The Pobratim Part 27

"'Yes it does; in a hurricane.'

"'Then I cover my head with both my wings, like this.'

"No sooner had the poor bird buried her head under both her wings, than the sly old fox jumped at her, and ate her up.

"But," said the witch, finis.h.i.+ng her story, "if you are like the dove, I'm not like the bird of the sedges; and Vranic would find me rather tough to eat me up. And now, hurry home, my dear; if ever you want me again, you know where to find me."

The rain had ceased, and Milena, thanking the old woman for her kindness, went off. She had been back but a few minutes when Radonic returned home, ever so much the worse for drink. Not finding any supper ready, he at first began to grumble; then, little by little, thinking himself very ill-used, he got into a tremendous rage. Having reached this paroxysm of wrath, he set to smash all the crockery that he could lay his hands on, whilst Milena, terrified, went and shut herself up in the next room, and peeped at him through the keyhole.

When he had broken a sufficient number of plates and dishes, he felt vexed at having vented his rage in such a foolish way, then to pity himself at having such a worthless wife, who left him without supper, and growing sentimental, he began to groan and hiccough and curse, till he at last rolled off the stool on which he had been rocking himself, and went to sleep on the floor.

On the morrow the husband was moody, the wife sad; neither of them spoke or looked at the other. The whole of that day, Milena--in her loneliness--revolved within her mind what she would do to get rid of Vranic's importunities, and, above all, how she could prevent him from harming Uros, as he had threatened to do.

The day pa.s.sed away slowly; in the evening Radonic came home more drunk than he had ever been, therefore maliciously angry and spiteful.

The front room of the house, like that of almost all other cottages, was a large but dark and dismal-looking chamber, pierced with several small windows, all thickly grated; the ceiling was raftered, and pieces of smoked mutton, wreaths of onions, bundles of herbs, and other provisions dangled down from hooks, or nails, driven in nearly every beam. As in all country-houses, the hearth was built in the very midst of this room, and the smoke, curling upwards, found an outlet from a hole in the roof. That evening, as it was pouring and blowing, the gusts of wind and rain prevented the smoke from finding its way out.

Milena was seated on a three-legged stool at a corner of the hearth, by a quaint, somewhat prehistoric, kind of earthenware one-wick oil-lamp, which gave rather less light than our night-lamps usually do, though it flickered and sputtered and smoked far more. She was sewing a very tiny bit of a rag, but she took much pride in it, for every now and then she looked at it with the fond eyes of a girl sewing her doll's first bodice. Hearing her husband's step on the s.h.i.+ngle just outside, she started to her feet, thrust the rag away, looking as if she had almost been caught doing something very guilty.

After that she began mixing the soup boiling in the pot with great alacrity.

Radonic was not a handsome man at the best of times, but now, besotted by drink, shuffling and reeling, he was positively loathsome. He stopped for a moment on the sill to look at his wife, grinning at her in a half-savage, half-idiotic way.

Milena shuddered when she saw him, and turned her eyes away. He evidently noticed the look of horror she cast on him, for holding himself to the door-post with one hand, he shook the other at her, in his increasing anger.

"What have you been doing all the day?--gadding about, or sitting on the door-step to beckon to the youths who pa.s.s by?" he said, in a thick, throaty voice, interrupted every now and then with a drunken hiccough. Then he let go the door-post and shuffled in.

"A fine creature, a very fine creature, a s.l.u.t, a good-for-nothing s.l.u.t, not worth the salt she eats! You hear, madam? you hear, darling? it's to you I'm speaking."

Milena stood pale, awe-stricken, twisting the fringe of her ap.r.o.n round her fingers, looking at him with amazement. It was certainly not the first time in her life that she had seen a drunken man; still, she had never known anyone so fiendish when tipsy.

"A nice kind of woman for a fellow to marry," he went on, "a thing that stands twisting her fingers from morning to night, but who cannot find time to prepare a little supper for a hungry man, in the evening." Then, with a grunt: "What have you been doing the whole of the live-long day?"

Milena did not answer.

"I say, will you speak? by the Virgin, will you speak? or I'll slap that stupid sallow face of yours till I make it red with your blood."

Milena did try to answer, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come out. Radonic thought she was defying him.

"Ah, you'll not answer! You were fooling about the town, or sitting at the window eating pumpkin seeds, waiting for the dogs that pa.s.s to admire those meaningless eyes of yours. They are dark, it's true, but I'll make them ten times darker."

Thereupon he made a rush at her, but, swift-footed as she was, she ran on the opposite side of the room. She glanced at the door, but he had shut and bolted it, therefore--being afraid that he might be upon her before she managed to open it--she only kept running round the hearth, waiting till chance afforded her some better way of escape.

He ran after her for some time, but, drunk and asthmatic as he was, he stopped at last, irritated by his non-success. Vexed at seeing a faint smile on her lips, he took up a plate, that had been spared from the day before, and s.h.i.+ed it at her. She was too quick for him, for she deftly moved aside, and the plate was smashed against an oaken press.

He gnashed his teeth with rage and showed her his fists; then he bent down, picked up a log, and flourished it wildly about. She at once made for the door. He flung the piece of wood at her with all his might. She once more stooped to avoid it, but, in her eagerness to get out, she was this time rather flurried; moreover, the missile hurled at her was, this time, much bigger than the former one, so that the log just caught her at the back of her head. She uttered a shrill cry, and fell on the ground in a death-like swoon.

Radonic, seeing Milena fall, thought he had killed her. He felt at that moment such a terrible fright that it seemed to him as if a thunderbolt had come down upon him.

He grew deathly pale, his jaw fell, he began to tremble from head to foot, just as when he had a fit of the ague. His teeth chattered, his knees were broken, his joints relaxed. He had never in his whole life felt such a fright. In a moment his drunkenness seemed to vanish, and he was again in his senses.

"Milena," said he, in a faint, quivering, moaning tone. "Milena, my love!"

She did not answer, she did not move; to all appearance she was dead.

The muscles of his throat were twitching in such a way that he almost fancied someone had stabbed him through the neck.

Was she now worth her salt to him? he asked himself bitterly; aye, he would give all his money to bring her back to life if he only could.

He wanted to go up to her, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot where he stood; with widely opened eyes he stared at the figure lying motionless on the floor. Was the blood trickling from her head? A moment afterwards he was kneeling down by her side, lifting her up tenderly; for, brute as he was, he loved her.

She was not dead, for her heart was beating still. Her head was bleeding; but the cut was very slight, hardly skin deep. He began to bathe her face with water, and tried to recall her to her senses.

Still her fainting-fit, owing, perhaps, to the state of her health, lasted for some time; and those moments of torture seemed for him everlasting.

At last Milena opened her eyes; and seeing her husband's face bent close upon hers, she shuddered, and tried to free herself from his arms.

"_Ljuba_," said Radonic, "forgive me. I was a brute; but I didn't mean to harm you."

"It's a pity you didn't kill me; then there would have been an end to this wretched life of mine."

"Do you hate me so very much?"

"Have I any reason to love you?"

"Forgive me, my love. I've been drinking to-night; and when the wine gets to my head, then I know I'm nasty."

"No, you hate me, and I know why."

"Why?"

"Vranic sets you against me; and when your anger is roused, and your brain muddled, you come and want to kill me."

Radonic did not reply.

"But rather than torture me as you do, kill me at once, to please your friend."

Milena stopped for an instant; then she began again, in a lower tone:

"And that man is doubtless there, behind that door, listening to all that has happened."

Radonic ground his teeth, clenched his fists, snorted like a high-mettled horse, started up, and would have rushed to the door had Milena not prevented him.

"No," said she, "do not be so rash. Abide your time; catch him on the hip."

"Why does he hate you?"

"Can't you guess? Did he not want to marry me?"

Radonic groaned.