Mesentzeff was inspired with a strange desire for action. At least the red-lipped brigand could be overtaken and convicted of Masha’s death; convicted too in the presence of Vania who apparently was a friend of his. Only in this way Mesentzeff thought he could free himself from the stain of circumstantial if unintentional complicity.
Two roads led out of the village: one went to the far off town where Mitia had come from and the other to the immense wilderness of prairie and forest beyond which on clear days floated the blue summits of Ural, like pale clouds on the horizon. The latter was of course the way to go, Mitia being unlikely to return so soon to a place he had once left. He certainly did not give that impression.
Half an hour later with a small bundle under his arm containing a toothbrush, a hundred cigarettes and a volume of Nietzsche, Mesentzeff set off at the double quick pace which according to the drill-book is not tiring. However, after three hours of this he stopped and hailing a passing cart begged the driver to take him up. Three hours later he was set down at a crossroads and continued his journey on foot, inquiring of every rare passer-by whether he had not seen two young men, the first pink and charming looking, the other sunburnt and evil faced?
It was already dark and Mesentzeff thinking of finding a village to rest in, when in answer to his stereotyped inquiry, a man sitting on the side of the road exclaimed familiarly, «An evil faced man? Perhaps you mean me?» It was Mitia.
«Where is Vania?» asked Mesentzeff curtly, not deigning to greet his enemy.
«That’s no affair of yours,» sneered the other. «What do you want with him?»
«I am going to tell him that Masha is dead and that you are her murderer.» Mesentzeff’s voice was menacing and had its effect.
«Hush! Hush!» whispered Mitia rising hastily to his feet and approaching Mesentzeff. «Don’t shout so loud! So she committed suicide? Did she hang herself?»
«She threw herself in the river.»
«It’s the same thing. You mustn’t tell Vania on any account. I know him. He’ll go off to the monks. And stay there all his life, the conscientious donkey!»
«He would be perfectly right,» said Mesentzeff. «It is his fault almost as much as yours, if the poor girl is dead.»
«I’ll take his share of the sin. I’m not afraid of Hell!»
«But Vania must know about it,» insisted Mesentzeff angrily, «if only that he may tell you what he thinks of you.»
«None of that,» cried Mitia and a knife gleamed in his hand. «You will go back where you came from, now, immediately, or...»
«What, you here my good Sir?» interrupted Vania’s gentle tones. «It is pleasant travelling, isn’t it? The weather is so beautiful. Mitia had sat down to smoke a cigarette and I was hunting for wild strawberries. Look how big and sweet they are. Will you taste one?»
«Listen, Vania —,» began Mesentzeff, «I have something very serious to tell you...»
«I say Vania,» interrupted Mitia in his turn, «do you know that this gentleman has decided to come along with us and see all the interesting things; visit to make the acquaintance of our brotherhood and visit our wonderful city in the mountains? But to allow it, we must impose a few conditions. Leave us a moment. You are in the way. Trot off for another little walk...»
«All right,» answered the unsuspecting Vania, «but hurry up, for it’s time for supper.»
And he strolled away eating his strawberries. «Look here, Sir,» began Mitia in persuasive accents, «I won’t touch you. I’m not as bad as you think. But don’t tell Vania yet about Masha. You may tell him tomorrow... later... meanwhile I promise to show you in return things that you dwellers in towns don’t even suspect the existence of. The peasants have the appearance only of being simple. Once try and see them as they really are; and all your life long you’ll not forget the experience. You will see a town too that is on no map and which is of more importance to the world than Moscow. And though you don’t like me, I will be a good friend to you.»
Mesentzeff was too mentally tired to pursue the drama... besides at the back of his mind was the recollection of Mitia’s knife, which he had no wish to see again. His ethnographical curiosity was aroused, moreover, and he could not let slip the opportunity of a unique adventure that might establish his fame for ever in the 4th department of the Academy of Science at Petrograd.
«Very good,» he answered sharply. «I will not speak tonight: only don’t forget, Mitia...» he stopped, not knowing how to frame his threat and Mitia seemed satisfied...
«Then let’s have supper,» he cried. «There is bread and onions. What more can a man want?»
II
By following the high road, Mesentzeff, Mitia and Vania came in sight of the village of O. ... In the course of the last few days, Mitia had become wonderfully sweet in his manner to Mesentzeff, much to the latter’s surprise. He smoked Mesentzeff’s cigarettes, showed him how to keep warm when they slept at night in the open fields and once in sudden burst of confidence, after first begging permission with an appealing glance, rested his head on the other’s knee. Mesentzeff felt flattered, though ashamed to admit it even to himself.
The red twilight was too red, the heat overpowering. A fetid wind covered the road with little columns of dust, spinning slowly. The peasants say that if these columns are cut with a sickle or scythe, a drop of blood remains upon the steel.
Vania picked blades of grass and chewed them, murmuring, «My soul glorifies the Lord,» while Mitia scanned the horizon, his hand raised to protect his eyes, for the sun was quite low.
«What a sky! what a sky!» he exclaimed at last, rubbing his palms together in glee.
«Why, what a sky?» asked Mesentzeff who was getting tired.
«Arrayed by prayer, burnt by fire, and scarred by the flight of dragons! In the olden times the dragons flew freely about Russia, trying to catch the Russian maids. The men were not worth much. It’s only the legends that make them out to be heroes; but the girls!.. Nowadays there are none like them. The dragons were eagles; red, red eagles, flecked with blue... They had tails like horses and beaks like martins and this was their fate. When a dragon carried away a maid beyond the Caspian and fed on the sweet-tasting crab-apples of her breasts, the girl died. And when the girl died, the dragon died also. That is why the race has disappeared. Maids are common, but dragons are rare.»
«That’s all nonsense,» said Vania.
«It may be nonsense; but old people will tell you so; and Vania is not a universal genius or an Aristotle!» replied Mitia sharply and almost immediately burst out again in a joyful tone: «There’s Misha. The dove is out of his cote! He must have discovered something.»
On the outskirts of the village a figure rather resembling a bear was limping at a slow pace towards the travellers.
«A cripple!» thought Mesentzeff surprised; though when the figure came nearer he saw it had no infirmity whatsoever. Sometimes Misha walked dragging his feet one after the other behind him, sometimes quite normally. At one moment his arms would hang forward limply and at another be hunched up, his shoulders touching his ears. His swollen eyelids see med to conceal a fell disease. It was almost alarming when he opened them and disclosed a pair of clear, grey eyes. He was advancing now in strange fashion, sideways, like a crab. Having reached the travellers, he hesitated and stopped shyly.
«Good day, my beauty,» said Mitia, embracing him. «How’s the work getting on?»
«The work is all right. There is nothing the matter with the work,» said Misha, rubbing his cheek where Mitia’s lips had touched it. Presently, seeming to gain courage, he bowed low before Mesentzeff and Vania.
