Something heavy landed close to him with a thud. Was it Lida? Oh, if only he could open his eyes! But it was entirely beyond his power to do so. Artem could still hear the sounds and voices from the outside world and nothing more. Now it was the voice of Ivan Semenovich — what a man! he managed to remain vigorous and energetic, not forgetting about anyone, always ready to help…
“Dmitro Borisovich! Give me your hand! I’ll pull you up. Did the gas get in your lungs?”
“No, I’m O.K…. I’ll manage… You can choke on that gas… you’ve been down there far too long… what if you fall… what if you fall and Lida tumble down with you?”
“Lida’s already on the other side of the opening. Give me your hand, I tell you! Do you hear? I order you to give me your hand!”
A pause. Then — some rustling or swishing… incomprehensible sounds…
“Give me your hand, damn it, or I’ll come down to fetch you!”
“Just a second… I think Diana’s right by my feet here… I’ll lift her up.”
“You won’t have the strength!”
“I will… here, I’m holding her… now, take her from me! Oh! My camera! It’s gone! I’ve dropped it! I can’t find it in this gas… oh, where is it?”
“Come on, get out of there, quick! Climb up here, quick! Never mind your camera! Quick! See, the rocks up there seem to have moved again, they’re balanced precariously! They can come crashing down any moment!”
“I’ve lost my camera!… How careless I am! No, I absolutely must find it… maybe it’s…”
“Stop it and get up here, I tell you! On the double!”
“All right, all right!”
Another heavy thud… It must have been Diana landing on this side of the opening. But why couldn’t he hear the geologist’s voice any more? What about Dmitro Borisovich? Did they make it through? What was it that Ivan Semenovich had said about “the precariously balanced” rocks?
As though in reply to Artem’s confused and disordered thoughts, a muffled and heavy rumbling could be heard. It increased in intensity by the moment. Something huge seemed to have detached itself from the rocks above the opening inside the cave. It tumbled down, striking the walls, the noise growing louder and louder. Now it seemed as though all the rocks in the world had been dislodged and gone clashing and rolling down into an abyss, breaking up into smaller pieces as they went.
Everything was shaking, quivering and rattling. The very ground quivered beneath the almost insensitive body of Artem. This pandemonium seemed to last for about a minute. Artem could not tell how long it actually lasted but it seemed a long time. He was continuously buffeted by the waves of air compressed by the huge falling rocks.
Abruptly all grew still, and this absolute, all-enveloping palm was more disturbing than the deafening noise of a moment ago, because it was completely incomprehensible to Artem. But was this stillness really so noiseless?.
The weary young man could discern some sounds — occasional stones falling… or perhaps echoes coming from afar?
But what difference did it make, for Artem was lying half-dead and completely motionless… Unable to stir a limb, to move a single muscle. So the stillness continued as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t move in any case… But maybe he had just been dreaming, for so many terrifying things all at once could happen only in dreams!
A sharp stone was prickling his shoulder, but Artem could not even twitch to relieve the pain. Chimerical images ran through his mind.
Surely it was all a dream, and yet not quite. In dreams, one is shut off from the surrounding world completely and is at the mercy of monsters, but Artem realized their unreality; now he felt the painful sharpness of a real stone; he was even aware of the closeness of the immobile hand of Lida… No, he was not mistaken; he knew for sure it was Lida’s hand — motionless but warm, very close to him on the ground. No, he was not dreaming!
Though his eyes were still closed, Artem seemed to see the gray waves of the mysterious gas all around, surging and filling up the cave; no, they had already filled it. The waves were floating low above Artem like clouds in the mountains, the cold heavy cumululi of a gloomy, rainy day. That was probably why he had difficulty breathing.
Then he imagined he was again seeing the stalagmites, the huge conic shapes towering all around him like columns or mighty tree trunks… Why trees? In his delirium he thought he had begun hearing that dreadful hissing again, it was driving him mad. Continuous, harassing… Was the,gas coming through the opening? But now the hissing seemed no more than the rustling of leaves. Leaves here? Trees? It was funny what incongruous fantasies beset him!
The young man even made an attempt to smile but failed. Not a single muscle moved. His condition was not unlike that of a person in the grips of a grave illness: he had lost control of his body while retaining the ability to use his senses. Beyond doubt, it was rustling leaves and not hissing gas that Artem heard!
The rustling intensified and then subsided like a light breeze blowing above the forest that makes the tops of the tall trees sway… It would be so nice to wander through such a forest, treading on the soft green grass, big tree trunks all around, singing… Hey, in the forest, in the foooorest, there are two oaks, two oaks, leaning towards each other, each other, like lovers, like lovers…
Why he wanted to sing this particular song he could not say. It must have been the uneven rustling, growing in intensity that suggested the tune and the words… But wait, what kind of leaves could be found deep underground? Ivan Semenovich had said back there, in the subterranean passage, that they were at least two hundred meters below the surface. So what kind of trees could grow at such a depth? Impossible. And yet it was unmistakably leaves rustling in the wind; he could even hear some sort of song — very distant, unfamiliar, monotonous. He could not make out the words, but the tune was there all the same. What a strange phantasm! All right, he could accept that, since delirium can produce far more terrible things.
A song — savage and severe, solemn and slow, moody and monotonous — was coming from very far away. At times it was barely audible, then it could be heard much better, as though gusts of wind were carrying it to him, then dropped it along the way, only to pick it up playfully. What a strange and unfamiliar song! Artem had never in his life heard anything like it. How painfully the sharp stone was pressing into his shoulder! If only he could shift just a little, move his shoulder away just a bit…
Suddenly Artem realized that he had in fact managed to shift his body. The stone was not hurting him any longer. So…
Very slowly and carefully, as though not trusting himself fully, Artem sat up, hoisting himself from the ground with feeble hands; there was still some residual pain in his shoulder. He opened his eyes hesitantly, as one does after a prolonged fit of unconsciousness — and closed them again immediately. Was lie still dreaming? Why this strange, inexplicable light?
He opened his eyes once again, this time extremely cautiously, shading them with his hand, just in case. The light was not from any particular source, but came from all sides; it was the incomprehensible, even light of evening when the westering sun hides behind heavy and dark clouds.
Right in front of him he saw the thick reddish-brown trunk of a tall tree. The bole rose very high up in the air to branch off into boughs and eventually disappear in the wide crown of pinkish-yellow leaves whose color suggested late September and not mid-July. Lush, tall grass grew among the trees… but it was very odd grass, unreal, not at all green but also pinkish-yellow. Everything looked as though the fall had already changed the verdure miraculously into its favorite hues. All the same, even in fall neither leaves nor grass acquire such a pinkish tint! How odd! And where were the stalagmites? And the cave for that matter? Where were the rest?