Fifty-Two Stories

Auntie, who had no idea what was happening, went up to him. He kissed her on the head and put her in next to Fyodor Timofeyich. Then it became dark. Auntie stepped all over the cat, and clawed at the sides of the suitcase, but she was so frightened that she couldn’t utter a sound. The suitcase rocked and swayed as if it were floating on water…

“Here I am!” the master shouted loudly. “Here I am!” After this shout, Auntie felt the suitcase hit against something solid and stop swaying. There was a loud, deep roar. It sounded as if someone were being slapped, and someone—probably the fat mug with a tail where its nose should be—roared and laughed so loudly that the latch on the suitcase rattled. In response to the roar, the master laughed in a shrill, squeaky voice, not at all the way he laughed at home.

“Ha!” he yelled, trying to outshout the roar. “Most esteemed public! I’ve just come from the station! My granny dropped dead and left me an inheritance! The suitcase is very heavy—gold, obviously…Ha-a! And suddenly we’ve got a million here! Let’s open it right now and have a look…”

The latch clicked. Bright light struck Auntie’s eyes. She jumped out of the suitcase and, deafened by the roar, ran around her master as fast as she could go, yelping all the while.

“Ha!” shouted the master. “Uncle Fyodor Timofeyich! Dear Auntie! My nice relatives, devil take you all!”

He fell down on the sand, grabbed Auntie and the cat, and started hugging them. Auntie, while he was squeezing her in his embrace, caught a glimpse of that world which fate had brought her to and, struck by its immensity, froze for a moment in amazement and rapture, then tore herself from his arms and, from the keenness of the impression, spun in place like a top. This new world was big and full of bright light, and everywhere she looked from floor to ceiling there were faces, faces, nothing but faces.

“Auntie, allow me to offer you a seat!” the master shouted.

Remembering what that meant, Auntie jumped up on the chair and sat. She looked at her master. His eyes were serious and kind, as usual, but his face, especially his mouth and teeth, were distorted by a wide, fixed grin. He himself guffawed, leaped about, hunched his shoulders, and pretended to be very happy in front of the thousands of faces. Auntie believed in his happiness, and suddenly felt with her whole body that those thousands of faces were all looking at her, and she raised her foxlike head and howled joyfully.

“Sit there, Auntie,” the master said to her, “while Uncle and I dance a kamerinsky.”

Fyodor Timofeyich, while waiting until he was forced to do stupid things, stood and glanced about indifferently. He danced sluggishly, carelessly, glumly, and by his movements, by his tail and whiskers, one could see that he deeply despised the crowd, the bright lights, his master, and himself…Having done his part, he yawned and sat down.

“Well, Auntie,” said the master, “now you and I will sing a song, and then we’ll dance. All right?”

He took a little flute from his pocket and started playing. Auntie, who couldn’t stand music, fidgeted on her chair uneasily and howled. Roars and applause came from all sides. The master bowed, and when things quieted down, he continued playing…Just as he hit a very high note, someone high up in the audience gasped loudly.

“Daddy!” a child’s voice cried. “That’s Kashtanka!”

“Kashtanka it is!” confirmed a cracked, drunken little tenor. “Kashtanka! Fedyushka, so help me God, it’s Kashtanka! Phweet!”

A whistle came from the top row, and two voices, one a boy’s and the other a man’s, called out:

“Kashtanka! Kashtanka!”

Auntie was startled, and looked in the direction of the voices. Two faces—one hairy, drunk, and grinning and the other chubby, pink-cheeked, and frightened—struck her eyes as the bright light had done earlier…She remembered, fell off the chair, floundered in the sand, jumped up, and with a joyful yelp ran toward those faces. There was a deafening roar, pierced by whistles and the shrill shout of a child:

“Kashtanka! Kashtanka!”

Auntie jumped over the barrier, then over someone’s shoulder, and landed in a box seat. To get to the next tier, she had to leap a high wall. She leaped, but not high enough, and slid back down the wall. Then she was picked up and passed from hand to hand, she licked hands and faces, she kept getting higher and higher, and at last she reached the top row…

Half an hour later, Kashtanka was walking down the street, following the people who smelled of glue and varnish. Luka Alexandrych staggered as he went, and instinctively, having been taught by experience, kept as far as possible from the gutter.

“Lying in the abyss of sinfulness in my womb…,” he muttered. “And you, Kashtanka, are a bewilderment. Compared to a man, you’re like a carpenter compared to a cabinetmaker.”