第62章

Pidorka and Peter began to live like a gentleman and lady.There was plenty of everything and everything was fine....But honest folk shook their heads when they marked their way of living."From the Devil no good can come," they unanimously agreed."Whence, except from the tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could he have got such a lot of gold from? Why, on the very day that he got rich, did Basavriuk vanish as if into thin air?"Say, if you can, that people only imagine things! A month had not passed, and no one would have recognised Peter.He sat in one spot, saying no word to any one; but continually thinking and seemingly trying to recall something.When Pidorka succeeded in getting him to speak, he appeared to forget himself, and would carry on a conversation, and even grow cheerful; but if he inadvertently glanced at the sacks, "Stop, stop! I have forgotten," he would cry, and again plunge into reverie and strive to recall something.Sometimes when he sat still a long time in one place, it seemed to him as though it were coming, just coming back to mind, but again all would fade away.It seemed as if he was sitting in the tavern: they brought him vodka;vodka stung him; vodka was repulsive to him.Some one came along and struck him on the shoulder; but beyond that everything was veiled in darkness before him.The perspiration would stream down his face, and he would sit exhausted in the same place.

What did not Pirdorka do? She consulted the sorceresses; and they poured out fear, and brewed stomach ache[2]--but all to no avail.And so the summer passed.Many a Cossack had mowed and reaped; many a Cossack, more enterprising than the rest, had set off upon an expedition.Flocks of ducks were already crowding the marshes, but there was not even a hint of improvement.

[2] "To pour out fear" refers to a practice resorted to in case of fear.When it is desired to know what caused this, melted lead or wax is poured into water, and the object whose form it assumes is the one which frightened the sick person; after this, the fear departs.Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness and pain in the bowels.To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug, and turned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which is placed on the patient's stomach: after an incantation, he is given a spoonful of this water to drink.

It was red upon the steppes.Ricks of grain, like Cossack's caps, dotted the fields here and there.On the highway were to be encountered waggons loaded with brushwood and logs.The ground had become more solid, and in places was touched with frost.Already had the snow begun to fall and the branches of the trees were covered with rime like rabbit-skin.Already on frosty days the robin redbreast hopped about on the snow-heaps like a foppish Polish nobleman, and picked out grains of corn; and children, with huge sticks, played hockey upon the ice; while their fathers lay quietly on the stove, issuing forth at intervals with lighted pipes in their lips, to growl, in regular fashion, at the orthodox frost, or to take the air, and thresh the grain spread out in the barn.At last the snow began to melt, and the ice slipped away: but Peter remained the same; and, the more time went on, the more morose he grew.He sat in the cottage as though nailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet.He grew averse to companionship, his hair grew long, he became terrible to look at; and still he thought of but one thing, still he tried to recall something, and got angry and ill-tempered because he could not.

Often, rising wildly from his seat, he gesticulated violently and fixed his eyes on something as though desirous of catching it: his lips moving as though desirous of uttering some long-forgotten word, but remaining speechless.Fury would take possession of him: he would gnaw and bite his hands like a man half crazy, and in his vexation would tear out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, he would relapse into forgetfulness, as it were, and then would again strive to recall the past and be again seized with fury and fresh tortures.What visitation of God was this?

Pidorka was neither dead not alive.At first it was horrible for her to remain alone with him in the cottage; but, in course of time, the poor woman grew accustomed to her sorrow.But it was impossible to recognise the Pidorka of former days.No blushes, no smiles: she was thin and worn with grief, and had wept her bright eyes away.Once some one who took pity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt in the Bear's ravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cure every disease in the world.She determined to try that last remedy:

and finally persuaded the old woman to come to her.This was on St.

John's Eve, as it chanced.Peter lay insensible on the bench, and did not observe the newcomer.Slowly he rose, and looked about him.

Suddenly he trembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold:

his hair rose upon his head, and he laughed a laugh that filled Pidorka's heart with fear.

"I have remembered, remembered!" he cried, in terrible joy; and, swinging a hatchet round his head, he struck at the old woman with all his might.The hatchet penetrated the oaken door nearly four inches.

The old woman disappeared; and a child of seven, covered in a white sheet, stood in the middle of the cottage....The sheet flew off.

"Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him; but the apparition became covered from head to foot with blood, and illumined the whole room with red light....

She ran into the passage in her terror, but, on recovering herself a little, wished to help Peter.In vain! the door had slammed to behind her, so that she could not open it.People ran up, and began to knock:

they broke in the door, as though there were but one mind among them.

The whole cottage was full of smoke; and just in the middle, where Peter had stood, was a heap of ashes whence smoke was still rising.