Anton Pavlovich Chekhov 



   Boys

    "Volodya's come!" someone shouted in the yard.
    "Master Volodya's here!" bawled Natalya the cook, running into the  dining-
room. "Oh, my goodness!"
    The whole Korolyov family, who had been expecting their Volodya  from  hour 
to hour, rushed to the windows. At the front door stood  a  wide  sledge,  with 
three white horses in a cloud of steam. The sledge was empty, for  Volodya  was 
already in the hall, untying his hood with red and chilly fingers.  His  school 
overcoat, his cap, his snowboots, and the hair on his temples  were  all  white 
with frost, and his whole figure from head to foot diffused  such  a  pleasant,
fresh smell of the snow that the very sight of him made one want to shiver  and 
say "brrr!"
    His mother and aunt ran to kiss and hug him. Natalya plumped  down  at  his 
feet and began pulling off his snowboots, his sisters  shrieked  with  delight, 
the doors creaked and banged, and Volodya's father, in his waistcoat and shirt-
sleeves, ran out into the hall with scissors in his  hand,  and  cried  out  in 
alarm:
    "We were expecting you all yesterday? Did you come all right?  Had  a  good 
journey? Mercy on us! you might let him say 'how do you do' to his father! I am 
his father after all!"
    "Bow-wow!" barked the huge black dog, Milord, in a deep bass, tapping  with 
his tail on the walls and furniture.
    For two minutes there was nothing but a general hubbub of  joy.  After  the 
first outburst of delight was  over  the  Korolyovs  noticed  that  there  was, 
besides their Volodya, another small person in the hall, wrapped up in  scarves 
and shawls and white with frost. He was standing perfectly still in  a  corner, 
in the shadow of a big fox-lined overcoat.
    "Volodya darling, who is it?" asked his mother, in a whisper. 
    "Oh!" cried Volodya.  "This  is - let  me  introduce  my  friend  Lentilov, 
a schoolfellow in the second class... I have brought him to stay with us."
    "Delighted to hear it! You are very welcome," the  father  said  cordially. 
"Excuse me, I've been at work without my coat... Please come in! Natalya,  help 
Mr. Lentilov off with his things. Mercy on us, do turn  that  dog  out!  He  is 
unendurable!"
    A few minutes later, Volodya and his friend  Lentilov,  somewhat  dazed  by 
their noisy welcome, and still red from the outside cold, were sitting down  to 
tea. The winter sun, making its way through the snow and the frozen tracery  on 
the window-panes, gleamed on the samovar, and plunged its pure rays in the tea-
basin. The room was warm, and the boys felt as though the warmth and the  frost 
were struggling together with a tingling sensation in their bodies.
    "Well, Christmas will  soon  be  here,"  the  father  said  in  a  pleasant 
sing-song voice, rolling a cigarette of dark reddish tobacco. "It doesn't  seem 
long since the summer, when mamma was crying at your going... and here you  are 
back again... Time flies, my boy. Before you have time to cry out, old  age  is 
upon you. Mr. Lentilov, take some more, please help yourself! We don't stand on 
ceremony!"
    Volodya's three sisters, Katya, Sonya, and Masha (the eldest  was  eleven), 
sat at the table and never took their eyes off the newcomer.  Lentilov  was  of 
the same height and age as Volodya, but not as round-faced and fair-skinned. He 
was thin, dark, and freckled; his hair stood up like a  brush,  his  eyes  were 
small, and his lips were thick. He was, in fact, distinctly ugly, and if he had 
not been wearing the school uniform, he might have been taken for  the  son  of 
a cook. He seemed morose, did not speak, and  never  once  smiled.  The  little 
girls, staring at him, immediately came to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  be 
a very clever and learned person. He seemed to be thinking about something  all 
the time, and was so absorbed in his own thoughts, that, whenever he was spoken 
to, he started, threw his head back, and asked to have the question repeated.
    The little girls noticed that Volodya, who had always  been  so  merry  and 
talkative, also said very little, did not smile at all, and hardly seemed to be 
glad to be home. All the time they were at  tea  he  only  once  addressed  his 
sisters, and then he said something so strange. He pointed to the  samovar  and 
said:
    "In California they don't drink tea, but gin."
    He, too, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and, to judge  by  the  looks 
that passed between him and his friend Lentilov, their thoughts were the same.
    After tea, they all went into the nursery. The girls and their father  took 
up the work that had been interrupted by the arrival of  the  boys.  They  were 
making flowers and frills for the Christmas tree  out  of  paper  of  different 
colours. It was an attractive and noisy  occupation.  Every  fresh  flower  was 
greeted by the little girls with shrieks of delight, even of awe, as though the 
flower had dropped straight from heaven; their father was in ecstasies too, and 
every now and then he threw the scissors on the floor,  in  vexation  at  their 
bluntness. Their mother kept running into the nursery  with  an  anxious  face, 
asking:
    "Who has taken my scissors? Ivan Nikolaitch, have  you  taken  my  scissors 
again?"
    "Mercy on us! I'm not even allowed a pair of scissors!" their father  would 
respond in a lachrymose voice, and, flinging himself  back  in  his  chair,  he 
would pretend to be a deeply injured man; but a minute later, he  would  be  in 
ecstasies again.
    On his former holidays Volodya, too, had taken part in the preparations for 
the  Christmas  tree,  or  had  been  running  in  the  yard  to  look  at  the 
snow mountain that the watchman and the shepherd were building. But  this  time 
Volodya and Lentilov took no notice whatever of the coloured paper, and did not 
once go into the stable. They sat in the window and  began  whispering  to  one 
another; then they opened an atlas and looked carefully at a map.
    "First to Perm..." Lentilov said, in an undertone, "from there  to  Tiumen, 
then Tomsk... then... then... Kamchatka. There  the  Samoyedes  take  one  over 
Behring's Straits in boats... And then we are in America... There are  lots  of 
furry animals there..."
    "And California?" asked Volodya.
    "California is lower down... We've only to get to America and California is 
not far off... And one can get a living by hunting and plunder."
    All day long Lentilov avoided the little girls, and seemed to look at  them 
with suspicion. In the evening he happened to be left alone with them for  five 
minutes or so. It was awkward to be silent.
    He cleared his throat morosely, rubbed his left  hand  against  his  right, 
looked sullenly at Katya and asked:
    "Have you read Mayne Reid?"
    "No, I haven't... I say, can you skate?"
    Absorbed in his own reflections, Lentilov made no reply to  this  question; 
he simply puffed out his cheeks, and gave a long sigh as though  he  were  very 
hot. He looked up at Katya once more and said:
    "When a herd of bisons stampedes across the prairie the earth trembles, and 
the frightened mustangs kick and neigh."
    He smiled impressively and added:
    "And the Indians  attack  the  trains,  too.  But  worst  of  all  are  the 
mosquitoes and the termites."
    "Why, what's that?"
    "They're something like ants, but with wings. They bite fearfully.  Do  you 
know who I am?"
    "Mr. Lentilov."
    "No, I am Montehomo, the Hawk's Claw, Chief of the Ever Victorious."
    Masha, the youngest, looked at him, then into the darkness  out  of  window 
and said, wondering:
    "And we had lentils for supper yesterday."
    Lentilov's  incomprehensible  utterances,  and  the  way  he   was   always 
whispering with Volodya, and the way Volodya seemed now to be  always  thinking 
about something instead of playing... all this was strange and mysterious.  And 
the two elder girls, Katya and Sonya, began to keep a  sharp  look-out  on  the 
boys. At night, when the boys had gone to bed, the girls crept to their bedroom 
door, and listened to what they were saying. Ah, what they discovered! The boys 
were planning to run away to America to dig for gold: they had everything ready 
for the journey, a pistol, two knives,  biscuits,  a  burning  glass  to  serve 
instead of matches, a compass, and four roubles in cash. They learned that  the 
boys would have to walk some thousands of miles, and would have to fight tigers 
and savages on the road: then  they  would  get  gold  and  ivory,  slay  their 
enemies, become pirates, drink gin, and finally marry  beautiful  maidens,  and 
make a plantation.  The  boys  interrupted  each  other  in  their  excitement. 
Throughout the conversation, Lentilov called  himself  "Montehomo,  the  Hawk's 
Claw," and Volodya was "my pale-face brother!"
    "Mind you don't tell mamma," said Katya, as they went back to bed. "Volodya 
will bring us gold and ivory from America, but if you tell mamma  he  won't  be 
allowed to go."
    The day before Christmas Eve, Lentilov spent the whole day poring over  the 
map of Asia and making notes, while Volodya, with a languid  and  swollen  face 
that looked as though it had been stung by a bee, walked about  the  rooms  and 
ate nothing. And once he stood still before the  holy  image  in  the  nursery, 
crossed himself, and said:
    "Lord, forgive me a sinner; Lord, have pity on my poor unhappy mamma!"
    In the evening he burst out crying. On saying good-night he gave his father 
a long hug, and then hugged his mother and sisters. Katya and Sonya  knew  what 
was the matter, but little Masha was puzzled, completely  puzzled.  Every  time 
she looked at Lentilov she grew thoughtful and said with a sigh:
    "When Lent comes, nurse says we shall have to eat peas and lentils."
    Early in the morning of Christmas Eve, Katya and Sonya slipped quietly  out 
of bed, and went to find out how the boys meant to run away  to  America.  They 
crept to their door.
    "Then you don't mean to go?"  Lentilov  was  saying  angrily.  "Speak  out: 
aren't you going?"
    "Oh dear," Volodya wept softly. "How can I go?  I  feel  so  unhappy  about 
mamma." 
    "My pale-face brother, I pray you, let us set off. You  declared  you  were 
going, you egged me on, and now the time comes, you funk it!"
    "I... I... I'm not funking it, but I... I... I'm sorry for mamma."
    "Say once and for all, are you going or are you not?"
    "I am going, only... wait a little... I want to be at home a little."
    "In that case I will go by  myself,"  Lentilov  declared.  "I  can  get  on 
without you. And you wanted to hunt tigers and fight! Since that's how  it  is, 
give me back my cartridges!"
    At this Volodya cried so bitterly that his sisters could  not  help  crying 
too. Silence followed.
    "So you are not coming?" Lentilov began again.
    "I... I... I am coming!"
    "Well, put on your things, then."
    And Lentilov tried to cheer Volodya up by singing the praises  of  America, 
growling like a tiger, pretending to be a steamer, scolding him, and  promising 
to give him all the ivory and lions' and tigers' skins.
    And this thin, dark boy, with his freckles and his bristling shock of hair, 
impressed the little girls  as  an  extraordinary  remarkable  person.  He  was 
a  hero,  a  determined  character,  who  knew  no  fear,  and  he  growled  so 
ferociously, that, standing at the door, they really might  imagine  there  was 
a tiger or lion inside. When the little girls  went  back  to  their  room  and 
dressed, Katya's eyes were full of tears, and she said:
    "Oh, I feel so frightened!"
    Everything was as usual till two o'clock, when they  sat  down  to  dinner. 
Then it appeared that the boys  were  not  in  the  house.  They  sent  to  the 
servants' quarters, to the stables, to the bailiff's cottage. They were not  to 
be found. They sent into the village - they were not there.
    At tea, too, the boys were  still  absent,  and  by  supper-time  Volodya's 
mother was dreadfully uneasy, and even shed tears.
    Late in  the  evening  they  sent  again  to  the  village,  they  searched 
everywhere, and walked along the river bank with lanterns. Heavens! what a fuss 
there was!
    Next day the police officer came, and a paper of some sort was written  out 
in the dining-room. Their mother cried...
    All of a sudden a sledge stopped at the door, with three  white  horses  in 
a cloud of steam.
    "Volodya's come," someone shouted in the yard.
    "Master Volodya's here!" bawled Natalya, running into the dining-room.  And 
Milord barked his deep bass, "bow-wow."
    It seemed that the boys had been stopped in the Arcade, where they had gone 
from shop to shop asking where they could get gunpowder.
    Volodya burst into sobs as soon as he came into the hall, and flung himself 
on his mother's neck. The little girls, trembling, wondered  with  terror  what 
would happen next. They saw their father take Volodya  and  Lentilov  into  his 
study, and there he talked to them a long while.
    "Is this a proper thing to do?" their father said to  them.  "I  only  pray 
they won't hear of it at school, you would both be expelled. You  ought  to  be 
ashamed, Mr. Lentilov, really. It's not at all the thing to do! You  began  it, 
and I hope you will be punished by your parents. How could you? Where  did  you 
spend the night?"
    "At the station," Lentilov answered proudly.
    Then Volodya went to bed, and had a compress, steeped in  vinegar,  on  his 
forehead.
    A telegram was sent off, and next day a lady, Lentilov's mother,  made  her 
appearance and bore off her son.
    Lentilov looked morose and haughty  to  the  end,  and  he  did  not  utter 
a single word at taking leave of the little girls. But  he  took  Katya's  book 
and wrote in it as a souvenir: "Montehomo, the Hawk's Claw, Chief of  the  Ever 
Victorious."

    1887

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   Notes
    Second class: a grammar-school boy in his second year would  be  about  ten 
years old. 

    Uniform: all students in Russia wore uniforms. 

    Snow mountain: a hill built of snow for the purpose of toboganning.

    Mayne Reid: Thomas Mayne Reid (1818-1883) wrote popular  adventure  stories 
for boys, mostly about the American West.

    Funk it: the American slang  expression  would  be  "chicken out"  (act  in 
a cowardly manner). 

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