The first pale streaks of dawn were
creeping slowly up from the horizon, piercing the
darkness of night with faint, far-away shafts of light,
like arrows silver-tipped, shot from an unseen quiver.
In the distance, the snow fields stretched limitless
and vast, and between them the road wound in and out,
narrow and dark, like a coiled serpent amid the whiteness.
Here and there an occasional black-roofed
farm house reared its head; across the snow came the
sudden gleam of an ice covered pond; while afar off,
to the left, the domes of Belaia rose dark and mysterious
in their roundness, like a patch of giant toadstools,
shadowy and strange. The air was damp and a
cold wind blew over the snow drifts. Along the
road, in the full teeth of the blast, trudged two
boys, the one a little behind the other, and the taller
of the two shielding the younger with his body.
“Is it far now, Velasco?”
“Not far, if you peep through
the folds of your cloak you will see the domes over
yonder. Are you weary, Kaya?”
“No Velasco.”
The voice came in little gasps, as
if blown by the gale, fluttering like a leaf that
is tossed hither and thither. The older boy bent
his head, struggling forward.
“The wind is like a dagger,”
he stammered, “it cuts through the cloak like
an edge of fine steel, like a poignard piercing
the heart. Come closer, Kaya, and let me put
my arm around you. Your body sways like a frail
stem, a flower. You are stumbling and your breath
freezes, even as it comes through your lips.
Come closer, or you will fall, Kaya. Let me
put my arm around you.”
“It is nothing, Velasco; only
the snow that whirls before my eyes and blinds them.
Is that the dawn, those faint, grey streaks in the
distance?”
“You are stumbling again, Kaya!
It is wonderful the way you have tramped the whole
night through. We are almost there.”
“It is only my feet, Velasco;
they are frozen a little by the snow, and numb.
That is nothing for a boy. Let us run a race
together. Come!”
“The wind mocks at you, little
one. Run in such a blast fight rather!
Put your head down and battle with it. The demon!
Keep behind me a little; use my cloak and my arm
as a shield. It is not far now.”
“Shall we stop at the inn, Velasco;
is it safe, do you think? There is one on the
market-place.”
“Yes, why not?”
“I was there once before, Velasco,
with my with my maid!” The girl laughed.
“You pant, Kaya, and your breath
comes in jerks. Are you frightened?”
“No, Velasco no!”
“They will look for us in the
trains and the boats, but never in the snow-fields
and the market-places. Kaya, we will tramp as
long as you are able to bear it, and then ”
“Then Velasco?”
“We will take the train at some
smaller station Dvisk, Vilna wherever
we can.”
“You, Velasco, but not I.”
“Both of us. I will never
leave you again. In my pocket are passports,
blank; I bribed the official. We will fill them
in together: two gypsies, one dark and one fair.
Ha, Kaya keep up a little further!
See, the domes are bigger now and nearer, and the road
goes straight without winding.”
“Velasco I cannot
walk! I cannot see! Everything whirls before
me in a mist Go! Leave me I am falling ”
The older gypsey gave a despairing
look over the snow-fields; they were bare, and white,
and glistening. The golden ball of the sun had
begun to climb slowly and the shafts had grown suddenly
yellow. Across the icy surface of the pond the
wind whistled, lashing him in the face as with a whip.
The road was narrow and deserted. They were
alone, and the form of the younger boy lay against
him unconscious, inert, half sunk in the snow.
Velasco bent over his companion, chafing
the hands, the cheeks; they were cold like ice.
He gave another despairing glance around; then he
lifted the form in his stiffening arms and carried
it slowly, laboriously forward, plodding each step;
his head bent, his teeth grit together, fighting his
way.
The shafts lengthened across the sky;
the domes grew larger and began to glitter in the
rays of the sunlight; by the side of the road houses
appeared, straggling at first, then nearer together.
Suddenly, behind them, came the tinkle of sleigh-bells,
and the crunching of snow beaten in by the weight
of hoofs.
“Oi Oi!”
Velasco stepped aside with his burden
and stared at the sleigh as it approached. It
was a cart, roughly set on runners, drawn by a pair
of long-haired ponies; while fastened behind was a
mare, and two wild-eyed colts following.
The peasant in the seat was wrapped
in sheep-skin and smoking a short, thick pipe held
between his teeth.
“Oi Oi!
Is that a corpse you hold there, Bradjaga?”
he cried. His voice was hardly distinguishable
above the roaring of the gale.
“For the love of heaven,”
shouted Velasco, “Moujik, if you have a heart
under your sheep-skin, let me lay my comrade in the
cart! He is faint with the cold, benumbed.
We have tramped all night in the snow. Are you
bound for the market at Belaia? Hey, stop!
Moujik stop!”
“Get in,” said the peasant,
“The ponies rear and dance as if Satan were
on their backs, and the mare is like one possessed!
It is good to see the sun. Get in, Bradjaga,
and if the burden in your arms is no corpse it will
soon become one! The night has been hell.
Bozhe moi! At the first crossing to the
left is a tea-house Get along you brutes! Pour
the vodka into his throat; it will sting him to life!”
The ponies dashed forward, the mare
and the foals running behind. Velasco sat huddled
on the floor of the cart, his violin and the knapsack
slung from his shoulders; his arms still clasping the
slight, dark form, protecting it from the jolting
of the runners. He was muttering to it under
his breath:
“Kaya poor little
one! Your curls are damp against my cheek; your
forehead is ice! Courage, little comrade.
Now your heart beats faster your
eye-lids are flickering! Another moment and you
will be warm and safe. The lights of the tea-house
are ahead. Moujik faster! We
will drink a glass of vodka together, all three!
Faster faster!”
As the sleigh dashed into the court-yard,
the great red ball of the sun rose above the distant
tree-tops; and behind the stables a cock began to
crow, slowly, feebly at first, as if just awake and
stretching his wings.
When Kaya came to consciousness again,
she was lying on a pile of straw in a low raftered
room. She had dreamt that she was chained and
in prison, and that something was choking her and
weighing on her breast; but when she tried to move
her limbs, she found that it was the blankets, wrapping
her closely; and when she opened her eyes, she saw
the face of Velasco bending over her, and he was trying
to force some wine through her clenched lips.
“Where am I?” said Kaya
faintly, “You are choking me, Velasco!”
She struggled to a sitting posture,
leaning on one elbow, and peered up into his face.
“What has happened?” she said again, “Where
are we? I thought we were tramping through the
snow and my feet were frozen! You are pale,
Velasco, and your eyes are heavy! Have I
slept?”
Velasco glanced over his shoulder,
and then brought his lips close to her face and whispered:
“You fainted and I carried you in my arms; the
Moujik brought us here in his cart. You opened
your eyes once, and then when we laid you on the straw
you fell asleep. You slept so long I was frightened,
Kaya if it had not been for your jacket
moving under the blankets, rising and falling softly
with the beat of your heart, you might have been dead;
you were so still! Poor little one, you were
exhausted. Drink a little and eat!”
“What time is it, Velasco?”
“The sun was rising when we
drove into the court and now, in another hour or two,
it will be setting.”
Kaya put her hand to her cropped yellow
curls, and then she looked at him and a dimple came
in her cheek:
“I forgot about being a boy,”
she murmured, “Is this what you call an inn,
Velasco? It looks like a stable!”
“It is a stable.”
Kaya looked at him again and began
to laugh softly: “I forgot about being
a gypsey,” she said, “Your clothes are
ragged and torn, Velasco; they are worse than they
were that night in your Studio. And I tell
me how do I look?”
“Like a little Bradjaga, sweet,
and disreputable, and boyish!”
Kaya drew herself slowly to her knees
and then to her feet, brushing the straw from her
velveteen trousers and the sleeves of her jacket.
“They wouldn’t let us in the inn because
we were gypsies, was that it? They were afraid
we would steal?”
The dimples came back in her face
and she picked up her cap from the floor, dusting
it with her elbow and cramming it down on the back
of her curls. “Steal me a little bread,
Velasco, I am hungry.”
“Come back to your nest in the
straw, Kaya; put your fingers in my pocket and steal
for yourself. I bought a loaf with a couple of
copecks, and some honey-cake. At sun-down, when
the peasants come for their vodka, there will be a
dance. They have never danced to a Stradivarius
before; but they won’t know the difference,
Kaya, not they! We will pay for the straw with
a rollicking waltz Ha ha!”
The gypsey musician caught his comrade
by the arm and pulled her down on the straw beside
him.
“Which pocket, Velasco?
Oh, I feel the honey-cake bulging! Give it to
me.”
“No take it yourself!”
“Your pocket is so deep; it is like diving into
a pool.”
“Not so deep as your eyes, Kaya.
You thief! Ah, take your fingers away and pay
for your bread.”
“Are you fooling, Velasco?
You look at me so strangely! Sometimes your
eyes are slits and disappear under your brows, and
now Velasco, turn your head away I
am hungry. You make my heart beat! Velasco give
me the bread.”
“Pay first and then you shall have it.”
She stared at him a moment, drawing
back into the straw. “I am a boy,”
she said softly, panting, “Remember I am a boy!
Don’t tease me!”
“Just once, Kaya.”
“No Velasco.”
The older gypsey glanced again about
the low raftered loft. The window in the rafters
was hung with cob-webs; the light came through it dimly,
a shaft of sun-beams dancing on the floor; they fell
on her hair beneath the cap and the curls glistened
like gold. Her eyes were watching him.
“No no Velasco!”
He came nearer to her, and the straw
crackled as he moved, stretching out his arms:
“When you were weary, Kaya, I carried you.
When you fell asleep I watched over you. It
is not your heart that is beating so fast; it is mine!
The colour has come back to your cheeks and the light
to your eyes. You slept while I guarded you.
My eyes were heavy, but I dared not shut them; I
watched the folds of your jacket rising and falling,
the breath as it came through the arch of your lips;
the gold of your curls against the straw; the oval
of your cheek and your lashes. My eyes never
closed. I have given up everything for you,
Kaya, my life and my art.”
He stretched out his arms to her again,
and his dark eyes gazed into her blue ones, passionate
and eager.
“ Kaya!”
She put out her hand and touched his:
“Sleep, Velasco. Your
life is safe and your art. You have given them
to me, but I will give them back again. Break
off a piece of the bread, Velasco, and we will talk
a little together while we eat. We have been
such good comrades, you and I, and we care for one
another as comrades do. If you should
die or or leave me, it would break my heart you
know that.”
“Ah, kiss me Kaya!
Let me take you in my arms! Come to me and let
me kiss you on your lips!”
“You hurt me, Velasco, your
hands are so strong! Not on the lips Velasco not
on the lips! I beseech you, dear friend, I ”
The gypsey held her close to him for
a moment, his heart beating against hers, and then
he turned away his head. “I love you, Kaya;
I love you! Kiss me of your own will. I
can’t force you how can I? Your
hands are struggling in mine, but they are soft like
the down on a bird’s breast! Some day you
will come to me, Kaya, some day when you
love me too. When ah! The touch
of your hands, your hair against my cheek sets my
blood on fire! Feel my pulse how it throbs!
It is like a storm under the skin! I suffer,
little Bradjaga little comrade!”
“Don’t suffer!”
cried the girl, “Let me go, Velasco, let me go!
We will sit here together, side by side; be my comrade
again, my big brother! Laugh, Velasco!
Smile at me! When you look like that and come
so close, I am frightened! Don’t tease
me any more! The bread is hard like a nut; see,
I will crack it between my teeth. Where is the
honey-cake, Velasco? Give me a piece.”
“Do you care for me, Kaya?
Look me in the eyes and tell me.”
The girl pushed him away from her
slowly and turned away her head with a flush:
“Is that your violin over there in the straw,
lying in a little nest all by itself, cradled
so snug and so warm? It is charming to be a
gypsey, Velasco. Are you glad I came to you,
or are you sorry? That night, do you remember
the violets? I flung them straight at your feet!
I wasn’t a boy then, but I threw straight.
Velasco, listen I I care for
you but don’t kiss me!”
“Kaya Kaya!”
“Hush! Shut your eyes!
Put your head back in the straw and go to sleep.
When it is time for the dance I will wake you.
I will sit here close beside you and watch, as you
watched over me. Shut your eyes, Velasco.”
“Won’t you Kaya?”
“Go to sleep, Velasco hush!”
“If I shut my eyes will you?”
“Hush!”
The sun-beams danced on the dusty
floor and the light came dimly through the cobwebs.
Velasco lay with his arm under his head, his young
limbs stretched in the straw, asleep. He murmured
and tossed uneasily. There was a flush on his
face; his dark hair fell over his brows and teased
him, and he flung it back, half unconscious.
Kaya covered him with the blanket,
kneeling beside him in the straw. She moved
without rustling, drawing it in softly, and smoothing
the straw with her fingers.
“It is my fault that he is lying
here in a loft,” she whispered low to herself,
“He does it for me! His hands have been
frozen for me! They were so white,
and firm, and supple; and now they are scratched
and swollen!”
She gave a frightened glance about
the loft, and then bent over him, holding back a fold
of the blanket.
“He is asleep!” she breathed, “He
will never know!”
She stooped low with her golden head
and kissed his hands one after the other, lightly,
swiftly, pressing her lips to the scratches.
He murmured again, tossing uneasily; and she fell
backwards in the straw, gazing at him, with her arms
locked over her breast and her heart throbbing madly.
“No he is asleep!”
she said, “He is fast asleep! Another hour,
and then in the dusk I will wake him. He will
play for the dancing Velasco! The
greatest violinist in all Russia he will
play for the peasants to dance!”
She gave a little sob, half smothered.
“It was wicked,” she said, “unpardonable!
I didn’t know then how could I know?
If I had known! God, save him! Give
him back his life and his art that he has given to
me. Give it all back to him, and let me suffer
alone the curse of the Cross the curse
of the Cross! Make me strong to resist
him! Ah, Velasco !”
She was sobbing through her clenched
teeth; staring at him, stretching out her arms to
him.
“Velasco!”