Viy — Страница 11

"I'd be curious to know," said the philosopher, "if this wagon were to
be loaded, for example, with certain goods--salt, say, or iron wedges--how
many horses would it need?"
"Yes," the Cossack on the box said after some silence, "it would need a
sufficient number of horses."
After which satisfactory answer, the Cossack considered he had the
right to keep silent the rest of the way.
The philosopher had a great desire to find out in more detail who this
chief was, what sort of character he had, what this rumor was about his
daughter, who had come home in such an extraordinary fashion and was now
dying, and whose story was now connected with his own, how it was with them
and what went on in the house? He addressed them with questions; but the
Cossacks must also have been philosophers, because they said nothing in
reply, lay on the sacks and smoked their pipes. Only orie of them addressed
the coachman sitting on the box with a brief order; "Keep an eye out,
Overko, you old gawk. When you get near the tavern, the one on the
Chukhrailovsky road, don't forget to stop, and wake me and the other lads up
if we happen to fall asleep." After that he fell rather loudly asleep.
However, these admonitions were quite superfluous, because as soon as the
gigantic wagon approached the tavern on the Chukhrailovsky road, everybody
shouted with one voice: "Stop!" Besides, Overko's horses were already so
used to it that they themselves stopped in front of every tavern. Despite
the hot July day, everybody got out of the wagon and went into the low,
dingy room where the Jew tavern keeper rushed with signs of joy to welcome
his old acquaintances. Under his coat skirts the Jew brought several pork
sausages and, having placed them on the table, immediately turned away from
this Talmud-forbidden fruit. They all settled around the table. A clay mug
appeared in front of each guest. The philosopher Khoma had to take part in
the general feasting. And since people in Little Russia, once they get a bit
merry, are sure to start kissing each other or weeping, the whole place was
soon filled with kissing: "Well, now, Spirid, give us a smack!" "Come here,
Dorosh, till I embrace you!"
One Cossack who was a bit older than the others, with a gray mustache,
rested his cheek on his hand and began sobbing his heart out over his having
no father or mother and being left all alone in the world. Another was a
great reasoner and kept comforting him, saying: "Don't cry, by God, don't
cry! What's this now. . . God, He knows how and what it is." The one named
Dorosh became extremely inquisitive and, addressing himself to the
philosopher Khoma, kept asking him:
"I'd like to know what they teach you at the seminary--the same as what
the deacon reads in church, or something else?"
"Don't ask!" drawled the reasoner.