“What troubles you, my dear teacher?” I asked.
“You see, kind Henry…. I fear that I have made a small but fateful mistake …”
But I heard no more. Suddenly in the east flashed an enormous golden flame. In a moment the sky and the sea were all agleam. Then followed a deafening roar and a burning whirlwind threw me to the deck.
I lost consciousness and revived only when I heard my teacher’s voice above me.
“What?” asked Lord Charlesbury. “Are you blind?”
“Yes. I can see nothing, except rainbow-colored circles before my eyes. Was it some kind of a catastrophe, Professor? Why did you do it or allow it to happen? Didn’t you foresee it?”
But he softly laid his beautiful little white hand on my shoulder and said in a deep and gentle voice (and from that touch and his confident tone I immediately was calmed):
“Don’t you believe me? Wait a moment, close your eyes tightly and cover them with the palm of your right hand, and hold it there until I stop talking or until you catch a glimpse of light; then, before you open your eyes, put on these glasses which I am placing in your left hand. They are very dark. Listen to me. It seems that you have come to know me better in a brief time than anyone else close to me. It was only for your sake, my dear friend, that I did not take on my conscience a cruel and pointless experiment which might have brought death to tens of thousands of people. But what difference would the existence of these dissolute blacks, drunken Indians, and degenerate Spaniards have made? If the Republic of Ecuador with its intrigues, mercenary attitudes and revolutions were instantly transformed into a great door to hell there would be no loss to science, the arts, or history. I am only a little sorry for my intelligent, patient, and affectionate mules. I will tell you candidly that I would have not hesitated for a second to sacrifice you and millions of lives to the triumph of my idea, if only I were convinced of its significance, but as I said only three minutes ago I have become totally disillusioned about the future generations’ ability to love, to be happy and to sacrifice themselves. Do you think I could take revenge on a tiny part of humanity for my great philosophical error? But there is one tiling for which I cannot forgive myself: that was a purely technical mistake, a mistake which could have been made by any workman. I am like a craftsman who has worked for twenty years with a complicated machine, and on the next day falls into melancholy over his family affairs, forgets his work, ignores the rhythm of his machine so that a belt parts and kills several unthinking workmen. You see, I have been tormented by the idea that thanks to my forgetfulness for the first time in twenty years I neglected to shut down the controls on container no. 216 and left it set at full power. And that realization, like a nightmare, pursued me on board this ship. And I was right. The container exploded and as a result the other storage units also. Once more it was my mistake. Rather than storing such great amounts of liquid sunshine I should have conducted preliminary experiments, it is true at the risk of my life, on the explosive capabilities of compressed light. Now, look in this direction,” and he gently but firmly turned my head toward the east, “Remove your hand and then slowly, slowly open your eyes.”
At that moment with extraordinary clarity, the way, they say. that occurs in the seconds before death, I saw a smoking red glow to the east, now contracting, now expanding, the steamship’s listing deck, waves lashing over the railings, an angry, bloody sea and dark purple clouds in the sky and a beautiful calm face with a gray, silken beard and eyes which shone like mournful stars. A stifling hot wind blew from the shore.
“A fire?” I asked, turning slowly, as though in a dream, to face the south. There, above Cayambe’s summit stood a thick smoky column of fire cut by rapid flashes of lightning.
“No, that is the eruption of our good old volcano. The exploding liquid sunshine has stirred it into life. You must agree that it has enormous power! And to think it was all in vain.”
I understood nothing … My head was spinning. And then I heard a strange voice near me, both gentle like a mother’s voice and commanding like that of a dictator.
“Sit on this bale and do everything faithfully as I tell you. Here is a life belt, put it on and fasten it securely under your arms, but do not restrict your breathing; here is a flask of brandy which you are to place in your left chest pocket along with three bars of chocolate, and here is a waterproof envelope with money and letters. In a moment the Gonzalez will be swamped by a terrible wave, such as has rarely been seen since the time of the flood. Lay down on the ship’s starboard side. That is so. Place your legs and arms around this railing. Very good. Your head should be behind this steel plate, which will prevent you from becoming deaf from the shock. When you feel the wave hitting the deck, hold your breath for twenty seconds and then throw yourself free, and may God help you! This is all I can wish and advise you. And if you are condemned to die so early and so stupidly … I would like to hear you forgive me. I would not say that to any other man, but I know you are an Englishman and a gentleman.”
His words, said so calmly and with such dignity, aroused my own sense of self-control. I found enough strength to press his hand and answer calmly:
“You can believe, my dear teacher, that no pleasures in life could replace those happy hours which I spent working with you. I only want to know why you are taking no precautions for yourself?”
I can see him now, holding to a compass box, as the wind blew his clothes and his gray beard, so terrible against the red background of the erupting volcano. That second I noticed with surprise that the unbearably hot shore wind had ceased, but on the contrary a cold, gusty gale blew from the west and our craft nearly lay on its side.
“Oh!” exclaimed Lord Charlesbury indifferently, and waved his arm. “I have nothing to lose. I am alone in this world. I have only one tie, that is you, and you I have put into deadly peril from which you have only one chance in a million to escape. I have a fortune, but I do not know what to do with it,” and here his voice expressed a melancholy and gentle irony, “except to disperse it to the poor of County Norfolk and thereby increase the number of parasites and supplicants. I have knowledge, but you can see that it too has failed. I have energy but I have no way to employ it now. Oh, no, I will not commit suicide; if I am not condemned to die this night, I will employ the rest of my life in some garden on a bit of land not far from London. But if death comes,” he removed his hat and it was strange to see his blowing hair, tossing beard, and kind, melancholy eyes and to hear his voice resounding like an organ, “but if death comes I shall commit my body and my soul to God, may He forgive the errors of my weak human mind.”
“Amen.” I said.
He turned his back to the wind and lighted a cigar. His dark figure defined sharply against the purple sky was a fantastic, and magnificent sight. I could smell the odor of his fine Havana cigar.
“Make ready. There is yet only a minute or two. Are you afraid?”
“No … But the crew and the other passengers! …”
“While you were unconscious I warned them. Now there is not a sober man nor a lifebelt left on the ship. I have no fear for you. for you have the talisman on your finger. I had one, too, but I have lost it. Oh, hold on! Henry! …”
I turned to the east and froze in horror. Toward our eggshell craft from the east roared an enormous wave as high as the Eiffel tower, black, with a rosy-white, frothing crest. Something crashed, shook … and it was as though the whole world fell onto the deck.
I lost consciousness once more and revived only several hours later on a little boat belonging to a fisherman who had rescued me. My damaged left hand was tied in a crude bandage and my head wrapped in rags. A month later, having recovered from my wounds and emotional shock I was on my way back to England.
This history of my strange adventure is complete. I must only add that I live modestly in the quietest part of London, needing nothing, thanks to the generosity of the late Lord Charlesbury. I occupy myself with the sciences and tutoring. Every Sun
day Mr. Nideston and I alternate as hosts for dinner. We are bound by close ties of friendship, and our first toast is always to the memory of the great Lord Charlesbury.
H. Dibble
P.S. All the personal names in my tale are not authentic but invented by me for my purposes.
(1913)
Translated by Leland Fetzer
Alexei Mikhailovich Remizov
(1877–1957)
___________________________________________
The Bear Cub
1
Alionushka woke up in the middle of the night.
It was stuffy in the nursery. Nanny Vlasevna snored and wheezed. The icon candle had burned down: its red flame kept flaring up and sinking low.
And Alionushka simply could not sleep; she was frightened and hot.
“Papa came home last night,” she remembered, “I was getting ready for bed and Papa said ‘Look at the sky, Alionushka, the stars are falling!’ And Mamma and I stood and looked out the window for a long time. Stars are so little, and there’s so much runny gold in them, like in Mamma’s brooch. It’s cold by the window, you can’t stay there long. When you go with Papa to morning mass, it’s cold then too: the bell rings like it does when there’s a funeral. Yesterday Nanny was telling how in her dream Ivan Stepanovich was trying to catch hold of her, and he’s dead … And there are so many stars up in the sky, the stars talk to each other, but you can’t hear. Uncle Fyodor Ivanovich says that he can fly up to the stars at night and listen to the stars singing, softly-softly. They aren’t there in the daytime, in the daytime they sleep. I’ll fly up there too, if I can only get some golden wings … But Papa came up and said ‘Alionushka, there’s a Star falling.’ And this gold ribbon shone for a long time in the sky and then went away. The little Star must be cold, it’s lying out there somewhere, it’s crying—my little Star!”
Alionushka was so frightened and so sorry for the Star, Alionushka started to whimper.
“I need a drink, Nanny, a dri-i-ink!”
And when Nanny Vlasevna gave Alionushka her cup, Alionushka stretched out her lips and drank thirstily.
Now Alionushka has curled herself up like a bun and fallen asleep.
And it seems to her that she is flying off somewhere towards the stars, like Uncle Fyodor Ivanovich, that little stars are coming to meet her, stretching out their golden paws, setting her on their shoulders and whirling around with her, and that the Moon is stroking her hair and quietly whispering, right in her ear:
“Alionushka, Alionushka! Get up, the Sun is awake, get up!”
Alionushka opened her eyes a crack, but it still seemed to her that she was flying to the stars like Uncle Fyodor Ivanovich.
“Why can’t anybody wake you, get up at once!”—It was Mamma, Mamma who had bent over the bed and was tickling Alionushka.
2.
Alionushka’s little Star flew on for a long while and fell, finally. into a forest, into a thicket where old firs weave their mossy branches together and hum eerily.
A thick gray smoke awoke, slithered across the sky, and the winter night was over. The Sun, too, came out of his crystal palace, richly dressed, with a red fur coat, with a brocade cap.
Translucent, with blue sad eyes, Alionushka’s little Star lies not far from a hare’s burrow on the soft fir needles: it breathes in the frosty air.
And the Sun climbed up and up and over the forest, and went home to its crystal palace.
Snowy clouds rose up and covered the sky, and twilight began to fall.
In a tinkling voice the wind—old churl—took up his ancient winter song.
A wild snow-squall sprang up, raised a wild cry.
The snow began to dance.
The poor little Star lies dozing by the hare’s burrow, a melting tear-drop runs down her starry cheek and freezes there.
And the little Star dreams that she is once again flying around in the dance with her golden friends, they are happy and they are laughing like Alionushka laughs. But the stern Night, like old Nanny Vlasevna, is watching them.
3.
They were taking out the windows.
The whole day Alionushka stands by the open casement.
Stangers are passing by the window, drays are rocking, over there a cart is staggering along with matresses, tables and armchairs.
“That’s going to the dacha!” Alionushka decides.
And the sky, the blue, clear sky seemed to smile at Alionushka.
“Mamma, Mamma—when are we going to the dacha?” Alionushka keeps asking.
“We’re going to tidy up, lambkin, pack everything, and set off for a long ride, farther than last summer!” said Mamma: Mamma was sewing a smock for Lev, and she was too busy.
“We should leave quicker!” Alionushka is fretting.
Alionuskha doesn’t even want to glance at her toys, wooden toys like those—boring. The toys were tired of winter too.
They were a long time laying the table, clatttering the plates.
They were a long time at dinner. Alionushka didn’t even feel like eating.
And Alionushka slouches from one corner of the room to another, keeps looking out the windows, fusses, her tummy even starts to hurt.
They didn’t wait for Papa, they tucked her into bed.
And through her dream Alionushka heard Papa and Mamma and Uncle Fyodor Ivanovich. At tea, talking about leaving for the dacha, into the woods the deep woods, where the trees even grow inside the house, grow over the roof. That’s the kind of country it is!
Alionushka’s head is spinning.
A big green Christmas tree appears before her; brightly lit with rainbow candles, strung with beads, hung with gingerbread cookies, the Christmas tree comes towards her, and from dark corners creep black and white bears in gold collars with little bells, they have drums and all around the bears are falling and flying little golden stars.
“But where is it, mine, where’s my little Star?”—Alionushka is remembering—Uncle said that it would grow up to be a little girl like me, or a little animal. And what kind of animal is that?”
“Well now, Alionushka, how’s your tummy?” That was Papa, Papa was leaning quietly over Alionushka, he was making the sign of the cross.
“No-o-o!” Alionushka squeals in her sleep.
“Get better quick, lambkin, tomorrow we’re going to the dacha, the mountains there are high, the woods are deep!”
Alionushka turned over onto her other side, hugged her pillow tightly-tightly, and began to snuffle.
4.
Somehow all at once the stormwinds died down, and the overflowing rivers fell back asleep.
The buds turned crimson, here and there the first silken leaflets peeped out.
The grey, stony bracts of reindeer moss were palely greening, softening; many-colored lichens crept along on their sticky, velvet-green paws; the bearberries were covered with waxy blossoms.
The birds had arrived, and in their nests the little nestlings had begun to cheep.
By the hare’s burrow Alionushka’s little Star had awakened too. Over the winter she had become all covered with fur, like a cublet. On her paws grew sharp bear claws, and the little Star became not a Star, but a chubby, roly-poly little he-Bear.
The Bear Cub likes to jump from stump to stump and tussock to tussock, likes to break off the branches, deck himself with flowers.
Soon he will learn how to roar like a bear and frighten the little nestlings.
“Stay in your nests, children,” the mother bird instructs them, “the Bear Cub is prowling about. He won’t bite you, but he’ll give you an awful fright.”
For whole days together the Bear Cub wanders through the wood, and if he tires—he’ll lie down somewhere in the sunlight and watch: he’ll watch how the ants and their kingdom swarm, how the flowers and grasses grow, and how the moths play—everything pleases and interests him.
The Bear Cub will lie there for a bit, have a rest, and start off again. And where doesn’t he go? Once he almos
t got mired in a swamp, it was all he could do to fight off the gnats, and the forget-me-nots laughed at him, the mosses chortled and teased him. But then he met a monster … The birds said it was—a HUNTER.
“Watch out for Man, stupid!” Woodpecker drummed.” Man will put you on a chain. Here they went and caught Starling, he’s in a cage now, they don’t let him go free. I flew over to see him. ‘Well, I’m alive,’ he squeaks, ‘They feed me enough, but I’m bored.’ That’s how everything is with them.”
But the Bear Cub isn’t troubled, he jumps about and chases beetles, and only when the sky turns crimson and gray clouds come out on patrol and the Moon rises to admire the sleepy wood—then he falls asleep where he is and sleeps deeply until the morning.
Somehow or other the Bear Cub got himself lost.
And the night came on, dark and stifling. There was not a peep from the birds and the animals in their nests and burrows.
The Bear Cub walked on and on, and suddenly became so frightened that he set up a howl—but no voices answer. And he was about to lie down underneath a thicket, but Woodpecker came to mind.
“They’ll catch me and put a chain on me—better keep going!”
Worlds Apart Page 55
