“An odd bird I was.…Suddenly joy would seize me, it would flood my innards, my whole heart—I would be ready to dance. And I would dance—much to everybody’s amusement. Well—why not? I’ve got no children—nobody to be ashamed of me.…

“That means the soul is at play, friend”—he went on thoughtfully and softly. “A capricious thing, the soul, one never knows what might attract it all of a sudden, something quite funny at times, and just make you cling to it. For instance—just like that doll—one day a little girl bewitched me. I once came across a little girl in a country house. There she was, a child about nine years of age, sitting beside a pond, stirring the water with a twig and shedding tears—her little muzzle bathed in them, like a flower in dew, tears dropping down her breast like pearls. I sat by her side, of course, and asked why she was crying like that on a merry day? An angry little thing she turned out to be, tried to send me away. But I was stubborn, made her speak; so she said to me: ‘Don’t you come wandering around here; my daddy has a dreadful temper; and so has mammy and also my little brother!’ I laughed to myself, but pretended I was really frightened, taking her at her word. Then she buried her little muzzle in my shoulder and just sobbed and sobbed, fairly shook with sobs. Her sorrow proved to be not a very heavy one: her parents had gone to a party near by and had punished her by not taking her, as she’d been naughty and refused to wear the right frock. I played up to her, of course, and soothed her, and said what bad people these parents were. So she begged me to take her away from them; she didn’t want to live with them any longer. Take her away with me? Why, of course I would, no trouble about that! So off we went. And I took her to where her parents were having a party—she had a little friend there, Kolya, a curly-headed little sprig—that was the real reason for her sorrow. Well, they all laughed at her, of course, and she stood there blushing worse than a poppy. Her father gave me half a ruble, and I went off. And what do you think, friend? My soul had clung to that little girl, I couldn’t tear myself away from the place. I hovered around for a week, waiting to see her, to talk to her; funny, isn’t it? I just couldn’t help it. She had been taken away to the seaside; she had a weak chest; and there I was roaming about like a lost dog. That’s how things happen at times. Yes…the soul is a capricious bird—who knows where it may go when it takes its flight?”

The old man paused and yawned as he spoke, as though he were half asleep, or in a trance; then suddenly he brightened up again as though splashed by a cold rain.

“Last autumn a lady from town came to me. She was not very comely, rather weedy and dried-up, I’d say, but when I glanced into her eyes—God Almighty, if only I could have her, if only for one night, I said to myself. After that—cut me to pieces, let horses tear me asunder—I don’t care, I’ll take any death. So I told her straight away: ‘Go. Please go, or I may hurt you, go! I can’t talk to you, d’you hear? I beg of you, go!’ I don’t know if she guessed, or what, but she hurried away, anyhow. How many nights did I not lay awake thinking of her, seeing those eyes in front of me—a real torture. And me an old man, too.…Old, yes…The soul knows no laws, it takes no account of years.…”

He stretched himself out on the ground, twitched the red, scar-like eye-lids, then said, smacking his lips:

“Well, I’m off to sleep now.…” And wrapping his head in his cloak he remained still.

He awakened at dawn, looked into the cloudy sky, and hastily ran to the brook where he stripped himself naked, grunting, washed his strong brown body from head to toe, and shouted out to me:

“Hi, friend, hand me over my shirt and trousers; they’re in the cave.”

Pulling on a long shirt that reached to his knees, and blue trousers, he combed out his wet hair with a wooden comb and, almost handsome, faintly reminding one of an icon, he said:

“I always wash with particular care before receiving people.”

While we had our tea he refused vodka: