Viy — Страница 7

Suddenly the low door opened and the old
woman, stooping down, came into the pen.
"Well, granny, what do you want?" said the philosopher.
But the old woman came toward him with outspread arms.
"Oh-ho!" thought the philosopher. "Only no, dearie, you're obsolete!"
He moved slightly further off, but again the old woman unceremoniously came
toward him.
"Listen, granny," said the philosopher, "it's a fast period, and I'm
the sort of man who won't break his fast even for a thousand gold roubles."
But the old woman kept spreading her arms and grasping for him without
saying a word.
The philosopher became frightened, especially when he noticed that her
eyes flashed with some extraordinary light.
"Granny! What is it? Go, go with God!" he cried.
But the old woman did not say a word and kept grabbing for him with her
arms.
He jumped to his feet, intending to flee, but the old woman stood in
the doorway, fixing her flashing eyes on him, and again began to come toward
him.
The philosopher wanted to push her away with his hands, but noticed to
his astonishment that his arms would not rise, nor would his legs move; with
horror he discovered that the sound of his voice would not even come from
his mouth: the words stirred soundlessly on his lips. He heard only how his
own heart was beating; he saw how the old woman came up to him, folded his
arms, bent his neck, jumped with catlike quickness onto his back, struck him
on the side with a broom, and he, leaping like a saddle horse, carried her
on his back. All this happened so quickly that the philosopher barely
managed to recover his senses and seize both his knees with his hands in an
effort to stop his legs; but, to his great amazement, they kept moving
against his will and performed leaps quicker than a Circassian racer. When
they passed the farmstead, and a smooth hollow opened out before them, and
the coal-black forest spread out to one side, only then did he say to
himself: "Oh-oh, this is a witch!"
A reverse crescent moon shone in the sky. The timid midnight radiance
lay lightly as a transparent blanket and steamed over the earth. Forest,
meadows, sky, valleys--all seemed to be sleeping with open eyes. Not a
flutter of wind anywhere. There was something damply warm in the night's
freshness. The shadows of trees and bushes, like comets, fell in sharp
wedges over the sloping plain. Such was the night when the philosopher Khoma
Brut galloped with an incomprehensible rider on his back. He felt some
languid, unpleasant, and at the same time sweet feeling coming into his
heart.