Short stories, Russian -- Translations into English
At the right and left of the slope, on the black, sodden earth, the
tents gleamed white; and behind the tents, black, stood the bare trunks
of the platane forest, which rang with the incessant sound of axes, the
crackling of the bonfires, and the crashing of the trees as they fell
under the axes. The bluish smoke arose from tobacco-pipes on all
sides, and vanished in the transparent blue of the frosty sky. By the
tents and on the lower ground around the arms rushed the Cossacks,
dragoons, and artillerists, with great galloping and snorting of horses
as they returned from getting water. It began to freeze; all sounds
were heard with extraordinary distinctness, and one could see an
immense distance across the plain through the clear, rare atmosphere.
The groups of the enemy, their curiosity at seeing the soldiers
satisfied, quietly galloped off across the fields, still yellow with
the golden corn-stubble, toward their auls, or villages, which were
visible beyond the forest, with the tall posts of the cemeteries and
the smoke rising in the air.
Our tent was pitched not far from the guns on a place high and dry,
from which we had a remarkably extended view. Near the tent, on a
cleared space, around the battery itself, we had our games of skittles,
or chushki. The obliging soldiers had made for us rustic benches and
tables. On account of all these amusements, the artillery officers,
our comrades, and a few infantry men liked to gather of an evening
around our battery, and the place came to be called the club.
As the evening was fine, the best players had come, and we were amusing
ourselves with skittles [Footnote: Gorodki]. Ensign D., Lieutenant O.,
and myself had played two games in succession; and to the common
satisfaction and amusement of all the spectators, officers, soldiers,
and servants [Footnote: Denshchiki ] who were watching us from their
tents, we had twice carried the winning party on our backs from one end
of the ground to the other. Especially droll was the situation of the
huge fat Captain S., who, puffing and smiling good-naturedly, with legs
dragging on the ground, rode pickaback on the feeble little Lieutenant
O.
When it grew somewhat later, the servants brought three glasses of tea
for the six men of us, and not a spoon; and we who had finished our
game came to the plaited settees.
There was standing near them a small bow-legged man, a stranger to us,
in a sheepskin jacket, and a papakha, or Circassian cap, with a long
overhanging white crown. As soon as we came near where he stood, he
took a few irresolute steps, and put on his cap; and several times he
seemed to make up his mind to come to meet us, and then stopped again.
But after deciding, probably, that it was impossible to remain
irresolute, the stranger took off his cap, and, going in a circuit
around us, approached Captain S.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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