War And Peace

‘No, wait!’ he cried. ‘You’re such a hero! Oh! How marvellous! How splendid! I like you so much!’

‘That’s all right, then,’ answered Dolokhov, but Petya wouldn’t let go, and in the darkness Dolokhov could see him leaning across so they could embrace. Dolokhov kissed him, gave a laugh, turned his horse and vanished into the darkness.

CHAPTER 10

When he got back to the hut Petya found Denisov standing at the door. He had been waiting for Petya to come back, and he was feeling restless, anxious and annoyed with himself for letting him go.

‘Oh, thank God!’ he cried. ‘Thank God for that!’ he kept on saying as he listened to Petya’s breathless account. ‘You damned wascal, I haven’t been able to sleep for wowwying about you!’ he added. ‘Anyway, thank God you’re back. Now go and have a west. There’s just time for some shut-eye before morning.’

‘Yes, all right . . . Oh, no,’ said Petya. ‘I just don’t feel sleepy. Besides, I know what I’m like. Once I drop off that’s me finished. Anyway, I don’t usually get much sleep before a battle.’

Petya sat there for a while in the hut, going over the juicy details of his adventure and vividly imagining what was going to happen tomorrow. Then he noticed Denisov had fallen asleep, so he got up and went outside.

It was still pitch black. It had stopped raining, but the trees were still dripping. Close by the hut he could just make out the black shapes of the Cossacks’ shanties and the horses tethered together. Back behind the hut he could see the dark blur of two wagons and a few horses, and down in the hollow a red glow came from a dying fire. Not all of the Cossacks and hussars were asleep; the murmur of whispering voices mingled with the sound of raindrops dripping and horses champing.

Petya walked out, glanced round through the darkness and went over to the wagons. A snoring sound was coming from under one of them, and saddled horses stood around munching oats. In the dark Petya saw his own horse and went over to see him. He called him Karabakh, a name that suggested the Caucasus, though in fact he came from Ukraine.

‘Hey, Karabakh, we’ve got a job to do tomorrow,’ he said, nuzzling at his nostrils and giving him a kiss.

‘Can’t you get to sleep sir?’ said a Cossack voice from under the wagon.

‘Well I . . . Your name’s Likhachov, isn’t it? . . . I’ve only just got back. We’ve been over to see the French.’ And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his trip, but also his reasons for going, and why he thought it was better to put his life on the line rather than leave things to chance.

‘Well, you ought to get a bit of sleep,’ said the Cossack.

‘No, I’m used to it,’ answered Petya. ‘By the way, how are the flints in your pistols? Are they worn out? I brought some with me. Do you want some? Help yourself.’

The Cossack popped out from under the wagon to take a closer look at Petya.

‘I like to do things by the book, you see,’ said Petya. ‘Some men, you know, aren’t very bothered and they don’t make preparations, and they live to regret it. I don’t like that.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ said the Cossack.

‘Oh, there’s one other thing. My dear chap, would you mind sharpening my sabre for me? It’s gone a bit bl . . .’ (But Petya couldn’t bring himself to tell a lie.) ‘Well, actually it’s never been sharpened. Could you manage that?’

‘Yes. Sure I can.’

Likhachov stood up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Petya was standing there listening to the warlike sound of steel on stone. He clambered up on to the wagon, and sat on the side. The Cossack went on sharpening down below.

‘All the other boys are asleep, aren’t they?’ said Petya.

‘Some are. Some are awake like us.’

‘What’s happened to the boy?’

‘Vesenny? He’s burrowed down over yonder in the hay. He’s having a good sleep after his scare. He was ready for it.’

For a long time Petya sat there saying nothing, just listening to the sounds. Then footsteps came towards them through the darkness, and a dark figure emerged.

‘What’s that you’re sharpening?’ asked the man as he came over to the wagon.

‘A sabre for the gentleman here.’

‘Fine job,’ said the man. Petya assumed he was a hussar. ‘Did that cup get left over here?’

‘Yes, it’s there, by that wheel.’

The hussar took the cup.

‘Soon be daylight,’ he added, yawning as he walked away.