A Hero of Our Time (6 page)
Read A Hero of Our Time Online
Authors: Mikhail Lermontov
Tags: #Fiction, #Classics, #Historical, #Literary
“‘Splendid horse you have!’ said Azamat. ‘If I was master of the house and owned a herd of three hundred mares, then I would give you half of them for your steed, Kazbich!’
“‘Ah! Kazbich!’ I thought and remembered the chain mail shirt.
“‘Yes,’ replied Kazbich, after a certain silence, ‘you won’t find one like it in the whole of the Kabarde. Once—this was beyond the Terek River—I was riding with the
abreks
to recapture herds from the Russians. We’d had no luck and scattered, each in his own direction. Four Cossacks rushed up behind me; I heard the yells of the
gyaurs
18
behind me and I saw a thick wood in front of me. I sat low to the saddle, entrusted myself to Allah, and for the first time in my life I insulted my horse with lashings of my whip. Like a bird he dived between branches; sharp thorns tore my clothes, dry elm branches beat me across the face. My horse leapt over tree stumps, ripped shrubs apart with his breast. Perhaps I should have abandoned him at the forest’s edge, and hidden myself on foot in the woods, but I was sorry to part with him—and the prophet rewarded me. Several bullets squealed over my head; I could hear the Cossacks in hot pursuit . . . Suddenly, before me there was a gully; my steed paused for thought—and jumped. His hind hooves had come away from the opposite bank, and he hung there from his front legs. I cast away the reins and threw myself into the gully; this saved my horse: he sprang out. The Cossacks saw all this, only not one of them came down to look for me. They probably thought that I had killed myself, and I heard them give up trying to catch my horse. My heart was bleeding. I crawled through thick grasses along the length of the gully—and then I see: the forest had ended, several Cossacks are riding into a clearing and then, running right up to them is Karagyoz.
19
They all threw themselves at him with a cry; they chased him for a long, long time, and twice one of them almost managed to throw a lasso around his neck. I started to tremble, cast my eyes down, and began praying. After a few moments I lift my eyes and see: my Karagyoz is flying, his tail fluttering as free as the wind, and the
gyaurs
are far behind, one after the other moving along the steppe on worn-out horses. By Allah, it’s the truth, the real truth! I sat in my gully until late into the night. Suddenly, what do you think happens, Azamat? In the darkness I hear a horse running along the gully’s edge, snorting, neighing, and beating his hooves on the ground. I recognized the voice of my Karagyoz: it was him—my lifelong friend! . . . Since then, we have never separated.’
abreks
to recapture herds from the Russians. We’d had no luck and scattered, each in his own direction. Four Cossacks rushed up behind me; I heard the yells of the
gyaurs
18
behind me and I saw a thick wood in front of me. I sat low to the saddle, entrusted myself to Allah, and for the first time in my life I insulted my horse with lashings of my whip. Like a bird he dived between branches; sharp thorns tore my clothes, dry elm branches beat me across the face. My horse leapt over tree stumps, ripped shrubs apart with his breast. Perhaps I should have abandoned him at the forest’s edge, and hidden myself on foot in the woods, but I was sorry to part with him—and the prophet rewarded me. Several bullets squealed over my head; I could hear the Cossacks in hot pursuit . . . Suddenly, before me there was a gully; my steed paused for thought—and jumped. His hind hooves had come away from the opposite bank, and he hung there from his front legs. I cast away the reins and threw myself into the gully; this saved my horse: he sprang out. The Cossacks saw all this, only not one of them came down to look for me. They probably thought that I had killed myself, and I heard them give up trying to catch my horse. My heart was bleeding. I crawled through thick grasses along the length of the gully—and then I see: the forest had ended, several Cossacks are riding into a clearing and then, running right up to them is Karagyoz.
19
They all threw themselves at him with a cry; they chased him for a long, long time, and twice one of them almost managed to throw a lasso around his neck. I started to tremble, cast my eyes down, and began praying. After a few moments I lift my eyes and see: my Karagyoz is flying, his tail fluttering as free as the wind, and the
gyaurs
are far behind, one after the other moving along the steppe on worn-out horses. By Allah, it’s the truth, the real truth! I sat in my gully until late into the night. Suddenly, what do you think happens, Azamat? In the darkness I hear a horse running along the gully’s edge, snorting, neighing, and beating his hooves on the ground. I recognized the voice of my Karagyoz: it was him—my lifelong friend! . . . Since then, we have never separated.’
“And I could hear how he patted the smooth neck of his steed with his hand, giving him various affectionate names.
“‘If I had a herd of a thousand mares,’ said Azamat, ‘then I’d give them all to you for your Karagyoz.’
“‘
Yok,
20
not interested,’ replied Kazbich indifferently.
Yok,
20
not interested,’ replied Kazbich indifferently.
“‘Listen, Kazbich,’ Azamat said, fawning at him, ‘you’re a kind person, you’re a brave
dzhigit,
but my father is afraid of the Russians and won’t let me into the mountains. Give me your horse, and I will do anything you want. I will steal my father’s best rifle or saber for you, whatever you desire—and his saber is real
gurda.
21
Hold the blade in your hand, and it will stick itself into a body—a chain mail shirt like yours wouldn’t stand a chance.’
dzhigit,
but my father is afraid of the Russians and won’t let me into the mountains. Give me your horse, and I will do anything you want. I will steal my father’s best rifle or saber for you, whatever you desire—and his saber is real
gurda.
21
Hold the blade in your hand, and it will stick itself into a body—a chain mail shirt like yours wouldn’t stand a chance.’
“Kazbich said nothing.
“‘The first time I saw your horse,’ continued Azamat, ‘he was turning circles and jumping underneath you, flaring his nostrils, with splinters of flint flying from his hooves, and something I can’t explain happened in my soul—it has made me weary ever since. I look at my father’s best steeds with scorn, I am ashamed to be seen on them, and a longing has seized me, and I have sat for whole days on the cliff edge in anguish, while thoughts come to me every minute of your jet-black horse with his elegant gait, with his smooth, arrow-straight spine. He once looked me in the eye with his bold eyes, as though he wanted to utter a word. I will die, Kazbich, if you don’t sell him to me!’ said Azamat, with a trembling voice.
“I could hear that he had started to weep—but I must tell you that Azamat was a very persistent little boy, and sometimes, nothing would drive away his tears, even when he was younger.
“The reaction to his tears sounded a bit like laughter.
“‘Listen!’ said Azamat with a firm voice. ‘You’ll see, I’ll resolve everything. If you want I’ll steal my sister for you. How she dances! How she sings! And she embroiders with gold—it’s a marvel! No one has ever had such a wife—even the Turkish
Padishah
22
. . . Do you want me to get her? Wait for me tomorrow night over there, in the ravine, by the stream. I’ll go past with her on our way to the next
aul
—and she is yours. Isn’t Bela at least worth your steed? Don’t tell me Bela isn’t worth your steed?’
Padishah
22
. . . Do you want me to get her? Wait for me tomorrow night over there, in the ravine, by the stream. I’ll go past with her on our way to the next
aul
—and she is yours. Isn’t Bela at least worth your steed? Don’t tell me Bela isn’t worth your steed?’
“Kazbich said nothing for a long, long time; finally, instead of an answer, he struck up an ancient song in a low voice:
“In vain, Azamat begged him to agree, he wept and flattered him, and swore oaths. In the end, Kazbich impatiently cut him short:
“‘Away with you, you silly little boy! Where would you be going on my horse? He’d throw you off within the first three paces, and you’d break your head on a rock.’
“‘Me!?’ cried Azamat in a fury, and the iron of the child’s dagger began to ring against the chain mail shirt. A strong hand pushed him swiftly off, and the boy struck so hard against the wattle fencing that it started to sway.
“‘Let the games begin!’ I thought, and rushed into the stable, bridled our horses, and led them out into the back courtyard. After just two minutes, there was a terrible commotion in the
saklya.
This is what had happened: Azamat had run inside with a torn
beshmet,
saying that Kazbich had tried to knife him. Everyone grabbed up their weapons and leapt out—and the fun began! A cry, a noise, shots; but Kazbich was already mounted, and twirled down the street among the crowd, like a demon, brushing them off with his saber.
saklya.
This is what had happened: Azamat had run inside with a torn
beshmet,
saying that Kazbich had tried to knife him. Everyone grabbed up their weapons and leapt out—and the fun began! A cry, a noise, shots; but Kazbich was already mounted, and twirled down the street among the crowd, like a demon, brushing them off with his saber.
“‘Best not to feel the heel of someone else’s meal,’ I said to Grigory Alexandrovich, catching hold of his arm, ‘wouldn’t it be better for us to be off now?’
“‘No, wait a moment, let’s see how it ends.’
“‘Well, it’s likely to end badly. These Asiatics are always like this—they pull out the
bouza,
and the carnage begins!’
bouza,
and the carnage begins!’
“We mounted our horses, and galloped home.”
“And what happened to Kazbich?” I asked the staff captain impatiently.
“Well, what do you think happens to his sort?” he replied, drinking the rest of his tea. “He slipped away!”
“Wasn’t he wounded?” I asked.
“God only knows! They are hardy, these bandits! I’ve even seen them in action, and there was one I saw still waving his saber around after he’d been stuck so full of bayonet holes, he was like a sieve.”
The staff captain, after a certain silence, stamped his foot on the ground and continued. “I’ll never forgive myself for one thing though: the devil possessed me, and when we arrived at the fortress, I recounted everything that I’d heard by the fence to Grigory Alexandrovich. He laughed—so cunning! —and then planned a little something himself.”
“What was it? Tell me please.”
“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it—I’ve started telling you so I’ll have to continue.
“Four days later, Azamat arrives at the fortress. As usual, he called in on Grigory Alexandrovich, who always fed him sweets. I was there. A conversation started up about horses, and Pechorin started to sing the praises of Kazbich’s horse: how frisky he was, how beautiful, like a chamois—and well, simply, in his words, there wasn’t another like it in the world.
“The little eyes of the Tatar boy started to sparkle, but it was as if Pechorin hadn’t noticed. I started to talk about something different, but before you knew it he would deflect the conversation right back to Kazbich’s horse. And this story continued itself every time Azamat came to us. Three weeks later, I started to notice that Azamat was turning pale and withering, as happens to characters when love strikes in a novel. How extraordinary!
“And, you see, I only found out about this next bit later: Grigory Alexandrovich had teased him so unmercifully that the boy was almost driven to drown himself. Once he said to him, ‘I see, Azamat, that you love this horse to the point of pain—but you’re as unlikely to see it as you are the back of your head! Tell me, what would you give to the person who made a present of the horse to you?’
“‘Anything he wanted,’ replied Azamat.
“‘In that case, I will get him for you, only on one condition . . . swear you will do what I ask.’
“‘I swear . . . And you swear too!’
“‘Good! I swear you will have the horse. Only in exchange for it, you must give me your sister Bela; Karagyoz will be her bride-money. I hope that this trade will be advantageous to you.’
“Azamat said nothing.
“‘You don’t want to? Well, as you like! I thought that you were a man, but you’re still a child. It’s too soon for you to be riding . . .’
“Azamat blushed.
“‘And what about my father?’ he said.
“‘Doesn’t he ever go anywhere?’
“‘True . . .’
“‘Are we agreed?’
“‘Agreed,’ Azamat whispered, as pale as death. ‘But when?’
“‘The next time Kazbich comes here. He has promised to drive a dozen sheep to us. The rest is my business. You’ll see, Azamat!’
“So they arranged the matter . . . and truth be told, it was a bad business! Afterward I was saying so to Pechorin and he only replied that a wild Circassian girl should be happy to have as kind a husband as he, because according to their ways, he would be her husband. And that Kazbich is a bandit, who should be punished. You judge for yourself, what could I have said to that? . . . At the time, though, I knew no details of their plot. And then Kazbich arrived one day, asking if we needed any sheep or honey; I ordered him to bring some the next day.
“‘Azamat!’ said Grigory Alexandrovich. ‘Tomorrow Karagyoz will be in my hands. If Bela isn’t here tonight, then you won’t set eyes on your horse . . .’
“‘Fine!’ said Azamat, and galloped to the
aul.
aul.
“That evening Grigory Alexandrovich armed himself and left the fortress. How they arranged this matter, I don’t know—but that night both returned, and the sentry saw a woman across Azamat’s saddle, whose hands and feet were bound, and whose head was shrouded in a
yashmak.
”
24
yashmak.
”
24
“And the horse?” I asked the staff captain.
“Yes, yes. The day before, Kazbich had arrived early in the morning, having driven a dozen sheep to us for sale. He tied up his horse at the fence and came in to see me. I treated him to tea, because though he was a bandit, he was my
kunak
all the same.
kunak
all the same.
“We started talking about this and that . . . And suddenly I see Kazbich flinch and change countenance. He went to the window: but the window, unfortunately, gave onto the back yard.
“‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
“‘My horse! . . . Horse!’ he said, trembling all over.
“Indeed, I could clearly hear the trotting of hooves. ‘It’s true, some Cossack has arrived . . .’
“‘No!
Urus—yaman, yaman
!’
25
he started to bellow and threw himself headlong in their direction, like a wild snow leopard. In two leaps he was already in the courtyard; at the gates of the fortress, the sentry blocked his way with a rifle; he jumped over the rifle and started running down the road . . . Dust spiraled up in the distance—Azamat was galloping off on the spirited Karagyoz. As he ran, Kazbich pulled his rifle out of its case and took a shot. For about a minute he stood there trying to believe his bad luck. After that he began to scream. He struck his rifle against a rock and it broke into fragments, he collapsed onto the ground and began to sob like a child . . . And then, the inhabitants of the fortress gathered around him—but he didn’t notice any of them. They stood around, had a chat, and went back. I ordered money to be put down next to him for the sheep—and he didn’t touch it, but lay face-down, like a corpse. Can you believe that he lay there like that till late evening and then through the night? . . . It wasn’t until the next morning that he came into the fortress and started requesting that the abductor be named. The sentry, who saw Azamat untie the horse and ride off on him, didn’t consider it necessary to conceal. At the sound of the name, Kazbich’s eyes began to sparkle and he headed for the
aul
of Azamat’s father.”
Urus—yaman, yaman
!’
25
he started to bellow and threw himself headlong in their direction, like a wild snow leopard. In two leaps he was already in the courtyard; at the gates of the fortress, the sentry blocked his way with a rifle; he jumped over the rifle and started running down the road . . . Dust spiraled up in the distance—Azamat was galloping off on the spirited Karagyoz. As he ran, Kazbich pulled his rifle out of its case and took a shot. For about a minute he stood there trying to believe his bad luck. After that he began to scream. He struck his rifle against a rock and it broke into fragments, he collapsed onto the ground and began to sob like a child . . . And then, the inhabitants of the fortress gathered around him—but he didn’t notice any of them. They stood around, had a chat, and went back. I ordered money to be put down next to him for the sheep—and he didn’t touch it, but lay face-down, like a corpse. Can you believe that he lay there like that till late evening and then through the night? . . . It wasn’t until the next morning that he came into the fortress and started requesting that the abductor be named. The sentry, who saw Azamat untie the horse and ride off on him, didn’t consider it necessary to conceal. At the sound of the name, Kazbich’s eyes began to sparkle and he headed for the
aul
of Azamat’s father.”
“And the father?”
“Yes, well, that’s the thing. Kazbich didn’t find him—he had gone off somewhere for six days, otherwise how could Azamat have managed to make off with his sister?
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