Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

Artem tried in vain to think of some plausible excuse or explanation, but words failed him… Dmitro Borisovich was right to censure him: only now did Artem realize that his stunt looked rather suspicious: he had done something wrong and had nothing to say in his own defense.

Dmitro Borisovich kept his gaze fastened on Artem, and noticed the young man blink in desperation. He even seemed on the verge of tears. This placated the archeologist somewhat.

“All right, tell me what you were up to, Artem. You realize I thought you were up to no good, but still, I must know what brought you here? What would you think if you were in my place?”

At last Artem worked up the courage to give a hurried account of what had happened.

“You know, Dmitro Borisovich… I wanted, you know, so very much… I was so upset yesterday, when I learned that you and Lida…. that you went together to the… when you know I’m so interested in all these things… and so I decided…”

“You decided what?”

“I decided to come here and pay you back…”

“To pay who back? Me or Lida? And how you were going to do it?”

“To pay back both you and Lida… I wanted to find something really great… and then prove that I can…”

“Can what?”

“Can find something valuable and important… But I would never keep it to myself, Dmitro Borisovich! It’d be for everyone!” Then, quite unexpectedly, even for himself, he blurted out:

“And that would stop Lida from putting on airs, that’s what!” Artem knew the moment he had finished that his confessions were not a reasonable explanation, but nevertheless his words were not lost on the archeologist.

Dmitro Borisovich burst out laughing as though he had heard something hilarious. He went on laughing for quite some time, stopping only to wipe his eyes and burst into further guffaws.

“Oh my, oh my! You’ve made me laugh, you really have! To hear such a thing coming from a college student!”

Artem’s embarrassment reached a new stage as he heard these words. He had really said something stupid… Why on earth should he have mentioned Lida?… What did that girl’s putting on airs have to do with the situation at hand?

Dmitro Borisovich removed his hat and began fanning himself with it as though he were hot. He was still laughing: it seemed only a glance at the young man’s dismayed face was enough to send him off into another fit of laughter.

At last his mirth subsided, and his face immediately grew stern. Now he would probably say something that would cut Artem to the quick.

The younger man lowered his eyes, expecting a merciless verdict. What were his chances of being acquitted when he had been found guilty of committing a horrible crime against.archeology and his friends? What would he say, this implacable archeologist?

Confessions and lectures are exchanged, the overzealous nature of archeologists described, and a mysterious stone wall is discovered, behind which is hidden a still greater mystery in the shape of a small bronze chest, which, as Artem ardently wants to believe, contains no less a treasure than the gold crown of a Scythian chieftain .

Dmitro Borisovich gave Artem another searching gaze:

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Of course, Dmitro Borisovich!” Artem uttered in a whimpering voice. “My word of honor! I’ve told you everything there was to tell! I understand it was stupid of me, but, you know, something was sort of pushing me… and I, you know’… Dmitro Borisovich, please believe me!”

The archeologist smiled. There was really nothing more to ask about. The young man’s flushed and embarrassed face with its big black eyes blinking almost like a child’s, expressed more than any words could.

“All right, young man,” Dmitro Borisovich said at last with a dismissing wave of his hand, “let’s make our peace. But you’ll have to suffer a lecture from me all the same. And don’t pull such a wry face. First, you’ve earned it as punishment and second, it’ll be of some use to you. Which means that your gloomy expression’s out of place. Oh, it’s much better now. All right, tell me frankly: do you realize what incalculable harm your ill-advised prowling in the depths of this cave could have done to science? Yes, I do mean harm, and a very serious harm indeed!”

“I have moved around very carefully in the cave. I made sure I examined the walls and ceiling before I moved on. So, if you’re worried about unexpected rockfalls, I was on my…”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” the archeologist snapped, dismissing Artem’s words with an impatient gesture. “Of course that wasn’t what I meant when I spoke of harm to science. Your being buried in a rockslide would constitute no great loss to science. One overzealous young man less, that’s all. Oh, don’t take offense, it’s only a joke. Up to now, by the way, I’ve got my hope pinned on you, Artem, thinking that in the long run you’d make a decent scholar, provided, of course, you had the proper guidance. As a matter of fact, I have quite a different kind of harm in mind, a harm that could have been done not to you or me but to our common cause, to Science. Now, since you don’t seem to comprehend what I’m talking about, you must listen to what I have to say. And I ask you kindly to be most attentive so that my words get firmly in your rash young head.”

Dmitro Borisovich sat down on a piece of rock, produced a box of cigarettes and lit one from the little white flame of the lamp.

“Have a cigarette, young man. You don’t feel like it? Let’s then talk without the traditional peace pipe. Look at these things, will you?”

The archeologist drew the miner’s lamp closer to his feet. Near it he put the box of cigarettes, to the right of it — a pencil, and on the other side — his small-sized pickaxe. He was performing all these manipulations in such a concentrated, pensive and careful manner that Artem was indeed intrigued: it was so hard to guess what this complicated arrangement was designed for.

“So, young man, attention! Let’s imagine that all these things I’ve put down here are genuine archeological artifacts. And they are lying like this somewhere in a barrow or in a cave — somewhere where they have been spotted by an observant but hot-headed, grasping young man looking for archeological finds. Someone like you, for example. So, these archeological finds are resting just here. They are lying exactly the way they were put by our very remote forefathers in accordance with their traditions and rites. And we can learn about their traditions and rites only if we examine their arrangement carefully. All the more so in our case because we are probably dealing with traditions and rites of the ancient Scythians of whom we know next to nothing. We have neither descriptions nor authoritative statements about them. Now, here comes the enthusiastic young man. He sees, right in front of him, say, a vase of extraordinary beauty…”

Dmitro Borisovich swiftly snatched the box of cigarettes from the ground.

“The young man is, no doubt, excited. This is quite understandable as he has come across a genuine archeological treasure for the first time in his life. He examines the vase and the thought of how he will impress everyone with his unexpected find flashes through his rash mind. Yes, everyone, including one certain person who is of special interest to him… yes, yes, motives of this kind cannot be disregarded! But then, our young man sees other things lying around. He puts the vase down, grabs the sword, then a remarkable jug and so on…”