Russian fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, Russian -- Translations into English
"Will you have your lunch now?" asked Nikíta at this juncture,
approaching me unseen in the darkness, and, as I could perceive, vexed
at the presence of a guest. "Nothing but curd dumplings, there's none
of the roast beef left."
"Has the captain had his lunch yet?"
"He went to bed long ago," replied Nikíta gruffly. "According to my
directions, I was to bring you lunch here and your brandy." He muttered
something else discontentedly, and sauntered off to his tent. After
loitering a while longer, he brought us, nevertheless, a lunch-case;
he placed a candle on the lunch-case, and shielded it from the wind
with a sheet of paper. He brought a saucepan, some mustard in a jar,
a tin dipper with a handle, and a bottle of absinthe. After arranging
these things, Nikíta lingered around us for some moments, and looked
on as Guskof and I were drinking the liquor, and it was evidently very
distasteful to him. By the feeble light shed by the candle through the
paper, amid the encircling darkness, could be seen the seal-skin cover
of the lunch-case, the supper arranged upon it, Guskof's sheepskin
jacket, his face, and his small red hands which he used in lifting the
patties from the pan. Every thing around us was black; and only by
straining the sight could be seen the dark battery, the dark form of
the sentry moving along the breastwork, on all sides the watch-fires,
and on high the ruddy stars.
Guskof wore a melancholy, almost guilty smile, as though it were
awkward for him to look into my face after his confession. He drank
still another glass of liquor, and ate ravenously, emptying the
saucepan.
"Yes; for you it must be a relief all the same," said I, for the sake
of saying something,--"your acquaintance with the adjutant. He is a
very good man, I have heard."
"Yes," replied the cashiered officer, "he is a kind man; but he can't
help being what he is, with his education, and it is useless to expect
it."
A flush seemed suddenly to cross his face. "You remarked his coarse
jest this evening about the ambuscade;" and Guskof, though I tried
several times to interrupt him, began to justify himself before me, and
to show that he had not run away from the ambuscade, and that he was
not a coward as the adjutant and Capt. S. tried to make him out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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