TAMAN is the nastiest little hole of all the seaports of Russia.I was all but starved there,to say nothing of having a narrow escape of being drowned.
I arrived late at night by the post-car.The driver stopped the tired troika at the gate of the only stone-built house that stood at the entrance to the town.The sentry,a Cossack from the Black Sea,hearing the jingle of the bell,cried out,sleepily,in his barbarous voice,"Who goes there?"An under-officer of Cossacks and a headboroughcame out.I explained that I was an officer bound for the active-service detachment on Government business,and I proceeded to demand official quarters.The headborough conducted us round the town.Whatever hut we drove up to we found to be occupied.The weather was cold;I had not slept for three nights;I was tired out,and I began to lose my temper.
Team of three horses abreast.
Desyatnik,a superintendent of ten (men or huts),i.e.an officer like the old English tithing-man or headborough.
"Take me somewhere or other,you scoundrel!"I cried;"to the devil himself,so long as there's a place to put up at!""There is one other lodging,"answered the headborough,scratching his head."Only you won't like it,sir.It is uncanny!"Failing to grasp the exact signification of the last phrase,I ordered him to go on,and,after a lengthy peregrination through muddy byways,at the sides of which I could see nothing but old fences,we drove up to a small cabin,right on the shore of the sea.
The full moon was shining on the little reed-thatched roof and the white walls of my new dwelling.In the courtyard,which was sur-rounded by a wall of rubble-stone,there stood another miserable hovel,smaller and older than the first and all askew.The shore descended precipitously to the sea,almost from its very walls,and down below,with incessant murmur,plashed the dark-blue waves.The moon gazed softly upon the watery element,restless but obedient to it,and I was able by its light to distinguish two ships lying at some distance from the shore,their black rigging motionless and standing out,like cobwebs,against the pale line of the horizon.
"There are vessels in the harbour,"I said to myself."To-morrow I will set out for Gelen-jik."
I had with me,in the capacity of soldier-servant,a Cossack of the frontier army.Order-ing him to take down the portmanteau and dis-miss the driver,I began to call the master of the house.No answer!I knocked --all was silent within!...What could it mean?At length a boy of about fourteen crept out from the hall.
"Where is the master?"
"There isn't one."
"What!No master?"
"None!"
"And the mistress?"
"She has gone off to the village."
"Who will open the door for me,then?"I said,giving it a kick.
The door opened of its own accord,and a breath of moisture-laden air was wafted from the hut.I struck a lucifer match and held it to the boy's face.It lit up two white eyes.
He was totally blind,obviously so from birth.
He stood stock-still before me,and I began to examine his features.
I confess that I have a violent prejudice against all blind,one-eyed,deaf,dumb,legless,armless,hunchbacked,and such-like people.I have observed that there is always a certain strange connection between a man's exterior and his soul;as,if when the body loses a limb,the soul also loses some power of feeling.
And so I began to examine the blind boy's face.But what could be read upon a face from which the eyes are missing?...For a long time I gazed at him with involuntary compassion,when suddenly a scarcely perceptible smile flitted over his thin lips,producing,Iknow not why,a most unpleasant impression upon me.I began to feel a suspicion that the blind boy was not so blind as he appeared to be.
In vain I endeavoured to convince myself that it was impossible to counterfeit cataracts;and besides,what reason could there be for doing such a thing?But I could not help my sus-picions.I am easily swayed by prejudice...
"You are the master's son?"I asked at length.
"No."
"Who are you,then?"
"An orphan --a poor boy."
"Has the mistress any children?"
"No,her daughter ran away and crossed the sea with a Tartar.""What sort of a Tartar?"
"The devil only knows!A Crimean Tartar,a boatman from Kerch."I entered the hut.Its whole furniture con-sisted of two benches and a table,together with an enormous chest beside the stove.There was not a single ikon to be seen on the wall --a bad sign!The sea-wind burst in through the broken window-pane.I drew a wax candle-end from my portmanteau,lit it,and began to put my things out.My sabre and gun I placed in a corner,my pistols I laid on the table.I spread my felt cloak out on one bench,and the Cossack his on the other.In ten minutes the latter was snoring,but I could not go to sleep --the image of the boy with the white eyes kept hovering before me in the dark.
About an hour passed thus.The moon shone in at the window and its rays played along the earthen floor of the hut.Suddenly a shadow flitted across the bright strip of moonshine which intersected the floor.I raised myself up a little and glanced out of the window.Again somebody ran by it and disappeared --goodness knows where!It seemed impossible for anyone to descend the steep cliff overhanging the shore,but that was the only thing that could have happened.I rose,threw on my tunic,girded on a dagger,and with the utmost quietness went out of the hut.The blind boy was coming towards me.I hid by the fence,and he passed by me with a sure but cautious step.He was carrying a parcel under his arm.He turned towards the harbour and began to descend a steep and narrow path.
"On that day the dumb will cry out and the blind will see,"I said to myself,following him just close enough to keep him in sight.
Meanwhile the moon was becoming overcast by clouds and a mist had risen upon the sea.The lantern alight in the stern of a ship close at hand was scarcely visible through the mist,and by the shore there glimmered the foam of the waves,which every moment threatened to submerge it.
