The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

“That’s true, that’s true, too; I believe you,” said the police chief. “There was reason to be afraid, but still … such a large sum … such good money. I’ll gallop there, I’ll gallop there right now … He’s probably hiding out somewhere already, but he won’t get away from me! It’s lucky for us that everybody knows he’s a thief, and nobody likes him: they’re not going to hide him … Although—he’s got money in his hands now … he can divvy it up … I’ll have to hurry … People are plain scoundrels … Good-bye, I’m going. And you calm yourself, take some drops … I know their thievish nature, and I assure you he’ll be caught.”

And the police chief was buckling on his saber, when suddenly an unusual stir was heard among the people in the front hall and … Selivan stepped across the threshold into the big room where we all were, breathing heavily and holding my aunt’s box.

Everybody jumped up and stood as if rooted to the spot …

“You forgot your little coffer—here it is,” Selivan said in a muffled voice.

He couldn’t say any more, because he was completely out of breath from the excessively quick pace and, perhaps, from strong inner agitation.

He put the box on the table and, without being invited, sat down on a chair and lowered his head and arms.

XIX

The box was perfectly intact. My aunt took a little key from around her neck, unlocked it, and exclaimed:

“All, all just as it was!”

“Kept safe …” Selivan said softly. “I ran after you … tried to catch up … couldn’t … Forgive me for sitting down in front of you … I’m out of breath.”

My father went to him first, embraced him, and kissed his head.

Selivan didn’t move.

My aunt took two hundred-rouble notes from the box and tried to put them into his hands.

Selivan went on sitting and staring as if he understood nothing.

“Take what’s given you,” said the police chief.

“What for? There’s no need!”

“For having honestly saved and brought the money that was forgotten at your place.”

“What else? Shouldn’t a man be honest?”

“Well, you’re … a good man … you didn’t think of keeping what wasn’t yours.”

“Keeping what wasn’t mine! …” Selivan shook his head and added: “I don’t need what isn’t mine.”

“But you’re poor—take it to improve things for yourself!” my aunt said tenderly.

“Take it, take it,” my father tried to persuade him. “You have a right to it.”

“What right?”

They told him about the law according to which anyone who finds and returns something lost has a right to a third of what he has found.

“What kind of law is that?” he replied, again pushing away my aunt’s hand with the money. “Don’t profit from another’s misfortune … There’s no need! Good-bye!”

And he got up to go back to his maligned little inn, but my father wouldn’t let him: he took him to his study, locked himself in with him, and an hour later ordered a sleigh hitched up to take him home.

A day later this incident became known in town and all around it, and two days later my father and aunt went to Kromy, stopped at Selivan’s, had tea in his cottage, and left a warm coat for his wife. On the way back they stopped by again and brought him more presents: tea, sugar, flour.

He accepted it all politely, but reluctantly, and said:

“What for? It’s three days now that people have begun stopping here … money’s coming in … we made cabbage soup … They’re not afraid of us like they used to be.”

When I was taken back to boarding school after the holidays, things were again sent with me for Selivan, and I had tea at his place and kept looking in his face and thinking:

“What a beautiful, kind face he has! Why is it that for so long he looked to me and others like a spook?”

This thought pursued me and would not leave me in peace … Why, this was the same man whom everyone had found so frightening and considered a sorcerer and an evildoer. And for so long it had seemed that all he did was plot and carry out evil deeds. Why had he suddenly become so good and nice?

XX

I was very lucky in my childhood, in the sense that my first lessons in religion were given me by an excellent Christian. This was the Orel priest Ostromyslenny⁹—a good friend of my father’s and a friend to all of us children, who was able to teach us to love truth and mercy. I told my comrades nothing of what had happened to us on Christmas Eve at Selivan’s, because there was nothing in it all that flattered my courage, while, on the contrary, they might have laughed at my fear, but I revealed all my adventures and doubts to Father Efim.

He stroked me with his hand and said:

“You’re very lucky. Your soul on Christmas Day was like a manger for the holy infant, who came to earth to suffer for the unfortunate. Christ lit up for you the darkness in which the empty talk of dark-minded folk had shrouded your imagination. It was not Selivan who was the spook, but you yourselves—your suspiciousness of him, which kept all of you from seeing his good conscience. His face seemed dark to you, because your eye was dark.¹⁰ Take note of that so that next time you won’t be so blind.”