Forty Stories - Anton Chekhov [23]
“He must have been in the other troika,” Yegor Yegorich suggested, and he began shouting: “Gentlemen, is Bolva with you?”
“No, he’s not,” Kardamonov shouted back.
The hunters pondered the matter.
“Devil take him,” the general decided. “We’re not going to turn back for him!”
“Really, we ought to go back, Your Excellency. He’s not strong. He’ll die without water. He couldn’t walk that far.”
“He could if he wanted to.”
“It would kill the old man. He’s ninety years old!”
“Nonsense!”
When they came to the marshes, our hunters pulled long faces. The marshes were crowded with other hunters: it was therefore hardly worth their while to emerge from their carriages. After a little thought they decided to go on a little farther to the state forest.
“What will you shoot there?” the doctor asked.
“Thrushes, orioles, maybe some grouse …”
“That’s all very well, but what will my poor patients be doing in the meantime? Why did you bring me along, Yegor Yegorich? Why? Why?”
The doctor sighed and scratched the back of his neck. When they came to the first parcel of forest, they got out of their carriages and fell to discussing who should go left, who right.
“Know what, gentlemen?” Nekrichikhvostov suggested. “In view of the law, or should we say the guiding principles, of nature, the game won’t leave us in the lurch. Hm. The game won’t leave us in the lurch. So I suggest we fortify ourselves before anything else! A nip of wine, and vodka, and caviar, and sturgeon won’t do any harm. Right here on the grass! What do you think, doctor? You know best—you’re a medical man. Shouldn’t we fortify ourselves?”
Nekrichikhvostov’s suggestion was accepted. Avvakum and Firs spread out two rugs, and round these were arranged the bottles and sacks full of food. Yegor Yegorich sliced the sausages, cheese, and sturgeon, while Nekrichikhvostov opened the bottles and Mange cut the bread. The hunters licked their lips and lay down on the rugs.
“Come, come, Your Excellency … Let us each have a little …”
The hunters ate and drank. The doctor immediately poured himself another drink and drank it down. Vanya followed his example.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were wolves here,” Kardamonov announced after a period of deep meditation, throwing a sidelong glance at the forest.
The hunters pondered, discussed the matter at length, and at the end of ten minutes came to the conclusion that one might be quite safe in saying there were no wolves.
“Well, now, shall we have another? Drink up, eh? Yegor Yegorich, what are you staring at?”
They drank another round.
“What are you thinking about, young fellow?” Yegor Yegorich turned to Vanya.
Vanya shook his head.
“When I’m here,” said the general, “you can drink, but when I’m not here … So let’s have a little nip!”
Vanya filled his wineglass and drank it down.
“What about a third round, Your Excellency?”
They drank a third round. The doctor drank his sixth.
“Young fellow!”
Vanya shook his head.
“Drink, Amphiteatrov!” said Mange, patronizingly.
“When I’m here you can drink, but when I am not here …”
Vanya drank another glass.
“Why is the sky so blue today?” asked Kardamonov.
The hunters pondered the problem, discussed it, and at the end of a quarter of an hour they came to the conclusion that no one really knew why the sky was so blue.
“A rabbit! A rabbit!… Steady there!”
A rabbit appeared on the other side of the mound. The rabbit was being pursued by two mongrels. The hunters jumped to their feet and grabbed their guns, while the rabbit ran past them and vanished into the forest with Music Maker, the two mongrels, and still other dogs hot on its trail. Idler pondered for a moment, threw a suspicious glance at the general, and then hurried after the rabbit.
“It’s a big one! We ought to have brought him down, eh? How did he get away?”
“True! But there’s a bottle here, and what’s to be done with it?
You didn’t finish your drink, Your Excellency? Well, well, that’s fine!”
So they drank a fourth round. The doctor drank his ninth, quacked loudly, and then he too vanished into