Short Fiction, Vladimir Korolenko [finding audrey TXT] 📗

Proskuróf to the peasant, “hold a candle so that the prisoner can see, and let him take a look in the next room.”

The vagrant, with the same quiet step, moved towards the door, and paused, while the peasant, taking a candle from the table, entered the next room.

The rascal at first shuddered and drew back, but, instantly making an effort at self-control, he glanced once more in the same direction, and crossed over to the opposite side of the room.

As we followed the movements of this powerful man, now crushed and broken, his own excitement communicated itself to us.

He was pale, and for some time stood leaning against the wall, with his eyes cast down. Presently he lifted his head and looked at us with vague and uncertain gaze.

“Your Excellency!⁠ ⁠… Orthodox Christians!⁠ ⁠…” he began, in a pleading voice, “this is no work of mine.⁠ ⁠… Upon my conscience, I did not do this!⁠ ⁠… Can it be that in my terror I forgot.⁠ ⁠… No, it’s impossible!⁠ ⁠…”

Suddenly, his face brightened, and for the first time his eyes sparkled.

He came towards the table, and, in a resolute voice, exclaimed:⁠—

“Set this down, Your Excellency. Kostiúshka did it.⁠ ⁠… Kostínkin with the torn nostril! It must have been he!⁠ ⁠… No one else would have so mangled a human being. That’s his work.⁠ ⁠… Mate or no mate, it’s all one to me⁠ ⁠… write it down, Your Excellency!”

At this sudden outburst of candor, Proskuróf instantly seized paper and pen, in order to write it himself; while the vagrant, slowly and with visible effort, related to us the details of this gloomy drama.

He had escaped from the prison of N⁠⸺, where he had been confined for vagrancy⁠ ⁠… and for some time remained without “business,” until he accidentally met Kostiúshka and his friends in a certain “establishment.” It was there that for the first time he heard them talking of the deceased Mikháïlitch.

“ ‘The Slayer,’ they said, ‘is a man who cannot be killed; knife and bullet are powerless against him, because he bears a charmed life.’⁠—‘Nonsense, fellows!’ I exclaimed; ‘that is impossible! A blade will finish any man!’

“ ‘And who are you, may we ask, and where do you belong?’

“ ‘That’s my affair,’ I replied; ‘the prison is my father, and the forest my mother; they are my kith and kin.’

“Gradually, we grew more sociable, and at last I joined the company. They called for half a measure of wine, and Kostínkin said: ‘If you are the kind of man we can trust, wouldn’t you like to join us and go shares?’⁠—‘I would,’ I replied.⁠—‘All right!’ was the answer. ‘We want a man like you. This business must be done in the Hollow; it matters not whether it be by day or by night. We have heard that a man is to carry a large sum of money with him from town. But consider! are you sure you are not boasting? If the gentleman goes with another driver we will share the spoils⁠ ⁠… but if the “Slayer” should be with him, look out that you don’t run away.’⁠—‘No danger,’ I said; ‘that will not happen.’⁠—‘All right! if you feel so confident, you may be in luck; a large reward has been offered for the “Slayer,” and you will stand a chance of getting it.’ ”

“A reward?” repeated Proskuróf; “by whom, may I ask?”

“Look here, sir,” replied the vagrant, “you listen to me at present, and keep your questions till by and by.⁠ ⁠… Well, I must acknowledge that, the first time we tried it, I did get frightened, and ran away; the mate was mostly to blame for that. Mikháïlitch had nothing but a whip in his hand when he came towards us; and Kostínkin, with his rifle, was the first to run⁠ ⁠… of course, I felt frightened too.⁠ ⁠… But that rascal was the first one to make fun of me. He is very sarcastic⁠—that Kostínkin! ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘let us try it again. But let me tell you one thing: if you run away this time, I shall kill you too.’ For three days we stayed in the Hollow, on the lookout for him. Toward the evening of the third day he passed us⁠—so we felt sure he would have to return that night. We were all ready, lying in wait, when we heard him coming; he was riding one of the side horses. Kostínkin fired and hit the sorrel horse. Mikháïlitch rushed toward the bushes, just at the very spot where I stood.⁠ ⁠… My heart beat fast, I must confess; for I knew that one of us, either he or I, must fall.⁠ ⁠… So I made a plunge forward and struck at him with the knife, but missed him. Then he, seizing my arm, struck the knife out of my hand and threw me to the ground⁠—almost crushing me, in his great strength. But just as he was about to take off his belt, preparing to bind me, I drew from my boot another knife, which I had made ready for just such a crisis as this; and, bending, I stabbed him under the ribs.⁠ ⁠… He gave one groan, and, turning me face upwards, looked me in the eyes.⁠ ⁠… ‘Ah, my instinct warned me!⁠ ⁠… Well, go thy way, but don’t torture me. Thou hast killed me.’ I got up⁠ ⁠… and saw that he was in agony.⁠ ⁠… He tried to lift himself, but could not. ‘Forgive me,’ I cried.⁠—‘Go thy way, go thy way! May God forgive thee⁠ ⁠… as I do!’ Then I left him, and I tell you the truth when I say that I did not go near him again.⁠ ⁠… This is Kostínkin’s work; probably, after I went away, he fell upon him.⁠ ⁠…”

The vagrant was silent, and threw himself on the bench, while Proskuróf hastened to finish his writing. All was still.

“Now,” continued the examiner, “complete your frank confession. What merchant was with you on the occasion of the first attack, and in whose name did Kostiúshka promise you a reward for the murder of Feódor Mikháïlof?”

Bezrýlof sat gazing with disappointment