“No, what for? Are you cold? I, an old man, don’t feel the cold, and you do? That’s too bad. Go to the cave, then, and lie down there. You see, friend, if we light a fire, all sorts of small living things will come flying here and will get burnt in the flames. And I don’t like that. Fire to them is like a trap, leading them to their death. The sun—the father to all fire, kills no one, but why should we, for the sake of our bones, burn up these little folk? No, no.…”

I agreed with him, and went into the cave, while he remained outside fussing about for some time; he went off somewhere, splashed about in the brook, and I could hear his gentle voice:

“Phuit…don’t be afraid, you little fool.…Phueeet.…”

Then he broke into a soft tremulous song, as though lulling someone to sleep.

When I woke up and walked out of the cave, Savel, crouching on the ground, was deftly weaving a bast shoe and saying to a chaffinch singing vehemently in the bushes:

“That’s it, go on, buzz on, the day is yours! Slept well, friend? Go and have a wash, I’ve put the kettle to boil for tea and I’m waiting for you.”

“Haven’t you had any sleep yourself?”

“I’ll have time to sleep when I die, friend.”

A blue May sky shone over the ravine.

I came to see him again about three weeks later, on a Saturday evening, and was welcomed as an old, close friend.

“I’d been thinking already: why, the man has forgotten all about me! Ah, and you’ve brought some of that good drink as well. Thanks, many thanks! And some wheat bread? So fresh, too. What a kind lad indeed! People must surely like you; they love kind folk; they know what’s good for them! Sausage? No, I have no liking for that, that’s dog’s food, you can keep it for yourself if you wish; but fish I love. This fish, it’s a sweet fish, comes from the Caspian Sea, I know all about it. Why, you must have brought food for more than a ruble, you queer fellow! Well, never mind, many thanks!”

He seemed to me still more alive, more cordially radiant—all burdens seemed to fall away from me; I felt light-hearted and gay, and I thought to myself:

“Devil take it, I believe I actually am in the presence of a happy man!”

Nimble and gentle, he performed little domestic duties, storing away my gifts, while he scattered like sparks those endearing, bewitching Russian words, which act like wine on the soul.

The movements of his sturdy body, swift as the movements of an adder, harmonized beautifully with the precision of his speech. In spite of the mutilated face, the eyes without lashes—torn apart as though on purpose to enable him to see more widely and more boldly—he seemed almost handsome, with the beauty of a life whose confusion was multi-colored and intricate. And his outward disfigurement gave a particular emphasis to that beauty.

Again, almost the whole night through, his gray little beard fluttered and the meager mustache bristled as he burst into uncontrollable laughter, opening wide the crooked mouth, in which gleamed the sharp white teeth of a polecat. At the bottom of the ravine it was still; the wind was stirring above; the tops of the pinetrees rocked; the harsh foliage of the oaks rustled; the blue river of the skies seemed violently disturbed—covered by a gray foam of clouds.

“Sh…”he exclaimed, softly raising his hand in warning. I hearkened—all was quite.