“Step back! Atten-tion!” he commanded.
They could hear the anchor being raised on the steamer. A strong, piercing wind was blowing now, with the sound of trees creaking somewhere above, up on the steep shore. Most likely, a storm was coming.
CRIMINAL INVESTIGATOR
The county doctor and the criminal investigator were riding to perform an autopsy one wonderful spring day.
The investigator was a man in his mid-forties. He thoughtfully looked up and said to his companion, “There are many mysterious, dark forces in the world. But even in our everyday life, dear doctor, you can stumble on events that cannot be explained. For example, I have come across several very mysterious and strange deaths, which can only be explained by mysticism or spiritualism, things that a person with a logical mind would only shake his head at in disbelief. To give you an example, I once knew a very intelligent woman who managed to foretell her death, without any visible reason. She told many others that she would die on a particular day, and she died on that very day.”
“There is no action without a reason. If there was a death, then there was a reason for it,” the doctor replied. “And if we are to talk about predictions in general, that is not very strange. People often talk about this, especially women in the local villages. A lot of them think they have some sort of gift, like premonition.”
“This is true, dear doctor, but the lady I am talking about was a very special woman. In her prediction and in her death there was no psychic, magic, or any of those kinds of influences. She was very young and healthy, intelligent, and without any prejudice. She had clever, clear, and honest eyes, with a very light, completely Russian kind of smile on her lips. She possessed a true feminine beauty.
“She was kind and gracious, with fine eyes and gorgeous, lovely hair! To complete her portrait, I should add that she was a very optimistic woman, filled with a zest for life, infected with happiness and joy, so to speak. She had a contagious laugh, and was filled with that light carelessness that only very smart, simple, and joyful people possess. How can we speak about mysticism, spiritualism, psychics, or magic in this case, when in life she laughed at these very things?”
The doctor’s horses stopped near the well. Both the investigator and the doctor got down and drank some water while waiting for the driver to finish watering the horses.
“So, what was the cause of her death?” the doctor inquired, as they continued on their way.
“She died in a very peculiar way. One day, her husband came to her and said that it would be nice to replace their cart and their old horses with stronger, younger ones, especially Out-Runner, their old horse, and Dobchinsky. The husband did not like this horse and so gave her a funny name. He wanted to get rid of the horse by giving it to the horse knacker [to convert to dog food and glue].
The wife listened to him and said,
“Do whatever you want. By the end of this summer, I’ll be in the cemetery.”
The husband shook his head and smiled.
“I am not joking in the slightest,” she continued. “I assure you, I will die soon.”
“How soon?” her husband asked her.
“Right after I will deliver the baby, I shall take one last look at the child, and then die.”
Now the husband did not pay any attention to her words. He did not believe in premonitions and future-telling. We all know that when women are expecting, they can often be prone to depressing thoughts.
But the next day, his wife told him the same thing: that she would die on the day of her delivery, and she continued to say the same thing with each day that followed. He just laughed and called her a worried old woman.
However, his wife had developed a fixed idea about her upcoming death. The husband discovered when he went to the kitchen and spoke with the cook and nanny that his wife had repeated her belief to the staff, saying:
“I will not live long, for I will die soon, my dear nanny. As soon as I deliver, I will die, for this is my fate.”
Both the nanny and the cook would cry when she spoke like this. Word of her situation spread across the area. Local ladies would come and try to speak to her about her future plans, but she only spoke of her upcoming death. She spoke very seriously, without hesitation or objection, with a sad, ill-looking smile on her face, and often with an angry expression. She had formerly been a very fashionable lady, but in the wake of her premonition she did not take any visible care with her appearance, which was now constantly untidy. She stopped laughing or dreaming aloud.
Even more, one day she went with her aunt to the cemetery and purchased the plot of her future grave. Five days before the baby was due, she wrote out her will.
Please keep in mind that she was in perfect health, without any hint of illness. Giving birth is a difficult thing, and there can be medical problems, but the woman I am telling you about was completely happy and healthy, and there seemed nothing to worry about.
The husband was tired of the whole situation. One day, during dinner, he grew angry and asked her loudly, “Listen, Natasha, when are you going to stop this foolishness?”
“I am not being foolish. I am telling the truth,” was her reply.
“Nonsense! Stop talking about these foolish things, otherwise later you will be embarrassed.”
The day of the delivery finally came. The husband brought the best midwife in from the city. This was her first child, and everything went smoothly, without a problem. When the labor was over, the wife wanted to take a look at her newborn son. She glanced at him and said,
“Now, I can die.”
She then said good-bye to everyone, closed her eyes, and half an hour later was dead.
Up until the last moment she was in good health, could see and hear everything, and she was in control of herself. When they brought her some milk during the delivery instead of water, she quietly whispered,
“Why do you bring me milk? I asked for water.”
This is the end of the story. She predicted it in detail, and died exactly as she had predicted.
The investigator grew silent for a little while, then waved his hand in the air and asked,
“I can’t figure it out. So, tell me, how do you think she died? I give you my word that this is not a fictional story, but it is completely based on real facts.”
Absorbing all he had heard, the doctor raised his eyes to the sky as he said,
“They should have done an autopsy.”
“Why?”
“In order to determine the real reason of her death. She did not die because of her premonitions. Most likely she poisoned herself.”
The investigator turned toward the doctor, squinted his eyes suspiciously, and asked,
“Why do you come to the conclusion that she poisoned herself?”
“It was not a conclusion, but an educated guess. Was she happy with her husband?”
“Well, not exactly. They had some misunderstanding right after they got married. There were some unpleasant circumstances. One day, the newlywed wife saw her husband with another woman, in a compromising position. However, shortly after, she forgave him.”
“And what happened first, her husband’s affair, or the first time she spoke about her future death?”
The investigator carefully looked at the doctor, as if trying to guess the reason for this question.
“Wait a minute, wait! Let me remember.” The investigator took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “Yes, she started talking about her death right after this event. Yes!”
“So you see. Now, most likely it was then that she decided to poison herself, but because she did not want to kill the child she carried as well, she decided to postpone her suicide until after her delivery.”
“You could hardly be right. That would be impossible. She forgave her husband right after the event.”
“If she forgave so fast, it means that she intended on revenge. Young wives do not forgive very easily or so fast.”
The investigator forced a sm
ile to cover his very obvious excitement, halting all conversation while he smoked a cigarette.
“It can’t be. I do not think so. This possibility never occurred to me. He did not cheat on her, and he did not plan to do that. One day he came home from work, a little bit drunk. He wanted to give a little love to someone, and then all of a sudden he met the lady who had been visiting them for a weekend, a stupid, completely silly and unattractive woman. You cannot even call it cheating. The wife looked at it the same way, and shortly after this incident, she forgave her husband. After that, there was no mention of the event at all.”
“People do not die for no reason,” the doctor responded.
“This is true, but I cannot believe she poisoned herself. It is so strange, no one even thought about it! Everyone was surprised that her prediction came true, but there was not even the slightest thought of this possibility. This cannot be possible, that she had poisoned herself, no!”
The investigator was lost in thought and was silent for a while.
The thought of this woman, who accurately predicted her own death, did not leave him while the doctor performed the autopsy. He was writing down what the doctor was dictating to him, frowning gloomily and rubbing his forehead.
“Are there any poisons that could kill a person in a quarter of an hour, quite easily and without any pain?” he inquired of the doctor when they were examining the skull.
“Yes, morphine, for example.”
“Well, that is strange. I remember that she had something like that on hand, but it’s hardly likely, hardly.”
On the way back, the investigator looked very tired. He nervously bit his moustache, and stroked it without any enthusiasm.
“Let us take a little walk, doctor. I am tired of sitting in the cart.”
After taking about a hundred steps, the police investigator looked completely drained, as if he had just finished climbing a steep mountain. He stopped, looked at the doctor with dull eyes, and said,
“Oh my God! If your suggestion is true, what she did was cruel and inhuman. She poisoned herself to torture another person! It was not such a great sin that her husband committed! Why did you give me that terrible suggestion? My dear doctor, you should not have suggested such a thing to me!”
The investigator held his head with both hands in despair and continued,
“I was telling you the story of my wife and myself. Oh my God! Yes, I am to blame, I hurt her. But is it easier to die than to forgive? She reasoned like a typical woman, in a very cruel and merciless way. Oh yes, she was very cruel when she was alive, now I remember everything. Now everything is clear to me!”
The investigator could not stop talking. At some points he waved his hands in the air, and held his head in his hands. He was either jumping from the cab or walking next to it. The new revelation by the doctor had completely stunned, overwhelmed, and poisoned his existence. He was completely at a loss, weakened in both body and soul, and when their journey ended, he did not say good-bye to the doctor, and, despite his earlier promise, declined the doctor’s invitation to have lunch together.
THE DRAMA AT THE HUNT
From the Notes of a Police Detective
(Abridged)
CHAPTER ONE MY FIRST MEETING WITH OLGA
Early in the morning, whistling happily and hitting the tops of cobblestones with my walking stick, I was on the way to the village of Tenev, where there was supposed to be a county fair.
What a beautiful morning! It seemed that happiness itself was floating over the earth, reflected in the diamondlike dewdrops that beguiled the traveler. At this early hour, the forest was quiet and motionless, as if it were listening to my steps. The chirping of little birds was inviting. The whole air was filled with the greenery of spring. I was breathing the fresh morning air and listening to the songs of the insects and the whispering of the wind in young birch trees and the grass.
In an hour, I was walking among the kiosks of the Tenev county fair. There were many sounds—the neighing of horses, the mooing of cows, children tooting on toy trumpets, carousel music, and the babble of many conversations. So many new different types of people, so much beauty and movement in this crowd, dressed in bright colors, made luminous by the morning sun. This was an amazing picture! (… )
Soon I was on my way back home from the town of Tenev. I ran into Olga, who was heading home in her heavy, old-fashioned cart.
“Please, can you give me a lift?” I cried.
“She is really nice-looking,” I thought, observing her soft round neck and the curve of her cheek.
Olga had been shopping. She had several pieces of nice fabric, and an assortment of packages and bags.
“You’ve been on a spree,” I said. “Why do you need so much fabric?”
“I will need even more,” Olga answered. “What I’ve bought is only the tip of the iceberg. You cannot imagine how much trouble I’ve had with all this shopping. Today I spent an hour walking across the county fair and selecting stuff, and tomorrow I will have to go to the city to do some serious shopping for the whole day! And then we will have to sew all this to make a dress. You don’t know of a good seamstress, do you?”
“I don’t know anyone who does that. But why so much shopping? Why do you need a new dress? Your family is pretty small—just the two of you, as far as I know.”
“You men are such strange creatures! You don’t understand anything! Now, when it’s your wedding day, you’ll be the first to get angry if your wife turns up the next morning without a nice, fresh trousseau. I know that Peter Erogovich doesn’t need the money, but I have no desire to show myself as a bad housewife from the very beginning.”
“What does Peter Erogovich have to do with it?”
“Hm, you’re being a tease, acting as if you don’t know anything,” Olga said, blushing a little.
“My dear young lady, you are speaking in riddles.”
“Hadn’t you heard? I am going to marry Peter Egorovich!”
“Married?” I was startled. My eyes must have popped open. “To Peter Egorovich?”
“Oh, my! No, excuse me, that’s Mr. Urbenin.”
I looked at her smiling, flushed face.
“You … getting married? To Mr. Urbenin? You must be joking!”
“I am not joking at all … This is not the least bit funny.”
“You are getting married … to Mr. Urbenin?” I mumbled, getting pale for no reason. “If this is not a joke, then what is this?”
“What are you talking about—this is not funny! There is nothing unusual or strange in it,” Olga said, pursing her little lips.
Several moments passed in silence. I looked at this beautiful young woman, at her fresh, almost childish face, and I was surprised that she could make such a terrible joke. For a moment, I imagined myself in the place of the old, decrepit Mr. Urbenin, with his huge pendulous ears and cracked, prickly skin, the mere touch of which would scratch this young and delicate female body. The picture frightened me!
“Yes, he is a little bit too old for me, he is over fifty.” Olga sighed. “But he loves me anyway. His love is reliable.”
“It is not that important to have a reliable partner, but it is important to have happiness.”
“Well, well, he has enough money, he’s no pauper, and he has some good connections. I am certainly not in love with him, but is happiness restricted to people who are madly in love? I know what these love matches can become!”
“My dear child!” I looked into her blue eyes, frightened and bewildered. “When did you manage to stuff your little head with all this terrible common sense? I’d rather believe that you are making jokes at my expense, but where did you learn to joke this way?”
Olga looked at me with surprise.
“I don’t see what the problem is. It displeases you that a young woman should marry an older man. Is that it?”
Olga suddenly flushed, clenched her lower jaw, and didn’t wait for my answer. The words all came in a rush:
“If you can’t deal with this, then you go live deep in the forest in a hut with your crazed father, and you wait for a young man to come and marry you! Can you imagine those long winter nights when you pray for death to come and take you, can you imagine what it feels like, this horror in the middle of the forest?”
“This all is not sensible, my dear Olga. This is not mature, this is all foolish and wrong. If you are joking, I don’t know what to say. You’d be better to be quiet, just stop talking now, don’t pollute the air with your silly words. In your place, I would keep silent.”
“At least he can afford to buy medicine for my father and take care of him,” she whispered.
“How much money do you need to take care of your father?” I cried out. “Here, take the money from me! A hundred? Two? A thousand? You’re lying to me, Olga. You’re not marrying him to take care of your father.”
The girl in red moved a little closer to me, and for an instant we were illuminated by dazzling white light. There was a huge crack somewhere above, and it seemed to us that something big and heavy fell from with a huge noise from the sky down to the earth. There was a crash.
“Are you afraid of thunderstorms?” I asked Olga.
She lowered her cheek to her shoulder and looked at me trustingly, like a child.
“Yes, I hate them,” she whispered, thinking for a while. “My mother was struck by lightning. They even wrote about it in the newspaper. She was walking across a field, crying. Her life was very hard in this world…. God took pity on her and killed her with His heavenly electricity.”
“How do you know what electricity is?”
“I studied it at school. You know that people who die during a thunderstorm or at war, and those who die during giving birth, they all go to heaven. This is not written in the Bible, but it’s true. One day I’ll be killed by a thunderstorm, and I will go to heaven. Are you an educated man?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll probably laugh at me. Here’s how I want to die. I want to get dressed up in the most expensive and fashionable dress, the one I saw on Lady Sheffer. Then I will stand on top of the mountain, and let the lightning kill me, so everyone will see. A terrible thunderstorm, you know, and then the end.”
A Night in the Cemetery Page 24
