"Tale of the Military Secret"

Page 5

The boy climbed down off the porch and brought some water. The messenger drank his fill and galloped off.

Evening came, and the boy lay down to sleep. But he couldn't sleep.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps on the street and a rustling by the window. The boy looked out the window and saw the same soldier. He was the same, but yet not the same. He had no horse--his horse had fallen. He had no sabre--his sabre had broken. He had no cap--it had flown away. And he swayed unsteadily.

"Arise!" he shouted for the last time. "We have shells, but the cannon are broken. We have rifles, but too few fighters. Help is near, but we lack the strength. Arise, all who are left! If only we can last the night and hold out until day!"

The boy-Kibalchish looked out onto the street. It was empty. No shutters flew open, no gates squeaked. There was no one to arise. The fathers had all gone; the brothers had all gone. There was no one left.

All the boy saw emerging from a gate was a 100-year-old grandfather. The grandfather wanted to raise his rifle, but he was so old he couldn't lift it. The grandfather wanted to strap on a sabre, but he was so weak he couldn't buckle it. The grandfather sat on an earthen mound, lowered his head, and cried...

"Am I telling it right, Alka?" Natka asked as she took a breath and looked around.

It was no longer just the Octobrists who were listening to the story. No one knew when it happened, but the Pioneers from Ioskin's team had silently creapt over. Even the Bashkir girl Eminey, who barely understood Russian, was sitting thoughtfully and seriously. Even the mischievious Vladik, who was lying a little way off and giving the appearance that he wasn't listening, was in fact listening, because he was lying quietly, not talking to anyone, not pestering anyone.

"Yes, Natka, that's right. Even better than right," Alka answered, moving still closer to her.

Russian Version

© 2012 SovLit.net