Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

Finally, the attendant hobbled his way round a corner. Slava took up his post. Misha lifted the rope, went to the bronze bird and began to feel for the hiding-place. But there was no sign of it. Then, carefully, he began to touch the bird's head, wings, neck and legs, trying to find if any of these parts could be screwed off or opened. But nothing opened and nothing could be screwed off. Misha twisted, pulled, pressed, but nothing happened. Then he tried to lift the bird-perhaps the hiding-place was in the pedestal. But the bird was fixed securely to the pedestal.

A bell rang. It was closing time.

Misha feverishly pulled the bird, but without result.

Slava again made a warning sign. Misha barely managed to jump clear of the rope. The girls...

When they passed by, Misha again lifted the rope, but another warning signal came from Slava. There was really no need for the signal because Misha heard the shuffling footfalls of the attendant.

"We're closing," he said and stood waiting for the boys to go.

There was nothing they could do but go out.

Groaning and sighing, the attendant closed the door behind them.

It was already dark when the boys left the museum. It had certainly been a full day for them. And they had accomplished a lot. First, they had saved the camp. Second, they found that the boatman was spying on the "countess." Then they had discovered that the old woman was using the bronze bird in the museum as a hiding-place. They had not found the hiding-place, but that was now only a question of time. Another trial or two and they would find it.

True, they had missed their train. Now they had to wait for the morning train, but that was no trouble at all, for it was summer and they could find a bed beneath any shrub.

Animatedly discussing the events of the day, they walked to the end of the street and stopped. Misha proposed going to the town park and spending the night on one of the benches.

"I don't like the idea," Slava said, "after all, we're not tramps."

"What do you suggest?"

"That we sleep in the railway station."

"First, it's dirty there; second, they won't let us in. If you don't want to go to the park, we can go to the cathedral. There's a little garden near it and we can sleep there."

"All right," Slava agreed.

Just as the boys turned to go, they saw the boatman standing before them.

"Ho!" he said, smiling his hateful smile. "Greetings to old friends!"

"How do you do," replied Slava, polite even to the man whom only a few days ago he had thrown out of a boat.

Misha was silent, glancing sullenly at the boatman.

"Been taking the day off?" the boatman asked, still smiling.

"What business is it of yours?" Misha snapped at him.

The boatman shook his head disapprovingly.

"Ai-ai-ai... Why so rude? I meet fellow villagers, you might say, and the least I can do is to come up and say hello. Or are you nursing a grudge against me?"

"We've got no grudge," Misha muttered.

"I thought you had. Glad I'm wrong. No reason why you should bear a grudge against me. You gave me a bath in the river, but, you see, I've got no hard feelings."

He laughed, but there was no mirth about his laugh. His eyes regarded the boys watchfully.

"Going back to the camp?"

"Yes."

"But the last train has gone."

"There's an additional, night train," Misha lied. "Is that so?" the boatman said with mock surprise. "I didn't know. I thought I'd have to spend the night in town. Fine! That means I'll go home."

Together with Misha and Slava he strode off towards the railway station.

The boys had no idea how they were going to shake him off. But the railway station was the only place they could go to. There was no night train. Even if there were, they would never have gone together with the boatman, for that would have meant going with him from the siding to the camp through the woods at night. He'd put a knife through you before you'd realise what was happening...

The only people in the dimly-lit station were a few passengers, who were dozing on the wooden high-backed benches, clutching their bundles, bags and suitcases.

"It looks as though there's no train after all," the boatman said, grinning faintly to show that he had not been fooled: he had known all the time that there was no train.

"Looks like it," Misha said imperturbably, sitting down on a bench.

Slava sat down beside him.

"We must think of something," the boatman said with affected anxiety. "I'll tell you what: I have some friends living nearby. They'll be pleased to let us stay overnight."

"We're quite comfortable where we are," Misha replied firmly.

The boatman made an effort to persuade them, now promising a good dinner and a soft bed, now warning them that the station would anyway be closed at midnight and they would have to sleep in the street. But the boys flatly refused the boatman's offers and it was clear that they would not go anywhere.

The boatman showed no intention of leaving the station without them.

The clock struck nine, then ten, eleven. Dmitry Petrovich tried to question them about their troop and camp, but the boys, resting against the wooden back of the bench, dozed or pretended to be dozing.

Now and then an express or a freight train rumbled through the station. Red and green lights flicked past the great windows and the white lights of hand-lanterns could be seen swaying. They head the sharp whistles of the guards and the answering, drawn-out whistles of the engines. At twelve o'clock, a station attendant in an ill-fitting black coat went round the hall, shaking the sleeping passengers awake and telling them to leave the hall. But nobody rose from his seat. The militiaman on duty in the hall turned away with an air as though this was no concern of his.

A few weary hours passed. Through their drowsiness, the boys felt the vigilant gaze of the boatman. Whatever he was doing at the moment, sitting on a bench, pacing up and down the hall, or going out into the square or to the platform, the boys knew that he never let them out of his sight for a minute.

It was growing light outside, though the hour was not yet four. They saw people on the platform-greasers, weighers...

The station gradually filled with passengers. The train which Misha and Slava had wanted to take was due to leave at six o'clock. But they changed their minds about taking it, preferring to stay longer in town rather than go with the boatman. There would be another train an hour later and they would go on it.

The hour hand drew near to six. The boatman grew more and more restive. Hidden by the tall, straight back of the bench, he watched the entrance, sometimes getting up and looking at the station square from a window.

"He's waiting for the countess," Slava said quietly.

"I think so too," Misha nodded.

The "countess" came into the station, crossed the hall and went out to the platform. The boatman followed her without her noticing it. Probably to see what carriage she would get in.

Soon he returned.

"Come on, lads!" he said. "Have you got return tickets?"

"We don't need them," Misha replied.

"Stowaways," the boatman laughed.

The first bell rang.

"We're not going. We have business here," Slava said.

The boatman frowned and looked at the boys distrustfully.

"You're not going? Why?"

"We're not going, that's all," Misha said. "And in general, why do you want to know? Why are you bothering us? You have to go- well, go!"

The boatman stood in front of them, frowning.

The second bell went.

"As you like," he said and turning on his heel went out to the platform.