Collected Shorter Fiction, Volume 2 полностью

Yusúf did not share his father’s feelings towards Shamil. He did not know all that had happened in the past, or if he knew it, not having lived through it he still did not understand why his father was so obstinately hostile to Shamil. To him who wanted only one thing – to continue living the easy, loose life that, as the naïb’s son, he had led in Khunzákh – it seemed quite unnecessary to be at enmity with Shamil. Out of defiance and a spirit of contradiction to his father he particularly admired Shamil, and shared the ecstatic adoration with which he was regarded in the mountains. With a peculiar feeling of tremulous veneration for the Imám he now entered the guest-chamber. As he stopped by the door he met the steady gaze of Shamil’s half-closed eyes. He paused for a moment, and then approached Shamil and kissed his large, long-fingered hand.

‘Thou art Hadji Murád’s son?’

‘I am, Imám.’

‘Thou knowest what he has done?’

‘I know, Imám, and deplore it.’

‘Canst thou write?’

‘I was preparing myself to be a Mullah—’

‘Then write to thy father that if he will return to me now, before the Feast of Bairam, I will forgive him and everything shall be as it was before; but if not, and if he remains with the Russians’ – and Shamil frowned sternly – ‘I will give thy grandmother, thy mother, and the rest to the different aouls, and thee I will behead!’

Not a muscle of Yusúf’s face stirred, and he bowed his head to show that he understood Shamil’s words.

‘Write that and give it to my messenger.’

Shamil ceased speaking, and looked at Yusúf for a long time in silence.

‘Write that I have had pity on thee and will not kill thee, but will put out thine eyes as I do to all traitors!… Go!’

While in Shamil’s presence Yusúf appeared calm, but when he had been led out of the guest-chamber he rushed at his attendant, snatched the man’s dagger from its sheath and tried to stab himself, but he was seized by the arms, bound, and led back to the pit.

That evening at dusk after he had finished his evening prayers, Shamil put on a white fur-lined cloak and passed out to the other side of the fence where his wives lived, and went straight to Aminal’s room, but he did not find her there. She was with the older wives. Then Shamil, trying to remain unseen, hid behind the door and stood waiting for her. But Aminal was angry with him because he had given some silk stuff to Zeidát and not to her. She saw him come out and go into her room looking for her, and she purposely kept away. She stood a long time at the door of Zeidát’s room, laughing softly at Shamil’s white figure that kept going in and out of her room.

Having waited for her in vain, Shamil returned to his own apartments when it was already time for the midnight prayers.

XX

HADJI Murád had been a week in the major’s house at the fort. Although Márya Dmítrievna quarrelled with the shaggy Khanéfi (Hadji Murád had only brought two of his murids, Khanéfi and Eldár, with him) and had turned him out of her kitchen – for which he nearly killed her – she evidently felt a particular respect and sympathy for Hadji Murád. She now no longer served him his dinner, having handed that duty over to Eldár, but she seized every opportunity of seeing him and rendering him service. She always took the liveliest interest in the negotiations about his family, knew how many wives and children he had, and their ages, and each time a spy came to see him she inquired as best she could into the results of the negotiations.

Butler during that week had become quite friendly with Hadji Murád. Sometimes the latter came to Butler’s room, sometimes Butler went to Hadji Murád’s: sometimes they conversed by the help of the interpreter, and sometimes they got on as best they could with signs and especially with smiles.

Hadji Murád had evidently taken a fancy to Butler, as could be gathered from Eldár’s relations with the latter. When Butler entered Hadji Murád’s room Eldár met him with a pleased smile showing his glittering teeth, and hurried to put down a cushion for him to sit on and to relieve him of his sword if he was wearing one.

Butler also got to know, and became friendly with, the shaggy Khanéfi, Hadji Murád’s sworn brother. Khanéfi knew many mountain songs and sang them well, and to please Butler, Hadji Murád often made Khanéfi sing, choosing the songs he considered best. Khanéfi had a high tenor voice and sang with extraordinary clearness and expression. One of the songs Hadji Murád specially liked impressed Butler by its solemnly mournful tone and he asked the interpreter to translate it.

The subject of the song was the very blood-feud that had existed between Khanéfi and Hadji Murád. It ran as follows:

‘The earth will dry on my grave,

   Mother, my Mother!

  And thou wilt forget me!

And over me rank grass will wave,

   Father, my Father!

  Nor wilt thou regret me

When tears cease thy dark eyes to lave,

   Sister, dear Sister!

  No more will grief fret thee!

‘But thou, my Brother the elder, wilt never forget,

          With vengeance denied me!