Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“Oh, Ivan Semenovich, don’t! You scare me… I…”

“Shut up!”

Biting her lips to draw blood, Lida cowered, silenced. She was so badly frightened she could not have uttered a single sound, even if she wanted to: she just swallowed sobs and shuddered from time to time; tears kept pouring from her eyes — she could not keep them back, hard as she tried.

She could still hear the frenzied shouts of the priests and heart-rending wails mingled with the beat of the tambourines and shrieking of the fifes. It seemed she was seeing the face of Ivan Semenovich, twisted with fury, looming above her. She could not get rid of the image of this face and the clenched fist raised high. She had never felt such dejection, loneliness, and hurt.

Ivan Semenovich let go of Lida’s shoulder and stood looking at her cowering on the floor, suddenly turned into a little girl, piteous, her stooping back shaking with sobs. He slowly lowered his hand and was about to touch her golden hair. He wanted so much to pat her on the back, to say something soothing but he restrained himself: it was not the time to start comforting her, no matter how much he wanted. His heart was heavy: he had had to threaten a woman, and so mercilessly at that — something he thought he would never have to do. But he felt that if he relented now, Lida would have another fit of hysterics, moved by self-pity. And then she might rush out and do something that would destroy them both.

Ivan Semenovich heaved a sigh: the scene had cost him much: his hands twitched nervously, and his throat was constricted as though he was about to burst into tears himself.

He stared down at the gentle girl with much too soft a heart, smitten with pity for her. How could he have brought himself to threaten her? Now he himself had the problem of keeping self-control and not breaking down… But what else could he have done? He had had to stop Lida’s hysterics, to prevent her from dashing out…

Ivan Semenovich was standing by Lida’s side. She seems to be quieted down, he thought. Noiselessly he moved away and slowly walked into his corner, sat down, filled and lit his pipe.

The shouting outside seemed to lose its intensity; the tambourine beat went on but slackened. Ivan Semenovich inhaled the smoke deeply, and it was very pleasant to feel tobacco smoke spread its tranquilizing effect through his veins. He glanced at Lida: the girl was lying down now, motionless; her shoulders had stopped shuddering; only muffled sobs could be heard once in a while. Very soon, though, she began breathing evenly: she must have slipped from her overexcited state into sleep.

Ivan Semenovich sat in his corner looking out the opening in the felt cover long after his pipe had stopped smoking and the wagon had begun rolling again. He could hear the voices of the Scythians urging the horses on and the tall grass swishing under the wagon wheels; through the opening, he could see the unending strip of the woods in the distance beyond which cliffs rose steeply. The heavy gray clouds hid the tops of the cliffs as they always did here. It was very difficult to believe there was a stone ceiling above the clouds — hundreds of meters of rock that separated this underground world from the world he could call his own, real and bathing in sunlight…

Artem and Dmitro Borisovich were hiding somewhere in the forest. He wondered what they were doing at the moment. How was Dmitro Borisovich, this hot-tempered, straightforward adult with the soul of a child, who was so helpless in these wild conditions, adjusting to the brutality of the Scythians? Ivan Semenovich did not think it would be too much of a problem for Artem to adjust, as he had proven that he could stand up for himself and for others; just think how radically he had been transformed from a sloppy, awkward youth into an intrepid, determined and resourceful young man! It was a good example of what a sudden change in circumstances could do: something that had been hidden deep in his soul had surfaced and turned into resoluteness, stalwartness, fearlessness, sound reasoning… A very nice boy, Artem!

Suddenly somebody embraced his neck making him start violently; he turned around to discover Lida.

Her green eyes were gazing at the geologist, an embarrassed smile on her lips. She was eager to speak but something held her back.

“I did not see you wake up,” Ivan Semenovich said in the most gentle voice he could master. What if he had overdone it and had been too harsh on her in his attempts stop her hysterics?

“Ivan Semenovich, I feel so bad about my behavior… I’m sorry I didn’t keep control of myself… I just couldn’t… I’m ashamed… I can’t look you straight in the eye…”

“All right, let’s not speak about it. It’s over and done with. Look up at the sky instead. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? Have you? See those wonderful clouds? Aren’t they just magnificent?”

The girl waved all this aside.

“I’m sorry but I think I can see only the usual gray sky and no magnificent clouds… just the usual overcast gray. Where did you see those clouds you spoke of?”

Ivan Semenovich looked right, then left, and said: “Strange, nothing unusual to be seen indeed… Very strange… I’m sure I saw them just a minute ago… they were so beautiful…”

“Oh, Ivan Semenovich, except for these low-hanging clouds, what else could you expect to see here?”

“Yes, maybe you’re right, maybe…”

“You were talking about the clouds just to change the subject! I know you were!”

“You think so? I don’t think I did it on purpose…”

“Let’s not ever bring it up again, please… I feel so ashamed, really…”

“Bring up what? The clouds?”

“No, of course not! You know what I mean.”

“Ah, but if you keep coming back to it every other minute, I’ll talk about it every day, ten times a day rather. And I’ll tell Artem too!”

“Oh no, don’t! I’ll never do it again. I’ll… Oh, who’s that?”

A woman’s head appeared in the opening — the slave woman brought sour milk for the captives. She put the earthen jar on floor and glanced quickly around.

“She’s up to something.”

After she ascertained that there was no one in the wagon except the outlanders, the slave pulled a tiny piece of paper from the folds of her dress. She gave it to Lida and made several gestures as if to say: give me your letter in return for this one for the men in the forest, to which she pointed with her finger. Then the slave crouched with her back to the opening in a posture typical of a slave waiting for orders.

“It’s a message from Artem!” Lida exclaimed, bubbling over with joy.

“And what does he say in his message?”

“Yes, I’ll read it now!” Lida said hurriedly in her excitement. “It says: ‘Why don’t you write? We’re worried. Has Hartak made any moves yet? Ronis told us that Hartak had already secured Dorbatay’s consent for his marriage to you to take place before the end of the journey. Write back at once and tell us what’s going on. Have you learnt the Greek text by heart? Mind you, very much may depend on it. We’re doing fine here. Many more people have joined Varkan and Ronis here in the forest, so we’re a large force now. The time of your rescue is drawing near. I expect you to write me a detailed account of everything. I’m particularly eager to learn what you think of my personal…’”

Lida abruptly halted and burst into a fit of coughing.

“Is there anything else there?” the geologist asked archly.

’“…of the personal… errr… affairs I mentioned to you in my previous letter.’ That’s all, Ivan Semenovich,” the girl said, trying to make her voice sound natural and sincere — in fact it sounded much too natural and much too sincere. Color mounted treacherously in her cheeks.