The Cossacks: A Tale of 1852 - Лев Толстой

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and mislead Uncle Eroshka every time he came to them.

      ‘Eh, you fool, always lying!’ exclaimed Lukashka from the tower to Nazarka.

      Nazarka was immediately silenced.

      ‘It must be watched. I’ll watch,’ answered the old man to the great delight of all the Cossacks. ‘But have you seen any boars?’

      ‘Watching for boars, are you?’ said the corporal, bending forward and scratching his back with both hands, very pleased at the chance of some distraction. ‘It’s abreks one has to hunt here and not boars! You’ve not heard anything, Uncle, have you?’ he added, needlessly screwing up his eyes and showing his close-set white teeth.

      ‘Abreks,’ said the old man. ‘No, I haven’t. I say, have you any chikhir? Let me have a drink, there’s a good man. I’m really quite done up. When the time comes I’ll bring you some fresh meat, I really will. Give me a drink!’ he added.

      ‘Well, and are you going to watch?’ inquired the corporal, as though he had not heard what the other said.

      ‘I did mean to watch tonight,’ replied Uncle Eroshka. ‘Maybe, with God’s help, I shall kill something for the holiday. Then you shall have a share, you shall indeed!’

      ‘Uncle! Hallo, Uncle!’ called out Lukashka sharply from above, attracting everybody’s attention. All the Cossacks looked up at him. ‘Just go to the upper water-course, there’s a fine herd of boars there. I’m not inventing, really! The other day one of our Cossacks shot one there. I’m telling you the truth,’ added he, readjusting the musket at his back and in a tone that showed he was not joking.

      ‘Ah! Lukashka the Snatcher is here!’ said the old man, looking up. ‘Where has he been shooting?’

      ‘Haven’t you seen? I suppose you’re too young!’ said Lukashka. ‘Close by the ditch,’ he went on seriously with a shake of the head. ‘We were just going along the ditch when all at once we heard something crackling, but my gun was in its case. Elias fired suddenly … But I’ll show you the place, it’s not far. You just wait a bit. I know every one of their footpaths … Daddy Mosev,’ said he, turning resolutely and almost commandingly to the corporal, ‘it’s time to relieve guard!’ and holding aloft his gun he began to descend from the watch-tower without waiting for the order.

      ‘Come down!’ said the corporal, after Lukashka had started, and glanced round. ‘Is it your turn, Gurka? Then go … True enough your Lukashka has become very skilful,’ he went on, addressing the old man. ‘He keeps going about just like you, he doesn’t stay at home. The other day he killed a boar.’

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      The sun had already set and the shades of night were rapidly spreading from the edge of the wood. The Cossacks finished their task round the cordon and gathered in the hut for supper. Only the old man still stayed under the plane tree watching for the vulture and pulling the string tied to the falcon’s leg, but though a vulture was really perching on the plane tree it declined to swoop down on the lure. Lukashka, singing one song after another, was leisurely placing nets among the very thickest brambles to trap pheasants. In spite of his tall stature and big hands every kind of work, both rough and delicate, prospered under Lukashka’s fingers.

      ‘Hallo, Luke!’ came Nazarka’s shrill, sharp voice calling him from the thicket close by. ‘The Cossacks have gone in to supper.’

      Nazarka, with a live pheasant under his arm, forced his way through the brambles and emerged on the footpath.

      ‘Oh!’ said Lukashka, breaking off in his song, ‘where did you get that cock pheasant? I suppose it was in my trap?’

      Nazarka was of the same age as Lukashka and had also only been at the front since the previous spring.

      He was plain, thin and puny, with a shrill voice that rang in one’s ears. They were neighbours and comrades. Lukashka was sitting on the grass crosslegged like a Tartar, adjusting his nets.

      ‘I don’t know whose it was—yours, I expect.’

      ‘Was it beyond the pit by the plane tree? Then it is mine! I set the nets last night.’

      Lukashka rose and examined the captured pheasant. After stroking the dark burnished head of the bird, which rolled its eyes and stretched out its neck in terror, Lukashka took the pheasant in his hands.

      ‘We’ll have it in a pilau tonight. You go and kill and pluck it.’

      ‘And shall we eat it ourselves or give it to the corporal?’

      ‘He has plenty!’

      ‘I don’t like killing them,’ said Nazarka.

      ‘Give it here!’

      Lukashka drew a little knife from under his dagger and gave it a swift jerk. The bird fluttered, but before it could spread its wings the bleeding head bent and quivered.

      ‘That’s how one should do it!’ said Lukashka, throwing down the pheasant. ‘It will make a fat pilau.’

      Nazarka shuddered as he looked at the bird.

      ‘I say, Lukashka, that fiend will be sending us to the ambush again tonight,’ he said, taking up the bird. (He was alluding to the corporal.) ‘He has sent Fomushkin to get wine, and it ought to be his turn. He always puts it on us.’

      Lukashka went whistling along the cordon.

      ‘Take the string with you,’ he shouted.

      Nazirka obeyed.

      ‘I’ll give him a bit of my mind today, I really will,’ continued Nazarka. ‘Let’s say we won’t go; we’re tired out and there’s an end of it! No, really, you tell him, he’ll listen to you. It’s too bad!’

      ‘Get along with you! What a thing to make a fuss about!’ said Lukashka, evidently thinking of something else. ‘What bosh! If he made us turn out of the village at night now, that would be annoying: there one can have some fun, but here what is there? It’s all one whether we’re in the cordon or in ambush. What a fellow you are!’

      ‘And are you going to the village?’

      ‘I’ll go for the holidays.’

      ‘Gurka says your Dunayka is carrying on with Fomushkin,’ said Nazarka suddenly.

      ‘Well, let her go to the devil,’ said Lukashka, showing his regular white teeth, though he did not laugh. ‘As if I couldn’t find another!’

      ‘Gurka says he went to her house. Her husband was out and there was Fomushkin sitting and eating pie. Gurka stopped awhile and then went away, and passing by the window he heard her say, “He’s gone, the fiend. … Why don’t you eat your pie, my own? You needn’t go home for the night,” she says. And Gurka under the window says to himself, “That’s fine!” ’

      ‘You’re making it up.’

      ‘No, quite true, by Heaven!’

      ‘Well, if she’s found another let her go to the devil,’ said Lukashka, after a pause. ‘There’s no lack of girls and I was sick of her anyway.’

      ‘Well, see what a devil you are!’ said Nazarka. ‘You should make up to the cornet’s girl, Maryanka. Why doesn’t she walk out with any one?’

      Lukashka frowned. ‘What of Maryanka? They’re all alike,’ said he.

      ‘Well, you just try …’

      ‘What do you think? Are girls so scarce in the village?’

      And

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