Now they were free at last. The first eight who had slipped out of the barracks were followed by others in groups, this time without any previous arrangement. It was as though the alcohol had sharpened the wits of those whom it had not knocked into insensibility. And though their bodies lost their equilibrium, their minds grew clear and steady. It was not long — certainly before Kontsev and his men could realize how many had escaped them — before the fugitives, thanks to the sure instinct with which the drunkard gropes his way to the right place, had reached the inn of Nathan Kristianpoller. They entered, in three or four groups; they broke in. That day the gate stood open. For the first time in a long while it was pig-market day in Koropta. The Jew Kristianpoller gave praise to God for His miracles. Great He was, though His ways defeated comprehension, very great in His inexplicable lovingkindness. Indeed no human reason could tell why on this day the pig-market should have suddenly taken place as in the good old days, and brought such joy to Kristianpoller’s heart. Yesterday not a soul so much as dreamt of it! But there you are — if it is the will of God that there should be a pig-market once again in Koropta, in the twinkling of an eye every peasant in the district knows it, and even the pigs themselves know it perhaps, who can tell?
When the first of the peasant guests, so long and sadly missed, appeared at the White Eagle, Kristianpoller had the boy Fedya throw open both wings of the double door, as in the bygone, happy days of years ago, before ever the threshold of that inn had been crossed by any armed man except the bland and friendly policeman of the town. Yes, when the first of the little country-folk arrived in the earliest morning, as casually and calmly as though they had been there the week before the same as ever, as though there had been no war, no revolution, and no new country, dressed in their familiar, acrid-smelling, whitish-yellow, buttonless sheepskins belted in with dark-blue linen girdles — when these good folk whom he had seen and known all his life appeared once more after their long absence, the Jew Kristianpoller forgot his sleepless night, his fears, the officers, his guests, and even Tarabas. It seemed to him that the returning peasants were the first sure sign that real peace had been restored at last. Kristianpoller, in joyful, pious haste, had not yet finished taking off his phylacteries and rolling them together, when the first peasant customers entered the parlour. With hurried obeisances the host now tried to take his leave of God to whom he had just been offering his devotions, and to include a greeting to the peasants in the same motions. How sweet and peaceful was the sharp odour of their sheepskin coats! How delightful the grunting of the fettered pigs lying on the straw-covered floor of the little carts outside. No doubt about it, those were the voices of true peace, the sweet and long-lost, now come back again. Peace had returned to earth and stopped at Kristianpoller’s inn to rest a while.
And as in the old days the Jew Kristianpoller had the portly little kegs brought from the cellar and set out, not only in the yard, but some outside before the open door to encourage all who came to slake a thirst already keen enough. A great and pious gratitude filled Kristianpoller. God, the Inscrutable, had covered the world with war and devastation; but meantime He had suffered hops and malt to flourish in abundance, and out of these came beer, and beer was what the innkeeper must live by. And for all that so many men had fallen in the war, yet the peasants, thirsty and solid drinkers, increased and multiplied, themselves as plentiful as malt and hops. Oh, divine grace! Oh, lovely peace!
But whilst the godly Kristianpoller marvelled and gave praise, already the disaster was afoot, the great and bloody disaster of Koropta, and with it the dire aberration of the mighty Nicholas Tarabas.
15
COLONEL TARABAS’S followers who had been left behind in the out-house in Kristianpoller’s yard received the deserters with feigned pleasure. Immediately they sent news to Kontsev at the barracks that the drunken men had walked unawares into a fresh imprisonment. As for Colonel Tarabas, he had been sitting long together with the officers in the barracks mess, “to forget that it was Friday,” and to forget the other agitations of this strange day as well. Sergeant-Major Kontsev brought him the report which he had just received, but Colonel Tarabas was no longer able to hear everything.
Meanwhile, evening was coming on, a Friday evening. And the Jews of Koropta were beginning, as usual, to make their preparations against the Sabbath. Kristianpoller likewise. As he moved about the kitchen where he had slept since the departure of his family, spreading a cloth upon the table and setting out the candlesticks, he thought about his wife and children, and a kind of hope that they might soon come home again stole back into his heart.
The pig-market was a certain sign that peace had re turned, lasting peace. If those new bank-notes of the new country, with which the peasants had paid, were worth real gold like the good rubles of the past, the day’s takings had been wonderful, just like the days before the war. Kristianpoller began to take the notes which lay all crumpled in his till, and order them, smooth them out and put them away in the numerous compartments of his two fat leather bags. On the rack close above his head appeared now, as it had done on every other day, the gold reflection of the autumn sun, preparing to go down to its usual serene setting.
Outside in the street and in the yard the peasants were getting ready for the journey home. They had bought kerchiefs, corals, sickles, and hats. They had drunk much and were in high good-humour. They all donned the new hats over the old ones, the handkerchiefs they wore like scarves, the money for the pigs they had sold they carried in bags of unbleached linen round their necks. They were cheerful and tired, pleased with themselves and with the well-spent day. Cocks crowed peacefully, and in the chaff that strewed the road, good-tempered hens and ducks and geese hunted for some delicacy of the fair. Even the dogs which had been let off their chains ran about among them without barking or threatening their weaker brethren with harm.