Short Fiction, Ivan Bunin [reading women .TXT] 📗

“Nonsense,” answered Semyon, and went out.

The moon was shining that night. Thinking about his new house, Semyon did not notice how rapidly he covered the distance from the village to the high road, going up hill all the time through a broad field, and then a verst up the road, coming, at last, to his unfinished new home, roofless as yet, but covered with ceiling-boards. The house stood on the edge of a large field planted with oats, all by itself. Its frameless windows looked like black holes; moonlight played dully on the edges of freshly cut beams, on tow, stuffed into joints, and on shavings, scattered all over the threshold. The golden July moon rose far beyond the gulches of the Brod, and seemed to be very low and very dull. Its warm light appeared to be diffused. Ripe ears of oats shone gloomy and greyish, like sea sand. Towards the north, the whole landscape appeared sombre. A dark cloud was rising there. Soft winds, blowing from every side, at times became stronger and ran in rapid gusts through stalks of rye and oats, which fluttered dryly and restlessly. The cloud in the north seemed motionless; only from time to time it glittered with a rapid, ominous, golden glow.

Lowering his head, as usual, Semyon entered the door. It was dark and stuffy inside. The moon’s yellowish light that peered through the window-holes did not mingle with the darkness, but seemed, rather, to accentuate it. Semyon flung his coat on top of some shavings, right in one of the bands of light that lay on the floor, and threw himself on it, settling on his back. After sucking his cold pipe for a few minutes, he put it into his pocket, and, having reflected a little, fell fast asleep.

By and by, gusts of wind began rushing into the empty window-holes, through the building, and out through the door. Dull peals of thunder began to rumble at a distance. Semyon woke up. The wind was now quite strong; its gusts were rushing, uninterruptedly, through rows of feverishly fluttering stalks of rye and oats. The light of the moon was now duller still. Semyon walked out of the house and into the field of fluttering oat-stalks, that stood as pale as ghosts. He looked up at the cloud. There it stretched, black and threatening, covering half the sky. He was standing directly against the wind, which was dishevelling his hair, and forcing him to close his eyes. And the lightning, too, flashing ever more brightly and threateningly, blinded him. Making the sign of the cross, Semyon knelt down. Suddenly he saw a small crowd of people, with bare heads and new, white clothes, appear at the other end of the field, plainly visible against the dark wall of the cloud. The crowd was moving towards Semyon, bearing an enormous ancient image. The bearers were airy, vague, almost transparent, but the image was perfectly clear and distinct; the awful, stern face shone red upon the black field, burnt by candle-flames, besplattered with wax, and framed in ancient, bluish silver.

The wind blew the image away from Semyon’s face, and Semyon, in joy and trepidation, bowed to the ground before the image. And when he raised his head, he saw that the crowd was quite close to him, holding in front of him the magnificent image, while upon the cloud, as in the great church painting, the whitebearded Elijah himself appeared. Like God, Lord of the Sabaoth, Elijah was clad in fiery chitons. He was sitting upon the lower edges of the cloud, which had a dead-blue color, while above him burned two orange-green rainbows. And, his eyes flashing like lightning, Elijah spoke to Semyon, his voice mingling with the distant rumble of thunder.

“Stand there, Semyon Novikov! And hear me, ye princely Christian peasants! For I am going to bring to judgment Semyon Novikov, a peasant of the Yeletzk Ouyezd, Predtechevskaya Volost, the hamlet of Ovsiany Brod.”

And the whole field, shining there as if covered with white sand, and all its stalks of grain seemed to rush forward and bow before Elijah, and in the midst of their fluttering the Prophet’s voice rose again.

“I am angry with you, Semyon Novikov, and I am going to punish you.”

“What have I done to anger you, O Lord?” said Semyon.

“It does not befit you, Semyon, to question me, Elijah. You must answer me.”

“Just as you say, O Lord.”

“Two years ago I killed your elder boy Panteley with my lightning. Why did you bury him only half way, and return him to life through witchcraft?”

“Forgive me, O Lord,” said Semyon, bowing before him.

“I was sorry for the youngster. And then, think yourself: who is going to take care of me when I grow old?”

“And last year I cut your rye down with wind and hail. Why did you find out about it ahead of time, and sell your crop in the field?”

“Forgive me, O Lord,” said Semyon, bowing before him. “My heart foretold it, and I needed the money so badly.”

“And this year, didn’t I burn your house down? Why are you in such a hurry to separate from your brother and build a new house?”

“Forgive me, O Lord,” said Semyon, bowing before him. “I thought my thin-armed brother unlucky, and that all those misfortunes came through him.”

“Close your eyes. I’ll think, and take counsel as to how to punish you.”

Semyon closed his eyes and bowed his head low. The wind was whistling through the fluttering stalks, and Semyon tried to overhear Elijah’s conversation with the peasants. But a new peal of thunder drowned their whispers.

“No, I can’t think of anything,” said Elijah in a loud voice.

“Think of something yourself.”

“May I open my eyes?” asked Semyon.

“No. You will think better with your eyes closed.”

“You’re a strange fellow, O Lord,” grinned Semyon. “Well, what can I do? I’ll buy you a candle for three roubles.”

“Oh, you have no money. Didn’t you spend everything you had for the