Viy — Страница 26

Khoma Brut hung his head and gave himself over to reflection.
"I'll go to the master," he said finally, "tell him everything, and
explain that 1 don't want to read anymore. Let him send me back to Kiev
right now."
In such thoughts, he directed his steps toward the porch of the
master's house.
The chief was sitting almost motionless in his room; the same hopeless
sorrow that the philosopher had met on his face earlier remained there
still. Only his cheeks were much more sunken than before. It was clear that
he had taken very little food, or perhaps not touched anything at all. His
extraordinary pallor gave him a sort of stony immobility.
"Greetings, poor lad," he said, seeing Khoma, who stood hat in hand in
the doorway. "Well, how is it with you? Everything fine?"
"Fine, fine indeed. Such devilish goings-on, I'd like to just grab my
hat and flee wherever my legs will take me."
"How's that?"
"It's your daughter, sir ... Reasonably considering, of course, she's
of noble birth; nobody will maintain the contrary; only, not to anger you by
saying so, God rest her soul. . ."
"What about my daughter?"

"She's had some dealings with Satan. Giving me such horrors [hat I
can't read any scriptures."
"Read, read! It was not for nothing that she called you. She was
worried about her soul, my little dove, and wished to drive away all wicked
thoughts by prayer."
"Have it your way, sir--by God, it's too much for me!"
"Read, read!" the chief went on in the same admonitory voice. "You've
got one night left now. You'll do a Christian deed, and I'll reward you."
"Rewards or no rewards... As you like, sir, only I won't read!" Khoma
said resolutely.
"Listen, philosopher!" said the chief, and his voice grew strong and
menacing, "I don't like these notions. You can do that in your seminary, but
not with me: I'll give you such a thrashing as your rector never gave. Do
you know what a good leather whip is?"
"How could I not!" said the philosopher, lowering his voice. "Everybody
knows what a leather whip is: an insufferable thing in large quantities."
"Yes. Only you still don't know what a scotching my boys can deliver!"
the chief said menacingly, getting to his feet, and his face acquired an
imperious and ferocious expression that revealed all his unbridled
character, only temporarily lulled by sorrow. "First they'll scotch you for
me, then douse you with vodka, then start over. Go, go! do your business! If
you don't, you won't get up; if you do--a thousand pieces of gold!"
"Oh-ho-ho! Some customer!" the philosopher thought, going out. "No
joking with this one. Just you wait, brother: I'll cut and run so fast your
dogs will never catch me."
And Khoma resolved to escape without fail.