III

The garden walks were neatly strewn with coarse gravel that crunched underfoot, and bordered with big pink shells. Wonderful bright-coloured flowers filling the air with a sweet fragrance rose from the flower-beds, above a carpet of variegated grasses. Clear water gurgled and splashed in the fountains; creeping plants hung in garlands from beautiful bowls suspended between the trees, and on marble pillars in front of the house stood two glittering ball-shaped mirrors, in which the man, the boy and the dog were reflected head downwards, in ludicrous, distorted shapes.

On the smooth-rolled ground in front of the balcony, Sergei spread out his rug, and the old man, having set up the hurdy-gurdy, was going to start turning the handle when there was a strange, unexpected interruption.

A boy somewhere between eight and ten, screaming at the top of his voice, burst out on to the veranda from inside the house. He wore a light sailor suit, and his arms and knees were bare. His curly fair hair flowed carelessly to his shoulders. Six people ran out after him: two pinafored women; an old fat footman in a tail-coat, without beard or moustache but with long grey side-whiskers; a thin, red-haired, red-nosed damsel in a blue checked frock; a young, sickly-looking but very beautiful lady in a pale blue lace dressing-gown, and lastly a stout, bald-headed gentleman in a tussore suit and gold-rimmed spectacles. They were all waving their arms in a flurry, talking loudly and jostling each other. It was easy enough to guess that the cause of their excitement was the boy in the sailor suit, who had darted out so suddenly.

Meanwhile the boy, who did not stop screaming for a second, flopped down on his stomach on the stone floor, rolled quickly over on to his back and started to kick and to wave his arms in fury. The adults fussed around him. The old footman entreatingly pressed his hands to his starched shirt-front and said plaintively, his long whiskers shaking, “Master Nikolai Apollonovich! Please don’t vex your mummy, sir – get up. I beg of you to take medicine, sir. It’s very sweet indeed, sir, it’s plain syrup. Please, get up.”

The pinafored women wrung their hands and chattered away in frightened servile voices. The red-nosed damsel, gesticulating tragically, shouted something very touching but absolutely unintelligible in a foreign language. The gold-spectacled gentleman admonished the boy in a sober boom, cocking his head from side to side and gravely lifting his hands. As for the beautiful, sickly lady, she moaned languidly and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief of fine lace.

“Ah, Trilly, oh, my God! I implore you, my angel. Mummy implores you. Please take the medicine, please; you’ll feel better at once: both your tummy and your head will be all right. Please do it for my sake, my pet! Do you want Mummy to kneel before you, Trilly? Well, here I am kneeling before you. Do you want me to give you a gold coin? Two gold coins? Five gold coins, Trilly? Do you want a real little donkey? A real little pony? Do say something to him, doctor!”

“I say, Trilly, be a man, will you?” boomed the stout gold-spectacled gentleman.

“Aaaaah!” squawked the boy, wriggling on the floor and kicking madly.

Despite his extreme agitation he tried to hit out with his heels at the stomachs and legs of those bustling about him, but they were rather deft in dodging his kicks.

Sergei, who had been watching the scene for a long time with curiosity and astonishment, now gently nudged the old man in the ribs.

“What’s got into him, Grandad Lodizhkin?” he asked in a whisper. “Are they going to whip him?”

“Whip him, indeed! Why, he could flog any of them himself. He’s just a spoilt brat. Probably sick, too.”

“You mean crazy?” Sergei suggested.

“How should I know? Hush!”

“Aaaaah!” the boy yelled, more and more loudly. “Pigs! Fools!”

“Let’s start, Sergei. I know!” Lodizhkin commanded suddenly, and began to grind the hurdy-gurdy with a determined air.

The twanging, wheezing sounds of the old gallop rang out in the garden. Those on the veranda were startled, and the boy stopped screaming for a few seconds.

“Oh, my God, they’ll upset poor Trilly still more!” the lady in the blue dressing-gown cried plaintively. “Oh, send them away, send them away at once! And that dirty dog. Dogs always have such horrible diseases. Well, don’t stand like a statue, Ivan!”

In weary disgust she raised her handkerchief to dismiss the three; the red-nosed damsel rolled her eyes, and someone else hissed threateningly. With a quick, soft step the man in the tail-coat ran down the steps and up to the old man, with a terrified look on his face, his arms thrown wide apart.

“W-what’s the meaning of this?” he snorted in a hoarse, choking whisper that was at once frightened and angrily overbearing. “Who permitted this? Who let you in? Go away! Get out!”

The hurdy-gurdy gave a dismayed squeak and stopped.

“Allow me to explain, good sir,” old Lodizhkin began politely.

“None of your explanations! Go away!” the tail-coated man cried, with something like a hiss deep in his throat.

In an instant his fat face went crimson, and his eyes opened incredibly wide, as if they had come out of their sockets, and rolled round and round. It was so terrible a sight that the old man stepped back.

“Come on, Sergei,” he said, hurriedly shouldering the hurdy-gurdy. “We’d better go!”

But they were no more than a few yards away when fresh deafening screams pealed from the balcony.

“Aaaaah! I want it! I do! Aaah! Bring ‘em here! Call ‘em! I want it!”

“But, Trilly! Oh, my God, Trilly! Bring them back this instant!” the nervous lady groaned. “How brainless you all are! Did you hear what I told you, Ivan? Call those beggars back at once!”

“Hey! You there! Hey, you! Organ-players! Come back!” several voices called from the veranda.

The fat footman, his whiskers flying, bounded like a big rubber ball after the departing players.

“Hey! Musicians! Listen, come back! Back!” he shouted, gasping and waving his arms. “Good old man” – he had at last caught hold of the old man’s sleeve – ”turn back! The gentry want to see your pantomin. Quick!”

“Well, I never!” The old man shook his head and sighed, but he walked up to the veranda, took down the hurdy-gurdy, and began to grind out the gallop from where he had left off.

The tumult on the balcony died down. The lady with the boy and the gold-spectacled gentleman stepped up to the railing; the others hung back respectfully. The gardener wearing an apron came and stopped not far from the old man. The gate-keeper, who had emerged from nowhere, posted himself behind the gardener. He was a huge bearded man with a sombre, pock-marked face topped by a low forehead. He wore a new pink shirt with slanting rows of black dots.

To the wheezing, stuttering sounds of the gallop Sergei spread out the rug on the ground, threw off his canvas trousers (they were made of an old sack, and a square trade mark adorned their seat), slipped off his old jacket and remained in his shabby tights which, much mended as they were, looked neat on his thin but strong, lithe body. By imitating adults he had already acquired the style of a genuine acrobat. As he ran on to the rug he put his hands to his lips and then, with a sweeping theatrical gesture, spread out his arms, as if blowing two swift kisses to his audience.

With one hand the old man played the hurdy-gurdy, wringing a wheezy, coughing melody out of it, and with his free hand he tossed various objects to the boy, who nimbly caught them in mid air. Sergei’s repertoire was small, but he performed well, doing “a clean job,” as acrobats would say, and enjoying it, too. He threw up an empty beer bottle, so that it turned over several times in the air, then suddenly caught it bottom up on the edge of a plate and balanced it for a few seconds; he juggled with four ivory balls and with two candles which he caught simultaneously with two candlesticks; he also played with three objects at a time – a fan, a wooden cigar and an umbrella. They all went up and down in the air, never reaching the ground, and suddenly the umbrella came to be over his head and the cigar in his mouth, while the fan cooled his face with a coquettish swing. In conclusion Sergei himself turned several somersaults on the rug, performed a “frog,” did an “American knot,” and walked about on his hands. Having exhausted his stock of “tricks,” he blew two more kisses to his audience and went panting up to the old man to take his place at the hurdy-gurdy.

Now came Arto’s turn. The dog knew that perfectly well; in fact, with a jerky, nervous bark he was already jumping at the old man, who was edging out of the strap. Perhaps what the clever poodle meant to say was that, in his view, it was folly to engage in acrobatic exercises when the temperature was over a hundred degrees in the shade. But with a cunning air old Grandad Lodizhkin brought out from behind his back a thin cornel whip. “I guessed as much!” Arto barked in annoyance for the last time and reluctantly got on his hind legs, his blinking eyes fixed on his master.

“Beg, Arto! Good,” said the old man, holding the whip over the poodle’s head. “Turn over. Good. Turn over. Do it again – again. Now dance, doggie, dance! Sit up! What? You don’t want to? Sit up, I’m telling you. Ha, so there! I’ll teach you! Now say ‘how d’you do’ to the ladies and gentlemen. Well? Arto!” the old man raised his voice menacingly.

“Wow!” the poodle barked with disgust. Then he looked at his master, blinking sorrowfully, and added another two wows.

“The old man doesn’t understand me at all!” the disgruntled bark seemed to say.

“That’s better. Politeness first. And now let’s jump a bit,” the old man went on, holding out the whip low above the ground. “Allez! Don’t you stick out your tongue. Allez! Houp! Fine. Now do it again, noch einmal. Allez! Houp! Allez! Houp! Wonderful, doggie. I’ll give you a carrot when we get home. Oh, so you don’t care for carrots? I quite forgot. Then take my top hat and beg the ladies and gentlemen. They may give you something more to your taste.”

The old man stood up the dog on his hind legs and thrust into his mouth the ancient, greasy cap which he had so humorously called a top hat. Holding the cap in his teeth, Arto walked up with a mincing gait to the veranda. A small mother-of-pearl purse flashed in the sickly lady’s hands. Those around her smiled indulgently.

“Well? What did I tell you?” the old man whispered jauntily, bending to Sergei. “You just ask me – I know, my boy. It can’t be less than a ruble.”

Just then an almost inhuman shriek came from the veranda; it was so piercing that Arto dropped the cap and skipped to his master, glancing back fearfully, his tail between his legs.

“I wa-a-nt it!” shrilled the curly-headed boy, stamping his feet. “I want the do-o-og! Trilly wants the do-o-og!”

Once again there was a turmoil on the veranda. “Oh, my God! Ah, Nikolai Apollonovich! Master! Calm yourself, Trilly, I implore you!”

“The dog! Get the dog! I want it! Beasts, fools!” howled the boy.

“But don’t be upset, my angel!” stammered the lady in the blue dressing-gown. “You want to stroke the doggie? All right, my darling, all right, just a moment. Do you think Trilly may stroke that dog, doctor?”

“Speaking generally, I wouldn’t recommend it” – the doctor spread out his hands in dismay – ”but if it’s thoroughly disinfected, say, with boric acid or a weak solution of carbolic acid, then I should think – er – ”

“Get the do-og!”

“Just a second, my own darling, just a second. As you say, doctor, we’ll have it washed with boric acid, arid then – But, Trilly, don’t get so excited! Please bring your dog here, old man. Don’t be afraid, you’ll be paid for it. Now tell me, it isn’t sick by any chance? I mean, it isn’t mad? Or perhaps it has echinococci?”

“I don’t want to stroke it, I don’t!” Trilly screamed, bubbling at mouth and nose. “I want it for my own! Fools, beasts! I want it for good! Want to play with it myself. Always!”

“Listen, old man, come up here,” said the lady, trying to make herself heard above the boy’s screaming. “Ah, Trilly, you’ll kill your mummy with your cries. Why were those musicians let in here at all! Come up nearer – nearer, I tell you! That’s it. Oh, but don’t cry, Trilly, Mummy will do anything you wish. I implore you. Do calm the child, miss! Please, doctor. How much do you want, old man?”

The old man took off his cap; there was a respectfully wretched expression on his face.

“As much as it may please your ladyship to give, Your Excellency. I’m a poor man and any donation is a boon to me. I’m sure you won’t wrong an old man.”

“Ah, how stupid you are! You’ll get a sore throat, Trilly dear. Try to understand, will you: the dog is yours, not mine. How much, now? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“Aaa! I wa-ant it! Give me the dog, the do-og!” squalled the boy, kicking the footman in the round belly.

“You mean – I’m sorry, Your Highness,” stammered Lodizhkin. “I’m a stupid old man. Can’t make it out at once and, besides, I’m a bit hard of hearing. What was it you said, please? For my dog?”

“Oh, my goodness! Are you acting a fool?” the lady flared up. “Give Trilly a glass of water, nurse, quick! I’m asking you a plain question: How much do you want for your dog? Do you understand – your dog, the dog!”

“The dog! The do-og!” the boy shrilled, louder than ever.

Lodizhkin put on his cap; he was offended.

“I don’t deal in dogs, your ladyship,” he said, with cold dignity. “As for this dog here, madam, it feeds (and clothes the two of us.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Sergei. “And it’s absolutely impossible for me to sell it.”

Meanwhile Trilly was screaming as shrilly as a locomotive whistle. A glass of water was brought to him, but he furiously splashed it out in the governess’s face.

“But listen to me, you crazy old man! There is nothing that can’t be bought or sold,” the lady insisted, pressing her temples with her palms. “Miss, wipe your face, quick, and fetch my smelling-salts. Perhaps your dog is worth a hundred rubles? Or two hundred? Three hundred? Answer me! Say something to him, doctor, for heaven’s sake!”

“Get ready, Sergei,” grumbled Lodizhkin. “They want the dog, do they? Come here, Arto!”

“Just a moment, my good man,” drawled the stout, gold-spectacled man in a superior boom. “You’d better stop putting on airs, my man, if you’ll take my advice. Ten rubles is the most I’d pay for your dog, with yourself into the bargain. Just think, you dolt, what a fortune you’re being offered!”

“I thank you most humbly, sir, only – ” He shouldered the hurdy-gurdy with a groan. “Only I can’t do that – sell it, I mean. Better look for a dog somewhere else. Good day. You go ahead, Sergei.”

“And have you got a passport?” the doctor roared suddenly. “I know your kind of riff-raff!”

“Gate-keeper! Semyon! Throw them out!” cried the lady, her face distorted with fury.

The sombre gate-keeper in the pink shirt stepped forward with an ominous look. A terrific uproar arose on the veranda: Trilly was yelling at the top of his voice, his mother was moaning, the nurse and under-nurse were cackling in a patter, and the doctor was booming like an angry bumble-bee. But the old man and Sergei had no chance to see the end of it all. Preceded by the thoroughly terrified poodle, they hurried to the gate almost at a run. The gate-keeper followed close on their heels, pushing the old man on from behind.

“Loafing around here, you tramps!” he said threateningly. “You should thank God you got away with a whole skin, you damned gaffer. But next time you turn up you can be sure I’ll give it to you – I’ll punch your head and take you to the uryadnik. You scum!”

The old man and the boy walked a long way in silence, then suddenly they looked at each other as if by agreement, and broke into merriment; first Sergei burst out laughing, and, then, rather self-consciously, the old man smiled as he looked at the boy.

“Well, Grandad Lodizhkin? You know everything, don’t you?” Sergei teased him slyly.

“Ye-es, my boy. We got into a fix, all right.” The old man shook his head. “What a vicious brat he is, though. I wonder how they brought him up to be like that.’ Just think: twenty-five people dance to his piping. I’d certainly give it to him hot if I could have my way. Give me the dog, he says. Why, he might want the moon from the sky next – what then? Come here, Arto, come, my doggie. God, what a day! It’s simply amazing!”

“Couldn’t have been better,” Sergei commented sarcastically. “One lady gave us clothes, another a ruble. You certainly know everything in advance, Grandad Lodizhkin.”

“Hold your tongue, you whipper-snapper,” the old man growled good-humouredly. “Remember how you scuttled from the gate-keeper? I thought I’d never catch up with you. That gate-keeper isn’t to be trifled with, is he?”

The three came out of the park and went down a steep, crumbling path to the beach. There the cliffs receded a little, leaving a narrow, flat strip covered with pebbles, against which the sea now rippled gently. Dolphins were turning somersaults in the water some five hundred yards off shore, showing momentarily their round, glossy backs. Far out on the horizon, where the azure satin of the sea was bordered by a dark-blue velvet ribbon, the sails of fishing boats stuck up trimly, slightly pink in the sun.

“Here’s where we’ll bathe, Grandad Lodizhkin,” said Sergei resolutely. He had already contrived, while walking, to pull off his trousers, hopping along on one leg. “Let me help you with the instrument.”

He stripped swiftly, slapped his naked body to which the sun had given a chocolate tan, and flung himself into the water, setting up waves of seething foam.

The old man took off his clothes unhurriedly. He shaded his eyes with his hand and peered at Sergei with an affectionate grin.

“He’s growing into a fine lad,” he thought to himself. “A bit bony, to be sure – you can see all his ribs – but he’ll be a sturdy chap.”

“I say, Sergei! Don’t swim too far. Look out for porpoises.”

“I’d grab it by the tail if I saw one!” Sergei shouted back.

The old man lingered in the sun for a long time, feeling his arm-pits. He then stepped down into the water very gingerly, and before dipping he carefully wetted his bald red crown and his hollow sides. His sallow body was flabby and weak, his legs surprisingly thin, and his back with the sharp protruding shoulder-blades was hunched from carrying the hurdy-gurdy for so many years.

“Grandad Lodizhkin, look!” cried Sergei.

He turned a somersault in the water, and the old man, who had gone in up to his waist, taking little dips with blissful snorts, cried in alarm, “Stop fooling, you puppy. Don’t you dare! I’ll show you!”

Arto was barking in a frenzy, running up and down the beach. He was worried because the boy had swum out so far. “Why show off?” he seemed to ask. “Here’s dry land and that’s where you should stay. It’s so much safer.”

He even ran into the water up to his belly and lapped a little. But he found the briny water distasteful, and the light waves rustling against the beach gravel frightened him. So he scrambled ashore and started barking at Sergei. “Who’s interested in those foolish tricks? Why not stay on the beach, beside the old man? Oh, what a nuisance that boy is!”

“Hey, Sergei, come out, will you now – you’ve had enough!” the old man called.

“Just a minute, Grandad Lodizhkin,” the boy replied. “Look, I can swim like a duck. Whoo-oop!”

At last he swam up to the beach, but before dressing he snatched up Arto, went back into the sea, carrying the dog, and hurled him far out into the water. The dog started at once to swim back, snorting offendedly, with nothing but his nose and floating ears above the water. He got out and shook himself, sending a shower of spray at the old man and Sergei.

“Look, Sergei – I think that man’s heading our way,” said Lodizhkin, staring upwards.

Shouting incoherently and waving his arms, a man was coming hurriedly down the path. It was the sombre gatekeeper in the black-spotted pink shirt, who, a quarter of an hour earlier, had turned them out of the villa.

“What does he want?” asked the old man in perplexity.