in the world

Chapter 14

My grandfather and grandmother moved to the city again.I went back to them angrily and wanted to fight.I was very sad-why did people treat me as a thief?
Grandmother received me very kindly, and immediately went to burn the samovar.As usual, the grandfather asked mockingly: "Have you saved a lot of gold?"

"I earn as much as I want," I replied, and sat down by the window.Then, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and began to smoke leisurely.

"Ah," my grandfather stared blankly at my actions. "So that's it, it's time to smoke the devil's weed, shouldn't it be earlier?"

"Someone even gave me a cigarette purse." I boasted.

"Cigarette purse!" Grandfather's voice changed. "What's the matter with you? Are you trying to make me angry?"

He rushed towards me, his eyes glowing green, and he swung his lean and powerful arms.I jumped up and hit his stomach with my head.The old man sat on the floor, blinked his eyes strangely for a few seconds, and looked at me with his black mouth open; then he asked calmly: "Did you knock me down? Your grandfather? Your mother's kiss!" Father?"

"You've hit me a lot in the past," I murmured, knowing that I was doing it wrong.

The thin and light grandfather got up from the floor, sat beside me, snatched my cigarette deftly, and threw it out of the window.Then he said in amazement: "Bastard, do you understand! God will never forgive you, in your life." Then he said to his grandmother: "Look, old woman. This child knocked me down; Hit me, kid!

You ask him to see for himself! "

She didn't ask me, she just walked up to me, grabbed my hair and shook it from side to side, saying, "I told you to bump, bump, bump..." I didn't feel any pain, but felt wronged, especially when I heard Grandfather's vicious laughter made him even more angry.He jumped up on the chair, slapped his knees, and laughed and yelled: "It's right, it's right..." I broke free, ran to the aisle, and lay in a corner, dejectedly, listening to the sound of the samovar boiling.

Grandma came over, leaned down to me, and whispered faintly: "Don't hold me against me, I didn't hurt you, I just pretended - the old man is old, we must respect him; he has already After years of hard work, enough is enough. Ah, you can't be angry with him. You are not a child anymore, you should understand... understand, Alyosha! Your grandfather is like a child..." Her words washed away like warm soup. my heart.I listened to these intimate whispers, shy and relaxed, I hugged her tightly and kissed her.

"Go to grandpa, it doesn't matter! You can't smoke in front of him right away, let him get used to it slowly..." I walked into the room, glanced at my grandfather, and almost didn't laugh out loud, he was really proud Like a child, he stomped his feet happily and slapped his red furry hands on the table.

"Little ram, what's the matter? Are you hitting someone again? Alas! You little robber!
Exactly the same as your old man!People who don't believe in God, come into the house, don't make a sign of the cross, just take out a cigarette and smoke it, alas!You Napoleon, you are not worth a penny! "

I am silent.When he finished what he wanted to say, he was too tired to make a sound.But when it was time to drink tea, he began to teach me again: "A man should fear God like a horse needs a bridle; we have no friends but God. Man and man are the worst enemies!"

Man and man are enemies, I think there is some truth in this statement, and I can't hear the rest.

"Now, go to Aunt Matrona again; wait until spring, and then go to work on the ship. Stay at their house in winter. Don't say that you will leave them in the spring..." "Well, why are you lying?" What about it?" said the grandmother who just pretended to twist my hair.

"If you don't lie to others, you can't live." My grandfather said stubbornly. "Tell me, who can live without lying?"

In the evening, when my grandfather sat down to read a hymn, my grandmother and I went to the field outside the gate.The two-window cottage where my grandfather lived was "behind" the funicular street on the outskirts of the city, on the front side of which my grandfather used to have his own house.

"Look, where did you move to!" Grandma said with a smile. "The old man can't find a place he likes, so he's always moving here and there. He doesn't even like this place, and I think it's fine!"

Before us spread a barren meadow about three versts wide.There are several ravines on the meadow, ending in ladder-shaped woods and birch trees along the Kazan road.The twigs of the bush protrude from the ravine like whips.The cold setting sun dyed them blood red.The slight evening wind swayed the gray blades of grass.

Behind a nearby ravine, you can see the figures of small townspeople, boys and girls, as few as blades of grass.On the right, in the distance, the red walls of the Old Church cemetery.The cemetery was called "Bugrov Hermitage."Above the ravine on the left, a dark forest rose above the field, and there was a Jewish cemetery.All around seemed desolate; everything clung soundlessly to the broken ground.

The windows of the little suburban houses looked timidly out over the dusty road.A flock of skinny, poorly fed chickens roamed the road.A herd of cows was lowing past the convent.From the barracks came the sound of a military band, several brass trumpets, whining trombones.

A drunk man came, pulling the accordion vigorously, staggering, and murmured: "I'll go to your side... definitely..." "Stupid." Grandma said, narrowing her eyes towards the red sunset . "Can you walk? You are about to fall and fall asleep. When you fall asleep, thieves will come... and steal your precious accordion..." I told her about the life on the boat, and looked around scenery.After gaining a lot of knowledge, when I come to this kind of place, I have a melancholy feeling, like a perch crawling into a pot.Grandmother listened to me silently and attentively, just as I liked to listen to her.Later, when I was talking about Smoore, she crossed herself sincerely, and said, "He is a good man, may the Holy Mother bless him! Don't you forget him! Good things are always remembered; bad things are simply forgotten..." It was difficult for me to explain to her why I was fired, but finally I spoke out.This did not elicit any reaction from the grandmother, who simply pointed out calmly: "You are too young to live..." "Everyone is saying: You cannot live. The men, the sailors, say so.

And Aunt Matrona, who also said the same to her son, how does one know how to live? "

She squeezed her lips together and shook her head:

"I don't know this myself!"

"Then you still talk about others!"

"Why don't you tell me?" said the grandmother calmly. "Don't be angry.

You're still young, and you can't possibly be.Who will?Only pickpockets will.Look at your grandfather, he is very smart and knowledgeable, but he has never left anything behind in his life..." "Then you live well, right? "

"Me? It's fine. Sometimes I don't live well...I've lived every day..." Pedestrians walked by us leisurely, dragging long shadows behind them, and the dust rose from under their feet. The shadow covered it.The sorrow at dusk gradually grew stronger.From the window, my grandfather's nagging voice came out: "Lord, please don't blame me in your anger, don't punish me in your anger..." The grandmother smiled and said, "Oh, he has tired of God a long time ago." I always cry like that every night, but what's the use of crying? I'm old and don't need anything, but I'm still complaining and worrying all the time... God must laugh every night when he hears his voice: Vasily Kashirin Gossiping again!...Okay, let's go to bed..."

I decided to take up the songbird business.I thought, if I catch them and give them to my grandmother to sell, I will be able to live a good life.I bought a net, a ring, a few bird traps, and made some cages.Every day at dawn, I stayed in the bushes in the ravine, and my grandmother walked around the woods with a basket and bag, picking some out-of-season mushrooms, hagi fruit, walnuts and the like.

The lazy September sun has just risen, its white light disappears in the clouds for a while, and turns into a silver fan for a while, shining on me in the ravine.The bottom of the ravine was still dark; from there rose a milky mist.

The ravine reveals dark, steep, clayey sides.The other side sloped gently and was covered with dead grass and thick undergrowth, dotted with yellow, red, and reddish leaves.A gust of wind blows and blows off the leaves, floating back and forth in the ravine.

At the bottom of the ravine, in the depths covered with burdock grass, the cry of the goldfinch came out.In the gray and white weeds, the red crown of the agile bird can be seen.Around me, there are many curious pulsatillas crying lively.They playfully bulged their white cheeks and bustled around, very much like the young women of the small townspeople in Kunavino during the festival.They are very dexterous, very smart, very powerful, want to know everything, want to touch everything, just like that, one after another they fell into the bird trap.It's a bit pitiful to see them running around in such a hurry.But I'm in business, so I can't be merciful. I caught them from the bird trap and put them in cages, and then covered the cages with cloth bags, hoping that they would become honest once they were in a dark place.

From the hawthorn bushes, a flock of orioles flew out.The sun was shining all over the bushes, and the orioles were so happy that they sang even more happily.Look at their appearance, they look like a group of elementary school students.The shrike, a greedy housekeeper, delayed his trip to the south, perched on the soft branches of the briar tree, and combed the feathers on his wings with his beak.With their black eyes shining, they watched their prey; in an instant, they flew up like a lark, caught a wild bee, carefully threaded it on the thorn tree, and rested on the branch again, non-stop. Turning the thief's little head.The clever sparrow flew over without making a sound.This is exactly what I long for, how good it is to catch it!A stray gray bird, dressed in red and posing like a general, perched on an alder tree, screaming angrily and shaking its black beak.

As the sun rose gradually, the number of birds increased and their chirping became more lively.The whole ravine is full of music.The most basic tone is the rustling of bushes in the wind.

After all, the noisy birdsong could not cover up the slight, melodious and melancholy low sound.

In this low sound, one can hear a kind of summer leaving song, in which a special language is murmured, which naturally becomes the lyrics.At this time, I couldn't help but think of many unbearable past events.

Grandma's voice came from somewhere above: "Where are you?"

She was sitting on the edge of the ravine, with a kerchief spread out in front of her, and on it were bread, cucumbers, radishes, and apples. Among these god-given foods, there was a beautiful multi-cornered glass bottle, shining in the sun. There was a crystal stopper carved in the shape of Napoleon's head, and the bottle contained a shkalik of vodka infused with hypericum.

"My God, what a joy!" said the grandmother gratefully.

"I made up a song!"

"is that true?"

I sang to her things that seemed like poetry but not poetry:

Seeing winter gradually approaching,

Summer sun, see you again!
But my grandmother didn't let me finish singing, so she interrupted:
"This kind of song already exists, it's just better than this!"

Then she raised her voice and sang:
Alas, the summer sun is leaving,

To the night, beyond the distant woods!
well!Leave me, a young girl,

Alone, there is no more joy of spring...

Shall I go outside the village in the morning,

Recalling the joy of traveling together in May,

The wilderness is unpleasant to watch,

I lost my youth here.

O my dear girlfriends!
Waiting for the soft first snow to pile up,
Please dig out my heart from my white chest
Bury it in a snowdrift!

My writer's pride was not hurt at all, I loved the song and felt sorry for the young girl.But the grandmother said: "Here is a sentimental song! It is a young girl who sings about her life experience. She has been playing with her lover since spring, but when winter is coming, she has been abandoned by her lover. Maybe Her lover already has a new love, so this girl is more than sad... One thing, I haven't experienced it myself, so I can't explain it so well, so true. Look at this girl, how well she makes it up!"

The first time she sold birds, she earned forty kopecks. Grandmother was very surprised: "You see, I thought it was just for fun, a child's trick, and I sold so much money!" Walking on the thin fence and looking handsome*
On market days she always brought back a ruble or more, which made her even more amazed at how much money such insignificant things could earn! "A woman who works all day long washing clothes and mopping floors earns only twenty-five kopecks. Think about it! It's not a good job! It's not a good job to catch birds and put them in cages. Alyosha, don't do this kind of business!"

But I was fascinated by bird hunting.I think it's fun and I can make a living independently.No trouble to anyone but the birds.I got some high-quality bird-catching equipment, and I often chatted with the old-timers of bird-catching, and gained a lot of knowledge.I often went alone to the Volga River, some thirty versts away, to hunt in the Kristov Forest.There, on the tall pine trees used as masts, there lived crossbills, and a species of pulsatilla dear to those skilled in the art.This is a very rare and beautiful bird with long tail and white hair.

I often set out in the evening and walked all night on the Kazan road, sometimes drenched in autumn rain and trudging through deep mud.He carried an oilcloth bag on his back, which contained bird traps and cages, and held a thick walnut wooden staff in one hand.Autumn nights, cold and frightening, very frightening! ... On both sides of the road, there stood old snow-damaged birch trees, with wet branches sticking out above my head.Looking to the bottom of the cliff on the left, on the dark Volga River, there are a few mast lights on the last steamer and barge floating, as if they are sinking into the bottomless abyss.The webbed wheels of these boats were crackling in the water, and the sirens were whistling.

On the ground as hard as pig iron, there appeared the huts of the roadside village; a group of angry hungry dogs rushed to the feet; the watchman knocked on his clapper and screamed in panic: "Who is there? Say something that should not be said at night." If so, the ghost brought you here, right?"

I fear my bird trap will be confiscated.Every time I always bring a few five-copeck copper coins, ready to give to the watchman.There was a watchman from Falkina village who made friends with me. Every time we met, he always exclaimed: "It's you again? Alas, you restless nocturnal god, you are quite courageous!"

His name was Nifonte, he was a short man with white hair, and he looked like a saint.

He often took out radishes, apples, or a handful of peas from his arms and put them in my hands. "Well, here it is for you, my friend. I'll save it for you. Eat it."

Then, they sent me all the way to the outside of the village. "Go, God bless you!"

When the east was turning white, I went to the woods, installed the bird traps, hung up the bird cages, and lay down by the woods, waiting for the sun to come out.At this time, everything was silent, and everything around was frozen in a deep autumn sleep.In the gray mist, I can vaguely see the vast grassland under the cliff. Although this large grassland is cut off by the Volga River, it stretches out beyond the river, straight into the mist.Gradually, from behind the woods at the end of the pasture in the distance, the white sun rises leisurely; above the black horse mane-like forest, light waves are shining, unfolding a strange and soul-stirring scene: the fog rises from the meadow It rose gradually, rising faster and faster, and was reflected in silver by the sun.Then, bushes, trees, and haystacks appeared on the ground.The meadow seemed to melt in the sunlight, turning into a reddish gold, spreading in all directions.

Now, the sun had shone on the still water beside the river, and it seemed that the whole river was rushing towards the place where the sun bathed.The sun is grinning, rising gradually, blessing and warming the naked and shivering earth.The ground is filled with the fragrance of autumn.

The sky was flawless, and the ground seemed even more vast and boundless.Everything is flowing into the distance, as if someone is tempting: "Go to the green horizon." I have seen dozens of sunrises in this place, and every time there is a new scene unfolding in the sky. in front of my eyes. —A world full of strange beauties... For some reason, I especially like the sun.I love the name of the sun, the sweet sound in the name, the sound hidden in the sound.I like to have my face in the warm sun with my eyes closed.When the sunshine sword passes through the gap in the wall or between the branches, I love to stretch out the palms of both hands to catch it.Grandfather admired "Prince Mikhail Chernigovsky who does not worship the sun and noble Fedor" very much; I thought it was just a dark and sinister villain like the gypsy.

They are, like the poor Moldevas, perpetually ill with their eyes.I couldn't help but smile with joy as the sun rose over the meadow.

The conifers rustled above my head and dripped dew from their green leaf-tips.In the shadows of the trees, on the patterned leaves of the ferns, the morning frost shone like a silver foil.The reddish grass, beaten down by the rain, lay motionless on the ground; but when a bright light fell on the stem, a slight trembling was seen in the blades; This may be the last struggle of life.

The birds woke up, gray coal tits hopping from branch to branch like balls of fluff.The flaming crossbill pecks at the tops of pine trees with its curved beak.On the top of the pine tree, a white Pulsatilla swayed its body, wagging its long tail like a rudder, and opened its eyes like black beads, squinting at the net I opened with distrust.Suddenly, the entire forest, which was immersed in deep thought a minute ago, was filled with the sounds of thousands of birds, the purest creatures on the earth.In their image man, the father of beauty on earth, created many Elphis, sages, seraphs, and hosts of angels to comfort himself.

It is a bit unbearable to catch these birds. I feel that putting them in cages is a conscience.I prefer to watch them, but the zeal of the hunt and the desire to make money overwhelm pity.

The birds performed many cunning tricks which amuse me.The blue Pulsatilla, having watched the trap carefully, and knowing the danger there, crept in sideways, and safely and skillfully pecked the bait from the stick of the trap.Pulsatillas are very clever, but they are too curious, which hurts them.The proud grayfinches are a little dumber.They swarmed into the nets, like a horde of overfed philistines into a church.When they were caught in the net, they were very surprised, blinked their eyes, and pecked at their fingers and claws with their thick blunt beaks.The crossbill walked into the trap, looking calm and generous.There is also a kind of tree-winding bird, which is a mysterious strange bird; this kind of bird stands in front of the net for a long time, props its body on its thick tail, and moves its long beak from time to time.Like a woodpecker, it runs on tree trunks and always keeps company with the pulsatilla.

This smoky-gray bird makes people feel a terrible place, as if it is a little lonely, no one loves it, it seems that it does not love anyone.Like a magpie, it likes to steal small shiny things to hide.

Towards noon I quit hunting birds, and went home through the woods and fields.If I passed the village on the main road, a group of children and young men would come and rob my cage and break my tools.I've had this happen before.

Back home in the evening, hungry and tired.But I feel that I seem to have grown up during this day, I have seen some new things, and I have become more rigid.This is a new kind of strength, relying on it, he doesn't mind his grandfather's sarcasm, and can listen to it without any anger.When my grandfather saw me like this, he began to say rationally and seriously: "Throw away this fool's work, throw it away! I never heard that a bird catcher can be successful. There is no such thing, I know it!" You'd better find a proper job and sharpen your wisdom. People are not meant to be fooled around. People are like grain seeds sown by God, and they must grow good tassels! People are like a ruble, and they know how to charge interest. , can become three rubles! Do you think life is easy? No, it is not easy! For man, the world is a dark night, and everyone must light the way for himself. Everyone has ten fingers But everyone wants to get more; so you have to show your strength. If you don't have strength, you have to be cunning. If you are small and weak, you can't go to heaven or hell. People seem to live with everyone , in fact, remember that you are a lonely person. Listen carefully to what people say, but don't believe what anyone says; A mouth can make it; it takes rubles and an ax to make it. You have to know that you are neither a Bashkir nor a Kalmyk, and all their property is only lice and sheep... "He can be like this Nag all night.I can recite these words.I love to listen to his words, but I don't always believe the meaning of these words.According to him, the reason why a person cannot live a satisfactory life is that there are two forces in the middle: one is God and the other is man.

Grandmother sat by the window, spinning lace yarn; the spindle hummed in her deft hands.She listened to her grandfather's words in silence for a long time, and then suddenly said: "Everything will turn out as God intended." "What?" cried grandfather. "God? I haven't forgotten God. I know God! Foolish old woman, does God want to plant some fools in the ground?"

... I think the most blessed people in the world seem to be the Cossacks and soldiers.Their life is simple and happy.On a sunny day, they ran to the opposite side of the ravine in front of our door early in the morning, spread out in the open space like white mushrooms, and began to play complicated and interesting games: those swift and strong people in white shirts, with guns in their hands, Joyfully running across the empty field, then disappearing into the ravine.As soon as the horn sounded, they suddenly ran into the empty field again, yelling "Ula" to the blaring drums, and charged forward with the tip of their guns, heading straight for our house.It seems that in a blink of an eye, the house will be knocked down like a straw pile.

I also called "Wula", and ran along with them in a daze.The ferocious sound of the bronze drum unconsciously aroused my desire to destroy everything, to knock down the wall, or to beat the child.

During the rest, those soldiers would invite me to smoke a thick cigarette and show me a heavy gun; sometimes, a soldier would stab the gun at my stomach and make a terrible sound on purpose: "I will stab you to death, you little cockroach." !"

The spears were shiny and alive, circling like a snake wanting to sting someone, it was a bit scary to see, but more joyful.

Drummer from Moldva, teach me how to play drums with sticks.At first he held my hand until it ached, stuffing the drumstick between my pinched fingers. "Knock! One, two. One, two. Tap, tap, soup! Knock, light on the left side, heavy on the right. Tap, tap, soup!" He opened his eyes like a bird, sternly shouted.

I ran with the soldiers in the empty field until the drill was over.Afterwards, listening to them singing loudly, and looking at their faces, each of which was as kind as a new five-kopeck piece of copper just minted, he walked through the city and took them to the gate of the barracks.

Seeing many identical people, forming a dense team, forming a unified force, passing quickly on the street, I have a feeling of wanting to get close to it, as if I want to sink into the river or walk into the forest. , join their ranks.These are people who fear nothing, see everything bravely, conquer everything, and get what they want.And the most important thing is that they are simple and kind.

However, during a break, a young corporal gave me a thick cigarette to smoke: "You smoke it! This is a good cigarette. I don't want to smoke it for anyone, but you are too kind. Here you go!"

I jerk up and he takes a step back.Suddenly, a red flame burst out from the cigarette, which captivated my eyes.My fingers, nose, eyebrows were all burned.A whiff of gray, salty smoke made me sneeze and cough.I couldn't see anything, and I jumped up in fright.A group of soldiers surrounded me tightly, laughing happily.I turned and went home, whistling and laughing, like the sound of a shepherd's whip, chasing after me.My burned fingers ached, my face was torn, and my eyes were filled with tears.But it was not this physical pain that overwhelmed me, but an indescribable wonder: Why did they treat me like this?
Why does such mischief please these kind young people?
When I got home, I climbed up to the garret, and sat there for a long time, thinking of all the inexplicable cruelty I had encountered so many times in the past, and it was the little boy from Sarapur who came to mind vividly. soldier.He stood in front of me as if he was alive and asked, "How is it? Do you understand?"

Not long after, I encountered something even more unfortunate and amazing than this one.

I used to go to the Cossack barracks; the barracks were near the Pecher district.I think Cossacks are different from soldiers not because they ride well on horses and are particularly beautifully dressed, but because they speak differently, sing different songs, and dance really well.Sometimes, in the evening, after the horses had been groomed, they formed a circle around the stables, and a small, brown-haired Cossack, with his hair tousled, sang at the top of his voice like a brass trumpet.He straightened himself up with all his strength, and softly sang dirges like the silent Don and the blue Danube.His eyes were closed, like those cardinals who sing too tiredly and fall from the branches and sometimes die.He opened the neckline of his shirt, revealing his collarbone like a bronze horse bridle; and his whole body was like a bronze statue.He stood on his thin legs, and it seemed as if the earth shook under his feet.With arms outstretched and eyes closed, he sang at the top of his voice.It seemed that he was no longer a man, but a trumpeter's trumpet, a shepherd's flute.Sometimes, I also felt that he would turn over and fall to the ground at once, just like a cardinal dying immediately.Because he poured his whole heart and all his strength into singing.

His companions, some with their hands in their pockets and others on the back of their broad backs, formed a circle around him, gazing gravely at his copper-colored face and at his slight waving into the air. With folded arms, like a choir in a church, they sang solemnly and unhurriedly.All of them, bearded or beardless, at that moment became as majestic as the holy image, as transcendent as the holy image.The song is as long as a road, but also as flat, broad and bright as a road.Hearing this song, people forget everything, whether it is day or night on the earth, whether they are children or old people!The singer's singing gradually faded away, and at this moment, the sad hissing of the army horses was heard. They missed the vast grassland, and heard the sound of the rustling autumn night approaching from the wilderness.Listen, listen, my heart swells, filled with an extraordinary feeling, overflowing with great silent love for human beings and the earth, as if it is about to explode.

It seemed to me that the little Cossack, who was as thin as a bronze man, was not an ordinary man, but a great mythical being, kinder and nobler than all others.I can't talk to him, sometimes he asks me something, I can only smile happily, and can't speak.I would rather be as obedient as a dog, and run after him in silence, as long as I can often see his shadow and hear his singing.

I saw him one day standing in a corner of the stable, holding one hand up to his eyes, and gazing at a smooth silver ring on his finger.His beautiful lips were moving, his little red mustache was trembling, and his face was full of grief and regret.

Another time, in the dark of night, I took some cages up to the hotel in Old Haymarket.The hotel owner loves singing birds very much and often buys my birds.

The Cossack was sitting at the counter between the stove and the wall in the corner of the room, and beside him sat a woman who was almost twice his size: her round face shone like the skin of the best goatskin; Looking at him with kind eyes, slightly frightened.He was drunk and rubbed his outstretched foot back and forth on the floor; he probably hurt the woman's foot.She trembled for a moment, frowned, and begged him in a low voice: "Don't move your hands..." The Cossack raised his eyebrows vigorously, and immediately drooped them weakly.He was so hot that he unbuttoned his uniform and underwear, exposing his neck.The woman put the turban cloth from her head to her shoulders, and put a pair of strong white and tender arms on the edge of the table, twisting her fingers together until they turned red.The more I look at them, the more I feel that he is like a son who has made mistakes in front of a loving mother.She exhorted him softly, but he just remained silent in embarrassment, as if there was nothing to answer for the legitimate criticism.

As if he had been stabbed by something, he stood up suddenly, put on his military cap carelessly (almost covering his eyes), and patted it with the palm of his hand; without buttoning his clothes, he walked towards the door.The woman also stood up and said to the hotel owner: "We'll be right back, Kuzmich..." Everyone sent them out with laughter and jeers.Someone said thickly and sternly: "The pilot will be back; he's going to give her a hard time!"

I followed them out.They walked in the dark, about ten steps ahead of me, across the square diagonally, and walked on the muddy road towards the slope of the high bank of the Volga River.I saw the woman supporting the Cossack, showing a faltering appearance.I heard mud crunching under their feet.The woman asked earnestly in a low voice, "Where are you going? Hey, where are you going?"

Although that road is not what I want to go, I still keep up with them through the mud.Not long after, the two of them walked up the sloping path, and the Cossack stood down about a step away from the woman; suddenly he slapped the woman's ears, and the woman was startled and shouted loudly: "Oh, this is why?"

I was also taken aback and ran straight to them.The Cossack hugged the woman's body, threw her on the slope outside the embankment, and jumped down himself.The two twisted into a black ball and rolled down the slope grass.I felt dizzy for a while and froze.I heard rustling below, the sound of ripping clothes, and the roaring of Cossacks.The woman frightened intermittently in a low voice: "I yelled...I'm going to yell..." She grunted in pain, loudly, and then fell silent.I touched a stone and dropped it, only to hear the grass rustling.On the other side of the square, the glass door of the hotel slammed, and someone yelled, probably because they fell down.Then all was silent again, a silence that made one fear that something was about to happen every second.

A large white mass appeared at the foot of the slope.Choking and sobbing, the white ball walked up slowly and staggeringly. —I recognized the woman.She crawled over like a sheep.I saw that her upper body was completely naked, with two big tits hanging, as if she had changed three faces.She finally climbed to the edge of the embankment and sat down on the edge of the embankment, almost beside me.She combed her disheveled hair, panting like an emphysema horse.The snow-white flesh was covered with black mud.She was crying, wiping the tears from her face like a cat washing its face.Seeing me, she said softly, "Ah, who are you? Go away, shameless!"

Feelings of astonishment and grief, I froze and could no longer move.I remembered the words of my grandmother's sister: "Women are a kind of magic, and God himself was deceived by Eve..." The woman stood up, covered her chest with a piece of clothes, and ran away in a hurry with bare feet.Meanwhile the Cossack climbed up from the slope, shook the white rags into the air, whistled softly, listened, and said in a cheerful voice: "Darya! How is it? We Cossacks, want to You can get what you want... Do you think I'm drunk? No-yes, I'm just pretending to show you... Daria!"

He stood proudly, speaking clearly, with a sneer in his voice.He stooped, wiped his boots with a rag, and added: "Hey, take the coat... Dashik! Stop pretending..." He shouted another insult to the woman.

I sat on the debris pile and listened to his lonesome voice in the silence of the night.

The lights on the square flickered before my eyes.On the right, among the rows of black trees, stands the white school building of the Noble Women's Academy.The cossack, lazily muttering a stream of obscenities, waving a white rag, walked towards the square and disappeared like a nightmare.

In the water tower below the slope, the exhaust pipe was panting.A street carriage passed on the ramp.There was no one around.I walked dully down the slope, still holding a cold stone in one hand, which I did not have time to throw at the Cossack.Near the Church of Georgi the Victor, he was stopped by a watchman.He angrily asked me who I was and what was in the bag on my back.

I told him everything about the Cossacks, and he laughed and shouted angrily: "There is a way! The Cossacks are really smart; we can't compare to them, women are all bitches..." He laughed so hard , but I've moved on.I really don't know what he was laughing at.

I thought in fear: What would I do if my mother and my grandmother were raped like this?

(End of this chapter)