrified, like a glass bell with cracks; the singing rose up for a while, and then sank for a while... It made people feel wonderful and scared after listening to it. "Ah, burn, hurry up! . . . " Chertopkhanov began to dance.Nedobieskin walked in small steps, keeping time.Masha danced like birch bark in a fire, her slender fingers moving deftly on the banjo, her buff throat rising and falling little by little under the double amber necklace.Sometimes she suddenly stopped playing, and sat down sleepily, strumming the strings as if reluctantly.At this moment Tsartopkhanov stood still, just shrugging his shoulders and stomping on the spot; Nedobyskin shook his head like a drum.Sometimes she burst into song like a madman, swaying and showing her breasts, while Tsartopkhanov jumped up and down almost to the ceiling, spun like a top, and shouted: "Quick! "... "Quick, quick, quick, quick!" Nedobyskin urged.It was late at night when I left the village of Bessonov...

(End of this chapter)