Part 13

Half way down the hill, where the peaceful, drowsy sound of the water in the mill-race came unintermittently to his ears, the miller suddenly stopped and struck his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Ha! What a joke it would be! It would be a grand joke, I swear! This the Day of Atonement. What if the Hebrew devil should take a fancy to our inn-keeper Yankel? But he won’t! It couldn’t possibly happen. The town is crammed with Jews, and Yankel is a tipsy old wretch, as bony as a hedgehog. Who would want him? No,” thought the miller, “I’m not lucky enough for Khapun to choose our Yankel out of thousands of others.”

Then, like a nest of ants in a turmoil, another train of thought began to pass through his head.

“Ah, Philip, Philip!” he said to himself. “It isn’t right for a Christian to think such things! Recollect yourself! Yankel would leave children behind him, as well as debts. And another reason why it is sinful: Yankel has never done you any harm. If others have reason to blame the old inn-keeper, you yourself are not guiltless of usury.”

But the miller hastily sent other and angrier thoughts to attack these last unpleasant reflections that had begun to bite his conscience like vicious dogs.

“But after all, a Sheeny is only a Sheeny, and isn’t in the same class with Christians at all. Even if I do lend money--and I do, there’s no use denying it--it’s better for Christians to pay interest to a brother Christian than to a heathen Jew.”

At that moment the last notes of the bell pealed out from the belfry.

Probably Ivan Kadilo, the bell-ringer, had gone to sleep in the church and had pulled the bell rope in his sleep, so long had he taken to sound the hour of midnight. To atone for his neglect, this last tug was so violent that the miller actually jumped as the sound came rolling over the hill, over his head, across the river, across the wood, and away over the distant fields through which wound the road to the city.

“Every one is asleep now,” the miller thought, and something gripped his heart. “Every one is asleep where he wants to be; all but the Jews crowded weeping into their churches, and I, who am standing here by my mill-pond like a lost soul, thinking wicked thoughts.”

And everything seemed very strange to him.

“I hear the sound of the bell dying away over the fields,” thought he, “and I feel as if something invisible were running, moaning, through the country. I see the woods beyond the river drenched with dew and shining in the moonlight, and I begin to wonder why they should be covered with frost on a summer’s night. And when I remember that my uncle was drowned in that pond, and how glad I was that it happened, I seem to lose heart entirely. I don’t know whether to go down to the mill or to stay where I am.”

“Gavrilo! Hey, Gavrilo!” he shouted at last. “There now! The mill is empty, and that scamp has made off to the village again after the girls.”

Philip stepped out into a bright spot of moonlight on the dam, and stood listening to the water trickling through the sluices. It seemed to him to be stealing out of the pond and creeping toward the mill-wheels.

“I had better go to bed,” he thought. “But I’ll see that everything is all right first.”

The moon had long since climbed to the zenith, and was looking down into the water. The miller wondered that the little river should be deep enough to hold the moon, and the dark blue sky with all its stars, and the little black cloudlet that was flying along all alone like a bit of down from the direction of the city.

But as his eyes were already half blind with sleep he did not wonder long. Having opened the outer door of the mill and bolted it again from the inside so that he should hear his reprobate workman when he came home, he lay down to sleep.

“Hallo, get up, Philip!” he suddenly thought to himself, and he jumped out of bed in the darkness as if some one had hit him with an axe. “I forgot that that little cloud was the same one the Jew’s servant and I saw flying toward the city, and wondered as we watched it how it could move without wind. There isn’t much wind now, and what there is isn’t coming from that quarter. Wait a minute, Philip, there’s something queer about this!”

The miller was very sleepy, but, nevertheless, he went out barefoot on to the dam, and stood in the middle of it scratching his chest and back (the mill was not free from fleas). A light breeze was blowing from the mill-pond behind him, and yet there was that little cloud flying directly in his face. Only it now no longer looked feathery-light, neither did it fly as swiftly and freely as before. It seemed to be swaying a little and falling to earth like a wounded bird. As it flew across the moon the miller at last saw very clearly what it was, for against that bright orb were silhouetted a pair of dark, flapping wings, and below them was hanging a human form with a long, quivering beard.

“Aha, here’s a pretty to do!” thought the miller. “He’s carrying one of them away. What shall I do? If I shout to him: drop it, it is mine! the poor Jew may break his neck or fall into the pond. He’s pretty high up.”

But he soon saw that the situation was changing. The devil was circling over the mill with his burden, and beginning to sink to the ground.

“He was greedy and chose a morsel too big for him,” the miller said to himself. “Now I can rescue the Jew; he’s a living soul, after all, and isn’t to be compared to a devil. Come then, God bless me, let me shout my loudest!”

But instead of shouting he strangely enough ran away from the dam as fast as his legs could carry him, and hid under the sycamores that stood like nixies at the edge of the mill-pond, bathing their green branches in its dark water. The darkness was as deep under them as in a barrel, and the miller felt sure that no one could see him. To tell the honest truth, his teeth were chattering madly and his hands and feet were trembling as the shafts trembled when his mill was running. Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist the temptation of peeping out to see what would happen next.

First the devil fell almost to earth with his prey, and then rose again above the tree-tops, but it was plain to see that his load was too heavy for him. Twice he actually touched the water, so that the ripples spread in circles from the Jew’s feet, but each time he flapped his wings, and rose again with his prey as a sea-gull rises from the water with a heavy fish. At last, after circling about two or three times, the devil fell heavily on to the dam, and lay as if dead, with the fainting Jew inanimate at his side.

And I must tell you--I had nearly forgotten it--that our friend the miller had long ago seen whom the Jewish Khapun had brought from the city. And when he recognised him--need I conceal it when he has confessed it himself?--he grew merry at heart and thought:

“Thank God, it is no other than our inn-keeper from Novokamensk! What happens next is none of my business, because I don’t think I ought to interfere in other people’s affairs. When two dogs are fighting there’s no reason a third should jump in. Again I say, let sleeping dogs lie. What if I hadn’t have happened to be here? I’m not the Jew’s guardian.”

And he also thought:

“Aha, Philipko, now your time has come in Novokamensk!”

IV

Both the unfortunate Jew and the devil lay motionless on the dam for a long time. The moon had begun to redden, and was hanging above the tree-tops as if only waiting to see what the end would be before setting. A hoarse cock crowed in the village, and a dog yelped twice. But no other cocks or dogs answered these two; it evidently still lacked some hours to dawn.

The miller was exhausted, and was already beginning to think it had all been a dream, especially as the dam now lay wrapped in profoundest darkness, so that it was impossible to distinguish what the black object lying upon it was. But when the solitary cock-crow resounded from the village the dark mass stirred. Yankel raised his head in its skull-cap, looked about him, got up, and began to steal softly away, stepping high like a stork with his thin legs, in his stocking-feet.

“Hi, there! Stop him; he’s making off!” the startled miller came near shouting, but next moment he saw the devil catch Yankel by his long coat-tails.

“Wait a bit!” Khapun cried. “There’s plenty of time yet. What a hurry you’re in! Here you are wanting to be off again before I’ve had time to rest! It’s all right for you, but what about me, who have to drag a big fellow like you along? I’m nearly dead!”

“Very well, then,” said the Jew, trying to free his coat-tails from the devil’s grasp. “Rest a little longer, and I’ll walk to my inn on foot.”

The devil jumped up in surprise.

“What’s that you’re saying?” he cried. “Do you think I have hired myself out to you as a cart to take you home from church, you hound? You must be joking!”

“Why should I be joking?” asked the wily Yankel, pretending to have no idea what the Devil wanted with him. “I am very grateful indeed to you for having brought me so far, and I can now go on quite well by myself. It is only a short way. I wouldn’t think of troubling you any more.”

The devil quivered with rage. He ran round and round on the same spot like a chicken with its head off, and knocked Yankel down with his wing. He was panting like a blacksmith’s bellows.

“Well, I never!” the miller thought. “I don’t care if it is sin to admire a devil, I do admire this one; he would never let his lawful property slip between his fingers, one can see that!”

Yankel sat up and began to yell with all his might. Even the devil could do nothing to stop him. Every one knows that as long as a Jew has a breath in his body nothing will make him hold his tongue.

“What does it matter, though?” thought the miller, looking round at his empty mill. “My man is either amusing himself with the girls or else lying drunk under a hedge.”

A sleepy frog in the mud answered Yankel’s pitiful screams with a croak, and a bittern, that foul bird of the night, boomed twice as if from an empty barrel: boo-oo, boo-oo! The moon had finally sunk behind the wood, assured that the Jew was dead and done for; darkness had fallen upon the mill, the dam, and the river, and a white mist had gathered over the pond.

The devil carelessly shook his wings, and lay down again, saying with a laugh:

“Scream as loud as you like! The mill is deserted.”

“How do you know it’s deserted?” snapped the Jew, and he began to scream for the miller.

“Mr. Miller! Oi, Mr. Miller! Golden, silver, diamond Mr. Miller! Please, please come here for one little tiny second and say three words, three little tiny words! I’ll make you a present of half the debt you owe me if you’ll only come!”

“You’ll make me a present of the whole debt!” said a voice in the miller’s heart.

The Jew stopped screaming, his head sank forward on his breast, and he burst into a fit of bitter weeping.

Again some time passed. The moon had now set, and its last rays had died out of the sky. Everything in heaven and on earth seemed wrapped in the deepest slumber; not a sound could be heard except the Jew’s low weeping and his exclamations of:

“Oh, my Sarah! Oh, my poor children! My poor little children!”

The devil felt a little rested, and sat up. Although it was dark, the miller could distinctly see a pair of horns like a young calf’s outlined against the white mist that hung over the pond.

“He looks just like ours!” thought the miller, feeling as if he had swallowed something exceedingly cold.

Then he saw the Jew nudge the devil with his elbow.

“What are you nudging me for?” asked Khapun.

“Sh, I want to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Won’t you please tell me why it is your custom always to carry off a poor Jew? Why don’t you catch a daintier morsel? For instance, there is an excellent miller living right here.”

The devil sighed deeply. Perhaps he was tired of sitting there on the edge of the pond by the empty mill; anyhow, he entered into conversation with the Jew. He raised his skull-cap--you must know that he wore a skull-cap with long ringlets hanging from underneath it, just as the servant had described him--and scratched his crown with a rasping noise like the most savage of cats clawing a board when a mouse has escaped it. Then he said:

“Alas, Yankel, you don’t know our business! I couldn’t possibly approach him.”

“And why, may I ask, would you have to take the time to approach him? I know for myself that you snatched me away before I could even yell.”

The devil laughed so merrily that he actually frightened a night-bird out of the reeds, and said:

“That’s a fact! You were easy to catch. And do you know why?”

“Why-y?”

“Because you’re a good lusty catcher yourself. I assure you there’s no other race on earth as sinful as you Jews.”

“Oi, vei, that is most surprising! And what are our sins?”

“Listen and I shall tell you.”

The devil turned to the Jew and began counting on his fingers.

“Number one. You are usurers.”

“One,” repeated Yankel, also counting on his fingers.

“Number two. You live by the blood and sweat of the people.”

“Two.”

“Number three. You sell the people vodka.”

“Three.”

“Number four. You dilute it with water.”

“Oh, let number four go! And what is the next?”

“Are four sins so few? Ah, Yankel, Yankel!”

“Oh, I don’t say four are few, I only say that you don’t know your own business. Do you think the miller isn’t a usurer, do you think the miller doesn’t live by the sweat and blood of the people?”

“Come, now, don’t pick at the miller! He’s not that kind of a man--he’s a Christian. A Christian is supposed to have pity not only on his own people but on others, too, even on Jews like you. That’s why it’s so hard for me to catch a Christian.”

“Oi, vei, what a mistake you make there!” cried the Jew gaily. “Here, let me tell you something----”

He jumped up, and the devil rose too; they stood facing one another. The Jew whispered something in the devil’s ear, motioning toward some object behind him under the sycamore tree. He pointed it out to the devil with his crooked forefinger.

“That’s number one!”

“You’re lying; it can’t be true!” the devil answered, a little startled, peering toward the trees where Philip was hiding.

“Ha, ha, I know better! Just wait a moment.”

Once more he whispered something, and then said aloud:

“Number two! And this----” again he whispered in the devil’s ear. “Makes three, as I am an honest Jew!”

The devil shook his head and answered doubtfully:

“It can’t be true.”

“Let’s make a bet. If I am right you shall let me go free when a year is up, and repay me my losses into the bargain.”

“Ha! I agree. What a joke it would be! Then I should try my power----”

“You’re getting a fine bargain, I can tell you!”

At that moment the cock in the village crowed once more, and although his voice was so sleepy that again no other bird answered him out of the silent night, Khapun shuddered.

“Here, what am I standing here gaping at you for while you tell me tales? A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Come along!”

He flapped his wings, flew a few feet along the dam, and once more fell upon poor Yankel like a hawk, burying his claws in the back of his shirt, and preparing to take flight.

Alas, how piteously old Yankel screamed, stretching out his arms toward the village and his native hut, calling his wife and children by name!

“Oi, my Sarah! Oi, Shlemka, Iteley, Movshey! Oi, Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller! Please, please save me! Say the three words! I see you; there you are, standing under the sycamore tree. Have pity on a poor Jew! He has a living soul like you!”

Very, very piteous were poor Yankel’s lamentations! Icy fingers seemed to clutch the miller’s heart and squeeze it until it ached. The devil seemed to be waiting for something, his wings fluttered like the wings of a young bustard that has not learnt to fly. He hovered silently over the dam with Yankel in his talons.

“What a wretch that devil is!” thought the miller, hiding farther under the trees. “He is only tormenting the poor Jew. If the cocks should crow again----”

Hardly had that thought entered his head than the devil laughed till the wood rang, and suddenly sprang aloft into the sky. The miller peered upward, but in a few seconds the devil appeared no larger than a sparrow. Then he glimmered for a moment like a fly, then like a gnat, and at last disappeared.

Then the miller was seized with genuine terror. His knees knocked together, his teeth chattered, his hair stood on end so high that, had he been wearing a hat, it would certainly have been knocked off his head. He never could say exactly what he did next.

V

Bang--bang!

Bang--bang--bang! Bang--bang!

Some one was knocking so loudly at the door of the mill that the whole building was filled with noisy echoes that reverberated in every corner. The miller thought the devil might have come back--he and the Jew had not whispered together for nothing!--so he only buried his head under the pillow.

“Bang--bang! Bang--bang! Hey, master, unlock the door!”

“I won’t!”

“And why won’t you?”

The miller raised his head.

“Ah, that sounds like Gavrilo’s voice. Gavrilo, is that you?”

“Who else should it be?”

“Swear that it’s you!”

“What?”

“Swear!”

“All right, then, I swear it’s me. How could I not be myself? And yet you want me to swear it! There’s a marvel for you!”

Even then the miller wouldn’t believe him. He went upstairs and peeped out of a window over the door, and there beneath him stood Gavrilo. The miller was much relieved and went down to open the door.

Gavrilo was actually staggered when the miller appeared in the doorway.

“Why, master, what has happened to you?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why on earth have you smeared your face all over with flour? You’re as white as chalk!”

“Didn’t you come across the river?”

“I did.”

“And didn’t you look up?”

“Perhaps.”

“And didn’t you see some one?”

“Who?”

“Who? Fool! The creature that nabbed Yankel the inn-keeper.”

“Who the devil nabbed him?”

“Who, indeed? Why, the Jewish devil, Khapun. Don’t you know what day this has been?”

Gavrilo looked at the miller with troubled eyes and asked:

“Have you been to the village this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Did you stop at the inn?”

“Yes.”

“Did you drink any gorelka?”

“Bah, what’s the use of talking to a fool? I did have some gorelka at the priest’s, but all the same I have just seen with my own eyes the devil resting on the dam with the Jew in his claws.”

“Where?”

“Right there, in the middle of the dam.”

“And what happened next?”

“Well, and then----” the miller whistled and waved his hand in the air.

Gavrilo stared at the dam, scratched his top-knot, and looked up at the sky.

“There’s a marvel for you! What’ll we do now? How can we get along without the Jew?”

“Why are you so anxious to have a Jew here, hey?”

“It isn’t only me. One can’t--oh, don’t argue about it, master, things wouldn’t be the same without a Jew; one couldn’t get along without one.”

“Tut, tut! What a fool you are!”

“What are you scolding me for? I don’t say I’m clever, but I know millet from buckwheat. I work in the mill, but I drink vodka at the tavern. Tell me, as you’re so clever, who will be our inn-keeper now?”

“Who?”

“Yes, who?”

“Perhaps I will.”

“You?”

Gavrilo stared at the miller with his eyes starting out of his head. Then he shook his head, clicked his tongue, and said:

“So, that’s your idea!”

The miller now noticed for the first time that Gavrilo was very uncertain on his legs and that the lads had given him another black eye. To tell the truth, the fellow looked so ugly and pale that you wanted to spit at the sight of him. He was a great hand with the girls, and the lads had more than once fallen upon him. Whenever they caught him they were sure to beat him almost to death. Of course it was no wonder they beat him; the wonder was there was ever anything for which to do it!

“There is no face in the world so ugly but some girl will fall in love with it,” thought the miller. “But they love him by threes and fours and dozens. Ugh! You scarecrow!”

“Come, Gavrilo, boy,” he nevertheless said in a coaxing voice, “come and sleep with me. When a man has seen what I have he feels a bit nervous.”

“All right, it’s all the same to me.”

A minute later a certain workman was whistling through his nose. And let me tell you, I spent the night at the mill once myself, and I have never heard any one whistle through his nose as Gavrilo did. If a man didn’t like it he had better not spend the night in the same house with him or he wouldn’t sleep a wink.

“Gavrilo!” said the miller. “Hey, Gavrilo!”

“Well, then, what is it? If I couldn’t sleep myself at least I wouldn’t keep others awake!”

“Did they beat you again?”

“What if they did?”

“Where have you been?”

“You want to know everything, don’t you? In Konda.”

“In Konda? Why did you go there?”

“Because! What else do you want to know? Hee, hee, hee!”

“Aren’t there girls enough for you in Novokamensk?”

“Bah! It makes me sick to look at them. There isn’t one there that suits me.”

“What about Galya, the widow’s daughter?”

“Galya? What do I care about Galya?”

“What, have you been courting her?”

“Of course I have; what do you think?”

The miller flounced over in bed.

“You’re lying, you hound; a plague seize your mother!”

“I’m not lying and I never lie. I leave that to cleverer men than I am.”

Gavrilo yawned and said in a sleepy voice:

“Do you remember, master, how my right eye was so swelled up for a week that you couldn’t even see it?”

“Well?”

“That devil’s child entertained me by doing that. Confound her, say I! Galya, indeed!”

“So that’s how things are, is it?” thought the miller. “Gavrilo! Hey, Gavrilo! Oh, the hound, he’s snoring again--Gavrilo!”

“What _do_ you want? Have you gone crazy?”

“Do you want to get married?”

“I haven’t made my boots yet. When I’ve made my boots I’ll think about it.”

“But I’d give you boots, and tar for them, and a hat and a belt.”

“Would you? And I’ll tell you something better still.”

“What?”

“That the cocks are already crowing in the village. Can’t you hear them going it?”

It was true. In the village, perhaps at Galya’s cottage, a shrill-voiced cock was splitting his throat shouting “cock-a-doodle-doo!”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” answered other voices from far and near like water boiling in a kettle, and all the cracks in the wall of the little room began to gleam white, even down to the tiniest chink.

The miller yawned blissfully.

“Ah, now they are far away!” he thought. “How funny it was! He flew all the way from the city to my mill while the clock was striking twelve. Ha, ha, and so Yankel has gone! What a joke! Why, if I should tell it to any one, they’d call me a liar. But why should I lie? They’ll find it out for themselves to-morrow. Perhaps I’d better not mention it at all. They would say I ought to have--but what’s the use of arguing about it? If I had killed the Jew myself, or anything like that, I should have been responsible for what happened, but as it is, it doesn’t concern me at all. What need had I to interfere? Let sleeping dogs lie, say I. A shut mouth plays safe. They won’t hear anything from me.”

So Philip the miller reasoned with himself, and tried to ease his conscience a little. It was only as he was on the verge of falling asleep that a thought crept out of some recess of his brain like a toad out of a hole, and that thought was:

“Now, Philip, now’s your time!”

This thought chased all the others out of his mind and took possession of it.

With it he went to sleep.

VI

Early next morning, while the dew is still glittering on the grass, behold the miller dressed and on his way to the village. He found the people there buzzing like bees in a hive.

“Hey! Have you heard the news?” they cried. “Only a pair of shoes came back from the city last night instead of the inn-keeper.”