Savel’s words rose from below:

“Every man should be a source of happiness to you, my beauty, and here you are saying all these malicious things. Chase anger away, dear. It is goodness we glorify, isn’t it, when we glorify our saints on feast days, not malice. What is it you mistrust? It’s yourself you mistrust, your womanly power, your beauty—and what is it that is hidden in beauty? God’s spirit, that’s what it is…Dee-ear.…”

Deeply moved, I was on the verge of weeping for joy, so great is the magic force of a word vivified by love.

Before the ravine had filled with the dense darkness of a cloudy night, about thirty people came to see Savel—dignified, old villagers carrying staffs, distressed people overcome with grief; more than half of the visitors were women. I did not listen any more to their uniform complaints, I only waited impatiently for the word to come from Savel. When night came, he allowed Olesha and me to build a bonfire on the stone platform. We got tea and food ready while he sat by the flames, chasing away with his cloak all the “living things” attracted by the fire.

“Another day gone in the service of the soul,” he murmured, thoughtfully and wearily.

Olesha gave him some practical advice: “A pity you don’t take money from people.…”

“It’s not suitable for me.…”

“Well, you can take from one and give to another. Me, for instance. I’d buy a horse.…”

“You tell the children to come tomorrow, Olesha; I’ve got some gifts for them. The women brought a lot of stuff today.”

Olesha went over to the brook to wash his hands, and I said to Savel:

“You speak to people so well, grandfather.…”

“Ye-es,” he agreed calmly. “I told you I did! And people have respect for me. I tell them each the truth they need. That’s what it is.”

He smiled merrily and went on, with less weariness:

“It’s the women I talk best to, isn’t it? It just so happens, friend, that when I see a woman, or a girl, who is at all beautiful—my soul soars up and seems to blossom out. I feel a kind of gratitude to them: at the sight of one, I recall all those I have ever known and they are numberless.”

Olesha came back, saying:

“Father Savel, will you stand surety for me in the matter of the sixty rubles I’m borrowing from Shakh?…”

“Very well.”

“Tomorrow, eh?”

“Yes…”

“See?” Olesha turned to me triumphantly, stepping on my toe as he did so. “Shakh, my boy, is the kind of man who has only to look at you from a distance and your shirt crawls down of itself from your back, right into his hands. But if Father Savel comes to see him—Shakh squirms before him like a little pup. Look at all the timber he gave to the victims of the fire, for instance.” Olesha fussed about noisily and did not allow the old man to relax. One could see that Savel was very tired. He sat wearily by the fire,