Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

"All right," thought Genka to himself, "let the egg stay in my cap. But they'll never cheat me."

"Finished?" he asked.

"Yes."

"All right," Genka said, "but only on condition that we turn our backs to him. Let him look for the egg that way."

"Why?"

"So that you won't be able to make a sign."

"Suits me," Senka agreed.

They sat down with their backs to Akimka.

"Ready, Akimka!" Genka shouted. "If you say just one word to him, I'll quit."

"All right, all right," Senka muttered.

They sat without turning round. They heard Akimka's footsteps and his snuffling.

"Why are you sitting like this?" he asked.

"Go on, search," Genka said with elation in his heart.

He had the whip hand now! They had apparently worked this thing before. Senka had to show Akimka where the egg was hidden by a prearranged signal. They had never counted on being forced to turn round. Let him search.

Genka watched Senka out of the corner of his eye, fearing that the latter would give Akimka a secret sign after all. But Senka sat quietly with his hands clasped on his knee?. There was no way he could make a sign. He had fallen into Genka's trap. Now he would have to tell what he did the day before yesterday.

With their caps low over their eyes, the boys sat on the log without turning round. Akimka walked back and forth behind them and snuffled.

"Guess and be quick about it," Genka said. "I'm not going to wait a -year!"

"Don't rush me," Akimka replied.

He was snuffling somewhere quite close to Genka's ear and before Genka knew what was happening he hit him on the cap with all his might. That same instant a sticky, stinking mass oozed down Genka's freckled face into his eyes.

Mad with rage, Genka sprang to his feet and tore the cap off his head. The mass flowed more freely and pasted up his eyes. The egg was rotten. To Genka it seemed that an unbearable stench was rising from him from head to foot.

"And you said he'd never guess," Senka said, rolling with laughter. With his usual downcast look, Akimka was drawing something in the sand with the crooked nail of his toe.

Using the edge of his shirt and a tuft of grass, Genka wiped his face and head (as always, he had left his handkerchief in the tent) and said:

"All right, you win. But next time you'll hot get away with it."

"We'll see," Senka cut him short. "You think too much of yourself."

Then, altogether spitefully, he added, "Komsomols, think I care!"

It was a gloomy and downcast Genka that returned to the club.

There, work was in full swing. The boys and girls were covering the holes in the walls with boards, levelling the earthen floor, building a stage, fixing up the wings, hanging up curtains, putting in glass panes, and making benches. Some of the youngsters were writing slogans, drawing posters, arranging firs along the walls and hanging fir and paper flag garlands on the ceiling.

"Well, find out anything?" Misha asked.

"Not yet," Genka replied darkly.

"You didn't let the cat out of the bag?"

"No."

"What are those yellow spots on your face?"

"Where?" Genka ran his hand across his cheek. "Nothing. They took me in with the egg trick."

"And you fell for it?"

"I didn't know."

"You didn't know? You're a fine one!"

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"How could I know that you'd fall for such a cheap trick?" Genka was hurt.

"That's no reason to laugh! All right, I fell for it, so what? At any rate I was careful. Senka doesn't suspect anything. So you needn't worry."

"That is the main thing," Misha said in a conciliatory tone. "Don't take it to heart. We'll find out all we need. Meanwhile, take this poster and nail it to that wall."

Crestfallen, Genka took the poster, put a ladder up against the wall and with four nails in his mouth and a hammer in his hand climbed up.

As he drove in the nails the thought of the rebuff he had suffered never left his head. Everything had been running so smoothly. But now Senka would laugh at him. In front of everybody. A pleasant thought, indeed! {

Rubbing salt, into his wound in this fashion, he drove in one nail, then another. When he took the third nail out of his mouth, he found that he had lost the fourth nail. Where could it have gone to? He knew he hadn't dropped it. He counted the nails in the poster-there were exactly two, plus the nail in his hand. Then, with his tongue, he carefully felt along one cheek, then the other. No, the nail wasn't there!

A shiver ran down his spine: had he swallowed it?

They were small nails and could be easily swallowed. Slowly, Genka came down the ladder and carefully searched the floor. Perhaps he had dropped the nail? No, it was nowhere to be found. Genka straightened up and as he did so he felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach... It lasted only for an instant. As he had thought-he had swallowed the nail. What would happen now?

His eyes wide with terror, he frantically clasped his hands to his chest, then to his stomach. He thought he could feel the nail slowly sliding down his gullet. He felt a shooting pain now in one place, now in another. He was terrified that the nail would get stuck at some turning and pierce his gullet and stomach.

"What's the matter with you?" Slava asked.

Genka gulped and, hardly breathing, whispered:

"I-I-swallowed..."

"Swallowed what?"

"A-a-nail."

This terrible news was passed on to Misha, who came up, followed by Zina Kruglova, Kit and the Bleater. In a few moments, Genka was surrounded by the whole troop.

"How did it happen?" Misha demanded.

But Genka went on gulping air and with his hand showed the path of the nail in his stomach.

"Perhaps you didn't swallow it?" Misha asked hopefully.

Genka spread out four fingers and whispered:

"I had four, only three remained."

"Slap him on the back," Zina Kruglova suggested.

"Not on your life!" the Bleater shouted. "That would only make it worse: the nail would get stuck in his intestines. An emetic is the only thing that'll help."

"An emetic?" Kit exclaimed, horrified. "You're crazy! D'you think the nail can be got out as easily as all that? It'll get stuck, you can bet on that. I remember once I swallowed a bone..."

"You and your bone," Misha interrupted him. "This is no time to talk about a bone!"

"What if we put him on his head and shake him by the legs?" suggested Sasha Cuban. "That ought to get the nail out."

While all these pleasant suggestions were being made, Genka turned his head now to one of his friends, now to another.

"Take him to the district," Longshanks advised.

"What's that?" '

"The district hospital. It's in the next village."

"He'll never manage it."

"Get a horse. Ask the chairman for a cart."

Misha and Longshanks ran to the chairman of the Village Soviet. In a little while they returned with a cart. Genka was sitting in a chair and moaning, every now and then clutching at his stomach or his chest. It seemed to him that the nail was moving about his whole body, now up, now down, now to the right, now to the left...

He was carried to the cart. The artist-anarchist, Stepan Kondratyevich, was sitting in it with the reins in his hands. The chairman of the Village Soviet had told him to take Genka to the hospital. Misha went along. Before leaving, he ordered the troop to return to the club, to be careful and under no circumstances to take nails in their mouths.

All the way to the hospital Genka groaned, squirmed, clutched his stomach and shook his head. Every jolt caused him agonizing pain. He looked up at Misha so piteously that the latter's heart tore with sympathy. He was afraid Genka would die at any moment and thought that Stepan Kondratyevich was driving too slowly and was more occupied with his own reflections.