Lev Tolstoy
A PRISONER IN THE CAUCASUS
Sitting behind the
rider, Zhilin’s head was stuck up against the Tatar’s fetid back. All he could see
was this mighty back, and a sinewy neck, and a bluish, shaven head below a hat.
Zhilin’s head was badly smashed, and the blood had coagulated over his eyes,
but he could neither sit up straight on the horse, nor wipe away the blood. His
arms were twisted so far that his collar-bone ached.
They rode for a long
time, uphill and downhill, forded a river and continued along a track through a
valley.
Zhilin thought he would
make a mental note of the route by which he was being taken, but his eyes were
caked with blood and he could not turn.
Dusk begun to fall. They
crossed another stream, and as they rode up a stony hillside there was a smell
of smoke and dogs could be heard barking.
When they arrived at
their village, or aul, the Tatars dismounted, and Zhilin was surrounded
by the village children, who squeaked with delight and threw stines at him.
His captor drove off the
children, pulled him down from the saddle and called a workman. A Caucasian
with jutting cheekbones came, wearing only a ragged shirt that left his chest
bare. The Tatar issued some order, and the workman brought a shackle, which
consisted of two oaken blocks mounted on iron rings and fastened with a
padlock.
They unbound Zhilin’s
arms and put the shackle round his ankle, then led him to a shed, pushed him
in, and locked the door. Zhilin fell into a pile of manure. After lying for a
moment, he groped around in the dark for a more pleasant spot, and lay down.
2
Zhilin scarcely slept
all night. The nights were short, and presently he saw light appearing through
a chink. He got up, scraped at the chink to make it bigger, and peeped out.
He could see a track,
leading downhill, and to the right a Tatar hut with two trees beside it. A
black dog lay on the threshold and there was a nanny-goat with her kids,
clicking their tails. Then he saw a young Tatar girl coming up the hill,
wearing a colorful, ungirt blouse, trousers and boots. She had a caftan draped
over her head, and her back was taut as she carried a large tin pitcher of
water on top of her head and led a shaven-headed boy, dressed only in shirt, by
the hand. The girl took the water into the hut, and then the red-bearded Tatar
of the previous day came out, wearing a quilted silk beshmet, sandals on
his bare feet, and a silver dagger slung from his belt. On his head he had a
tall, black sheepskin hat, tilted backwards. He came out, stretching himself
and smoothing his red beard, then stood for a moment, ordered his workman to do
something, and went off somewhere.
Next, two fellows rode
past on horses, apparently from the watering-place, as the horses’ noses were
wet. Some more closely-cropped lads, in shirts but no trousers, came running up
to the shed in a crowd, and poked a long switch into the chink. Zhilin had but
to shoo at them and they all shrieked and took to their heels.
Zhilin was thirsty – his
throat was dry – and he wished somebody would come. Suddenly he heard the door
opening: it was the red-bearded Tatar, and with him was another man, shorter
and dark-haired. He had a ruddy, smiling face with black, shining eyes, and a
little clipped beard. He was even better dressed, in a blue silk beshmet
trimmed with silver braid, and with a large silver dagger at his belt; he wore
fine red morocco slippers, also embroidered with silver, and on top of these a
pair of stout boots. His hat was tall, and made of white sheepskin.
The Tatar with the red
beard came in, grumbled something that sounded like a curse, and leaned against
the doorpost, fingering his knife and louring at Zhilin like a wolf. But the
dark-haired one, who was lively and nimble, as though walking on springs, went
straight up to Zhilin, got down on his haunches, grinned and patted him on the
shoulder, and broke into a stream of words in his own language, clicking his
tongue and winking, and repeating the words, ‘Good, Russky! Good, Russky!’
Zhilin did not
understand anything, and said, ‘Drink, give me some water to drink!’
The black-haired one
laughed. ‘Good, Russky’, he rattled on in Tatar.
Zhilin indicated with
his lips and hands that he wanted something to drink.
The Tatar twigged at
last, laughed, and called through the door, ‘Dina!’