Short Fiction, Vladimir Korolenko [finding audrey TXT] 📗

their huts, and the whole hamlet was again sunk in the discoloring mist.

And this lasts for long, long months!⁠ ⁠… The old man told me that in the summer the sun rises above the mountains, but towards autumn it becomes lower and lower, and finally dis appears behind the broad ridge, unable to rise above it. Then the level of the rays moves down towards the south, and for a few days it appears only in the morning in the break between the two mountains. At first it moves from peak to peak, then goes lower and lower, and finally its golden rays appear but for a few minutes at the bottom of the valley. This was what happened that morning.

The Nuysk hamlet was bidding the sun farewell for the whole winter. The teamsters, of course, would see it again in their travels, but the old men and the children would not see it again until spring, or, rather, until summer⁠ ⁠…

The last reflection died away⁠ ⁠… The day shone in full glory behind the mountain, but here the mist was again growing thicker and thicker and the mountain slopes were covered with its dull, monotonous curtain.

The dispersed light, cold and unfriendly, was sweeping in from behind the mountains.

II

“So you say you, too, are from Russia?” I asked of the old man when we re-entered the hut, and he had placed a small old samovar on the table. The boy had gone behind the partition and was trying to amuse his sister. From time to time, a weak, childish laughter was heard from within, that sounded like the jingling of small pieces of glass thrown about.

The old man arranged a little table cloth and then replied somewhat reluctantly.

“Yes⁠ ⁠… Of course⁠ ⁠… They were born here, so they belong here, too. The children are not of common stock, though⁠ ⁠…”

“What’s their name?” I asked.

“Oh, well!”⁠ ⁠… he replied reluctantly. “Avdeyev is what they are called here. But their real name is Chernyshov⁠ ⁠…”

Suddenly he ceased laying the table cloth and looked at me attentively and with interest.

“So you say you have read about Zakhar Grigoryevich Chernyshov? He was a general, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, there was a general by that name in Catherine’s time. Only he was never exiled to Siberia.”

“Well, not he, but somebody of the same name⁠ ⁠… In the time of Nicholas⁠ ⁠… When he became Emperor, or something⁠ ⁠…”

He looked at me attentively, but I could not recall the story. The old man shook his head sadly.

“They say the old man was very fond of books. When he was dying, his last word to his children was to be sure to read books⁠ ⁠…”

He was silent for a moment, and then added, “Oh, well, of course. You know yourself how it is to live here⁠ ⁠… My daughter married his grandson, so they were called Avdeyevs⁠ ⁠… But they won’t live long. The father died and the mother died too, and left me with the two children⁠ ⁠… I am old, and they are sickly⁠ ⁠… The boy is an epileptic⁠ ⁠… There won’t be a trace left of us.”

The door opened, admitting a teamster who made the sign of the cross, standing in front of the image, and then said, “Avdeyev, go over to the Elder’s and take down the travelers’ names⁠ ⁠…”

“All right.”

“Is your name Avdeyev, too?” I asked.

“That’s the way they call me here now⁠ ⁠… After them, I guess.”

And the old man, perhaps the only literate man in the whole Nuysk hamlet, took his dog-eared ledger and left the room.

I learned nothing more about the genealogy of this old family, and soon left forever the gloomy Nuysk hamlet. About two hours later, coming to another bend of the river, I saw the sun directly in front of me⁠ ⁠… It was already close to the horizon, but its splendor still glittered in the water and on the shore⁠ ⁠… And its quiet, saddened light seemed to me at that time bright and gladsome.

III

Upon my return to Russia, I made several attempts to gather information about the exiled branch of the Chernyshov family. The pages of the history of Catherine’s reign often spoke of the name of Zakhary Grigoryevich Chernyshov, but he was never exiled. Once, while waiting for the steamer some where on the Volga, I heard a sailor singing about the imprisonment of the brave Russian warrior, Zakhar Grigoryevich Chernyshov, in Prussia. The sailor, of course, knew nothing about this historical person, but his song was nevertheless partly connected with the actual occurrences. At the time of the Pugachov uprising, a Cossack by the name of Chika called him self Chernyshov and added the glory of an outlaw to the popular name of the famous general. Another song spoke about a prison on the shore of the Volga. In it, the bold hero, Chernyshov, calls the freemen of the Volga to rally to his standard⁠ ⁠…

For some reason or other this name became popular in the people’s memory and the name of Chernyshov is met quite often among the mysterious exiles of Siberia. I used this as an explanation of my experience in the Nuysk hamlet. Evidently the real name of the exile was unknown, and the old man unconsciously assumed that popular name⁠ ⁠… There had been conviction and truthfulness in his sad tone.

It was only recently that I met this name again in the list of the Decembrists⁠ ⁠… Then the incident in the Nuysk hamlet again arose in my memory and assumed a new significance.

I decided that the old man was right. But upon further investigation, I found that I was mistaken. The Decembrist Chernyshov had returned to Russia, had married there, and died abroad⁠ ⁠…

The curtain again fell over the genealogy of the Avdeyevs⁠ ⁠… In the vast gloom of Siberia, many lives become lost in this manner, and many a family has descended forever from the heights lit up by the sun, into the cold, misty ravines⁠ ⁠… On the shore of the Lena, above Yakutsk, there is a peak with a narrow path leading up to