Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

"You needn't worry about the nail," he said. "It will be digested and that will be the end of it. What's a small nail? Nothing. I remember when I lived in Moscow and was painting the Bolshoi Theatre with a friend..."

"You painted the Bolshoi Theatre?" Misha asked doubtfully.

"I certainly did," Stepan Kondratyevich replied imperturbably. "We painted the Bolshoi Theatre and signed up the actors, conductors-the whole works. Well, that friend of mine swallowed a spike. It was about two inches long. No joke that."

"What happened to him?"

"Nothing. He digested it. Drank two bottles of vodka a day to help get it digested. A small nail is nothing. If I were you, I wouldn't trouble a doctor over it. You're inconveniencing a lot of people and that's all."

"Are you sorry you're helping a sick person?" Misha asked in an offended tone of voice.

"I don't mind helping if a person is really sick. But this is just nonsense."

"Then why did you go?"

"Authority."

"But you don't recognize authority."

"Compulsion."

Misha remembered the boat.

"When we were on the river in your boat, the boatman Dmitry Petrovich attacked us and wanted to take it away from us."

"Fool!" the artist replied shortly.

"Who's a fool?"

"Dmitry Petrovich. And an adventurist to boot."

"Why do you call him an adventurist?"

"Because he's looking for buried treasure. These things have gone out of existence a long time ago."

Misha looked at the artist with surprise.

"Everybody has forgotten about these treasure-troves," Stepan Kondratyevich went on, "but he keeps on looking. He's mad. And so is Sofya Pavlovna."

"Who is Sofya Pavlovna?"

"The woman who lives in the manor. The house-keeper."

"So that's who she is," Misha drawled. "I thought she was a countess."

"Countess, my foot!" the artist exclaimed and lashed the horse painfully with his whip.

The hospital was on the edge of the neighbouring village. It was a big log house with a few verandahs and entrances and there were many carts around them. Peasant women were sitting on the steps of the porch or simply on the grass. Children of all ages were running about, fighting, crying and making a general uproar.

Moaning and writhing with pain, Genka climbed down from the cart and, supported by Misha, dragged himself to the hospital. Disregarding the annoyance of the people in the long queue, they went into the surgery.

The doctor, a stout man with silver-streaked hair and a tousled beard, in pince-nez with a black ribbon that he wore over his ear, was bending over a man lying on a trestle bed. All that could be seen of the patient were his legs in huge boots. The doctor turned his face towards the boys and asked sternly:

"What's the matter?"

Misha pointed to Genka.

"He's swallowed a nail." Genka could scarcely walk. He thought that all this-the doctor and the hospital-was only a mirage and that he had quitted the world of men long, long ago.

The doctor told the man in the boots to get up, wrote out a prescription and let him go. Then, from under his pince-nez, he gave Genka a scrutinizing look.

"When did this happen?"

Genka mumbled something that was quite unintelligible.

"About an hour ago," Misha replied. "He was nailing up a poster at the club, had the nails in his mouth and swallowed one of them."

"A big nail?"

"No."

The doctor again looked at Genka. Genka read his death sentence in that look.

"Undress."

Genka began with his Young Pioneer tie. With a habitual movement of one hand he tugged at one end of the tie, holding the knot with his other hand. As his hand closed round the knot, he felt a cold metal object in his palm.

Could it be the nail? Dumbfoundedly, Genka stared at the doctor.

"Undress quickly," the doctor said, writing something in his notebook.

"In a minute," Genka mumbled.

The metal object was in the palm of his hand but he could not make up his mind to see what it was. He was quite sure it was the nail. It could not be anything else.

There was no help for it. He would have to undress. Irresolutely, he closed his hand round the object and the last of his doubts melted. So that's where it was! He had not swallowed it after all. He had dropped it and it had got stuck in his tie. A pretty kettle of fish! There was nothing wrong with him. But how was he to admit it?

Clenching the nail in his hand, he undressed slowly. When there was nothing but the underpants left on Genka, the doctor told him to lie down.

Still clenching the nail, Genka lay down on the cold sheet. The doctor sat down on the edge of the couch and put his fingers on Genka's stomach. The cold fingers made Genka shiver. He saw the eyes of the doctor looking closely at him through the pince-nez. Did the doctor suspect that he had not swallowed the nail? Genka shut his eyes and lay still, holding the nail tight in his fist and making an effort to hide the fist under his back.

The doctor pressed his stomach lightly.

"Pain?"

"No."

The doctor pressed other parts of his stomach, but all Genka felt was the cold of his fingers.

"Raise your arms slowly," the doctor ordered, "and if you feel a pain in your stomach, say so."

Genka slowly raised his arms. To avoid suspicion, he clenched the other fist as well.

His arms were already in a vertical position. He slowly began to lower them backwards. There was no pain. Automatically, he did everything the doctor ordered, realizing that the deception would be exposed sooner or later. It would have been better if he had swallowed that nail.

"Unclench your fists," said the voice of the doctor which seemed to come from afar.

Genka unclenched one fist and vainly tried to get the nail somewhere between the fingers of his other hand. He could not do it and did not unclench the fist.

"Unclench your fists," the doctor repeated, "both of them!"

Genka suddenly got up and announced:

"I've found the nail."

Both the doctor and Misha looked at him with astonishment. Then he opened his fist.

"Here it is."

"Hm. Where was it?" the doctor asked.

"In my tie. I found the nail when I began to untie it. I suppose it dropped out of my mouth into the knot."

"Why didn't you tell me at once?"

"I wanted to make sure that it was the same nail."

"Are you sure there's no pain anywhere?"

"Yes," Genka replied happily, but he did his best not to look at Misha, who was standing grim-faced near the door.

"All right," the doctor said quite peaceably. "Bend your knees a few times."

Genka did as he was told. Then, on the doctor's orders he made a few other movements, bending and turning in different directions. He obediently did all this without understanding what the doctor wanted, for he was certain the nail was not in his stomach.

The doctor went to the wash-basin and washed his hands, then told Genka to dress and sat down at his table. He wrote down Genka's name and said:

"I am sending you to the hospital in the town."

"What for?" Genka asked, open-mouthed.

"To be X-rayed."

"But there's no nail in my stomach!" cried the unhappy Genka.

"You said you wanted a check."

"But there's nothing wrong with me."

"That makes no difference. You may have the nail where you can't feel it. Temporarily, of course. There might be complications."

The doctor turned to Misha.

"Where is your camp?"

"In Karagayevo."

"In the village?"

"No, in the manor grounds."

"I see," the doctor said, giving Misha an amused look. "Looking for buried treasure?"

"What treasure?" Misha asked in surprise. "We're not looking for anything at all."

"All right, you may go. See that you take him to town today. Understand?"

"Yes," Misha replied.