Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. But the old woman made no move to come down to them. Thus they stood silent and motionless: the old woman at the top of the stairs, the headmaster and the boys at the bottom.

Calmly and with the disapproval that Misha had come to recognize, Boris Sergeyevich gazed at the old woman, at her face framed in grey hair, aquiline nose and ash-coloured eyebrows. Misha saw that the "countess" was beginning to quail before that stare, that her big round eyes were filling with alarm and hatred.

The longer Misha watched this scene, the more he came to like Boris Sergeyevich's self-assurance and composure. The strange part of it was that Korovin, too, comported himself as though this woman was not there at all.

At last, the old woman asked:

"What can I do for you?"

"Would you please come down," said Boris Sergeyevich in the tone of a school-teacher who knows he will be obeyed.

The old woman went down a few steps and stopped, two or three steps above Boris Sergeyevich and the boys.

Then she haughtily said:

"I am listening."

There was no reply. Boris Sergeyevich did not seem to see her. Misha was delighted with his self-control. This was what a real leader should be like! Says nothing, not a word, only gives orders. This was a model to take after!

Boris Sergeyevich spoke only after the "countess" had taken a few more steps and was on the same level with him.

"I am the headmaster of Children's Home No. 116. Would you please tell me who you are?"

"The curator of this estate."

"Splendid. We are planning to establish a children's labour commune here. I should like to see the house."

The old woman suddenly shut her eyes. Misha felt his heart miss a beat because he thought she would drop down dead. But nothing of the sort happened. She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, then opened them and said:

"This house is a historical monument. I have a safeguard for it."

"Let me see it," Boris Sergeyevich said dryly.

The old woman drew a paper from under her shawl, held it for a moment, then handed it to Boris Sergeyevich.

He took it and, wrinkling his brows as was his wont, began to read.

Craning his neck over Boris Sergeyevich's shoulder, Misha glanced at the paper.

In the top left corner it had a large overspreading seal that looked like a blot made with violet ink. The text was typewritten. SAFEGUARD was printed in capital letters, and below that, in ordinary letters, it read: "This is to certify that as a historical monument the manor in the former estate of Karagayevo is under the protection of the State. No organization or individual may use the manor without special permission from the Gubernia Department of Public Education. Violation of this safeguard will be regarded as damage to valuable state property and will entail punishment in accordance with the laws of the Republic. Serov, Deputy Director of the Gubernia Department of Public Education."

"All correct," Boris Sergeyevich said, returning the paper, "but a commune will be organized here all the same."

"You have no business ordering me around," the old woman said with a toss of her head, "and I would ask you not to bother me again."

She turned, went up the stairs and disappeared behind the tall oaken door.

Boris Sergeyevich walked round the manor, then inspected the sheds, the stables, the pond and the fields beyond the manor. Korovin, too, gazed long and attentively at the fields. Then Boris Sergeyevich said:

"Landlords near Moscow in the sixth year of the Revolution. Amazing!"

Before leaving the grounds, Boris Sergeyevich turned and looked at the manor again. The boys stopped too. In the dazzling rays of the setting sun, the bronze bird shone as though it were made of gold. If looked down with round, wicked eyes and seemed ready to tear off its perch and swoop down on them.

"A very striking bird," Boris Sergeyevich observed.

"Just an ordinary eagle," Misha said.

"You think so?" Boris Sergeyevich replied with, as it seemed to Misha, a shade of doubt in his voice.

Boris Sergeyevich and Korovin took the train to Moscow. Genka and the Bleater were due in an hour. Although Misha still hoped they had found the fugitives in Moscow, he could not help feeling that it was Igor and Seva who had taken Senka's raft and gone down the river on it. Still, you could never tell.

Genka and the Bleater arrived and announced that Igor and Seva were not in Moscow.

Genka pretended he was very tired though it was the Bleater who had carried both sacks. He had shouldered one of them only when they were nearing the camp to show that he had done his share.

The boys had brought quite a lot of bread: quarter and half loaves and even two whole loaves.

"I insisted on outside pieces," Genka boasted. "When anybody tried to give me the middle, I said I couldn't take it because the bread was not properly baked and could cause stomach trouble." He accompanied his words with theatrical gestures.

Kit, who was inspecting the contents of the sacks, drew out a few bags of groats, a packet of dried fruit and some flour. The flour brought him visions of pancakes.

"These groats will last us for a long time," Genka held forth. "Sparingly used, they'll last us till the end of the summer if Kit doesn't eat them raw. Our weak point is sugar. Nobody coughed up with that. But there are some sweets."

Misha ordered the sweets, which had got stuck together, to be counted and rationed out two a day to each member of the troop: for the morning and evening tea.

Meanwhile Kit, who was continuing his inspection, produced a piece of pork fat, a packet of herring, butter wrapped in wax-paper, and about two dozen hard-boiled eggs.

In addition, Genka handed Misha a sum of money-thirty-eight roubles.

"Quite a good haul," Misha noted approvingly. "So you see, Genka, what it means to send you."

Genka wanted to announce whose parents had given what, but Misha stopped him.

"This is a pool and it is not important to know who contributed to it. The moment the supplies are in the sack they belong to the troop. Better tell us what you learned at Igor's and Seva's."

"We went to Seva's mother," Genka began, "and after we had said good morning I told her that we had come for supplies. She wanted to know how Seva was doing and I said that he was all right and having a lot of fun. Then she asked, 'When is he planning to come home?' I said he'd be home very soon. She seemed surprised so I told her he would be coming for books. 'Very well,' she said, 'give him my love.' We said good-bye and left. About the same thing happened at Igor's."

"About, but not the same," interjected the Bleater, the fighter for truth and justice.

"Here it comes," Genka muttered.

"What happened at Igor's?" Misha demanded, suspecting that Genka had got into some sort of trouble.

"As soon as we left Seva's mother," the Bleater began, "Genka said, 'There's something fishy about the way Seva's mother spoke to us. I have a feeling that Seva is at home, hiding from us, and that he told his mother to keep mum about it. We'll be cleverer at Igor's. They won't take us in so easily.' I warned him that he'd spoil everything. I warned you, didn't I?"

"Get it off your chest and be done with it," Genka said gloomily "I'll have my say later."

"Well, then," the Bleater went on, "when we arrived at Igor's only his grandmother was in-his mother was away at work. 'Now watch me twist her round my little finger,' Genka whispered to me. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen and said, 'Hello, we've come to see Igor.' The grandmother replied, 'Igor is not at home, he is in the camp.' Then Genka winked at her and said, 'Don't be afraid of us. We've run away from the camp, too. We must see Igor and plan what to do next.' The grandmother stared at us, obviously not understanding what Genka was talking about, but he kept on, 'Now tell us quickly where we can find Igor, we're in a hurry.' The old lady became speechless, gulped, then began to wail, 'Good gracious! That means our poor little Igor has run away from the camp! Where has he gone to? Where is he? What are we to do? His mother must be told right away! We must run to the militia!' Isn't that right, Genka, isn't that how it was?"