Viy — Страница 10

A dark foreboding told him that something bad
lay in store for him. Not knowing why himself, he announced directly that he
would not go.
"Listen, domine Khoma!"⁶ said the rector (on certain
occasions he spoke very courteously with his subordinates), "the devil if
anyone's asking you whether you want to go or not. I'm telling you only
this, that if you keep standing on your mettle and being clever, I'll order
you whipped with young birch rods on the back and other parts--so well that
you won't need to go to the steam-baths."
The philosopher, scratching lightly behind his ear, walked out without
saying a word, intending to trust to his legs at the first opportunity. Deep
in thought, he was going down the steep steps to the poplar-ringed courtyard
when he stopped for a minute, hearing quite clearly the voice of the rector
giving orders to his housekeeper and someone else, probably one of those the
chief had sent to fetch him.
"Thank your master for the grain and eggs," the rector was saying, "and
tell him that as soon as the books he wrote about are ready, I'll send them
at once. I've already given them to the scribe for copying. And don't
forget, dear heart, to tell the master that I know there are good fish to be
had on his farmstead, especially sturgeon, which he can send whenever
there's a chance: at the markets here it's expensive and no good. And you,
Yavtukh, give the lads a glass of vodka. And tie up the philosopher,
otherwise he'll take off."
"Why, that devil's son!" the philosopher thought to himself, "he's got
wind of it, the long-legged slicker!"
He went down the steps and saw a kibitka, which at first he took for a
granary on wheels. Indeed, it was as deep as a brick kiln. This was an
ordinary Krakow vehicle such as Jews hire, fifty of them squeezing in along
with their goods, to carry them to every town where their noses smell a
fair. He was awaited by some six stalwart and sturdy Cossacks, no longer
young men. Jackets of fine flannel with fringe showed that they belonged to
a considerable and wealthy owner. Small scars bespoke their having once been
to war, not without glory.
"No help for it! What will be, will be!" the philosopher thought to
himself and, addressing the Cossacks, said loudly:
"Greetings, friends and comrades!"
"Greetings to you, master philosopher!" some of the Cossacks replied.
"So I'm supposed to get in there with you? A fine wagon!" he went on,
climbing in. "Just hire some musicians and you could dance in it!"
"Yes, a commensurate vehicle!" said one of the Cossacks, getting up on
the box along with the coachman, who had a rag wrapped around his head
instead of his hat, which he had already left in the tavern. The other five,
together with the philosopher, climbed deep inside and settled on sacks
filled with various purchases made in town.