Little Anna lay in bed. She heard everything that they said to each other, and she was very scared. What could she do? She had learned from their conversation that her father was already dead; he was lying in the middle of the road, and she imagined that the wolves and wild dogs were eating him, and that their only horse had escaped far into the forest and was also being eaten by the wolves, and that she too would be punished and beaten by the police because she did not save the money.
When the robbers finished eating, they sent the woman for vodka and wine. They had a lot of money now, and they could afford it. So they drank and sang songs and then they sent the woman for more wine. One of them said,
“We can drink all night, until morning. We have lots of money now, and we don’t have to count our kopecks. Go ahead, drink like a fish!”
By midnight, they were thoroughly trashed. The woman had just been sent to fetch more wine, for the third time. The forest ranger stood up and paced across the room, trying to keep his balance.
“Listen, boys, we have to deal with that little girl somehow. We’ve got to get rid of her. If we leave her here, she’ll be the first one to turn us in.”
Their discussion was short. Anna could not be allowed to live. She should be stabbed. And yet, it is not so easy to take a butcher knife to a sleeping child—only a drunk or a madman can do this. The argument about who should kill her lasted for almost an hour. They almost started another fight; no one would agree to do it, and they ended up casting lots. It fell to the forest ranger. He downed another glass of vodka, heaved a deep sigh, stood up, and went outside to find his axe.
But little Anna was not so stupid. Maybe she was a bit slow at that age, but this time she did a smart thing. Maybe it was God who gave her this idea, or maybe you just get smart if your life depends on it.
She stood up quietly from the bed, took the fur coat that the forest ranger’s wife had given to her, and covered their daughter who lay next to her on the bed with this coat. Quietly, she took the other girl’s cardigan and put it on. Then, she pulled the hood over her head and face and walked across the room, past the two drunken labourers, and outside. They thought that she was the forest ranger’s daughter and they never gave her a second glance. She was lucky that the woman was out at the moment—she had gone for more wine; she would have known whether it was her daughter or not.
As soon as little Anna got outside, she started running as fast as she could into the forest. She wandered all night, but in the dawn’s gray twilight, she found the highway and started running along the edge.
She was lucky this time—George, the town clerk, God bless his soul, was going fishing, walking the other way with his fishing rods. Anna told him everything that she had seen that night. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned around and ran back to the village. He gathered a group of farmers, and they hurried to the forest ranger’s hut.
When they got there, they found all four of them passed out drunk, lying on the floor asleep, including the woman. First, the farmers searched them all and retrieved the money—but when they looked at the little bed behind the fireplace—oh, Holy God!
The forest ranger’s daughter was lying there on the wooden cot, covered with a fur coat, but her head was splattered with blood—they had killed her with an axe. The farmers woke up the three drunken men and the woman, tied their hands behind them, and brought them to the police station.
The woman was crying out loud and moaning, and the forest ranger’s head was nodding and bobbing wildly; he kept saying,
“What a hangover, boys! Can I have a drink? I have a headache.”
There was on open court session in town, and they all got heavy sentences, exactly what they deserved, according to the law.
That is the story of what happened in the ravine behind that forest. You can hardly see the spot now, with the sun going down.
DRAMA
Pavel Vasilich, a certain lady is asking for you,” reported Luke, his butler. “She has been waiting for nearly an hour.”
Pavel Vasilich had just finished his breakfast. When he heard about the lady, he wrinkled his nose as he said,
“Tell her to go to hell. Tell her that I am busy right now.”
“Pavel Vasilich, this is the fifth time she has come to see you already. She says that it is very important for her to see you. She is on the verge of bursting into tears.”
“Fine, invite her into my office.”
Pavel Vasilich put on his jacket, slowly took a pen in one hand and a book in the other hand, and, pretending to be very busy, entered his office.
His visitor was already there, waiting for him. She was a big, chubby lady with a fleshy face, wearing glasses, dressed more than decency required. She had a sophisticated hat, the top of which was a gray bird with a design of four ribbons around it. As soon as she saw the master of the house she clasped her hands together as if in prayer and lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
“Certainly, you do not remember me,” she started in a deep, male-sounding, tenor voice, obviously showing her excitement. “I had the pleasure of meeting you at the Krutsky party. My name is Mrs. Grasshopper.”
“Oh, I remember. Well, please take a seat. What can I do for you?”
“You see … um … I … well,” the lady muttered as she tried to continue. “I am Mrs. Grasshopper. I am a great admirer of your talent and I always read your articles with great pleasure. Do not think that I am flattering. God forbid! I am just saying what you deserve. I always read your work, always! I, too, am an author. Actually, I do not dare calling myself a female writer but I have a little drop of honey in the general beehive of literature, so to speak. I have had published, at different times, three stories for children. I have also done a lot of translating, and my brother worked at the Business Review Newspaper.”
“So what is it exactly that I can do for you today?”
“You see,” Mrs. Grasshopper lowered her glance and blushed as she began, “I know your talent, and I know your views, but I would like your opinion, or, to be exact, your advice. As you know, pardon my French, I have an outline in the form of a theatrical drama, and before submitting it officially, I would like your opinion.”
Mrs. Grasshopper, with an expression of a bird caught in a net, rummaged nervously in the folds of her dress and pulled out a thick notebook.
Now, Pavel Vasilich loved only his own writing. Pieces written by others, which he had to listen to often, reminded him of a cannon being aimed at his head. On seeing the notebook, he became fearful, and hastily said,
“Please leave it here. I will read it later.”
“Pavel Vasilich,” Mrs. Grasshopper said dramatically, standing up and again folding her hands, as if in prayer. “I know you are busy. I know that every minute counts for you, and I know that you, in the depths of your soul, are sending me to hell, but please be so kind and let me read my drama to you now. Please,” she implored.
“It was a pleasure to meet you.” Pavel Vasilich now felt bewildered. “But my dear lady, I am very busy at the moment. I have somewhere to go.”
“Pavel Vasilich.” The lady groaned as her eyes filled with tears. “I must insist. I know I am an impudent, saucy, impertinent, cheeky creature, but please, please help me! Tomorrow I am going to the remote town of Kazan, and before I go I would like to know your opinion. Just give me half an hour of your time, just one half hour, I implore you!”
Pavel Vasilich was a weak person, and he could not refuse her request.
When he saw the lady begin to cry and to kneel in front of him, he became even more confused and murmured, seemingly at a loss, “Well, then… All right, all right, please read it, I will listen. Keep in mind, though, that I only have half an hour for you.”