BRAVADO

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21912, 22 September 1934, Page 19

BRAVADO

A SHORT STORY,

! '■ BT JEXETTA UOTIBOL

" Let us go home now, Igor," Sasha said pulling timidly at his elder brother's sleeve, " I am very tired." Igor did not appear to have heard, j siid Sasha sat back in his corner, wait- J ing to repeat his request in a few i minutes. It was late and his first taste j or rcnl grown-up excitement had worn I him out, and now he longed for his | bed. Going home only meant climbing the stairs and walking a few yards down the street, but it did not occur to Sasha to go alone. t No one in Gorodok cared to walk alone in the streets at night, especially in winter. You never knew whom or tfhat you might meet in that impenetrable darkness. You might run into old Perov, the idiot, who was supposed to be harmless, but whose weird cries chilled the blood in your veins. Or you might see the ghost of long-dead Nikolai, carrying his head in his hands. . . No, Sasha did not think of going alone. The others, sitting close together within the circle of dim lamplight, were intent on their gambling. Sasha had been allowed to play for the first time to-night, and he had lost what little money he'd had, but Igor was winning, and that was why he would not come home. Every Saturday evening, when the work for the week was done, the boys met here in Ivan's cellar to play cards. It was the only amusement possible for them, since the tiny, isolated village had none to offer to boys of their age. For a few hours each week they forgot the cold, their poverty, and the toiling that led nowhere, and grew warmly alive with excitement. Only on Saturday nights they had time and money for pleasure. The cards they used were grey and ragged from much handling. Again Sasha asked his brother to come home. " I will come soon," answered Igor. "What, you are tired, Sasha? We do not stop yet," said Boris, the philosopher, who was losing as usual, and still hoping to regain some of the money he had lost. " No, if you wish to go home, you can go by yourself," put in dark, wild Ivan, who was winning. He played a card, and exclaimed triumphantly, " Ha, I knew my luck would not desert me." / " Sasha could not go alone," Boris said. " Remember that he is the youngest of us. And remember, too, not to boast of your luck, Ivan." "My luck will hold. But Sasha should not be afraid, even if he is young." ! " He has to pass old Petrov's house -—I should not care to do it myself, at night." / " Pouf!'' said Ivan with disgust, " I would not think twice about that. I am afraid of nothing." The otherfe were quiet, but exchanged glances. Ivan was the greatest boaster in the village, and was never tired of talking "about himself, extolling his own virtues. But he was also very proud, and he always fulfilled his boasts, no matter at what cost. u We know that you are brave," said Igor, resenting the slight to his / brother, "/but there are things that even you would not do." " You li«! You cannot name onethere is nothing I would not do. I would not be afraid to call at Petrov's house ard speak to him. Why, I would even go alone to the old graveyard 1" The boys laughed at that boast, but uneasily. Ivan was fearless, oertainly, but foolish and rash. " No, 1 don't think you would do that," Boris said quietly. Ivan jumped up in a rage. " You say I am a coward? You think there is anything I fear? Very well, I will show you. To-night 1 will go there, and you will see that nothing frightens me." They laughed at him and tried to' dissuade him, but only succeeded in making him the more determined to do as he had said. He put on his long coat and his fur cap. and started to mount the stairs. " How shall we know that you have been there?" Boris asked him in a joke. " You may only walk round the market-place for a time and then return to us/" " Ivan came back, furious that they should doubt him. He took up a stick with a sharp iron point. " I will plant this stick oti a grave," he said, " and to-morrow you may all go and see it for yourselves. Will that be prool enough ?" They agreed that it would indeed be proof, and Ivan mounted the stairs and disappeared from their sight. ».<•»*

Outside, the world was covered with •bow, and you could see no more in Gorodok than if you were blindfolded. There were no lamps in the street, and the houses were all shuttered, not a chink of light escaping anywhere. The intense cold made Ivan catch his breath, but could not deter him. Grasping his stick, he strode off. He was not afraid, not he. He could fight a man or a wolf, so why should a ghost scare him if he met one? When he reached the end of the village he was somewhat less pleased with himself. There was but little sense in marching through the snow, in total darkness, when he might be warm and secure with lie others. But he had said he'd do it, and he must go on now, or bo laughed at for ever. He went through what he know to be wide, trocklessi fields, under a covering of unblemished whiteness. The most utter silence surrounded him; he did not even have the comfort of the sound of his own foot/fall. Ihe old graveyard was three miles away It had been disused for many years, and had fallen into a state of neglect. The wooden fence that surrounded it had broken down in places, and sometimes m the summer a cow would find its way inside, and wander browsing among the simple tombstones and the crosses of wood which time had caused to decay and slip askew. , . In Gorodok the place had an evil reputation—perhaps because no one now living could remember who lay buried there—and it was said to bo haunted by the spirits of the forgotten dead. Even by day the peasants would make a wide detour to avoid it, or it they must pass it, they hurried by, crossing themselves and muttering H prayer It is difficult to know the moment in which Fear makes its onslaught felt, because it can be so slow and insidious in attacking. In its subtlety it can use

ICOP7RIGBT.)

the most harmless objects to attain its ends, and the mind, once touched bv panic, readily becomes its ally, thus aiding its own undoing. When Ivan reached the wood through which he must go, his courage was no longer as high as it had been when he had made his boast in the cellar, but he was not then afraid. The silence sang in his ears, and the trees, heavy with snow, looked menacing and unfamiliar in the dark, but he knew the way, and was still master of himself, so that he could force himself to see the trees as trees, and nothing more. The very need of this control betokened the creeping terror's touch. Then suddenly, he began to run because he longed to regain open country, and perhaps it was then that he was first aware of his own capability of knowing Fear. He stumbled over a fallen tree, half buried in snow, and had difficulty in keeping back a cry. He ran still faster, and floundered into a snowdrift, from which he had trouble in extricating himself. * * * * • • Once out in open again, the path led through vast, empty country, inhabited only by birds and animals, and this part of the journey was far worse uian the wood. The cold seemed to grip him and squeeze the courage out of mm. But pride and will power kept him to his purpose. If he turned back now, even the young Sasha would have power to taunt him. It was unthinkable. At last ho felt himself ascending a steep hill, and he knew he had only half a mile further to go. When he reached the old cemetery, all he need do would be to find a gap in the fence, plant his stick, and return to the village as quickly as he could. He would be known as the bravest man in Gorodok, the only one who would dare to visit this place alone on a winter night! Panting, he reach the top of the hill and hurried down. The darkness seemed to have thinned slightly, and he could make out the shapes of the tall pines that ringed the graveyard, and the huddled ruin of the ancient church which had once served the village. The wind called sadly among the branches of the trees. Ivan found a gap through which to climb quite easily, and he stood inside, trembling a little, feeling the desolation of the place. The graves, mere mounds of whiteness dimly perceived, were a few yards from him, their stones and crosses veiled in shrouds of snow. He looked about him, noting well the spot at which he had entered, in case he should lose his direction within. He experienced such a dreadful sense of revulsion that he longed to fly from the scene, his very flesh shrinking back in disgust. An owl's call from the ruin sent him nearly petrified with fear, and for a moment he was unable to move. He pulled himself together, saying that it was the usual association of ideas that made him nervous to be in the churchyard at night, and that the malignant emanation that crept about him was a mere figment of his own imaginings. "With every nerve alert with fear, he went toward the nearest grave, and bent down to plant his stake. * »»*•»» Somehow it seemed to him a horrible thing to do, as if he were mocking the spirit of the dead to satisfy his own pride. The ground was frozen , so .hard that* it took some time to force the stick through the snow into the earth, and as he worked, a cold perspiration broke out all over his body. What if the dead one should resent his presence there, and disapprove of ffls boasting? But that was nonsense —and he was doing no harm. Hurry, only hurry, and be gone. Merciful Heaven, what was that? Some snow slid off the tombstone with the faintest of sounds, and Ivan's blood curdled to his heart. The trembling of his hands delayed him. At length the Btick was firmly planted, and he was ready to go. But as he raised himself, he felt himself being pulled back, drawn down to the grave again. He screamed aloud in an access of terror, and his voice echoed back again and again. Oh! Holy Mother of God, what could it be? But he knew what it was. It was the outraged dead one pulling him down to share the desecrated grave. Fear had given place to sheer blind panic.

Once more he tried to move, and found that he could not. Now he gave vent to cry after cry. There was no one to hear him, but pure terror had robbed him of every other sense, and he could no longer think at all. He crouched there, gibbering, his reason quite gone, making no more effort to free himself from the unseen hands that clutched at him from the grave, because he knew that they would not release him. W T ith a final sob, he fell prone on his face, and after a short time ceased to move. They found him the next day lying over a grave wifh a wooden cross at its head from which the snow had fallen. They had some difficulty in "moving him, and when they managed to raise him, they found that he had driven the stake clean through a corner of his long coat, securely pinning himself to the ground. Such an expression of horror and madness was frozen on to his dead face that they covered their eyes when they had looked at him.