The Luck of Ivan the Forgetful

XII

Ivan the Runaway’s heart sank when Anjuta had gone. “Not even can I pray for her, sinner that I am!” he thought. “I would only bring down misfortune on her.”

Suppose a stray wolf attacked her, or she lost her way? There would be no one to help her. His imagination continued to conjure up ever darker and darker images. He saw her little body writhing under the claws of a hungry wild beast, or sinking in the treacherous snow of a deep ravine; he saw her wandering blindly in the thickets of the forest and heard her childish voice crying, “Grandfather, Grandfather, I am frightened!”

Hour after hour passed. The hut seemed too narrow for him. He knew that she would spend the night in the village, and yet he ventured out in the cold, drawn by the hope that he would see her suddenly standing before him laughing and happy with radiant eyes.

Over the white-clothed forest there brooded a foreboding silence; the sky was overcast by dark clouds and the pine-trees towered gaunt and forbidding. A feeling of terror slowly stole over him. Formerly he had never known it in his solitude, but Anjuta had accustomed him to human companionship. Was not somebody creeping near, just as he himself had often crept when on a thievish expedition? His heart beat violently as though it would burst; he stuffed a handful of snow in his mouth in order to quench the burning sensations within him.

There! Were those not voices? Did Andryushka Lasaref wish to take the skins at once, and had he brought the child with him? But there seemed to be several people, and he heard distinctly the beat of the horses’ hoofs.

He ought to have been glad perhaps, but his heart felt painfully contracted. What a wolf’s life his was, spent in perpetual mistrust and fear! Now he could distinguish Anjuta’s merry tones … and now something came forward from between the trees.

“You come to fetch my soul,” cried Ivan with his hair bristling.

The four Cossacks halted on the clearing before the hut.

“Good evening, Grandfather! Grandfather! here I am!”

But what was the matter? Her Grandfather rushed into the hut and re-appeared with his gun in his hand. And he was hardly recognizable with his threatening eyes in his distorted face.

“Come now! No jokes, Ivan the Runaway,” exclaimed the kind stout gentleman. “You know you only make matters worse. Throw away your gun, or I will have you knouted.”

“Your honour has taken the trouble to come here for the sake of my poor soul,” said the old man with a grim smile. His eye fell on Anjuta.

“You have betrayed me, you vermin!” he snarled.

The convict had awoken in him.

“Surrender yourself, Ivan,” said the official in the red-bordered cap.

“Let him take me who is tired of life,” laughed the old man wildly, turning his gun-muzzle from one Cossack to another!

“Shoot him down!” cried the excited official. One of the riders raised his musket. A shot rang out. Ivan had fired and missed. The Cossack remained motionless and coolly fired in reply. “Hit!” he said in a low voice and turned away.

Ivan fell sideways on the snow, which at once took a red tinge under him. He lifted himself once more on his elbow and sank back again. Then he stretched himself at full length with his face turned upwards.

“Anjuta, my little dove!” his pale lips whispered. But she stood as though petrified; her old familiar expression, “I am afraid,” died on her tongue.

The Cossacks approached the convict.

“How is he?” asked the official.

“It is all over with him, your honour.”

The official took off his cap piously and crossed himself; the Cossacks followed his example.

Ivan lay quite still, gazing motionless up at the sky. Then the little girl awoke out of her stupor, threw herself on her knees beside him, and tried despairingly to lift him; her poor little body quivered like a bird in the death-struggle. “Grandfather! Wake up! It is I! Listen, Grandfather!”

But he did not answer. Then the child fell on the body, and wept as if her heart would break.

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