Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

quarters, and said their prayers. After they had talked for a while, one of the guests turned to Zhílin and began to speak in Russian.

“You were captured by Kazi-Mohammed,” he said, and pointed at the red-bearded Tartar. “And Kazi-Mohammed has given you to Abdul Murat,” pointing at the dark one. “Abdul Murat is now your master.”

Zhílin was silent. Then Abdul Murat began to talk, laughing, pointing to Zhílin, and repeating, “Soldier Russ, good Russ.”

The interpreter said, “He orders you to write home and tell them to send a ransom, and as soon as the money comes he will set you free.”

Zhílin thought for a moment, and said, “How much ransom does he want?”

The Tartars talked awhile, and then the interpreter said, “Three thousand roubles.”

“No,” said Zhílin, “I can’t pay so much.”

Abdul jumped up and, waving his arms, talked to Zhílin, thinking, as before, that he would understand. The interpreter translated: “How much will you give?”

Zhílin considered, and said, “Five hundred roubles.” At this the Tartars began speaking very quickly, all together. Abdul began to shout at the red-bearded one, and jabbered so fast that the spittle spurted out of his mouth. The red-bearded one only screwed up his eyes and clicked his tongue.

They quietened down after a while, and the interpreter said, “Five hundred roubles is not enough for the master. He paid two hundred for you himself. Kazi-Mohammed was in debt to him, and he took you in payment. Three thousand roubles! Less than that won’t do. If you refuse to write, you will be put into a pit and flogged with a whip!”

“Eh!” thought Zhílin, “the more one fears them the worse it will be.”

So he sprang to his feet, and said, “You tell that dog that if he tries to frighten me I will not write at all, and he will get nothing. I never was afraid of you dogs, and never will be!”

The interpreter translated, and again they all began to talk at once.

They jabbered for a long time, and then the dark man jumped up, came to Zhílin, and said: “Dzhigit Russ, dzhigit Russ!” (Dzhigit in their language means “brave.”) And he laughed, and said something to the interpreter, who translated: “One thousand roubles will satisfy him.”

Zhílin stuck to it: “I will not give more than five hundred. And if you kill me you’ll get nothing at all.”

The Tartars talked awhile, then sent the servant out to fetch something, and kept looking, now at Zhílin, now at the door. The servant returned, followed by a stout, barefooted, tattered man, who also had his leg shackled.

Zhílin gasped with surprise: it was Kostílin. He, too, had been taken. They were put side by side, and began to tell each other what had occurred. While they talked, the Tartars looked on in silence. Zhílin related what had happened to him; and Kostílin told how his horse had stopped, his gun missed fire, and this same Abdul had overtaken and captured him.

Abdul jumped up, pointed to Kostílin, and said something. The interpreter translated that they both now belonged to one master, and the one who first paid the ransom would be set free first.

“There now,” he said to Zhílin, “you get angry, but your comrade here is gentle; he has written home, and they will send five thousand roubles. So he will be well fed and well treated.”

Zhílin replied: “My comrade can do as he likes; maybe he is rich, I am not. It must be as I said. Kill me, if you like⁠—you will gain nothing by it; but I will not write for more than five hundred roubles.”

They were silent. Suddenly up sprang Abdul, brought a little box, took out a pen, ink, and a bit of paper, gave them to Zhílin, slapped him on the shoulder, and made a sign that he should write. He had agreed to take five hundred roubles.

“Wait a bit!” said Zhílin to the interpreter; “tell him that he must feed us properly, give us proper clothes and boots, and let us be together. It will be more cheerful for us. And he must have these shackles taken off our feet,” and Zhílin looked at his master and laughed.

The master also laughed, heard the interpreter, and said: “I will give them the best of clothes: a cloak and boots fit to be married in. I will feed them like princes; and if they like they can live together in the barn. But I can’t take off the shackles, or they will run away. They shall be taken off, however, at night.” And he jumped up and slapped Zhílin on the shoulder, exclaiming: “You good, I good!”

Zhílin wrote the letter, but addressed it wrongly, so that it should not reach its destination, thinking to himself: “I’ll run away!”

Zhílin and Kostílin were taken back to the barn and given some maize straw, a jug of water, some bread, two old cloaks, and some worn-out military boots⁠—evidently taken from the corpses of Russian soldiers. At night their shackles were taken off their feet, and they were locked up in the barn.

III

Zhílin and his friend lived in this way for a whole month. The master always laughed and said: “You, Iván, good! I, Abdul, good!” But he fed them badly, giving them nothing but unleavened bread of millet-flour baked into flat cakes, or sometimes only unbaked dough.

Kostílin wrote home a second time, and did nothing but mope and wait for the money to arrive. He would sit for days together in the barn sleeping, or counting the days till a letter could come.

Zhílin knew his letter would reach no one, and he did not write another. He thought: “Where could my mother get enough money to ransom me? As it is she lived chiefly on what I sent her. If she had to raise five hundred roubles, she would be quite ruined. With God’s help I’ll manage to escape!”

So he kept on the lookout, planning how to run