Viy — Страница 6

"Who's there?" she cried with a muffled cough.
"Let us in for the night, granny. We've lost our way. It's as bad out
in the fields as it is in a hungry belly."
"And what sort of folk are you?"
"We're harmless folk: the theologian Khalyava, the philosopher Brut,
and the rhetorician Gorobets."
"Can't do it," the old woman grumbled. "I've got a yard full of people,
and every corner of the cottage is taken. Where will I put you? And such big
and hefty folk at that! My cottage will fall apart if I take in the likes of
you. I know these philosophers and theologians. Once you start taking in
those drunkards, there soon won't be any house. Away! Away with you! There's
no room for you here!"
"Have mercy, granny! Can it be chat Christian souls must perish for no
reason at all? Put us up wherever you like. And if we somehow do something
or other--let our arms wither, and whatever else God only knows. There!"
The old woman seemed to soften a little.
"Very well," she said, as if considering, "I'll let you in. Only I'll
make you all sleep in different places, for my heart won't be at peace if
you lie together."
"That's as you will, we won't object," replied the students.
The gates creaked and they went into the yard.
"Well, granny," said the philosopher, following the old woman, "and
what if, as they say ... by God, it's as if wheels are turning in my
stomach. We haven't had a sliver in our mouths since morning"
"See what he's after!" the old woman said. "I've got nothing,
nothing like that, and I didn't start the stove all day."
"And tomorrow," the philosopher went on, "we'll pay for it all, well
and good, in cash. Yes," he went on softly, "the devil of a cent you'll
get!"
"Go on, go on! and be content with what you've got. Such tender young
sirs the devil's brought us!"
The philosopher Khoma became utterly despondent at these words. But
suddenly his nose caught the scent of dried fish. He glanced at the trousers
of the theologian walking beside him and saw an enormous fish tail sticking
out of his pocket: the theologian had already managed to snatch a whole carp
off a wagon. And since he had done it not for any profit but simply from
habit, and, having forgotten his carp completely, was looking around for
something else to filch, not intending to overlook even a broken wheel, the
philosopher Khoma put his hand into his pocket as if it were his very own
and pulled out the carp.
The old woman got the students installed: the rhetorician was put in
the cottage, the theologian was shut up in an empty closet, the philosopher
was assigned to the sheep pen, also empty.
The philosopher, left alone, ate the carp in one minute, examined the
wattled sides of the pen, shoved his foot into the curious snout that a pig
had poked through from the next pen, and rolled over on his other side in
order to fall into a dead sleep.