The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

“No,” I say, “I can’t know everything.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mama won’t allow it.”

“Just look at that! And what do you think: can an uncle always guide his nephew in everything, or not? Of course he can. Get dressed at once and let’s be gone before trouble comes on.”

I started to go, then stood there like a post: I listened to him, but saw that mama didn’t want to let me go for anything.

“Our Misha,” she said, “is still young, he’s not used to going out anywhere at night. Why do you insist on having him? It will be dark before you notice, and the thieves’ time will come.”

But here my uncle even yelled at them:

“Enough playing the fool, really! What are you stewing him in your women’s skirts for! The boy’s grown so big he can kill an ox, and you still coddle him like a baby. It’s all nothing but your female foolishness, and he’ll be the worse off for it because of you. He has to have his life forces developed and his character firmed up, and I need him because, God forbid, in the darkness or in some back street your Orel thieves may actually fall upon me or I may run into a police patrol—you see, I have all our money for the business with me … There’s enough to dump our torn deacon on the nuns and lure your mighty one to us … Can it be that you, my own sisters, are so unfamilial that you want me, your brother, to be bashed on the head or picked up by the police, and end up there with nothing?”

My mother says:

“God save us from that—families aren’t only respected in Elets! But take our clerk with you, or even two sturdy fullers. Our fullers are from Kromy, they’re terribly strong, they eat some eight pounds a day of bread alone, besides other things.”

My uncle didn’t want to.

“What good are your hired people to me?” he says. “You sisters even ought to be ashamed to say it, and I’d be ashamed and afraid to go with them. Kromy men! And you call them good people! They’d go with me and be the first to kill me, but Misha’s my nephew—with him at least it will be brave and proper.”

He stood his ground and wouldn’t give way:

“You can’t possibly refuse me this,” he says. “Otherwise I renounce you as my family.”

My mother and aunt became frightened at that and exchanged glances, meaning “What on earth should we do?”

Ivan Leontych persisted:

“And understand that it’s not just a family matter! Remember, I’m not taking him for my own amusement or pleasure, but on a Church necessity. Can you refuse me that? Consider well. To refuse that is the same as refusing God. The boy’s a servant of God; God’s will is upon him: you want him to stay with you, but God just won’t let him stay.”

He was an awfully persuasive one with words.

Mama became frightened.

“Enough talk, please, of such horrors.”

But my uncle again burst into merry laughter.

“Ah, you lady-crows! You don’t understand the power of words! Who isn’t a servant of God? But now I can see that you won’t decide on anything yourselves, so I’m just going to knock him from under your wing …”

And with that he seized me by the shoulder and said:

“Up you get now, Misha, and put on your visiting clothes—I’m your uncle, and a man who has lived into gray-haired old age. I have grandchildren, and I’m taking charge of you and order you to follow me.”

I looked at mama and my aunt, and I myself felt all merry inside, and this Elets free-and-easiness of my uncle’s pleased me greatly.

“Who should I listen to?” I ask.

My uncle answers:

“You must listen to the eldest one—that’s me. I’m not taking you forever, but only for an hour.”

“Mama!” I cry. “What do you tell me to do?”

Mama replies:

“Why … if it’s only for an hour, it’s all right—put on your visiting clothes and go with your uncle; but don’t stay one minute beyond an hour. If you’re a minute late—I’ll die of fear!”

“Well,” I say, “that’s a good one! How can I know so precisely that an hour has already gone by and a new minute’s beginning—and meanwhile you’ll have started worrying …”

My uncle burst out laughing.

“You can look at your watch,” he says, “and see what time it is.”

“I don’t have a watch,” I reply.

“Ah, you still don’t even have your own watch! Things are bad with you!”

But mama answers back:

“What does he need a watch for?”

“To know what time it is.”

“Well … he’s still young … he wouldn’t know how to wind it … Outside you can hear it strike the hours in the Theophany and in the Devichy Convent.”

I reply:

“Maybe you don’t know it, but a weight fell off the Theophany clock yesterday and it stopped striking.”

“Well, there’s the Devichy clock.”

“We never hear the Devichy clock.”

My uncle intervenes and says:

“Never mind, never mind: get dressed quickly and don’t worry about being late. We’ll stop at the watchmaker’s, and I’ll buy you a watch as a present for going with me. That will give you something to remember your uncle by.”

When I heard about the watch, I got all excited: I smacked a kiss on my uncle’s hand, put on my visiting clothes, and was ready.

Mama gave me her blessing and said several more times:

“Only for an hour!”

VI