The Luck of Ivan the Forgetful

VI

The forest was silent. An atmosphere of church-like stillness brooded round every branch and leaf. It seemed as if in the azure heights of the sky a solemn mystery was being performed, and the earth lay silent in solemn awe. The birds were hidden in the bushes and not a squirrel could be seen. The heat had penetrated even the shady parts of the wood; it was cool only in the ravines where scanty rivulets trickled over the sandy ground and conjured forth a green cloud of fine perfumed grass. A profusion of flowers—red, yellow, white and blue—grew on the slopes. They arranged themselves in most fantastic patterns, crowded together in gay groups, or climbed the hills singly. Some seemed to stretch themselves as though with curiosity on swaying stems, others hung their heads languidly. The wild rose-bush opened its first blossoms like thirsty red lips which could not breathe in air enough. From a thousand altars rose incense in this majestic temple; the mysterious Celebration continued in the heights above and the sun glowed and glittered like a golden chalice in the hands of the invisible high-priest.

Only from one corner came the sound of suppressed laughter. It was difficult to recognize Anjuta again. Her pale face had become sunburnt, her eyes glowed, and her mouth smiled continually. Just now the smile would have turned into loud laughter, had not the child feared to awaken Grandfather. The latter had found for himself a cool spot by the edge of the stream and was sleeping with his cap under his head, like an old wolf, after a full meal. Anjuta had just been throwing flowers at him. A tiny beetle had crawled out of one, and the child held her breath as she watched its movements. The beetle balanced itself skilfully on one of the longer hairs of Ivan’s beard, then fell among the grey stubble, worked its way laboriously out with its slender wings, and finally settled on the old man’s nose. Then the little girl could no longer contain herself; she laughed outright and clapped her hands.

“Good-for-nothing brat!” growled Ivan, awaking. “Can’t you be quiet?” He shook off the flowers and tried to seize her.

Anjuta sprang with a joyous shriek among the reeds, rustled about among them, and presently her voice was heard calling from the opposite bank of the stream, “Catch me, Grandfather! Catch me!”

“That beats everything. Go and play with the squirrels! They are just such wind-bags as you are!”

“But I want to play with you.”

“Well, you will have to wait long for that,” and he crept quietly nearer to her.

“Grandfather, where are you?” she cried in an anxious tone. “Grandfather, I am frightened.”

“There, I have caught you,” he exclaimed suddenly and held the struggling child fast. “How wet you are, a regular frog!”

The child flung her puny arms round his brown sinewy neck and coaxed him. “Grandfather, listen, Grandfather! Now you be the wolf!”

“You are always wanting something,” he grumbled discontentedly.

“Please! Please! You can do it so beautifully. I will be the little hare. Little hare with the long ears.”

“Then I must eat you, stupid!” And the old man took the trouble to roll his eyes and growl fiercely.

But it was very difficult to satisfy Anjuta. “But you don’t do it properly. Please, please come!” She stooped down and looked pleadingly into his eyes overhung by their shaggy brows.

“Very well, little one! Here goes!”

He placed the child carefully on the ground and crept among the reeds and bushes. The thorns scratched his face and hands, but he had something more important to think about. He lay flat and kept a sharp look-out. Were it not for his eyes, his grey shaggy head might frighten one. In order to heighten the illusion, he gnashed with his teeth. Anjuta played the part of the hare, sprang hither and thither, pulled at the grasses, and waved her hands to and fro above her head, to represent long ears. She pretended not to notice the old man.

“I don’t see you. Grandfather, really I don’t!”

Then the wolf sprang out of his hiding-place; the hare fled to the stream, crossed over, and climbed the opposite bank. But the wicked wolf came creeping nearer and nearer and seized the poor little animal by the throat with his great jaws.

“Were you very frightened?” the old wolf asked good-humouredly.

“Not a little bit. Grandfather, why does the wolf eat hares?”

“He can’t eat grass. He wants flesh—hares, dogs, fowls, little children like you—it is all the same to him. He seizes them so, you see, and tears them in pieces.”

“Does it hurt them?” asked Anjuta.

“Oh, you stupid, stupid thing! Of course it hurts them. Death is never pleasant.”

Anjuta became very thoughtful. “Do you know, Grandfather,” she said after a pause, “we won’t play that game any more. You must not be a wolf. Wolves are wicked and you are good.” “I—good? Ah, you….” Ivan made a long pause; something seemed to stick in his throat. “For you perhaps I may be good”—he cleared his throat violently—”You see, Anjuta, when I was little like you, no one said a kind word to me. I was thrashed nearly to a jelly, and always black and blue. Otherwise I would have been good; why should I be wicked without a reason? Oh, you stupid little thing, what do you know about it?”

“Take me on your arm,” asked Anjuta, standing on tiptoe.

He awoke as out of a dream. “What do you want?”

“Take me on your arm, Grandfather. I am tired.”

“First you jump about like a hare; then you want to be carried. No, stay down there.”

“Yes, yes, you will take me,” she coaxed him. “When I ask, you never say no.”

“Look at the little rogue! Shall I break off a switch and whip you? Well, come along then!”

He lifted her up and walked with her deeper into the solemn stillness of the forest. The old man felt his heart grow warmer as the tired child’s eyelids gradually drooped, and she began to breathe regularly in his arms. With a kind of pity he looked at the little open mouth and the helpless dusty little legs as they hung down.

“And that, too, is one of God’s creatures! Why does such a useless thing come into the world?” he philosophized to himself and took the greatest pains to tread gently and not to move his outstretched arm in order not to wake the child.