Несовременные записки. Том 3 - страница 26

'Daddy, why is this stone so big?' the boy asked.

'It's the part of a great rock. It broke off it a long time ago and fell into the river.'

'Is it heavy?'

'Yeah, it's very heavy.'

'But you can move it away from here, can't you, Daddy?'

'No, of course!' the man laughed and dishevelled the boy's hair. 'You need a big tractor at least to move this boulder even a single inch. And in any case…'

'What case, Dad?'

'I mean, where will you find a rope to drag this rock with? There's no rope which can bear such a terrible weight.'

'And crane?'

'A crane needs a rope too. Where will you get it?'

'It's a pity that there is no such a rope,' the boy said after a short pause, 'or I would have a look at what is under it. Do you know what is under?'

'No.'

'And have you seen this big stone before, Daddy?'

'Certainly, kiddy. We played a good deal of time here when we were boys.'

'How did you play?'

'Oh, in many different ways. Indians. Soldiers. Mountaineers. Did yea see those vertical stone rocks over there?' the man beckoned with his head somewhere backwards. 'There was time I was climbing them.'

'With your mother and father?'

'No, of course.'

'Why no?'

'Cause they would've never allowed me this.'

'Why?'

'Cause it's dangerous.'

'Why dangerous?'

'Cause I could have fallen and crashed.'

'Were you afraid to?'

'For the first time, yes. And then it had become just interesting.'

'You were like me then?'

'No, sonny. I was slightly older than you then. Eight, I believe. And you are five.'

'And your mummy and daddy didn't know about it?'

'No, they didn't.'

'And your mummy still doesn't know about it?'

'No, she doesn't.'

'And if I tell her about it now, she won't rate you?'

'I think, no. It was a great deal of time ago.'

There was a long silence. The boy got tired of sitting in one position and stirred suddenly in his father's hands.

'Oh, devil!' the man exclaimed, instantly having rolled in his mind the terrible picture of his little one falling into the river, and made a snatch at his shoulders. 'Do you want to fall down, you, silly guy?'

'Daddy, but I wouldn't fall down,' the boy said. 'I am holding on to you tight — see,' and he squeezed his father's hands with his for all he was worth.

There was another long silence. The dimmed disk of the setting sun loomed through light clouds and powerful crowns of old poplars which stood bending above the stream and softly rustled with their thick foliage. Everything around was tinged with fresh golden and crimson paints; only the old church standing too high above the bank seemed black against the background of bright evening mother-of-pearl — black, yet not a trifle gloomy.

'It's getting late, kiddy,' the man said. 'Let's go.'

'No,' the boy frowned. 'I don't want to go from here.'

'Neither do I, but I've got tired to sit here. Let's go.'

'Good,' the boy said reluctantly after a while.

In the same step-wise manner they descended the rock and stayed for some time by the river, on the very border of land and water. The boy picked up a stick and threw it in the rapids. Snatched up by the flow, it floated downstreams swiftly.

'Where is it floating to?' the boy asked.

'To the next river.'

'And from there?'

'To the further next one which is larger.'

'And from there?'

'To the still larger river.'

'And from there?'

'Into the ocean.'

'What ocean?'

'The Arctic.'

'Is it far from here?'

'Yes, it is very far.'

'How far?'

'About two thousand miles, I believe. Do you imagine such a distance?'

The boy pondered over the figure he had heard.

'No,' he said after a while. 'You see, Daddy, I don't know how many a thousand is.'

'Well,' his father explained. 'It'll take your stick about fortnight to reach Arctic ocean, see?'

'A fort… what?'

'A fortnight. Two weeks.'

'I want to Arctic ocean, Daddy.'

'It's too cold there. Ice, no people. Polar bears.'

'I know. Just like at Snow Queen's. But I will go there with you. Or we'll float down the river.'

'Let's go home, kittie,' the man said. 'It's getting late.'

'I won't cry,' the boy said. 'See, I have not cried when I been nettled.'

The man didn't answered. The Arctic, he thought. Kiddy, kiddy, you have just forgotten that tomorrow morning you will be in the other city, eighty miles from here, and then, in two or three days you and your mother will go to the sea. To the warm southern sea — very far from the Arctic.