What Men Live By, and Other Tales
the left again, when he perceived a damp hollow: "It would be a pity to
leave that out," he thought. "Flax would do well there." So he went on
past the hollow, and dug a hole on the other side of it before he turned
the corner. Pahom looked towards the hillock. The heat made the air
hazy: it seemed to be quivering, and through the haze the people on the
hillock could scarcely be seen.
"Ah!" thought Pahom, "I have made the sides too long; I must make this
one shorter." And he went along the third side, stepping faster. He
looked at the sun: it was nearly half way to the horizon, and he had
not yet done two miles of the third side of the square. He was still ten
miles from the goal.
"No," he thought, "though it will make my land lopsided, I must hurry
back in a straight line now. I might go too far, and as it is I have a
great deal of land."
So Pahom hurriedly dug a hole, and turned straight towards the hillock.
IX
Pahom went straight towards the hillock, but he now walked with
difficulty. He was done up with the heat, his bare feet were cut and
bruised, and his legs began to fail. He longed to rest, but it was
impossible if he meant to get back before sunset. The sun waits for no
man, and it was sinking lower and lower.
"Oh dear," he thought, "if only I have not blundered trying for too
much! What if I am too late?"
He looked towards the hillock and at the sun. He was still far from his
goal, and the sun was already near the rim. Pahom walked on and on; it
was very hard walking, but he went quicker and quicker. He pressed on,
but was still far from the place. He began running, threw away his coat,
his boots, his flask, and his cap, and kept only the spade which he used
as a support.
"What shall I do," he thought again, "I have grasped too much, and
ruined the whole affair. I can't get there before the sun sets."
And this fear made him still more breathless. Pahom went on running, his
soaking shirt and trousers stuck to him, and his mouth was parched. His
breast was working like a blacksmith's bellows, his heart was beating
like a hammer, and his legs were giving way as if they did not belong to
him. Pahom was seized with terror lest he should die of the strain.
Though afraid of death, he could not stop. "After having run all that
way they will call me a fool if I stop now," thought he. And he ran on
and on, and drew near and heard the Bashkirs yelling and shouting to
him, and their cries inflamed his heart still more. He gathered his last
strength and ran on.
The sun was close to the rim, and cloaked in mist looked large, and red
as blood. Now, yes now, it was about to set! The sun was quite low, but
he was also quite near his aim. Pahom could already see the people on
the hillock waving their arms to hurry him up. He could see the fox-fur
cap on the ground, and the money on it, and the Chief sitting on the
ground holding his sides. And Pahom remembered his dream.
"There is plenty of land," thought he, "but will God let me live on
it? I have lost my life, I have lost my life! I shall never reach that
spot!"
Pahom looked at the sun, which had reached the earth: one side of it
had already disappeared. With all his remaining strength he rushed
on, bending his body forward so that his legs could hardly follow fast
enough to keep him from falling. Just as he reached the hillock it
suddenly grew dark. He looked up--the sun had already set. He gave a
cry: "All my labor has been in vain," thought he, and was about to stop,
but he heard the Bashkirs still shouting, and remembered that though to
him, from below, the sun seemed to have set, they on the hillock could
still see it. He took a long breath and ran up the hillock. It was still
light there. He reached the top and saw the cap. Before it sat the Chief
laughing and holding his sides. Again Pahom remembered his dream, and
he uttered a cry: his legs gave way beneath him, he fell forward and
reached the cap with his hands.
"Ah, what a fine fellow!" exclaimed the Chief. "He has gained much
land!"
Pahom's servant came running up and tried to raise him, but he saw that
blood was flowing from his mouth. Pahom was dead!
The Bashkirs clicked their tongues to show their pity.
His servant picked up the spade and dug a grave long enough for Pahom
to lie in, and buried him in it. Six feet from his head to his heels was
all he needed.
Notes:
1. One hundred kopeks make a rouble. The kopek is worth about half a
cent.
2. A non-intoxicating drink usually made from rye-malt and rye-flour.
3. The brick oven in a Russian peasant's hut is usually built so as to
leave a flat top, large enough to lie on, for those who want to sleep in
a warm place.
4. 120 "desyatins." The "desyatina" is properly 2.7 acres; but in this
story round numbers are used.
5. Three roubles per "desyatina."
6. Five "kopeks" for a "desyatina."