Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

But Boris Sergeyevich's presence made Misha fight his sleepiness. He forced himself to continue looking at the pictures and charts showing the wealth of counts and portraying their life. One of the pictures showed a serf being flogged. He was lying on a bench with his hands and feet tied. On either side of him was a man in a red shirt, with a switch in theatrically uplifted hands, while some distance away stood the landlord himself in a gown. In his teeth he had a pipe reaching down to the ground.

A big map of the uyezd showed that the Karagayev counts had owned as much land as did two thousand peasant households. The peasants' land was painted red, and the count's-black. It stretched in a huge mass along both sides of the Utcha up to the Khalzan River, where Kuzmin was killed.

Boris Sergeyevich spent a particularly long time in front of this map and even made a copy of it. He explained to Misha that after the Revolution almost all of the Karagayev land had been given to the peasants. What was left had been taken by the village kulaks. If the labour commune was organized, the kulaks would have to return that land.

"What a hope!" Genka smirked. "Try and get something out of Yerofeyev."

There was another map. It showed what wealth the Karagayev family had had in Russia. In addition to Karagayevo, they had three other estates and, besides, mines in the Urals.

"It's outrageous!" Misha was indignant. "One man had everything, while others had nothing. That was not fair. Is it true that he had diamond mines in the Urals?"

"Yes," Boris Sergeyevich said. "The old count stubbornly looked for diamonds in the Urals. But from what I can gather he did not find anything valuable. Of course, you know that only big diamonds are valued, and he did not find any big ones. But the entire history of this family is connected with some mystery about precious stones. Somebody had murdered somebody and somebody else had gone mad. On the very eve of the Revolution, the old count was deprived of all civil rights and the property went to his son. On the whole, it was a filthy business."

"To the devil with them," Genka said. "Let's go. It's nauseating even to stand here!"

As they went through the door, Misha looked back. And as at the manor, he thought the bronze bird had a sinister look as it followed them out with its fixed gaze...

In the camp, life returned to its normal course-reveille, morning line-up, raising of the flag, work in the village, games, discussions round the fire. But the feeling that there was some mystery in the air never left Misha.

Nikolai Ribalin's guilt had not been proved, but he was still in custody. On the other hand, the boatman was walking about as though nothing were the matter. Whenever he met Misha, he grinned as though that incident on the river had never happened. Once he even winked.

The "countess" was associated with him. She was sending something to the woods. And the kulak Yerofeyev was in concert with them. Hm... He had to get to the bottom of this, for an innocent man might suffer.

But how was he to go about it? Ought he to go to the woods and find out who those men were? But where was he to look for them? Besides, it was dangerous. He would have gone if he had been alone. But what about his friends? Anything could happen and the blame would fall on him.

That meant that there was only one thing to do-to find out what the boatman took to the woods. That could be found out through Senka Yerofeyev. He had helped to carry the sacks to the boat. Naturally, he would not come out with it on his own, but it was worth while trying. He might let out a hint.

Genka supported this plan.

"But it would not be the thing for you to do it," he said. "You are the leader of the troop, and the chaps are shy of you. But I'll get Senka to talk, you may be sure of that."

"You'll blunder somewhere," Misha said doubtfully, "and that'll spoil everything."

But Genka assured him that he would be careful and wary. After all, was this his first important assignment?

Genka had no plan of action. As always, he banked on luck. The important thing was to start a conversation. When that happened he'd see how things shaped out.

The Young Pioneers were fitting out the club with the help of the village children. Senka and Akimka were the only ones who kept aloof. They sat on a pile of logs, chewing sunflower seeds and, lazily swearing, playing a game of cards. Genka stopped near them and› watched the game, pretending he was interested. "Join us," Senka invited, shuffling the cards. "I don't play cards, but I don't mind watching," Genka replied, sitting down on a log.

"Don't be afraid," Senka said with a leer. "We're not playing for money. Only for fillips."

"It's best not to play with me," Genka said importantly, "I'm rather good."

"Is that so?"

"It's the truth. Give me the pack."

Genka took the pack, shuffled it and showed a trick. The trick was simple, but Senka and Akimka were impressed. At least, that is what Genka thought. There was no mistaking the village lads' wonder.: Pleased with his success, Genka, with feigned indifference, said: "That's nothing. Just by looking at a person I can tell what he did today, yesterday or the day before yesterday."

"Whose leg are you trying to pull?" Senka said.

"I can prove it."

"All right, tell me what I did yesterday?"

"You're fast! Catch me telling you."

"Of course you won't, because you can't."

"I can't?"

"You can't!"

"I can't?"

"No."

"What if I can?" "Then tell me."

"Now listen," Genka said impressively, "if I tell you what you did yesterday, you'll tell me what you did the day before yesterday." "It's a bargain."

"Yesterday," Genka said, "you were at the windmill."

"True," Senka muttered. "You could very well have seen me."

"From where? I never go to the windmill. All I did was to look at you and guess. Now tell me what you did the day before yesterday." Senka gave Genka a sullen look. "Think you're the only one who can guess?"

"What has that got to do with it? We made a bargain and I guessed right. Now you tell me what you did the day before yesterday and I'll judge if you're telling the truth or not."

"Cunning, that's what you are! Think you're tops at guessing? Others can do it just as well."

"I can guess anything you want," Akimka said hoarsely, tracing a figure in the sand with his toe.

"What for instance?" Genka asked derisively. "Anything you like."

"He can, too," Senka put in. "Akimka can guess anything." "What?" Genka pressed.

"Anything," Senka replied and turned to Akimka. "Akimka, we'll hide something and you'll look for it. Think you can find it?" "Why not?"

"All right. Go somewhere you can't see us." Akimka shuffled off towards a shed. "Don't look back," Senka called after him. Akimka buried his face against the side of the shed. "Here," Senka whispered and produced an egg from inside his shirt, "this is an ordinary egg. See? Let him find it. He'll look for it till doomsday."

Genka regarded Senka suspiciously. What if there was an agreement between him and Akimka? They were friends, after all. They might be pulling his leg. All right, let them try!

"Let's hide it under that log," he suggested.

"No." Senka shook his head. "He'd find it at once. This is what we'll do. We'll hide it under one of our caps. Let him look for it then. He'll never find it."

Before Genka could reply, his cap was in Senka's hands. He carefully put the egg in it, put it back on Genka's head and pulled the peak well down on his forehead.

"What a lark!" Senka whispered. "He'll never find it in a million years. We'll give him five hot ones."