An Historical Episode
for V. N. Petrov
Ivan Ivanovich Susanin (that same historical personage who laid down his life for the tsar and was subsequently extolled by Glinka's opera) once went into a Russian hostelry and, having sat down at a table, ordered himself an entrecote. While the hostelry host grilled the entrecote, Ivan Ivanovich snatched at his beard with his teeth and fell to thinking, as was his wont.
Thirty-five poles of time elapsed and mine host brought Ivan Ivanovich his entrecote on a round wooden platter. Ivan Ivanovich was hungry and, as was the custom of the time, grabbed the entrecote with his hands and began to eat it. But, in his haste to satisfy his hunger, Ivan Ivanovich fell upon the entrecote so greedily that he forgot to pull his beard out of his mouth and consumed along with the entrecote a clump of his own beard.
And hereby arose great unpleasantness, as not fifteen poles of time had elapsed when a powerful gripe attacked Ivan Ivanovich's stomach. Ivan Ivanovich leaped up from the table and charged into the yard. Mine host began shouting to Ivan Ivanovich: -- Lo, what a tufty beard you have. -- But Ivan Ivanovich, paying no attention to anything, ran on into the yard.
Then the boyar Kovshegub, sitting in a corner of the hostelry drinking malt liquor, banged his fist on the table and yelled: -- Who be he?
And mine host, bowing low, answered the boyar: he be our patriot Ivan Ivanovich Susanin.
-- You don't say -- said the boyar, drinking up his malt liquor.
-- Care for a bit of fish? -- asked mine host.
-- Frig thee off! -- shouted the boyar and loosed a ladle at mine host. The ladle whistled past the head of mine host, flew out the window to the yard and smashed Ivan Ivanovich, sitting there in eagle-like pose, right in the teeth. Ivan Ivanovich clutched at his cheek with one hand and rolled on his side.
At this point Karp ran out of the stables on the right and, jumping over a trough in which, amid the slops, lay a pig, with a yell ran off towards the gates. Mine host looked out from the hostelry. -- What are you bawling for? -- he asked Karp. But Karp, not answering at all, ran away.
Mine host went out to the yard and spotted Susanin lying motionless on the ground. Mine host approached closer and looked him in the face. Susanin stared back at mine host.
-- So, be you in one piece? -- asked mine host.
-- One piece, yea, but I'm worried what might clobber me next -- said Susanin.
-- No -- said mine host -- don't worry. It were the boyar Kovshegub who half killed you, but he's gorn now.
-- Well, thankee God for that! -- said Ivan Susanin, getting up off the ground. -- A valiant man I may be, but I don't care to risk my guts for nowt. So I hugged the ground and waited: what next? First sign, and I'd have crawled right off on my guts all the way to Yeldyrin Dwellings... Ee-eek, what a swollen cheek. Oh my gawd! Half me beard's torn off!
-- Oh, ye were like that before -- said mine host.
-- What d'yer mean it were like it before? -- screamed the patriot Susanin. -- What, you reckon I go around so, with a tufty beard?
-- Aye, so -- said mine host.
-- Oh, a pox on you -- muttered Ivan Susanin.
Mine host narrowed his eyes and, arms aflail, he sailed into Susanin and took a swing across his ear. The patriot Susanin collapsed and did not move an inch. -- Take that! Pox yourself -- said mine host and retired within his hostelry.
For a few notches of time Susanin lay on the ground just listening but, hearing nothing suspicious, he cautiously raised his head and took stock. There was no one in the yard, unless we count the pig, which, having scrambled out of the trough, was now rolling in a filthy puddle. Ivan Susanin, with occasional backward glances, stealthily approached the gates. Luckily the gates were open and the patriot Ivan Susanin, writhing wormlike over the ground, crawled off in the direction of Yeldyrin Dwellings.
Here then is an episode from the life of the celebrated personage who laid down his life for the tsar and was subsequently extolled in Glinka's opera.
(1939)
The story refers to a Russian opera classic "Life for the Tsar" by M. Glinka, which depicts the heroic behavior of a peasant Ivan Susanin during a war against Polish invaders.
Fedya Davidovich
Fedya kept prowling round the butter-dish and finally, seizing the moment when his wife was bending over to cut a toe-nail, he quickly, in a single movement, took all the butter out of the butter-dish with his finger and shoved it into his mouth. As he was covering the butter-dish, Fedya accidentally clattered the lid: his wife straightened up immediately and, spotting the empty butter-dish, pointed at it with the scissors, saying in a severe tone: -- The butter's not in the butter-dish. Where is it?
Fedya's eyes flashed in surprise and, extending his neck, he had a look into the butter-dish.
-- That's butter you've got in your mouth -- said his wife, pointing the scissors at Fedya.
Fedya began shaking his head in denial.
-- Aha -- said his wife -- you say nothing and shake your head because your mouth's full of butter.
Fedya's eyes widened in astonishment and he waved his hands dismissively at his wife, as if to say -- What do you mean? It's nothing of the kind.
But his wife said: -- You're lying. Open your mouth.
-- Mm, mm -- said Fedya.
-- Open your mouth -- his wife repeated.
Fedya spread his fingers and mumbled something, as if to say -- Ah yes, I almost forgot, I'll be back in a sec . . . -- and stood up, intending to leave the room.
-- Stay where you are! -- snapped his wife.
But Fedya quickened his step and slipped out of the door. His wife darted after him but, since she was naked, she stopped by the door as in that condition she could not go out into the corridor, where other tenants of the apartment would be walking up and down.
-- He's got away -- said his wife, sitting down on the divan. -- What a devil!
And Fedya, reaching a door along the corridor on which hung the sign 'Entry Categorically Forbidden', opened that door and went into the room.
The room which Fedya entered was narrow and long, its window curtained with newspaper. On the right-hand side of the room by the wall was a dirty, broken-down couch, and by the window a table made of planks placed at one end on a bedside table and at the other on the back of a chair. On the left-hand wall was a double shelf on which lay it was not clear what.
There was nothing else in the room, unless you count the man reclining on the couch, with a pale green face, dressed in a long and torn brown frock-coat and black nankeen trousers, from which there protruded freshly washed feet. The man was not asleep and he fixed his gaze intently on the intruder.
Fedya bowed, clicked his heels and, having pulled the butter out of his mouth, showed it to the reclining man.
-- One and a half -- said the host without changing his pose.
-- That's not very much -- said Fedya.
-- It's quite enough -- said the tenant of the room.
-- Well, all right -- said Fedya and, having removed the butter from his finger, placed it on the shelf.
-- You can come for the money tomorrow morning -- said the host.
-- What do you mean! -- exclaimed Fedya -- I need it right now. And anyway only one and a half roubles is . . .
-- Bugger off -- said the host drily and Fedya fled the room on tiptoe, closing the door carefully behind him.
(1939)
Anecdotes from the Life of Pushkin
1. Pushkin was a poet and was always writing something. Once Zhukovsky caught him at his writing and exclaimed loudly: -- You're not half a scribbler!
From then on Pushkin was very fond of Zhukovsky and started to call him simply Zhukov out of friendship.
2. As we know, Pushkin's beard never grew. Pushkin was very distressed about this and he always envied Zakharin in who, on the contrary, grew a perfectly respectable beard. 'His grows, but mine doesn't' -- Pushkin would often say, pointing at Zakharin with his fingernails. And every
time he was right.
3. Once Petrushevsky broke his watch and sent for Pushkin. Pushkin arrived, had a look at Petrushevsky's watch and put it back on the chair. 'What do you say then, Pushkin old mate?' -- asked Petrushevsky. 'It's a stop-watch' -- said Pushkin.
4. When Pushkin broke his legs, he started to go about on wheels. His friends used to enjoy teasing Pushkin and grabbing him by his wheels. Pushkin took this very badly and wrote abusive verses about his friends. He called these verses 'erpigarms'.
5. The summer of 1829 Pushkin spent in the country. He used to get up early in the morning, drink a jug of fresh milk and run to the river to bathe. Having bathed in the river, Pushkin would lie down on the grass and sleep until dinner. After dinner Pushkin would sleep in a hammock. If he met any stinking peasants, Pushkin would nod at them and squeeze his nose with his fingers. And the stinking peasants would scratch their caps and say: 'It don't matter'.
6. Pushkin liked to throw stones. If he saw stones, then he would start throwing them. Sometimes he would fly into such a temper that he would stand there, red in the face, waving his arms and throwing stones. It really was rather awful!
7. Pushkin had four sons and they were all idiots. One of them couldn't even sit on his chair and kept falling off. Pushkin himself was not very good at sitting on his chair either, to speak of it. It used to be quite hilarious: they would be sitting at the table; at one end Pushkin would keep falling off his chair, and at the other end -- his son. One wouldn't know where to look.
The Start of a Very Nice Summer's Day
A Symphony
No sooner had the cock crowed than Timofey jumped out of his window on to the roof and frightened everyone who was passing down the street at that time. Khariton the peasant stopped, picked up a stone and shied it at Timofey. Timofey disappeared somewhere. "What a dodger!" cried the human herd, and a certain Zubov took a run and rammed his head into a wall. "Oo-er!" exclaimed a peasant woman with a swollen cheek. But Komarov gave this woman a swift left-right and the woman ran off howling into a gateway. Fetelyushin walked past and laughed. Komarov went up to him and said: "As for you, you fat lump!" and struck Fetelyushin in the stomach. Fetelyushin supported himself against the wall and started to hiccup. Romashkin spat out of his window from above, trying to hit Fetelyushin. At this point, not far away, a big-nosed woman was beating her child with a trough. And a young, plump mother was rubbing her pretty little girl's face against a brick wall. A small dog, which had broken its thin leg, was sprawled on the pavement. A small boy was eating something revolting from a spittoon. There was a long queue for sugar at the grocery shop. Women were swearing loudly and shoving each other with their bags. Khariton the peasant, having just downed some methylated spirit, was standing in front of the women with his trousers undone and uttering bad language.
In this way a very nice summer's day started.
Pakin and Rakukin
-- You, cut out that snottering! -- said Pakin to Rakukin.
Rakukin wrinkled up his nose and looked at Pakin with hostility.
-- What are you looking at? Seen enough yet? -- asked Pakin.
Rakukin chewed at his lips and, indignant in his revolving armchair, began looking the other way. Pakin drummed on his knee with his fingers and said:
-- What a fool! I'd like to take a good stick to his skull.
Rakukin stood up and started to walk out of the room, but Pakin quickly leapt up, caught up with Rakukin and said:
-- Wait a minute! Where d'ye think you're rushing off to? Better sit down, I've something to show you.
Rakukin stopped and looked distrustfully at Pakin.
-- What, don't you believe me? -- asked Pakin.
-- I believe you -- said Rakukin.
-- Well then, sit down here, in this armchair -- said Pakin.
And Rakukin sat down again in his revolving armchair.
-- So, then -- said Pakin -- what are you sitting in that chair for, like a fool?
Rakukin moved his legs about and began a rapid blinking of the eyes.
-- Don't blink -- said Pakin.
Rakukin stopped blinking and, adopting a hunched posture, drew his head in to his shoulders.
-- Sit straight -- said Pakin.
Rakukin, continuing to sit hunched up, stuck out his belly and extended his neck.
-- Ee -- said Pakin -- I couldn't half give you a smack in the kisser!
Rakukin hiccupped, puffed out his cheeks, and then carefully emitted the air through his nostrils.
-- Now, you, stop that snottering! -- said Pakin to Rakukin.
Rakukin extended his neck even more and again began an extremely rapid blinking of the eyes.
Pakin said:
-- If you, Rakukin, don't stop that blinking immediately, I'll give you a good boot in the chest.
Rakukin, so as not to blink, twisted his jaws, extended his neck still further, and threw his head back.
-- Uh, what an execrable sight you are -- said Pakin. -- A mug like a chicken's, a blue neck, simply revolting.
At that instant, Rakukin's head was lolling back further and further and, finally, all tension lost, it collapsed on to his back.
-- What the devil! -- exclaimed Pakin -- What sort of a conjuring trick is that supposed to be?
Looking at Rakukin from Pakin's position, it could quite easily be assumed that Rakukin was sitting there with no head at all. Rakukin's Adam's apple was sticking up in the air. Unwittingly one might well think that it was his nose.
-- Eh, Rakukin! -- said Pakin.
Rakukin was silent.
-- Rakukin! -- repeated Pakin.
Rakukin didn't reply and continued to sit motionless.
-- So -- said Pakin -- Rakukin's snuffed it.
Pakin crossed himself and left the room on tip-toe.
About fourteen minutes later a small soul climbed out of Rakukin's body and threw a malevolent look at the place where Pakin had just been sitting. But then the tall figure of the angel of death came out from behind the cupboard and, taking Rakukin's soul by the hand, led it away somewhere, straight through houses and walls. Rakukin's soul ran after the angel of death, constantly glancing malevolently back. But then the angel of death stepped up the pace and Rakukin's soul, leaping and stumbling, disappeared far away in the streets.
Kalindov
Kalindov was standing on tiptoe and peering at me straight in the face. I found this unpleasant. I turned aside but Kalindov ran round me and was again peering at me straight in the face. I tried shielding myself from Kalindov with a newspaper. But Kalindov outwitted me: he set my newspaper alight and, when it flared up, I dropped it on the floor and Kalindov again began peering at me straight in she face. Slowly retreating, I repaired behind the cupboard and there, for a few moments, I enjoyed a break from the importunate stares of Kalindov. But my break was not prolonged: Kalindov crawled up to the cupboard on all fours and peered up at me from below. My patience ran out; I screwed up my eyes and booted Kalindov in the face.
When I opened my eyes, Kalindov was standing in front of me, his mug bloodied and mouth lacerated, peering at me straight in the face as before.
(1930)
Five Unfinished Narratives
Dear Yakov Semyonovich,
1. A certain man, having taken a run, struck his head against a smithy with such force that the blacksmith put aside the sledge-hammer which he was holding, took off his leather apron and, having smoothed his hair with his palm, went out on to the street to see what had happened. 2. Then the smith spotted the man sitting on the ground. The man was sitting on the ground and holding his head. 3. -- What happened? -- asked the smith. -- Ooh! -- said the man. 4. The smith went a bit closer to the man. 5. We discontinue the narrative about the smith and the unknown man and begin a new narrative about four friends and a harem. 6. Once upon a time there were four harem fanatics. They considered it rather pleasant have eight women at a time each. They would gather of an evening and debate harem life. They drank wine; they drank thems
elves blind drunk; they collapsed under the table; they puked up. It was disgusting to look at them. They bit each other on the leg. They bandied obscenities at each other. They crawled about on their bellies. 7. We discontinue the story about them and begin a new story about beer. 8. There was a barrel of beer and next to it sat a philosopher who contended: -- This barrel is full of beer; the beer is fermenting and strengthening. And I in my mind ferment along the starry summits and strengthen my spirit. Beer is a drink flowing in space; I also am a drink, flowing in time. 9. When beer is enclosed in a barrel, it has nowhere to flow. Time will stop and I will stand up. 10. But if time does not stop, then my flow is immutable. 11. No, it's better to let the beer flow freely, for it's contrary to the laws of nature for it to stand still. -- And with these words the philosopher turned on the tap in the barrel and the beer poured out over the floor. 12. We have related enough about beer; now we shall relate about a drum. 13. A philosopher beat a drum and shouted: -- I am making a philosophical noise! This noise is of no use to anyone, it even annoys everyone. But if it annoys everyone, that means it is not of this world. And if it's not of this world, then it's from another world. And if it is from another world, then I shall keep making it. 14. The philosopher made his noise for a long time. But we shall leave this noisy story and turn to the following quiet story about trees. 15. A philosopher went for a walk under some trees and remained silent, because inspiration had deserted him.
(1931)
Koka Briansky
Act I
KOKA BRIANSKY I'm getting married today.
MOTHER What?
KOKA BRIANSKY I'm getting married today!
MOTHER What?
I Had Raised Dust: Selected Works Page 3
