Viy — Страница 8

He lowered his head and saw that the grass, which was almost under
his feet, seemed to be growing deep and distant and that over it was water
as transparent as a mountain spring, and the grass seemed to be at the deep
bottom of some bright, transparent sea; at least he clearly saw his own
reflection in it, together with the old woman sitting on his back. He saw
some sun shining there instead of the moon; he heard bluebells tinkle,
bending their heads. He saw a water nymph swim from behind the sedge; her
back and leg flashed, round, lithe, made all of a shining and quivering. She
turned toward him, and her face, with its light, sharp, shining eyes, with
its soul-invading song, now approached him, was already at the surface,
then, shaking with sparkling laughter, withdrew--and then she turned over on
her back, and the sun shone through her nebulous breasts, matte as unglazed
porcelain, at the edges of their white, tenderly elastic roundness. Water
covered them in tiny bubbles like beads. She trembles all over and laughs m
the water . . .
Is he seeing it, or is he not? Is he awake or asleep? But what now?
Wind or music: ringing, ringing, and whirling, and approaching, and piercing
the soul with some unbearable trill . . .
"What is it?" thought the philosopher Khoma Brut, looking down, as he
raced on at top speed. Sweat streamed from him. He felt a demonically sweet
feeling, he felt some piercing, some languidly terrible pleasure. It often
seemed to him as if his heart were no longer there at all, and in fear he
would clutch at it with his hand. Exhausted, bewildered, he began to recall
all the prayers he ever knew. He ran through all the exorcisms against
spirits--and suddenly felt some relief; he felt his step beginning to become
lazier, the witch held somehow more weakly to liis back. Thick grass touched
him, and he no longer saw anything extraordinary in it. The bright crescent
shone in the sky.
"All right, then!" thought the philosopher Khoma, and he began saying
exorcisms almost aloud. Finally, quick as lightning, he jumped from under
the old woman and in his turn leaped on her back. With her small, quick step
the old woman ran so fast that the rider could hardly catch his breath. The
earth just flashed beneath him. Everything was clear in the moonlight,
though the moon was not full. The valleys were smooth, but owing to the
speed everything flashed vaguely and confusedly in his eyes. He snatched up
a billet lying in the road and started beating the old woman as hard as he
could with it. She let out wild screams; first they were angry and
threatening, then they turned weaker, more pleasant, pure, and then soft,
barely ringing, like fine silver bells, penetrating his soul. A thought
flashed inadvertently in his head: Is this really an old woman? "Oh, I can't
take any more!" she said in exhaustion and fell to the ground.