any idea what. Marie Rose and Longjumeau mean?" Gavrik suddenly realized
that his voice had risen; he stopped short and looked about him. There was
nobody near, but he continued in a lower tone, "It is from there that all
the instructions come. And since I've gone so far, I don't mind telling you
that if they catch Pavlovskaya, it'll be a serious blow. I'm talking to you
like this because we consider you one of us. Am I right?"
Gavrik looked hard at Petya through narrowed eyes, awaiting a straight
answer to a straight question.
Petya thought a moment, then nodded silently. It was the first time
Gavrik had spoken so openly, definitely, keeping nothing back, calling
everything by its name.
"I swear-" Petya began and felt his throat close up with excitement. He
wanted badly to say something deeply significant, perhaps impressive. "I
swear-" he repeated, and tears welled in his eyes.
"There you are, I knew you'd start right off with something of that
sort," said Gavrik. "You needn't bother. Fine words butter no parsnips, and
we've heard plenty of talkers."
"I'm not just a talker," Petya said in a huff.
"I don't mean you, though you're not the silent type- Marie Rose,
Longjumeau. You drop that sort of thing. This isn't a game, it's serious.
And if it comes to the point, we shan't stand on ceremony with you. You know
what underground work is?"
"Of course I do," said Petya, not without dignity.
"Oh no, you don't," Gavrik answered. "In the first place it means
holding your tongue. Tell one person today, and he'll spill everything
tomorrow. You can never get back what you've said. Do you know what she
thought?"
"Who?"
"Marina. She thought you'd been sent after her. A busy."
"What's a busy?"
"You're really slow to catch on. A busy's a detective. A police agent.
It's time you knew things like that. You alarmed the Pavlovskayas so badly
they were planning to leave that very night, to get somewhere a safe
distance from your place. A good thing I happened along just then, or they'd
have been gone. They'd got their things packed, but I told them you were
more or less one of us, and not to worry."
Petya sat silent, crushed. He had never imagined his romance could have
such serious consequences. In general there was much that had never occurred
to him.
"She's certainly a nice girl. I wouldn't mind taking a stroll arm in
arm with her at twilight myself. But I've no time," Gavrik sighed.
Petya stared at him with something like horror, unable to believe his
ears. To talk like that about "her"! It was sacrilege. But Gavrik, stretched
out among the chamomiles, his arms under his head, continued in the same
tone, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world:
"On the other hand, think of her. She has no father. He died abroad
last year of galloping consumption. He belonged to our organization, too.
Her mother's a Party worker. She's got a false passport. They always have to
be moving from place to place, hiding, changing their rooms. The girl's got
to study somehow, and not fall behind. They stay at home all the time
because they can only go out when it's absolutely necessary. And after all
she's young, it's dull for her. So it was natural enough that when you threw
that note in, she was pleased. Why shouldn't she go for a walk with a boy
once in a while? And by the way, believe it or not, she liked you, too. But
then you went and spoiled everything with your big mouth."
Petya flinched as from a toothache.
"Wait a moment," he said, "how do you know all this?"
Gavrik stared at Petya with unconcealed surprise.
"Well! Do you think they feed on air? Incidentally, that's not their
name at all, but it doesn't matter. I dash over twice a week with
provisions. Well, and sometimes there are instructions from the committee
too."
Another unpleasant surprise for Petya. So Gavrik often visited Marina,
he was a friend of the family.
"So that's it! But why do you never come to us?" asked Petya, with
something like jealousy.
"Because I generally come at night."
"Cloak and dagger stuff?" Petya asked with a note of irony.
"What do you think? Why attract attention? You never can tell who may
notice, especially in times like these. Don't you know what's going on?
There are strikes all over. The secret police are going crazy, sniffing
everywhere-no joke about it. It's worse than 1905."
Again Petya felt the atmosphere of Near Mills, which had faded away of
late.
"What about a smoke, comrade?" Gavrik said, pulling a package of cheap
cigarettes from his pocket.
Petya had never smoked and he felt no desire to. But the word
"comrade," which Gavrik pronounced with a kind of special intonation of
stern independence, the very look of the package of Peal Cigarettes made by
the Laferrne Co., five kopeks for twenty, advertised in the Pravda, made him
pull a stiff cigarette from the package and place it awkwardly in his mouth.
"Good idea," said Petya, imitating Gavrik's sternness and independence,
and squinting at the end of the cigarette as Gavrik held a match to it.
They smoked for a few moments, Gavrik with obvious enjoyment, inhaling
and spitting like a real workman, Petya removing his cigarette every moment
from his mouth and for some reason eyeing the cardboard end that emitted a
white trickle of heavy smoke.
Nothing more was said about the Pavlovskayas. They worked a little on
Caesar, then Gavrik left, saying in farewell, "Well, that's that. The main
thing is not to lose your nerve."
What that applied to, Petya did not know.
Now he was filled with a turmoil of contradictory emotions-jealousy,
anger at himself, hope, despair and, strangest of all, an ardent, surging
thirst for life.
He thought of all kinds of ways to remedy his error and draw Marina out
for a meeting. Day in, day out, this filled his mind.
Just at this time the early cherries began to ripen. They ripened
quickly, almost visibly, and every kind at once -black, red, pink and white.
Although the Bacheis had been eagerly watching the progress of this great
harvest, nevertheless, the actual realization of its size came upon them
suddenly one fine morning when a black cloud of starlings swooped down over
the orchard, followed by a grey cloud of sparrows.
The birds descended on the trees; and while Vasily Petrovich, Petya,
Pavlik, Dunyasha and Gavrila ran about below frightening off the marauders
with umbrellas, sticks, hats, handkerchiefs and shouts, Auntie put on her
lace gloves and hat, and, sparkling with happy excitement, took the
horse-tram to town where she intended first to find out the retail price of
early cherries, and then to sell them wholesale at the market.
It was evening when she returned, and as she approached the orchard she
heard shots. It was Pavlik, instructed by Gavrila, firing an old shot-gun
which they had found in the attic.
"Heavens! What are you doing?" she gasped in horror as she saw her
gentle little darling pushing a charge into the gun.
"Frightening off the sparrows. Look out!" Pavlik shouted and with a
most ferocious expression fired somewhere into the air, after which a little
cloud of feathers drifted down.
Evidently, the war against the birds was going well.
"Well, what's the commercial news?" asked Vasily Petrovich, rubbing his
hands. "I hope it's something good."
"Yes and no," answered Auntie.
"Now, just how do I take that?" he asked with a cheerful smile.
At least a dozen times that day he had gone round the orchard and seen
that the harvest was not merely good, it was amazingly, fantastically rich.
Whole poods of very large cherries hung from the branches, gleaming in the
sun like jewels with all shades of red, from the palest creamy pink, through
coral, to that dark crimson which looks almost black.
"How do you mean?" he asked again, not quite so cheerfully this time-he
had seen that Auntie looked rather upset.
"I'll tell you everything in a minute, let me wash up first, and for
goodness' sake, a cup of tea. I'm dying for tea!"
All this boded nothing good.
In half an hour Auntie was sitting on the veranda eagerly drinking tea.
"It was like this. First of all I went to a number of fruit shops.
There aren't many cherries yet, and the shops are selling them at fifteen to
twenty kopeks a pound."
"Well, well, well-that's splendid!" cried Vasily Petrovich, mentally
calculating how much they would get from each tree, even at a conservative
estimate of two poods per tree. "If that's the case, we're rich!"
"Yes, but wait a minute," said Auntie wearily. "That's the retail
price. We want to sell wholesale. So I went to the wholesale market and
found the fruit section. It turned out that the wholesale price was much
lower."
"Of course, quite natural!" cried Vasily Petrovich stoutly. "It always
is. What is it?"
"They offer two rubles forty a pood. Our delivery."
Vasily Petrovich touched the steel frame of his pince-nez and his lips
moved as he calculated once more.
"H'm ... yes... well, of course that's rather a different sum. But all
the same it's quite good, quite good. We'll be able to make our payment and
have quite a nice little profit too." And Vasily Petrovich looked gaily at
Auntie through his pince-nez.
"You're very unpractical," said Auntie. "Don't forget the two-forty's
with our delivery." With emphasis she repeated the words, "Our delivery!"
"Ah yes ... delivery," mumbled Vasily Petrovich. "Now, just what does
that imply?"
"It means we've got to bring the cherries to them there, at the
wholesale market."
"Well? What's wrong with that? We'll bring them. And then-kindly hand
over the money!"
"Oh, it's impossible to discuss anything with you!" cried Auntie,
exasperated. "Just stop a moment and think -how are we going to deliver
them? With what? We have no horse, no cart, no baskets, no bast, no-we've
absolutely nothing, and no means of getting them there. Not to mention
picking the fruit-that is, if the birds leave any of it. We haven't even
ladders."
"M'yes," mumbled Vasily Petrovich vaguely, blew his nose and said, "But
it's all very queer. Why does it have to be our delivery? You ought to have
told them-if you want our cherries, please come and get them."
"I did."
"Well?"
"They refused."
"H'm. There must be some misunderstanding there. After all, there's
such a thing as competition. If one refused, perhaps another would agree."
"I went round 'all of them, and the impresson I got was that there
isn't any competition at all, it's all one band. They're amazingly alike
even to-look at. Dark-blue shirts, red faces, sheepskin hats. The same kind
of robbers as those Persians who came to try and force down the price. And
they all talk about some Madame Storozhenko. It looks as if all the
wholesale fruit trade is in this lady's hands."
"Well, why didn't you go and talk to her, then?"
"I tried. But you can't catch her. From morning to night she drives
round orchards buying up the crops."
"What are we going to do, then?" asked Vasily Petrovich.
"I don't know," answered Auntie.
They sat staring at each other in perplexity. Vasily Petrovich wiped
his brown neck with a dirty handkerchief while Auntie drummed with her
fingers on a saucer. And Petya felt disaster again looming over the family,
but disaster much more terrible than that other time when the orchard was
drying up.
The cherries ripened every hour. The red ones blackened, the pink ones
reddened, the cream-coloured ones turned a warm pink, while the white ones
deepened to a honey colour that made the mouth water in anticipation of
their sweetness. From early morning the war against the birds went on. They
fastened bright-coloured rags to the branches, they set up scarecrows, they
ran about under the trees clapping their hands and shouting hoarsely, and
every now and then there was a report from the shotgun.
It was even harder work than hoeing and bringing water. Oh, how Petya
learned to hate starlings! How different they seemed now from those poetic
birds whistling gaily in a dozen different keys, making a spring day seem
brighter, paths more shady, and the little white clouds look as though they
were sweetly sleeping.
Now the birds were marauders descending in flocks upon the orchard from
all sides. They pecked the cherries with their sharp beaks, always finding
the ripest and tearing out a triangular piece of pulp.
They did not so much eat cherries as spoil them. When they were driven
off the trees, the whole flock continued flying about above them, describing
circles and swooping curves.
The Bacheis tried picking the cherries themselves, standing on chairs,
and discovered how difficult it was for inexperienced hands. They decided to
start off by selling cherries retail and sent Gavrila with a big basket to
Bolshoi Fontan.
Gavrila spent all day going round the villas and brought back seventy
kopeks and a strong smell of vodka, told them thickly that this was all he
had been given and went off to sleep in the weeds behind the stable.
Some summer visitors from nearby villas came to the orchard to buy
cherries-two pretty girls with lace parasols and a student in a white tunic.
They asked for two pounds, but as Auntie had no scales she poured about five
into the dainty basket the student carried over his shoulder on a stick.
-The girls at once hung cherries over their little ears and dimpled and
laughed, looking prettier than ever, while Auntie gazed at them as though
wondering, "Dear God, how can anyone be so happy!"
Then the postman brought a typed letter from the notary containing the
ominous warning that the final date for payment was in three days.
Auntie hurried to town again but returned empty-handed; Madame
Storozhenko had been away again and the Persians, as though mocking all
common sense, had offered not two-forty, but a ruble-thirty a pood,
delivered. It seemed likely that they had been rude to Auntie as well,
because she was nearly crying as she tore off her hat and paced up and down
the veranda saying again and again, "What rascals! Heavens above, what
scoundrels!"
Only one thing remained-to hire carts, horses and baskets from the
German settlers, and flying in the face of Vasily Petrovich's principles, to
exploit labour by hiring girls from the villages round about and get the
fruit off the trees as quickly as possible-for the birds had already pecked
a quarter of it.
The Germans refused to let them have any carts or horses and the girls
were already working in other orchards.
"Curse the hour when I let myself get drawn into this idiotic
business!" cried Vasily Petrovich.
"Vasily Petrovich, for your dead wife's sake have mercy on me!" said
Auntie through her tears, in a voice that showed her nose was swollen.
Then, to wind up the whole business, the gate opened creakingly and a
britzka rolled in. One Persian sat on the box, another stood on the step,
and a very large, stout lady in a white linen coat and a dusty hat
ornamented with faded forget-me-nots swayed and jolted on the seat. The
britzka went straight across the beds of petunias and flowering tobacco and
halted by the house. The Persians at once seized the lady's elbows arid she
climbed awkwardly down.
She had a fat but muscular face with a moustache, purple cheeks and
expressionless eyes.
"Here, you, boy-what's your name-don't stand there staring, run and
call the master, and look sharp," she said in the raucous voice of the
market-place, and was just going to sit down, puffing, on an iron garden
chair brought by one of the Persians when Auntie appeared, followed by
Vasily Petrovich. "Are you the owners here?" she asked and without waiting
for an answer held out a hand with short thick fingers projecting from a
black lace mitten first to Vasily Petrovich, then to Auntie.
"Good morning," she said. "I'm Madame Storozhenko."
Auntie bubbled over with excitement.
"Ah, how extremely kind of you," she twittered, assuming her society
smile. "I have twice tried to find you at the wholesale market but you were
always away. You are such an elusive lady!" And Auntie shook her finger
charmingly at Madame Storozhenko. "But I see that if the mountain does not
go to Mohammed, then Mohammed comes to the mountain."
"It makes no difference," said Madame Storozhenko, ignoring the
aphorism about the mountain and Mohammed. "They told me you wanted to sell
your crop. I'll buy it."
"In that case, perhaps, you would care to look at the orchard?" said
Auntie, exchanging a most significant look with Vasily Petrovich.
"I know that orchard like the palm of my hand," answered Madame
Storozhenko. "It's not my first time here. I always bought the crop when
Madame Vasyutinskaya was running it. And I must say she ran it much better.
Half your cherries are pecked. Of course, it's no business of mine, but I
can tell you, you've neglected the orchard badly. You'll hardly make ends
meet this way. I've been trading in fruit only five years myself, before
that I dealt in fish, but you can ask anyone and they'll tell you Madame
Storozhenko knows a thing or two about fruit. You call those cherries?
They're more like lice. You can take my word for it."
Vasily Petrovich and Auntie stood before Madame Storozhenko in
alternating hope and fear. Their fate depended on her alone, but there was
nothing to be read on her coarse face. At last Madame Storozhenko spoke:
"Take it or leave it, I've no time to waste on you. Here!" She opened a
big leather bag hanging on a strap over her shoulder, and took out a crisp
hundred-ruble note, evidently prepared beforehand. "There you are!"
"What-only a hundred rubles! Why, we've three hundred to pay on the
note of hand alone!"
"Take it and less chat," repeated Madame Storozhenko. "And say thank
you for it, too. At least you'll have nothing more to worry about, I'll look
after the picking, packing and transport.
"Madame Storozhenko, have you no conscience?" Vasily Petrovich
expostulated. "It's sheer robbery!"
"My dear man," Madame Storozhenko wheezed condescendingly, "I've got to
make something out of it, haven't I?"
"Yes, but these cherries will sell for at least five hundred rubles,
we've reckoned it up," said Auntie.
"Well, if you've reckoned it up, go and sell your crop yourselves and
don't waste other people's time. A hundred rubles, that's my last word."
"But we've got to pay on a note of hand."
"I know. In a day or two you've got to pay Madame Vasyutinskaya three
hundred and if you don't, you lose the place. And lose it you will, because
you've no money and you'll be bankrupt anyway. So my advice is to take what
you can, at least it'll feed you a little while. As for Madame
Vasyutinskaya's property, she'll rent it to me through the notary. It'll do
much better with me than with you."
"We'll see about all that!" said Auntie, turning pale.
"Better drop those airs!" snapped Madame Storozhenko with unconcealed
contempt, looking Vasily Petrovich and Auntie up and down with a black,
incomprehensible malice. "You think I don't know your sort? You haven't a
single kopek between you. You're beggars! Paupers! And call yourselves
intellectuals!"
"My dear madame," said Vasily Petrovich, "what right have you to speak
this way?"
Madame Storozhenko turned majestically to Auntie.
"Listen-what's your name-tell this man of yours to climb off his high
horse, because in three days I'll kick you out of here with all your
rubbish. Ragamuffins!"
Vasily Petrovich made a convulsive movement, he wanted to speak but
could only stamp his foot and make strangled sounds like a dumb man; then he
slumped down on the veranda step clutching his head in his hands.
"Take the hundred and write a receipt," said Madame Storozhenko,
holding it out to Auntie unconcernedly.
"You're a wicked, vile woman!" cried Auntie, trembling from head to
foot. She burst into tears and stumbled into the house.
It was such a dreadful, disgraceful scene that not only Petya, Pavlik
and Dunyasha-even Gavrila was shocked into immobility, and nobody noticed
Gavrik, who had emerged some time before from among the trees.
Now he marched slowly, with a slight roll, to Madame Storozhenko, his
right hand thrust deep in his trouser pocket.
"Get out of here, you mangy old market shark!" he hissed through his
teeth. "Get out!"
She stared at him, amazed, then suddenly recognized in this
sixteen-year-old workman the little beggar boy, the grandson of old
Chernoivanenko, who used to bring bullheads to her at the wholesale market
when she still had a fish stall. Madame Storozhenko had a good memory and
she realized in a flash that she was faced with her old enemy. In those
days, however, he had been small and defenceless and she could do as she
liked with him; now he was very different. Instinctively the old fox sensed
danger.
"Now, now, none of your bullying!" she cried, moving restlessly about
by the britzka, and turned to her Persians. "What are you thinking of? Smash
his mug in!"
The Persians advanced, lowering their heads in the sheepskin hats; but
Gavrik withdrew his hand from his pocket holding a knuckle-duster, and his
white lips tightened into a straight line.
"Get out of here!" he repeated ominously. He seized the reins close to
the bit and led the horse out of the gate, while Madame Storozhenko and the
Persians clambered into the moving britzka as best they could.
For a long time the hat with the forget-me-nots could be seen moving
along the road between fields of green grain, and Madame Storozhenko's voice
could be heard screeching curses and obscene threats in the direction of the
orchard.
Gavrik returned, breathing hard as though he had been doing heavy
physical work. He held out his hand in silence to Petya, patted Pavlik's
shoulder and stood for a while beside Vasily Petrovich, who was still
sitting on the steps, his face in his hands.
Then Gavrik spat angrily, said, "Well, we'll see," and ran through the
orchard out into the steppe, disappearing as suddenly as he had come.
For a long time all were silent-they felt that there was nothing more
to be said. At last Vasily Petrovich passed his hand down his face with a
visible effort and wiped his glasses with the hem of his long shirt; an
unexpected smile appeared on his face-a helpless childlike smile.
"Thus, their feasting turned to disaster," he said with a sigh.
But strange as it might seem, it was a sigh of relief.
For a little while calm and quietness reigned in the house and in the
orchard. The Bacheis went about as though they had just awakened and were
not yet quite sure whether it was all real or a dream. They were very
considerate to each other, even affectionate. In the evening they ate
yoghurt and drank tea. They chatted and joked. But there was not one word
about their situation; it was as though they were saving all their physical
,and mental strength for that very near future, the thought of which was so
terrible.
They went to bed early and slept well, luxuriating in rest after all
their labour and perturbation, knowing that the coming day would bring them
nothing new.
At dawn Petya felt someone tugging his foot. He opened his eyes and saw
the wide-open window and Gavrik standing by his bed. The sun had not yet
risen, but it was already quite light in the room; the cool air of early
morning was pouring in; outside, the trees stood dark green against a
crimson strip of sky, and the cocks were crowing sleepily in the distance.
"Get up!" whispered Gavrik.
"Why?" Petya whispered back. He was so accustomed to his friend's way
of popping up without warning that his appearance at this early hour was in
no way startling.
"Get your clothes on and out to work!" said Gavrik mysteriously, gaily,
and jerked his head towards the open window. He turned, jumped on to the
sill, and disappeared in the orchard.
Petya knew Gavrik, he knew this was no fooling, it was serious. He
dressed rapidly and shivering in the early chill followed Gavrik out through
the window.
Voices came from the orchard. Petya went round the house and saw people
under the cherry trees. There was the beat of axes, the squeal of saws. A
little way off a lad he did not know passed by with a new roughly made
ladder on his shoulder. A similar ladder leaned against a tree, and on the
top rung stood a barefoot girl, one hand holding a branch heavy with fruit,
the other shading her eyes from the sun which was just rising over the sea
bathing her in blinding but still cool rays.
"Petya!" the girl called. He recognized Motya. "What are you doing
here?" he asked, approaching.
"Picking your fruit," she answered gaily, and Petya saw the basket
hanging from her arm. "But you've quite forgotten us," she added with a
sigh. "You never come to Near Mills now."
She too had hung cherries over her ears and Petya thought they made her
look even prettier than before.
"Well, here we are, you see," she went on merrily, pulling cherries off
the branches and dropping them into her basket, leaves and all. "We've been
working over an hour, and you've only just managed to get your eyes open.
Lazy-bones! God'll punish you for it!" She laughed so heartily that her foot
slipped.
"Oh, catch me, I'm falling!" she cried, but managed to hold on, while
cherries rained down on Petya from the basket.
"Look here, seriously, what's going on?" Petya asked.
"Can't you see for yourself?" said Motya. "Your friends have come to
gather your crop so it won't be lost."
Petya looked round. And everywhere, on the trees and under them, he saw
more or less familiar faces from Near Mills. With surprise he recognized
Uncle Fedya Sinichkin, the old railwayman, the young schoolmistress and
others of Terenty's occasional or regular visitors. Motya's brother Zhenya
was there too with all his friends, sitting in the trees like monkeys,
filling caps, baskets land boxes with amazing dexterity and speed. Wherever
Petya looked he saw bare legs, bare, sunburned arms and cotton shirts, from
all sides he heard voices, laughter, jests and chaff. Before he had fully
taken it all in, Gavrik came running up carrying a pile of old sacks and
bast matting on his shoulder.
"Here, take hold, put these under the trees," he panted, and tossed a
number of sacks over to Petya.
With a feeling that something very good was happening, caught up in the
atmosphere of gay activity, Petya promptly set to work spreading out the
sacks, crawling round them on his knees to smooth out the folds.
Soon great, ripe cherries began falling on them with soft thuds from
baskets, caps and aprons.
When Auntie, wakened by the noise, came out on the veranda to
investigate, her first thought was that Madame Storozhenko had already taken
possession of the orchard and her roughs were unceremoniously plundering the
crop.
Although she had resigned herself to the knowledge that this was
inevitable, nevertheless, the sight of strangers stripping the trees was too
much for her. She turned pale and cried weakly, "How dare you! You've no
right! Robbers!"
"Na-a-ay, you're all wrong," Gavrik half sang on a warm, affectionate
note as he passed her dragging a ladder, "We're your own folks, from Near
Mills. Now, don't you worry about anything, not a single cherry'll go
astray, I'll see to that personally. Except maybe one or two that drop into
somebody's mouth by accident, that sort of thing might very well happen. But
what's it matter? You see yourself what a grand crop it is. I hope you never
have any worse! Selling it retail, you'll get at least three rubles a pood.
And as for that old market bitch!" And Gavrik put his thumb to his nose.
"Stop a minute, I don't understand, won't you explain?" said Auntie,
looking into Gavrik's angry, determined face and trying to make out what it
was all about.
"Don't be angry with us for not asking you first," he said. "No time
for it-this is when a day feeds a year, as the saying goes. Let the moment
slip and it's gone! We had to get hold of the wood for ladders, and the
sacks and bast mats and all that sort of thing. Wasn't it the thing to do?
Or should we have let that old shark make beggars of you all? No sir! Time
to stop that! They've sucked enough of our blood. The day's gone when we
used to stand in front of them like asses."
Auntie stared at Gavrik, his militant stance, a boy with a peeling nose
and yet a man with serious, angry eyes that said much more than his words.
Perhaps she did not yet understand everything, but the main thing was
clear. Kind folks from Near Mills had come to their aid, and again there was
hope that they might be saved. Auntie's housewifely instincts reawakened.
She quickly tied a kerchief round her head and hurried about under the
trees, putting this and that right. She told them to place the sacks and
matting so that they would not have to carry the fruit so far, asked the
pickers to keep the various kinds of cherries separate, gaily told the boys
not to put more in their mouths than in the baskets, sent Gavrila to fetch
some buckets of drinking water, then herself climbed a ladder into one of
the trees, hung cherries over her ears and, singing "The Sun is Low" at the
top of her voice, began picking cherries and dropping them into an old
hat-box.
What a wonderful day that was! It was a long time since Petya had felt
so full of bubbling happiness. True, he had no ladder and did not pick
cherries from the trees, which would have been more interesting, but running
about underneath was not so bad either. Now here, now there, a full heavy
basket descended from the leafy branches; he caught it in his arms, poured
its contents out on to the nearest pile, returned to the tree, sent the
basket up again with a bounce from his head and went on to the next tree
where another awaited him.
His arms ached pleasantly from the unaccustomed exercise, and it was
wonderful to see the pile of dark, shining berries growing before his eyes,
prettily mingled with dark leaves, to which striped wasps added flecks of
bright gold.
Petya was in charge of ten trees. Practically every minute somebody
called him to take a filled basket. But Motya's voice was the most
insistent.
"Petya, come here, mine's full! Where are you? Don't be so lazy! Here!"
A soft arm in a pink cotton sleeve would lower a heavy basket, and
through the leaves Petya could see Motya's rosy face and a cherry stone
between her lips.
By midday all were tired, and Gavrik marched up and down between the
trees, calling out, "Break off, dinner-time, break off!"
That was when Petya suddenly saw Marina and her mother. They were quite
close, coming towards him with arms round one another's waists like two
girls, and the cherries hung on their ears and the baskets in their hands
showed they must have been helping too.
At the sight of Madame Pavlovskaya Petya's courage oozed out of his
toes. What if she had guessed who it was that rustled in the weeds at night
and tossed love-notes in through the window? Why, she really might pull his
ears! That first time he saw her she had looked rather stern and
disapproving. But now, in her old house frock, with cherries hung on her
ears, she seemed very kind and good-humoured. And Marina smiled with evident
pleasure, not a trace was left of that cold, contemptuous look with which
she had thrown the dreadful word "babbler" at him.
"Good morning," Petya said in confusion, and in an effort to produce
the best possible impression on Marina's mother essayed la polite click of
his heels, which came off rather badly owing to his being barefoot. But
nobody seemed to notice.
"You're quite right, it really is a marvellously good morning," said
Marina's mother with a kind of deep, serious smile. "Isn't it, Petya? Your
name is Petya, isn't it?"
She examined him with interest, for she knew well enough about the
notes. Marina, for her part, glanced up innocently and said, "It's a long
time since I've seen you," just as if nothing had ever happened.
She provoked him. Petya would have liked to make some brilliantly witty
reply, but all he could manage was to mumble morosely, "Well, that's not my
fault."
"Why, whose is it, then?" said Marina captiously, turned a little away
from Petya and began picking at a rubbery drop of resin on the bark of the
cherry tree under which she stood.
"You know whose," Petya replied with tender reproach, and then took
fright-wasn't that almost a declaration?
Auntie came up just at the right moment to greet the visitors and
rescue her nephew from the awkward situation.
"Ah, it's you? At last! I never seem to see you. How can you shut
yourself up like that? After all, people come out here to enjoy the country,
the sea air, the garden. It's all here waiting for you and still you stay
indoors all day," she twittered, at once assuming the mincing, society
manner which, according to her ideas, was the correct one for a refined
owner of a villa talking to her refined guests. "Good gracious, what do I
see?" And Auntie clasped her hands. "You have baskets! Is it possible that
you have come to help us? But that is too charming, too kind of you! I won't
conceal it, we were in a difficult situation, a dreadful situation. Such a
wonderful harvest, and we, impractical people that we are.... You are a
cultured person yourself, you will understand."
"Yes, oh yes," said Madame Pavlovskaya coldly. "It is a small but very
typical incident, clearly illustrating the concentration of commercial
capital. It would seem that this Storozhenko-or whatever her name is-has a
monopoly of the local fruit market and is now destroying her weaker
competitors by fair means or foul. You must have been very blind not to have
seen it at once. The strong swallow up the weak-such is the law of the
historical development of capitalism."
Auntie listened in alarm. Madame Pavlovskaya, it seemed, was fully
informed about all their affairs, despite the fact that she never showed
herself outside the cottage.
Of all she said Auntie understood one thing only-that it was very
"political," and Madame Pavlovskaya must be a dangerous person.
Nevertheless, she tried to bring the talk back to the society tone.
"You are absolutely right," she said, "and Madame Storozhenko is a real
monster. A rude, uneducated animal, absolutely out of place in decent
society."
Pavlovskaya frowned.
"Madame Storozhenko is first and foremost a foul creature that must be
fought."
"Yes, but how?" said Auntie, with a shrug of distaste. "I can't
complain to a magistrate-it would be paying her too big a compliment!"
Pavlovskaya looked earnestly at Auntie for a moment, then suddenly
smiled, the way one smiles at children who ask foolish questions.
"The magistrate? That's fine," she said and gave a dry, angry laugh.
Auntie looked at this small woman with the amused, intelligent,
resolute face, the stubborn little chin, the dark shadow on her upper
lip-and felt she belonged to some special, strange world, a world hard to
understand, but a world which drew one.
She wanted to ask, "Are you a Social-Democrat?" but instead she
embraced Pavlovskaya and cried impulsively, like a girl, "Oh, I do like
you!"
"I don't know why," answered Pavlovskaya seriously, but it was clear
that she liked Auntie too.
Evidently, Pavlovskaya had started off with a wrong impression of the
Bachei family. She had thought them ordinary tenant farmers making money out
of letting rooms and running the orchard, and they turned out to be naive,
impractical people unable to cope with life and in bad trouble as a result.
The sense of strain disappeared and talk became easy. And although
Pavlovskaya maintained her reserve, within five minutes Auntie's quick
understanding had given her a fairly accurate picture of all that was
happening round her.
She realized that these pickers Gavrik had brought from Near Mills were
not just casual workers, but people united by common interests and, most
surprising of all, well acquainted with the Pavlovskayas. And in all of this
there seemed to be some mysterious significance.
DON'T KICK A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN!
Petya and Marina strolled along a path in the garden, each pretending
to be deep in thought, but actually not knowing what to say, or rather how
to begin.
"Are you angry with me?" asked Marina, and as Petya remained morosely
silent she cautiously scratched his sleeve. "Don't be angry," she said.
"Better let's be friends. Shall we?"
Petya squinted down at her and scented a trick. She was trying to lure
him into a declaration. She wanted him to say, "I don't believe in
friendship between a man and a woman." And then she would catch him at once.
Oh, no, my dear, that's an old game. I'm not so silly! And Petya remained
silent.
"Why are you so quiet?" she asked, trying to see his face.
"There's nothing I can say to you," he answered in a significant tone.
Let her understand it any way she liked. She sighed, then lowering her voice
almost to a whisper she asked, "Have you been wanting to see me?"
"Have you?" asked Petya in his turn, not recognizing his own voice.
"Yes, I have," she answered and dropped her head so low that the
cherries fell off her ears. She stopped and picked them up in some
confusion.
"I even dreamed of you once," she said, blushing.
Petya could not believe his ears. "What's this," he thought in
agitation. "Can this be a confession of love?" Petya had never even dared
dream of such happiness. But now, when she shyly, truthfully told him she
had wanted to see him, she had dreamed of him, Petya suddenly felt an
enormous relief, even disappointment. Well, that was all right! Only a
minute ago she had seemed inaccessible, and now she had become a nice but at
the same time quite ordinary girl, not in the least like that Marina whom he
had loved in such hopeless torment.
"Have you ever dreamed of me?" she asked.
Petya felt the decisive moment had come, the whole further course of
the romance depended on his answer. If he said, "Yes," it was the same as a
declaration of love. Where would he be then? He dreamed of her, she dreamed
of him; he loved her, she loved him. Mutual love. The very thing he had
wanted. Of course, it was very nice and all that, but wasn't it a little too
soon? Just as things were getting interesting-there you were, all of a
sudden-mutual love!
Of course, that would relieve Petya of all sorts of worry and trouble
like sleepless nights, jealousy, or sitting in wet wormwood tossing notes in
through a window. That was certainly a big advantage. But afterwards? Only
one thing left-to kiss her. The very thought of that made Petya hot and
uncomfortable. No, no, anything you like, only not that!
But there stood Marina leaning against the ladder under a cherry tree,
looking at him with darkened eyes and licking cracked lips that even looked
hot, lips from which Petya could not tear his eyes.
"Why don't you answer?" she insisted, in the voice of a snake-charmer.
"Did you dream of me?"
Again she was clearly gaining the upper hand. Another second and Petya
would have submissively whispered, "Yes." But a spirit of doubt, of
contradiction, triumphed.
"Strange as it may be, I haven't," said Petya with a strained, crooked
smile which he imagined to be icy.
She dropped her Lashes and turned slightly pale.
"Aha, caught the wrong bird this time, my dear," thought Petya
triumphantly.
He had no pity for her. Now, when he felt himself the conqueror, he
already liked her less.
"Is that true?" She raised her eyes and with feigned interest examined
the crown of the tree under which they were standing. Petya even thought he
caught a faint smile as though she had seen something amusing there. But he
was not to be caught by tricks like that.
"You see," said Petya, who was far from wanting to bring matters to a
break, "it's not so much that I haven't seen you in dreams, but I've never
dreamed of you."
"What do you mean?" she asked with interest and again smiled up into
the tree, and even seemed to wink at it slyly.
"It's simple enough," Petya answered. "To see a person in a dream is
one thing, to dream of a person is another. Can't you understand that? I
could have seen you, you see all sorts of things in dreams. Plenty of them.
But to dream specially of one person-that's something quite different."
"I don't understand," she said, biting her lip.
"I'll explain. To dream of a person, that's when ... well, how shall I
put it... when, well, when you're in love, or whatever it is. You, for
instance, have you ever loved anyone?" asked Petya sternly, up on his
hobbyhorse.
"Yes. You," Marina answered quickly.
Petya frowned to hide his satisfaction.
"I don't believe in women's love," he answered with weary disillusion.
"You're wrong. And have you ever loved anyone?" she asked. She could
not have found a question that would please him more. Like a silly mouse she
came running into the trap so cleverly, insidiously set out by Petya.
"Questions of that kind are never answered," said Petya, "but I'll tell
you, because I regard you as my friend. After all, we are friends, aren't
we?"
"I don't believe in friendship between a man and a woman," said Marina.
"Well, I do!" said Petya in chagrin. She was beginning really to
irritate him; she kept on saying just the things he ought to have said.
Anyone would have thought she had never read a single love-story.
"You're wrong," she observed. "But I thought you had something to say
to me?"
"I wanted to say-or rather, not say, to tell.... Well, say or tell,
what does it matter. But of course, only to you as a friend, because nobody
else knows or ever will know." Petya half turned from her and hung his
head.-"I have loved," he said with a sad smile. "Or rather, I love now. But
it is of no importance."
"And she?"
"Ah, even more than I love her! I love, but she is in love. And one
day, just imagine it, we went out on the steppe to gather snowdrops. It was
a lovely evening in spring-"
"I know," said Marina quickly. "It's Motya, isn't it?"
"How did you guess?"
"That doesn't matter. I did. Though I can't understand what you see in
her," she added with a slight grimace. "Do you really love her?"
"It's queer, but I do," said Petya with a shrug. "I don't understand
myself how it happened. There's nothing special about her, just a pretty
face, but-there you are."
There was a rustle in the leaves above and a cherry stone fell,
probably dropped by a starling.
"Shoo!" cried Petya, waving his arms.
"So that's it," said Marina jealously. "So you like going to the steppe
for snowdrops? Well, and what happened there? I suppose you kissed her?"
"Questions like that are never answered," said Petya evasively.
"But I'm your friend so you've got to tell me everything. You've got
to!" Marina cried with an angry stamp.
"Aha, jealous, are you, my dear?" thought Petya. "You wait, I've more
for you yet!"
"Tell me this minute, did you kiss her or not? Or I'll go right away
and you'll never see me again! You hear me? Never!" Her eyes flashed.
She was wonderfully pretty at the moment, and Petya with a careless
shrug answered, "All right. Of course I kissed her."
"Oh, for shame, you little fibber!" That was Motya's voice from over
their heads, and the next moment Motya herself, her face flushed, came
sliding down and started hopping round Petya on one foot chanting, "I never
thought you'd tell such fibs! I never thought you'd tell such fibs!"
"Oh, Motya, you're a wonder, how you ever kept from laughing too soon!"
cried Marina, clapping her hands.
"I had to keep my hand over my mouth all the time!" Motya bubbled,
still hopping round Petya. "Fib-ber! Fib-ber!"
Petya wished the earth would open and swallow him.
that his voice had risen; he stopped short and looked about him. There was
nobody near, but he continued in a lower tone, "It is from there that all
the instructions come. And since I've gone so far, I don't mind telling you
that if they catch Pavlovskaya, it'll be a serious blow. I'm talking to you
like this because we consider you one of us. Am I right?"
Gavrik looked hard at Petya through narrowed eyes, awaiting a straight
answer to a straight question.
Petya thought a moment, then nodded silently. It was the first time
Gavrik had spoken so openly, definitely, keeping nothing back, calling
everything by its name.
"I swear-" Petya began and felt his throat close up with excitement. He
wanted badly to say something deeply significant, perhaps impressive. "I
swear-" he repeated, and tears welled in his eyes.
"There you are, I knew you'd start right off with something of that
sort," said Gavrik. "You needn't bother. Fine words butter no parsnips, and
we've heard plenty of talkers."
"I'm not just a talker," Petya said in a huff.
"I don't mean you, though you're not the silent type- Marie Rose,
Longjumeau. You drop that sort of thing. This isn't a game, it's serious.
And if it comes to the point, we shan't stand on ceremony with you. You know
what underground work is?"
"Of course I do," said Petya, not without dignity.
"Oh no, you don't," Gavrik answered. "In the first place it means
holding your tongue. Tell one person today, and he'll spill everything
tomorrow. You can never get back what you've said. Do you know what she
thought?"
"Who?"
"Marina. She thought you'd been sent after her. A busy."
"What's a busy?"
"You're really slow to catch on. A busy's a detective. A police agent.
It's time you knew things like that. You alarmed the Pavlovskayas so badly
they were planning to leave that very night, to get somewhere a safe
distance from your place. A good thing I happened along just then, or they'd
have been gone. They'd got their things packed, but I told them you were
more or less one of us, and not to worry."
Petya sat silent, crushed. He had never imagined his romance could have
such serious consequences. In general there was much that had never occurred
to him.
"She's certainly a nice girl. I wouldn't mind taking a stroll arm in
arm with her at twilight myself. But I've no time," Gavrik sighed.
Petya stared at him with something like horror, unable to believe his
ears. To talk like that about "her"! It was sacrilege. But Gavrik, stretched
out among the chamomiles, his arms under his head, continued in the same
tone, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world:
"On the other hand, think of her. She has no father. He died abroad
last year of galloping consumption. He belonged to our organization, too.
Her mother's a Party worker. She's got a false passport. They always have to
be moving from place to place, hiding, changing their rooms. The girl's got
to study somehow, and not fall behind. They stay at home all the time
because they can only go out when it's absolutely necessary. And after all
she's young, it's dull for her. So it was natural enough that when you threw
that note in, she was pleased. Why shouldn't she go for a walk with a boy
once in a while? And by the way, believe it or not, she liked you, too. But
then you went and spoiled everything with your big mouth."
Petya flinched as from a toothache.
"Wait a moment," he said, "how do you know all this?"
Gavrik stared at Petya with unconcealed surprise.
"Well! Do you think they feed on air? Incidentally, that's not their
name at all, but it doesn't matter. I dash over twice a week with
provisions. Well, and sometimes there are instructions from the committee
too."
Another unpleasant surprise for Petya. So Gavrik often visited Marina,
he was a friend of the family.
"So that's it! But why do you never come to us?" asked Petya, with
something like jealousy.
"Because I generally come at night."
"Cloak and dagger stuff?" Petya asked with a note of irony.
"What do you think? Why attract attention? You never can tell who may
notice, especially in times like these. Don't you know what's going on?
There are strikes all over. The secret police are going crazy, sniffing
everywhere-no joke about it. It's worse than 1905."
Again Petya felt the atmosphere of Near Mills, which had faded away of
late.
"What about a smoke, comrade?" Gavrik said, pulling a package of cheap
cigarettes from his pocket.
Petya had never smoked and he felt no desire to. But the word
"comrade," which Gavrik pronounced with a kind of special intonation of
stern independence, the very look of the package of Peal Cigarettes made by
the Laferrne Co., five kopeks for twenty, advertised in the Pravda, made him
pull a stiff cigarette from the package and place it awkwardly in his mouth.
"Good idea," said Petya, imitating Gavrik's sternness and independence,
and squinting at the end of the cigarette as Gavrik held a match to it.
They smoked for a few moments, Gavrik with obvious enjoyment, inhaling
and spitting like a real workman, Petya removing his cigarette every moment
from his mouth and for some reason eyeing the cardboard end that emitted a
white trickle of heavy smoke.
Nothing more was said about the Pavlovskayas. They worked a little on
Caesar, then Gavrik left, saying in farewell, "Well, that's that. The main
thing is not to lose your nerve."
What that applied to, Petya did not know.
Now he was filled with a turmoil of contradictory emotions-jealousy,
anger at himself, hope, despair and, strangest of all, an ardent, surging
thirst for life.
He thought of all kinds of ways to remedy his error and draw Marina out
for a meeting. Day in, day out, this filled his mind.
Just at this time the early cherries began to ripen. They ripened
quickly, almost visibly, and every kind at once -black, red, pink and white.
Although the Bacheis had been eagerly watching the progress of this great
harvest, nevertheless, the actual realization of its size came upon them
suddenly one fine morning when a black cloud of starlings swooped down over
the orchard, followed by a grey cloud of sparrows.
The birds descended on the trees; and while Vasily Petrovich, Petya,
Pavlik, Dunyasha and Gavrila ran about below frightening off the marauders
with umbrellas, sticks, hats, handkerchiefs and shouts, Auntie put on her
lace gloves and hat, and, sparkling with happy excitement, took the
horse-tram to town where she intended first to find out the retail price of
early cherries, and then to sell them wholesale at the market.
It was evening when she returned, and as she approached the orchard she
heard shots. It was Pavlik, instructed by Gavrila, firing an old shot-gun
which they had found in the attic.
"Heavens! What are you doing?" she gasped in horror as she saw her
gentle little darling pushing a charge into the gun.
"Frightening off the sparrows. Look out!" Pavlik shouted and with a
most ferocious expression fired somewhere into the air, after which a little
cloud of feathers drifted down.
Evidently, the war against the birds was going well.
"Well, what's the commercial news?" asked Vasily Petrovich, rubbing his
hands. "I hope it's something good."
"Yes and no," answered Auntie.
"Now, just how do I take that?" he asked with a cheerful smile.
At least a dozen times that day he had gone round the orchard and seen
that the harvest was not merely good, it was amazingly, fantastically rich.
Whole poods of very large cherries hung from the branches, gleaming in the
sun like jewels with all shades of red, from the palest creamy pink, through
coral, to that dark crimson which looks almost black.
"How do you mean?" he asked again, not quite so cheerfully this time-he
had seen that Auntie looked rather upset.
"I'll tell you everything in a minute, let me wash up first, and for
goodness' sake, a cup of tea. I'm dying for tea!"
All this boded nothing good.
In half an hour Auntie was sitting on the veranda eagerly drinking tea.
"It was like this. First of all I went to a number of fruit shops.
There aren't many cherries yet, and the shops are selling them at fifteen to
twenty kopeks a pound."
"Well, well, well-that's splendid!" cried Vasily Petrovich, mentally
calculating how much they would get from each tree, even at a conservative
estimate of two poods per tree. "If that's the case, we're rich!"
"Yes, but wait a minute," said Auntie wearily. "That's the retail
price. We want to sell wholesale. So I went to the wholesale market and
found the fruit section. It turned out that the wholesale price was much
lower."
"Of course, quite natural!" cried Vasily Petrovich stoutly. "It always
is. What is it?"
"They offer two rubles forty a pood. Our delivery."
Vasily Petrovich touched the steel frame of his pince-nez and his lips
moved as he calculated once more.
"H'm ... yes... well, of course that's rather a different sum. But all
the same it's quite good, quite good. We'll be able to make our payment and
have quite a nice little profit too." And Vasily Petrovich looked gaily at
Auntie through his pince-nez.
"You're very unpractical," said Auntie. "Don't forget the two-forty's
with our delivery." With emphasis she repeated the words, "Our delivery!"
"Ah yes ... delivery," mumbled Vasily Petrovich. "Now, just what does
that imply?"
"It means we've got to bring the cherries to them there, at the
wholesale market."
"Well? What's wrong with that? We'll bring them. And then-kindly hand
over the money!"
"Oh, it's impossible to discuss anything with you!" cried Auntie,
exasperated. "Just stop a moment and think -how are we going to deliver
them? With what? We have no horse, no cart, no baskets, no bast, no-we've
absolutely nothing, and no means of getting them there. Not to mention
picking the fruit-that is, if the birds leave any of it. We haven't even
ladders."
"M'yes," mumbled Vasily Petrovich vaguely, blew his nose and said, "But
it's all very queer. Why does it have to be our delivery? You ought to have
told them-if you want our cherries, please come and get them."
"I did."
"Well?"
"They refused."
"H'm. There must be some misunderstanding there. After all, there's
such a thing as competition. If one refused, perhaps another would agree."
"I went round 'all of them, and the impresson I got was that there
isn't any competition at all, it's all one band. They're amazingly alike
even to-look at. Dark-blue shirts, red faces, sheepskin hats. The same kind
of robbers as those Persians who came to try and force down the price. And
they all talk about some Madame Storozhenko. It looks as if all the
wholesale fruit trade is in this lady's hands."
"Well, why didn't you go and talk to her, then?"
"I tried. But you can't catch her. From morning to night she drives
round orchards buying up the crops."
"What are we going to do, then?" asked Vasily Petrovich.
"I don't know," answered Auntie.
They sat staring at each other in perplexity. Vasily Petrovich wiped
his brown neck with a dirty handkerchief while Auntie drummed with her
fingers on a saucer. And Petya felt disaster again looming over the family,
but disaster much more terrible than that other time when the orchard was
drying up.
The cherries ripened every hour. The red ones blackened, the pink ones
reddened, the cream-coloured ones turned a warm pink, while the white ones
deepened to a honey colour that made the mouth water in anticipation of
their sweetness. From early morning the war against the birds went on. They
fastened bright-coloured rags to the branches, they set up scarecrows, they
ran about under the trees clapping their hands and shouting hoarsely, and
every now and then there was a report from the shotgun.
It was even harder work than hoeing and bringing water. Oh, how Petya
learned to hate starlings! How different they seemed now from those poetic
birds whistling gaily in a dozen different keys, making a spring day seem
brighter, paths more shady, and the little white clouds look as though they
were sweetly sleeping.
Now the birds were marauders descending in flocks upon the orchard from
all sides. They pecked the cherries with their sharp beaks, always finding
the ripest and tearing out a triangular piece of pulp.
They did not so much eat cherries as spoil them. When they were driven
off the trees, the whole flock continued flying about above them, describing
circles and swooping curves.
The Bacheis tried picking the cherries themselves, standing on chairs,
and discovered how difficult it was for inexperienced hands. They decided to
start off by selling cherries retail and sent Gavrila with a big basket to
Bolshoi Fontan.
Gavrila spent all day going round the villas and brought back seventy
kopeks and a strong smell of vodka, told them thickly that this was all he
had been given and went off to sleep in the weeds behind the stable.
Some summer visitors from nearby villas came to the orchard to buy
cherries-two pretty girls with lace parasols and a student in a white tunic.
They asked for two pounds, but as Auntie had no scales she poured about five
into the dainty basket the student carried over his shoulder on a stick.
-The girls at once hung cherries over their little ears and dimpled and
laughed, looking prettier than ever, while Auntie gazed at them as though
wondering, "Dear God, how can anyone be so happy!"
Then the postman brought a typed letter from the notary containing the
ominous warning that the final date for payment was in three days.
Auntie hurried to town again but returned empty-handed; Madame
Storozhenko had been away again and the Persians, as though mocking all
common sense, had offered not two-forty, but a ruble-thirty a pood,
delivered. It seemed likely that they had been rude to Auntie as well,
because she was nearly crying as she tore off her hat and paced up and down
the veranda saying again and again, "What rascals! Heavens above, what
scoundrels!"
Only one thing remained-to hire carts, horses and baskets from the
German settlers, and flying in the face of Vasily Petrovich's principles, to
exploit labour by hiring girls from the villages round about and get the
fruit off the trees as quickly as possible-for the birds had already pecked
a quarter of it.
The Germans refused to let them have any carts or horses and the girls
were already working in other orchards.
"Curse the hour when I let myself get drawn into this idiotic
business!" cried Vasily Petrovich.
"Vasily Petrovich, for your dead wife's sake have mercy on me!" said
Auntie through her tears, in a voice that showed her nose was swollen.
Then, to wind up the whole business, the gate opened creakingly and a
britzka rolled in. One Persian sat on the box, another stood on the step,
and a very large, stout lady in a white linen coat and a dusty hat
ornamented with faded forget-me-nots swayed and jolted on the seat. The
britzka went straight across the beds of petunias and flowering tobacco and
halted by the house. The Persians at once seized the lady's elbows arid she
climbed awkwardly down.
She had a fat but muscular face with a moustache, purple cheeks and
expressionless eyes.
"Here, you, boy-what's your name-don't stand there staring, run and
call the master, and look sharp," she said in the raucous voice of the
market-place, and was just going to sit down, puffing, on an iron garden
chair brought by one of the Persians when Auntie appeared, followed by
Vasily Petrovich. "Are you the owners here?" she asked and without waiting
for an answer held out a hand with short thick fingers projecting from a
black lace mitten first to Vasily Petrovich, then to Auntie.
"Good morning," she said. "I'm Madame Storozhenko."
Auntie bubbled over with excitement.
"Ah, how extremely kind of you," she twittered, assuming her society
smile. "I have twice tried to find you at the wholesale market but you were
always away. You are such an elusive lady!" And Auntie shook her finger
charmingly at Madame Storozhenko. "But I see that if the mountain does not
go to Mohammed, then Mohammed comes to the mountain."
"It makes no difference," said Madame Storozhenko, ignoring the
aphorism about the mountain and Mohammed. "They told me you wanted to sell
your crop. I'll buy it."
"In that case, perhaps, you would care to look at the orchard?" said
Auntie, exchanging a most significant look with Vasily Petrovich.
"I know that orchard like the palm of my hand," answered Madame
Storozhenko. "It's not my first time here. I always bought the crop when
Madame Vasyutinskaya was running it. And I must say she ran it much better.
Half your cherries are pecked. Of course, it's no business of mine, but I
can tell you, you've neglected the orchard badly. You'll hardly make ends
meet this way. I've been trading in fruit only five years myself, before
that I dealt in fish, but you can ask anyone and they'll tell you Madame
Storozhenko knows a thing or two about fruit. You call those cherries?
They're more like lice. You can take my word for it."
Vasily Petrovich and Auntie stood before Madame Storozhenko in
alternating hope and fear. Their fate depended on her alone, but there was
nothing to be read on her coarse face. At last Madame Storozhenko spoke:
"Take it or leave it, I've no time to waste on you. Here!" She opened a
big leather bag hanging on a strap over her shoulder, and took out a crisp
hundred-ruble note, evidently prepared beforehand. "There you are!"
"What-only a hundred rubles! Why, we've three hundred to pay on the
note of hand alone!"
"Take it and less chat," repeated Madame Storozhenko. "And say thank
you for it, too. At least you'll have nothing more to worry about, I'll look
after the picking, packing and transport.
"Madame Storozhenko, have you no conscience?" Vasily Petrovich
expostulated. "It's sheer robbery!"
"My dear man," Madame Storozhenko wheezed condescendingly, "I've got to
make something out of it, haven't I?"
"Yes, but these cherries will sell for at least five hundred rubles,
we've reckoned it up," said Auntie.
"Well, if you've reckoned it up, go and sell your crop yourselves and
don't waste other people's time. A hundred rubles, that's my last word."
"But we've got to pay on a note of hand."
"I know. In a day or two you've got to pay Madame Vasyutinskaya three
hundred and if you don't, you lose the place. And lose it you will, because
you've no money and you'll be bankrupt anyway. So my advice is to take what
you can, at least it'll feed you a little while. As for Madame
Vasyutinskaya's property, she'll rent it to me through the notary. It'll do
much better with me than with you."
"We'll see about all that!" said Auntie, turning pale.
"Better drop those airs!" snapped Madame Storozhenko with unconcealed
contempt, looking Vasily Petrovich and Auntie up and down with a black,
incomprehensible malice. "You think I don't know your sort? You haven't a
single kopek between you. You're beggars! Paupers! And call yourselves
intellectuals!"
"My dear madame," said Vasily Petrovich, "what right have you to speak
this way?"
Madame Storozhenko turned majestically to Auntie.
"Listen-what's your name-tell this man of yours to climb off his high
horse, because in three days I'll kick you out of here with all your
rubbish. Ragamuffins!"
Vasily Petrovich made a convulsive movement, he wanted to speak but
could only stamp his foot and make strangled sounds like a dumb man; then he
slumped down on the veranda step clutching his head in his hands.
"Take the hundred and write a receipt," said Madame Storozhenko,
holding it out to Auntie unconcernedly.
"You're a wicked, vile woman!" cried Auntie, trembling from head to
foot. She burst into tears and stumbled into the house.
It was such a dreadful, disgraceful scene that not only Petya, Pavlik
and Dunyasha-even Gavrila was shocked into immobility, and nobody noticed
Gavrik, who had emerged some time before from among the trees.
Now he marched slowly, with a slight roll, to Madame Storozhenko, his
right hand thrust deep in his trouser pocket.
"Get out of here, you mangy old market shark!" he hissed through his
teeth. "Get out!"
She stared at him, amazed, then suddenly recognized in this
sixteen-year-old workman the little beggar boy, the grandson of old
Chernoivanenko, who used to bring bullheads to her at the wholesale market
when she still had a fish stall. Madame Storozhenko had a good memory and
she realized in a flash that she was faced with her old enemy. In those
days, however, he had been small and defenceless and she could do as she
liked with him; now he was very different. Instinctively the old fox sensed
danger.
"Now, now, none of your bullying!" she cried, moving restlessly about
by the britzka, and turned to her Persians. "What are you thinking of? Smash
his mug in!"
The Persians advanced, lowering their heads in the sheepskin hats; but
Gavrik withdrew his hand from his pocket holding a knuckle-duster, and his
white lips tightened into a straight line.
"Get out of here!" he repeated ominously. He seized the reins close to
the bit and led the horse out of the gate, while Madame Storozhenko and the
Persians clambered into the moving britzka as best they could.
For a long time the hat with the forget-me-nots could be seen moving
along the road between fields of green grain, and Madame Storozhenko's voice
could be heard screeching curses and obscene threats in the direction of the
orchard.
Gavrik returned, breathing hard as though he had been doing heavy
physical work. He held out his hand in silence to Petya, patted Pavlik's
shoulder and stood for a while beside Vasily Petrovich, who was still
sitting on the steps, his face in his hands.
Then Gavrik spat angrily, said, "Well, we'll see," and ran through the
orchard out into the steppe, disappearing as suddenly as he had come.
For a long time all were silent-they felt that there was nothing more
to be said. At last Vasily Petrovich passed his hand down his face with a
visible effort and wiped his glasses with the hem of his long shirt; an
unexpected smile appeared on his face-a helpless childlike smile.
"Thus, their feasting turned to disaster," he said with a sigh.
But strange as it might seem, it was a sigh of relief.
For a little while calm and quietness reigned in the house and in the
orchard. The Bacheis went about as though they had just awakened and were
not yet quite sure whether it was all real or a dream. They were very
considerate to each other, even affectionate. In the evening they ate
yoghurt and drank tea. They chatted and joked. But there was not one word
about their situation; it was as though they were saving all their physical
,and mental strength for that very near future, the thought of which was so
terrible.
They went to bed early and slept well, luxuriating in rest after all
their labour and perturbation, knowing that the coming day would bring them
nothing new.
At dawn Petya felt someone tugging his foot. He opened his eyes and saw
the wide-open window and Gavrik standing by his bed. The sun had not yet
risen, but it was already quite light in the room; the cool air of early
morning was pouring in; outside, the trees stood dark green against a
crimson strip of sky, and the cocks were crowing sleepily in the distance.
"Get up!" whispered Gavrik.
"Why?" Petya whispered back. He was so accustomed to his friend's way
of popping up without warning that his appearance at this early hour was in
no way startling.
"Get your clothes on and out to work!" said Gavrik mysteriously, gaily,
and jerked his head towards the open window. He turned, jumped on to the
sill, and disappeared in the orchard.
Petya knew Gavrik, he knew this was no fooling, it was serious. He
dressed rapidly and shivering in the early chill followed Gavrik out through
the window.
Voices came from the orchard. Petya went round the house and saw people
under the cherry trees. There was the beat of axes, the squeal of saws. A
little way off a lad he did not know passed by with a new roughly made
ladder on his shoulder. A similar ladder leaned against a tree, and on the
top rung stood a barefoot girl, one hand holding a branch heavy with fruit,
the other shading her eyes from the sun which was just rising over the sea
bathing her in blinding but still cool rays.
"Petya!" the girl called. He recognized Motya. "What are you doing
here?" he asked, approaching.
"Picking your fruit," she answered gaily, and Petya saw the basket
hanging from her arm. "But you've quite forgotten us," she added with a
sigh. "You never come to Near Mills now."
She too had hung cherries over her ears and Petya thought they made her
look even prettier than before.
"Well, here we are, you see," she went on merrily, pulling cherries off
the branches and dropping them into her basket, leaves and all. "We've been
working over an hour, and you've only just managed to get your eyes open.
Lazy-bones! God'll punish you for it!" She laughed so heartily that her foot
slipped.
"Oh, catch me, I'm falling!" she cried, but managed to hold on, while
cherries rained down on Petya from the basket.
"Look here, seriously, what's going on?" Petya asked.
"Can't you see for yourself?" said Motya. "Your friends have come to
gather your crop so it won't be lost."
Petya looked round. And everywhere, on the trees and under them, he saw
more or less familiar faces from Near Mills. With surprise he recognized
Uncle Fedya Sinichkin, the old railwayman, the young schoolmistress and
others of Terenty's occasional or regular visitors. Motya's brother Zhenya
was there too with all his friends, sitting in the trees like monkeys,
filling caps, baskets land boxes with amazing dexterity and speed. Wherever
Petya looked he saw bare legs, bare, sunburned arms and cotton shirts, from
all sides he heard voices, laughter, jests and chaff. Before he had fully
taken it all in, Gavrik came running up carrying a pile of old sacks and
bast matting on his shoulder.
"Here, take hold, put these under the trees," he panted, and tossed a
number of sacks over to Petya.
With a feeling that something very good was happening, caught up in the
atmosphere of gay activity, Petya promptly set to work spreading out the
sacks, crawling round them on his knees to smooth out the folds.
Soon great, ripe cherries began falling on them with soft thuds from
baskets, caps and aprons.
When Auntie, wakened by the noise, came out on the veranda to
investigate, her first thought was that Madame Storozhenko had already taken
possession of the orchard and her roughs were unceremoniously plundering the
crop.
Although she had resigned herself to the knowledge that this was
inevitable, nevertheless, the sight of strangers stripping the trees was too
much for her. She turned pale and cried weakly, "How dare you! You've no
right! Robbers!"
"Na-a-ay, you're all wrong," Gavrik half sang on a warm, affectionate
note as he passed her dragging a ladder, "We're your own folks, from Near
Mills. Now, don't you worry about anything, not a single cherry'll go
astray, I'll see to that personally. Except maybe one or two that drop into
somebody's mouth by accident, that sort of thing might very well happen. But
what's it matter? You see yourself what a grand crop it is. I hope you never
have any worse! Selling it retail, you'll get at least three rubles a pood.
And as for that old market bitch!" And Gavrik put his thumb to his nose.
"Stop a minute, I don't understand, won't you explain?" said Auntie,
looking into Gavrik's angry, determined face and trying to make out what it
was all about.
"Don't be angry with us for not asking you first," he said. "No time
for it-this is when a day feeds a year, as the saying goes. Let the moment
slip and it's gone! We had to get hold of the wood for ladders, and the
sacks and bast mats and all that sort of thing. Wasn't it the thing to do?
Or should we have let that old shark make beggars of you all? No sir! Time
to stop that! They've sucked enough of our blood. The day's gone when we
used to stand in front of them like asses."
Auntie stared at Gavrik, his militant stance, a boy with a peeling nose
and yet a man with serious, angry eyes that said much more than his words.
Perhaps she did not yet understand everything, but the main thing was
clear. Kind folks from Near Mills had come to their aid, and again there was
hope that they might be saved. Auntie's housewifely instincts reawakened.
She quickly tied a kerchief round her head and hurried about under the
trees, putting this and that right. She told them to place the sacks and
matting so that they would not have to carry the fruit so far, asked the
pickers to keep the various kinds of cherries separate, gaily told the boys
not to put more in their mouths than in the baskets, sent Gavrila to fetch
some buckets of drinking water, then herself climbed a ladder into one of
the trees, hung cherries over her ears and, singing "The Sun is Low" at the
top of her voice, began picking cherries and dropping them into an old
hat-box.
What a wonderful day that was! It was a long time since Petya had felt
so full of bubbling happiness. True, he had no ladder and did not pick
cherries from the trees, which would have been more interesting, but running
about underneath was not so bad either. Now here, now there, a full heavy
basket descended from the leafy branches; he caught it in his arms, poured
its contents out on to the nearest pile, returned to the tree, sent the
basket up again with a bounce from his head and went on to the next tree
where another awaited him.
His arms ached pleasantly from the unaccustomed exercise, and it was
wonderful to see the pile of dark, shining berries growing before his eyes,
prettily mingled with dark leaves, to which striped wasps added flecks of
bright gold.
Petya was in charge of ten trees. Practically every minute somebody
called him to take a filled basket. But Motya's voice was the most
insistent.
"Petya, come here, mine's full! Where are you? Don't be so lazy! Here!"
A soft arm in a pink cotton sleeve would lower a heavy basket, and
through the leaves Petya could see Motya's rosy face and a cherry stone
between her lips.
By midday all were tired, and Gavrik marched up and down between the
trees, calling out, "Break off, dinner-time, break off!"
That was when Petya suddenly saw Marina and her mother. They were quite
close, coming towards him with arms round one another's waists like two
girls, and the cherries hung on their ears and the baskets in their hands
showed they must have been helping too.
At the sight of Madame Pavlovskaya Petya's courage oozed out of his
toes. What if she had guessed who it was that rustled in the weeds at night
and tossed love-notes in through the window? Why, she really might pull his
ears! That first time he saw her she had looked rather stern and
disapproving. But now, in her old house frock, with cherries hung on her
ears, she seemed very kind and good-humoured. And Marina smiled with evident
pleasure, not a trace was left of that cold, contemptuous look with which
she had thrown the dreadful word "babbler" at him.
"Good morning," Petya said in confusion, and in an effort to produce
the best possible impression on Marina's mother essayed la polite click of
his heels, which came off rather badly owing to his being barefoot. But
nobody seemed to notice.
"You're quite right, it really is a marvellously good morning," said
Marina's mother with a kind of deep, serious smile. "Isn't it, Petya? Your
name is Petya, isn't it?"
She examined him with interest, for she knew well enough about the
notes. Marina, for her part, glanced up innocently and said, "It's a long
time since I've seen you," just as if nothing had ever happened.
She provoked him. Petya would have liked to make some brilliantly witty
reply, but all he could manage was to mumble morosely, "Well, that's not my
fault."
"Why, whose is it, then?" said Marina captiously, turned a little away
from Petya and began picking at a rubbery drop of resin on the bark of the
cherry tree under which she stood.
"You know whose," Petya replied with tender reproach, and then took
fright-wasn't that almost a declaration?
Auntie came up just at the right moment to greet the visitors and
rescue her nephew from the awkward situation.
"Ah, it's you? At last! I never seem to see you. How can you shut
yourself up like that? After all, people come out here to enjoy the country,
the sea air, the garden. It's all here waiting for you and still you stay
indoors all day," she twittered, at once assuming the mincing, society
manner which, according to her ideas, was the correct one for a refined
owner of a villa talking to her refined guests. "Good gracious, what do I
see?" And Auntie clasped her hands. "You have baskets! Is it possible that
you have come to help us? But that is too charming, too kind of you! I won't
conceal it, we were in a difficult situation, a dreadful situation. Such a
wonderful harvest, and we, impractical people that we are.... You are a
cultured person yourself, you will understand."
"Yes, oh yes," said Madame Pavlovskaya coldly. "It is a small but very
typical incident, clearly illustrating the concentration of commercial
capital. It would seem that this Storozhenko-or whatever her name is-has a
monopoly of the local fruit market and is now destroying her weaker
competitors by fair means or foul. You must have been very blind not to have
seen it at once. The strong swallow up the weak-such is the law of the
historical development of capitalism."
Auntie listened in alarm. Madame Pavlovskaya, it seemed, was fully
informed about all their affairs, despite the fact that she never showed
herself outside the cottage.
Of all she said Auntie understood one thing only-that it was very
"political," and Madame Pavlovskaya must be a dangerous person.
Nevertheless, she tried to bring the talk back to the society tone.
"You are absolutely right," she said, "and Madame Storozhenko is a real
monster. A rude, uneducated animal, absolutely out of place in decent
society."
Pavlovskaya frowned.
"Madame Storozhenko is first and foremost a foul creature that must be
fought."
"Yes, but how?" said Auntie, with a shrug of distaste. "I can't
complain to a magistrate-it would be paying her too big a compliment!"
Pavlovskaya looked earnestly at Auntie for a moment, then suddenly
smiled, the way one smiles at children who ask foolish questions.
"The magistrate? That's fine," she said and gave a dry, angry laugh.
Auntie looked at this small woman with the amused, intelligent,
resolute face, the stubborn little chin, the dark shadow on her upper
lip-and felt she belonged to some special, strange world, a world hard to
understand, but a world which drew one.
She wanted to ask, "Are you a Social-Democrat?" but instead she
embraced Pavlovskaya and cried impulsively, like a girl, "Oh, I do like
you!"
"I don't know why," answered Pavlovskaya seriously, but it was clear
that she liked Auntie too.
Evidently, Pavlovskaya had started off with a wrong impression of the
Bachei family. She had thought them ordinary tenant farmers making money out
of letting rooms and running the orchard, and they turned out to be naive,
impractical people unable to cope with life and in bad trouble as a result.
The sense of strain disappeared and talk became easy. And although
Pavlovskaya maintained her reserve, within five minutes Auntie's quick
understanding had given her a fairly accurate picture of all that was
happening round her.
She realized that these pickers Gavrik had brought from Near Mills were
not just casual workers, but people united by common interests and, most
surprising of all, well acquainted with the Pavlovskayas. And in all of this
there seemed to be some mysterious significance.
DON'T KICK A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN!
Petya and Marina strolled along a path in the garden, each pretending
to be deep in thought, but actually not knowing what to say, or rather how
to begin.
"Are you angry with me?" asked Marina, and as Petya remained morosely
silent she cautiously scratched his sleeve. "Don't be angry," she said.
"Better let's be friends. Shall we?"
Petya squinted down at her and scented a trick. She was trying to lure
him into a declaration. She wanted him to say, "I don't believe in
friendship between a man and a woman." And then she would catch him at once.
Oh, no, my dear, that's an old game. I'm not so silly! And Petya remained
silent.
"Why are you so quiet?" she asked, trying to see his face.
"There's nothing I can say to you," he answered in a significant tone.
Let her understand it any way she liked. She sighed, then lowering her voice
almost to a whisper she asked, "Have you been wanting to see me?"
"Have you?" asked Petya in his turn, not recognizing his own voice.
"Yes, I have," she answered and dropped her head so low that the
cherries fell off her ears. She stopped and picked them up in some
confusion.
"I even dreamed of you once," she said, blushing.
Petya could not believe his ears. "What's this," he thought in
agitation. "Can this be a confession of love?" Petya had never even dared
dream of such happiness. But now, when she shyly, truthfully told him she
had wanted to see him, she had dreamed of him, Petya suddenly felt an
enormous relief, even disappointment. Well, that was all right! Only a
minute ago she had seemed inaccessible, and now she had become a nice but at
the same time quite ordinary girl, not in the least like that Marina whom he
had loved in such hopeless torment.
"Have you ever dreamed of me?" she asked.
Petya felt the decisive moment had come, the whole further course of
the romance depended on his answer. If he said, "Yes," it was the same as a
declaration of love. Where would he be then? He dreamed of her, she dreamed
of him; he loved her, she loved him. Mutual love. The very thing he had
wanted. Of course, it was very nice and all that, but wasn't it a little too
soon? Just as things were getting interesting-there you were, all of a
sudden-mutual love!
Of course, that would relieve Petya of all sorts of worry and trouble
like sleepless nights, jealousy, or sitting in wet wormwood tossing notes in
through a window. That was certainly a big advantage. But afterwards? Only
one thing left-to kiss her. The very thought of that made Petya hot and
uncomfortable. No, no, anything you like, only not that!
But there stood Marina leaning against the ladder under a cherry tree,
looking at him with darkened eyes and licking cracked lips that even looked
hot, lips from which Petya could not tear his eyes.
"Why don't you answer?" she insisted, in the voice of a snake-charmer.
"Did you dream of me?"
Again she was clearly gaining the upper hand. Another second and Petya
would have submissively whispered, "Yes." But a spirit of doubt, of
contradiction, triumphed.
"Strange as it may be, I haven't," said Petya with a strained, crooked
smile which he imagined to be icy.
She dropped her Lashes and turned slightly pale.
"Aha, caught the wrong bird this time, my dear," thought Petya
triumphantly.
He had no pity for her. Now, when he felt himself the conqueror, he
already liked her less.
"Is that true?" She raised her eyes and with feigned interest examined
the crown of the tree under which they were standing. Petya even thought he
caught a faint smile as though she had seen something amusing there. But he
was not to be caught by tricks like that.
"You see," said Petya, who was far from wanting to bring matters to a
break, "it's not so much that I haven't seen you in dreams, but I've never
dreamed of you."
"What do you mean?" she asked with interest and again smiled up into
the tree, and even seemed to wink at it slyly.
"It's simple enough," Petya answered. "To see a person in a dream is
one thing, to dream of a person is another. Can't you understand that? I
could have seen you, you see all sorts of things in dreams. Plenty of them.
But to dream specially of one person-that's something quite different."
"I don't understand," she said, biting her lip.
"I'll explain. To dream of a person, that's when ... well, how shall I
put it... when, well, when you're in love, or whatever it is. You, for
instance, have you ever loved anyone?" asked Petya sternly, up on his
hobbyhorse.
"Yes. You," Marina answered quickly.
Petya frowned to hide his satisfaction.
"I don't believe in women's love," he answered with weary disillusion.
"You're wrong. And have you ever loved anyone?" she asked. She could
not have found a question that would please him more. Like a silly mouse she
came running into the trap so cleverly, insidiously set out by Petya.
"Questions of that kind are never answered," said Petya, "but I'll tell
you, because I regard you as my friend. After all, we are friends, aren't
we?"
"I don't believe in friendship between a man and a woman," said Marina.
"Well, I do!" said Petya in chagrin. She was beginning really to
irritate him; she kept on saying just the things he ought to have said.
Anyone would have thought she had never read a single love-story.
"You're wrong," she observed. "But I thought you had something to say
to me?"
"I wanted to say-or rather, not say, to tell.... Well, say or tell,
what does it matter. But of course, only to you as a friend, because nobody
else knows or ever will know." Petya half turned from her and hung his
head.-"I have loved," he said with a sad smile. "Or rather, I love now. But
it is of no importance."
"And she?"
"Ah, even more than I love her! I love, but she is in love. And one
day, just imagine it, we went out on the steppe to gather snowdrops. It was
a lovely evening in spring-"
"I know," said Marina quickly. "It's Motya, isn't it?"
"How did you guess?"
"That doesn't matter. I did. Though I can't understand what you see in
her," she added with a slight grimace. "Do you really love her?"
"It's queer, but I do," said Petya with a shrug. "I don't understand
myself how it happened. There's nothing special about her, just a pretty
face, but-there you are."
There was a rustle in the leaves above and a cherry stone fell,
probably dropped by a starling.
"Shoo!" cried Petya, waving his arms.
"So that's it," said Marina jealously. "So you like going to the steppe
for snowdrops? Well, and what happened there? I suppose you kissed her?"
"Questions like that are never answered," said Petya evasively.
"But I'm your friend so you've got to tell me everything. You've got
to!" Marina cried with an angry stamp.
"Aha, jealous, are you, my dear?" thought Petya. "You wait, I've more
for you yet!"
"Tell me this minute, did you kiss her or not? Or I'll go right away
and you'll never see me again! You hear me? Never!" Her eyes flashed.
She was wonderfully pretty at the moment, and Petya with a careless
shrug answered, "All right. Of course I kissed her."
"Oh, for shame, you little fibber!" That was Motya's voice from over
their heads, and the next moment Motya herself, her face flushed, came
sliding down and started hopping round Petya on one foot chanting, "I never
thought you'd tell such fibs! I never thought you'd tell such fibs!"
"Oh, Motya, you're a wonder, how you ever kept from laughing too soon!"
cried Marina, clapping her hands.
"I had to keep my hand over my mouth all the time!" Motya bubbled,
still hopping round Petya. "Fib-ber! Fib-ber!"
Petya wished the earth would open and swallow him.