Short Fiction by Vladimir Korolenko (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

“Come, now, don’t pick at the miller! He’s not that kind of a man⁠—he’s a Christian. A Christian is supposed to have pity not only on his own people but on others, too, even on Jews like you. That’s why it’s so hard for me to catch a Christian.”

“Oi, vei, what a mistake you make there!” cried the Jew gaily. “Here, let me tell you something⁠—”

He jumped up, and the devil rose too; they stood facing one another. The Jew whispered something in the devil’s ear, motioning toward some object behind him under the sycamore tree. He pointed it out to the devil with his crooked forefinger.

“That’s number one!”

“You’re lying; it can’t be true!” the devil answered, a little startled, peering toward the trees where Philip was hiding.

“Ha, ha, I know better! Just wait a moment.”

Once more he whispered something, and then said aloud:

“Number two! And this⁠—” again he whispered in the devil’s ear. “Makes three, as I am an honest Jew!”

The devil shook his head and answered doubtfully:

“It can’t be true.”

“Let’s make a bet. If I am right you shall let me go free when a year is up, and repay me my losses into the bargain.”

“Ha! I agree. What a joke it would be! Then I should try my power⁠—”

“You’re getting a fine bargain, I can tell you!”

At that moment the cock in the village crowed once more, and although his voice was so sleepy that again no other bird answered him out of the silent night, Khapun shuddered.

“Here, what am I standing here gaping at you for while you tell me tales? A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Come along!”

He flapped his wings, flew a few feet along the dam, and once more fell upon poor Yankel like a hawk, burying his claws in the back of his shirt, and preparing to take flight.

Alas, how piteously old Yankel screamed, stretching out his arms toward the village and his native hut, calling his wife and children by name!

“Oi, my Sarah! Oi, Shlemka, Iteley, Movshey! Oi, Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller! Please, please save me! Say the three words! I see you; there you are, standing under the sycamore tree. Have pity on a poor Jew! He has a living soul like you!”

Very, very piteous were poor Yankel’s lamentations! Icy fingers seemed to clutch the miller’s heart and squeeze it until it ached. The devil seemed to be waiting for something, his wings fluttered like the wings of a young bustard that has not learnt to fly. He hovered silently over the dam with Yankel in his talons.

“What a wretch that devil is!” thought the miller, hiding farther under the trees. “He is only tormenting the poor Jew. If the cocks should crow again⁠—”

Hardly had that thought entered his head than the devil laughed till the wood rang, and suddenly sprang aloft into the sky. The miller peered upward, but in a few seconds the devil appeared no larger than a sparrow. Then he glimmered for a moment like a fly, then like a gnat, and at last disappeared.

Then the miller was seized with genuine terror. His knees knocked together, his teeth chattered, his hair stood on end so high that, had he been wearing a hat, it would certainly have been knocked off his head. He never could say exactly what he did next.

Bang⁠—bang!

Bang⁠—bang⁠—bang! Bang⁠—bang!

Someone was knocking so loudly at the door of the mill that the whole building was filled with noisy echoes that reverberated in every corner. The miller thought the devil might have come back⁠—he and the Jew had not whispered together for nothing!⁠—so he only buried his head under the pillow.

“Bang⁠—bang! Bang⁠—bang! Hey, master, unlock the door!”

“I won’t!”

“And why won’t you?”

The miller raised his head.

“Ah, that sounds like Gavrilo’s voice. Gavrilo, is that you?”

“Who else should it be?”

“Swear that it’s you!”

“What?”

“Swear!”

“All right, then, I swear it’s me. How could I not be myself? And yet you want me to swear it! There’s a marvel for you!”

Even then the miller wouldn’t believe him. He went upstairs and peeped out of a window over the door, and there beneath him stood Gavrilo. The miller was much relieved and went down to open the door.

Gavrilo was actually staggered when the miller appeared in the doorway.

“Why, master, what has happened to you?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why on earth have you smeared your face all over with flour? You’re as white as chalk!”

“Didn’t you come across the river?”

“I did.”

“And didn’t you look up?”

“Perhaps.”

“And didn’t you see someone?”

“Who?”

“Who? Fool! The creature that nabbed Yankel the innkeeper.”

“Who the devil nabbed him?”

“Who, indeed? Why, the Jewish devil, Khapun. Don’t you know what day this has been?”

Gavrilo looked at the miller with troubled eyes and asked:

“Have you been to the village this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Did you stop at the inn?”

“Yes.”

“Did you drink any gorelka?”

“Bah, what’s the use of talking to a fool? I did have some gorelka at the priest’s, but all the same I have just seen with my own eyes the devil resting on the dam with the Jew in his claws.”

“Where?”

“Right there, in the middle of the dam.”

“And what happened next?”

“Well, and then⁠—” the miller whistled and waved his hand in the air.

Gavrilo stared at the dam, scratched his topknot, and looked up at the sky.

“There’s a marvel for you! What’ll we do now? How can we get along without the Jew?”

“Why are you so anxious to have a Jew here, hey?” ‘

“It isn’t only me. One can’t⁠—oh, don’t argue about it, master, things wouldn’t be the same without a Jew; one couldn’t get along without one.”

“Tut, tut! What a fool you are!”

“What are you scolding me for? I don’t say I’m clever, but I know millet from buckwheat. I work in the mill, but I drink vodka at the tavern. Tell me, as you’re so clever, who will be our innkeeper now?”

“Who?”

“Yes, who?”

“Perhaps I will.”

“You?”

Gavrilo stared at the miller with his eyes starting out of his head. Then he shook his head,