A Desperate Character | Page 7

If one
starts thinking--good God, all that comes into one's head! It's only
Germans who can think! ...'
What use was it talking to him? He was a desperate man, and that's all
one can say.
Of the Caucasus legends I have spoken about, I will tell you two or
three. One day, in a party of officers, Misha began boasting of a sabre
he had got by exchange--'a genuine Persian blade!' The officers
expressed doubts as to its genuineness. Misha began disputing. 'Here
then,' he cried at last; 'they say the man that knows most about sabres is
Abdulka the one-eyed. I'll go to him, and ask.' The officers wondered.
'What Abdulka? Do you mean that lives in the mountains? The rebel
never subdued? Abdul-khan?' 'Yes, that's him.' 'Why, but he'll take you
for a spy, will put you in a hole full of bugs, or else cut your head off
with your own sabre. And, besides, how are you going to get to him?
They'll catch you directly.' 'I'll go to him, though, all the same.' 'Bet you
won't!' 'Taken!' And Misha promptly saddled his horse and rode off to
Abdulka. He disappeared for three days. All felt certain that the crazy
fellow had come by his end. But, behold! he came back--drunk, and
with a sabre, not the one he had taken, but another. They began
questioning him. 'It was all right,' said he; 'Abdulka's a nice fellow. At
first, it's true, he ordered them to put irons on my legs, and was even on
the point of having me impaled. Only, I explained why I had come, and
showed him the sabre. "And you'd better not keep me," said I; "don't

expect a ransom for me; I've not a farthing to bless myself with--and
I've no relations." Abdulka was surprised; he looked at me with his
solitary eye. "Well," said he, "you are a bold one, you Russian; am I to
believe you?" "You may believe me," said I; "I never tell a lie." (And
this was true; Misha never lied.) Abdulka looked at me again. "And do
you know how to drink wine?" "I do," said I; "give me as much as you
will, I'll drink it." Abdulka was surprised again; he called on Allah.
And he told his--daughter, I suppose--such a pretty creature, only with
an eye like a jackal's--to bring a wine-skin. And I began to get to work
on it. "But your sabre," said he, "isn't genuine; here, take the real thing.
And now we are pledged friends." But you've lost your bet, gentlemen;
pay up.'
The second legend of Misha is of this nature. He was passionately fond
of cards; but as he had no money, and could never pay his debts at
cards (though he was never a card-sharper), no one at last would sit
down to a game with him. So one day he began urgently begging one
of his comrades among the officers to play with him! 'But if you lose,
you don't pay.' 'The money certainly I can't pay, but I'll put a shot
through my left hand, see, with this pistol here!' 'But whatever use will
that be to me?' 'No use, but still it will be curious.' This conversation
took place after a drinking bout in the presence of witnesses. Whether it
was that Misha's proposition struck the officer as really
curious--anyway he agreed. Cards were brought, the game began.
Misha was in luck; he won a hundred roubles. And thereupon his
opponent struck his forehead with vexation. 'What an ass I am!' he
cried, 'to be taken in like this! As if you'd have shot your hand if you
had lost!--a likely story! hold out your purse!' 'That's a lie,' retorted
Misha: 'I've won--but I'll shoot my hand.' He snatched up his
pistol--and bang, fired at his own hand. The bullet passed right through
it ... and in a week the wound had completely healed.
Another time, Misha was riding with his comrades along a road at
night ... and they saw close to the roadside a narrow ravine like a deep
cleft, dark--so dark you couldn't see the bottom. 'Look,' said one of the
officers, 'Misha may be a desperate fellow, but he wouldn't leap into
that ravine.' 'Yes, I'd leap in!' 'No, you wouldn't, for I dare say it's

seventy feet deep, and you might break your neck.' His friend knew his
weak point--vanity.... There was a great deal of it in Misha. 'But I'll
leap in anyway! Would you like to bet on it? Ten roubles.' 'Good!' And
the officer had hardly uttered the word, when Misha and his horse were
off--into the ravine--and crashing down over the stones. All were
simply petrified.... A full minute passed, and they heard Misha's voice,
dimly,