The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

Luka thinks: why should there be such a hindrance? But then he figures that it does sometimes happen that while digging a well you discover treasure, or you go to the market and meet a rabid dog, so he replies:

“In that case, sir, I’ll leave a man with you, one of ours, who will take all the blame on himself in case I fail you, and will suffer death rather than give you away.”

“And who is this man you rely on so much?”

“The blacksmith Maroy,” replies Luka.

“That old man?”

“True, he’s not young.”

“But it seems he’s stupid?”

“His mind we don’t need, but the man has a worthy spirit.”

“What kind of spirit can a stupid man have?” he says.

“The spirit, sir,” Luka answers, “does not go according to reason: the spirit bloweth where it listeth,²⁹ the same as one person has long and luxuriant hair and another scarcely any.”

The Englishman ponders and says:

“Very well, very well: these are all interesting sensations. But how will he bail me out if I get caught?”

“Here’s how,” Luka replies. “You’ll stand in the church by the window, and Maroy will stand outside under the window, and if I don’t come with the icons before the end of the service, he’ll break the glass, climb through the window, and take all the blame on himself.”

The Englishman liked that very much.

“Curious,” he said, “very curious! And why should I trust that your stupid man with spirit won’t just run away?”

“Well, that is a matter of mutual trust.”

“Mutual trust,” he repeats. “Hm, hm, mutual trust! Either I go to hard labor for a stupid muzhik, or he goes under the knout for me? Hm, hm! If he keeps his word … it’s under the knout … That’s interesting.”

We sent for Maroy and explained to him what it was about, and he says:

“Well, what of it?”

“And you won’t run away?” says the Englishman.

And Maroy replies:

“Why should I?”

“So as not to be flogged and sent to Siberia.” And Maroy says:

“Oh, that!”—and wouldn’t talk anymore.

The Englishman was overjoyed: he got all livened up.

“Delightful,” he says. “How interesting!”

XIV

Right after this discussion, the action began. We hung oars on the Englishman’s big longboat the next morning and transported him to the city side. There he and the icon painter Sevastian got into a carriage and drove to the monastery, and after a little more than an hour, we see our icon painter come running, and in his hand there’s a sheet of paper with the tracing of our icon.

We ask:

“Did you see it, dear man, and can you now copy it nicely for us?”

“Yes, I saw it,” he replies, “and I can do it, except that it may come out a bit more vivid. But that doesn’t matter. When the icon gets here, I can then tone down the brightness in a minute.”

“Dear heart,” we beg him, “do your best.”

“Don’t worry,” he replies, “I will!”

And as soon as we brought him back, he immediately sat down to work and by the end of the day had an angel ripe on the canvas, as like our sealed one as two drops of water, except that the colors seemed a bit fresher.

By evening the goldsmith had also sent the new casing, because it had been commissioned earlier on the model of the old silver one.

The most dangerous time of our thievery was coming.

We were all prepared, naturally, and had prayed before evening, and were waiting for the right moment; and as soon as the first bell rang for vigil in the monastery on the other side, the three of us—myself, old Maroy, and Uncle Luka—got into a small boat. Old Maroy brought along an axe, a chisel, a crowbar, and a rope, so as to look more like a thief, and we headed straight for the monastery wall.

At that time of year, naturally, twilight came early, and the night, despite the full moon, was pitch-dark, really thievish.

Having crossed, Maroy and Luka left me at the bank in the boat and went sneaking into the monastery themselves. I shipped the oars, caught hold of the end of the rope, and waited impatiently, so as to cast off as soon as Luka set foot in the boat. The time seemed terribly long to me, out of anxiety for how it was all going to turn out and whether we would succeed in covering up our thievery while the vespers and vigil were still going on. And it seemed to me that God knows how much time had already passed; it was frightfully dark, the wind was fierce, and instead of rain wet snow began to pour down, the boat rocked slightly in the wind, and I, the wicked servant, gradually warming up in my coat, began to doze off. But suddenly there came a shove to the boat, and it began to pitch about. I roused myself and saw Uncle Luka standing in it, and he says in a stifled voice, not his own:

“Row!”

I took the oars, but couldn’t get them into the oarlocks from fear. I managed with great effort and pushed off from the shore, and then asked:

“Did you get the angel, uncle?”

“He’s with me. Row harder!”

“Tell me,” I persist, “how did you get him?”

“Just the way we said.”

“And we’ll have time to bring him back?”

“We should. They’ve just sung the great prokeimenon.³⁰ Row! Where are you rowing to?”