Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

The smile spread no farther than his lips. The ends of his sharp, narrow moustache bristled diabolically, while his cold blue eyes regarded the boys fixedly, with suspicion. The boatman's smile had always repelled Misha, but now it was particularly repulsive.

"No, just taking a ride," Misha replied calmly.

With the smile still on his lips, the boatman seized hold of the boys' boat and slowly pulled it towards him.

Misha soon saw that the boatman wanted to reach the chain, so he pinned it firmly to the bottom with his foot.

His smile seemingly fixed on his lips, the boatman cast an evaluating glance at the boys. Before him sat four strong and to all intents grown-up lads. His expression showed that he was deliberating his next step.

"So Longshanks is also with you, eh?" he said.

Misha kept silent. Nobody said anything for a full minute.

The boatman held the boys' boat fast by its bow.

"I seem to know this boat," he said.

"You probably do," Misha replied. "It belongs to Kondraty Stepanovich."

"Is that so?" he said derisively, at last seizing the iron ring to which the chain was attached. "Kondraty Stepanovich you say?" he asked, and Misha felt the chain being pulled slowly.

He pressed it harder with his foot.

"Yes, Kondraty Stepanovich," he repeated, not understanding what the boatman was driving at.

"Interesting," the boatman drawled in a mocking tone of voice. "Kondraty Stepanovich went on a fishing trip this morning. In his own boat, I saw him myself."

Misha could of course have reminded him who he actually saw this morning. But that was out of the question, and he said:

"I don't know who you saw, but Kondraty Stepanovich let us use his boat and this is it."

Still smiling, the boatman shook his head.

"I see... You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, comrades, ashamed. I would never have expected it of Komsomols."

He gave the chain another tug, but Misha held it firmly pressed to the bottom with his foot.

"What do you mean?" Misha frowned. "Why should we be ashamed of ourselves?"

"It is a bad thing when young people are liars," the boatman said reproachfully. "It's wrong to shield a criminal. I know whose boat this is."

"Whose?" Misha challenged.

"This boat belongs to Kuzmin, who was murdered here yesterday. His brother killed him," the boatman said, pointing at Longshanks. "The militia's looking for it and here you're hiding it... Bad. Very bad."

The accusation was so ridiculous and Misha was so amazed that he forgot about the chain. Just then the boatman jerked the chain with all his strength. Misha fell and in falling tried to catch hold of the chain, but missed. With a satisfied grin, the boatman wound the chain round a hook on the stern of his boat and pushed off. The chain grew taut. To get it back the boys now had to scramble into Dmitry Petrovich's boat.

"Bad, bad," the boatman repeated superciliously. "Longshanks naturally wants to help his brother-I can understand that, but it does not become you Komsomols. I'm afraid, my dear friends, that you shall have to return to the village."

"What right have you got?" Misha cried, trembling with anger.

"It is everybody's duty to help the law," the boatman replied mockingly.

Meanwhile, though the current was slow, it carried both boats towards the bank.

That was what Misha feared the most. If Dmitry Petrovich succeeded in wedging their boat against the bank, he might by some means or other call his men from the woods and the boys would be at their mercy. There was not a moment to be lost.

The boats came to rest against the bank. Misha jumped to the bow.

"Let go, do you hear!"

"I'd be glad to, but I can't," the boatman laughed.

Misha did not let him finish. He jumped into the boat and seized the chain.

"Keep your hands off!" the boatman roared, springing to his feet and raising his oar.

With a single movement, Misha tore the chain off the hook and threw it back into his own boat. Then he straightened up. "Hit me! Just try!"

Dmitry Petrovich stood in his boat with oar raised high, his pale face convulsed with fury. He would have hit Misha, but Genka and Slava were already climbing into his boat. Genka leaned all his weight on the side so that the boat took a list. The boatman nearly lost his balance.

"Back, you scoundrels!" he shouted.

He bent towards Genka, trying to reach him with his oar, but Slava, quiet, timid Slava, tackled him from the other side, grabbing his legs and jerking them towards him. Dmitry Petrovich tumbled into the water.

"Back!" Misha cried.

The boys hurriedly climbed into their boat. Dmitry Petrovich made after them, cursing loudly. Longshanks, who was shaking with fear, stared wildly at him. "Row! "Misha yelled.

Hurriedly, getting their oars entangled again and again, Genka and Slava began to row. The boatman was almost upon them. He stretched out an arm for the stern but missed. Genka and Slava struck the water once, twice... The boat began to pick up speed. The distance between it and the boatman rapidly widened. For some time, Dmitry Petrovich stood in the shallow water, then turned and waded back to the bank.

The boys went faster and faster, turning round one bend, then another. They passed the tree beneath which they had concealed themselves to watch the boatman. Then they left the two white stones behind them. The next bend was followed by a long straight stretch extending away from the woods. Now they were safe from pursuit.

Nevertheless, they went on rowing with might and main, breathing heavily and glancing back. It seemed to them that the boatman would again appear from behind the bend, and that he would not be alone but with the two young men he had left in the woods.

The fear that had at first given Genka and Slava strength, began to pass. They suddenly felt completely played out and declared that they could not row another stroke. Misha and Longshanks relieved them.

Once he found himself sitting in the stern, Genka broke the long silence. He gave Slava a look that was at once friendly and derisive, and said:

"What do you think of Slava, eh? The way he tackled the boatman. Never thought he had it in him."

There was no reply.

"But our Longshanks went into a blue funk," Genka continued. "His heart slipped down to his boots."

"What did you have to worry about?" Longshanks said, flushing red. "You'll go back to Moscow and forget all about it, but my mother and I have to live here."

"What of it?"

"They may cut our throats, that's what!" Longshanks replied with conviction.

"Rubbish," Genka scoffed.

"It is not. This is not Moscow. They'll knife you in no time. It won't be the first case, either."

"Who are you talking about and who have they killed?" Misha asked.

In reply, Longshanks sniffed and rowed with greater vigour.

"I can't understand why the boatman worried us," said Slava, who was sitting in the stern. "Does he really think this is Kuzmin's boat?"

"What a dunce you are!" Genka cried. "Do you imagine he doesn't know whose boat this is?"

"Kuzmin's has two oars and this is a four-oar boat. There isn't another like it in our village," Longshanks said.

"You see!" Genka put in. "There's something deep in this, I tell you."

"What?"

"He was afraid we would go into the woods and see those two men with the sacks. That's what he was afraid of. No wonder the boat station seemed crooked to me."

"That would be correct under only one condition," Slava said.

"What condition?"

"That there's something secret in those sacks."

Genka lifted his arms in a theatrical gesture.

"You're impossible! We're on the track of a gang of bandits and yet you're doubting! That man wanted to drown us, but to you it seems that nothing has happened. I can't understand you."