A Reckless Character | Page 5

of thy idleness."
"But I don't know how to do anything, uncle! My dear relative! Here
now, if it were a question of taking and staking my life on a
card,--losing my all and shooting myself, bang! in the neck!--I can do
that!--Here now, tell me what to do, what to risk my life for.--I'll do it
this very minute!..."
"But do thou simply live.... Why risk thy life?"
"I can't!--You will tell me that I behave recklessly. What else can I

do?... One begins to think--and, O Lord, what comes into his head! 'T is
only the Germans who think!..."
What was the use of arguing with him? He was a reckless man--and
that is all there is to say!
I will repeat to you two or three of the Caucasian legends to which I
have alluded. One day, in the company of the officers, Mísha began to
brag of a Circassian sabre which he had obtained in barter.--"A genuine
Persian blade!"--The officers expressed doubt as to whether it were
really genuine. Mísha began to dispute.--"See here," he exclaimed at
last,--"they say that the finest judge of Circassian sabres is one-eyed
Abdulka. I will go to him and ask."--The officers were dumbfounded.
"What Abdulka? The one who lives in the mountains? The one who is
not at peace with us? Abdul-Khan?"
"The very man."
"But he will take thee for a scout, he will place thee in the
bug-house,--or he will cut off thy head with that same sabre. And how
wilt thou make thy way to him? They will seize thee immediately."
"But I will go to him, nevertheless."
"We bet that thou wilt not go!"
"I take your bet!"
And Mísha instantly saddled his horse and rode off to Abdulka. He was
gone for three days. All were convinced that he had come to some
dreadful end. And behold! he came back, somewhat tipsy, and with a
sabre, only not the one which he had carried away with him, but
another. They began to question him.
"It's all right," said he. "Abdulka is a kind man. At first he really did
order fetters to be riveted on my legs, and was even preparing to impale
me on a stake. But I explained to him why I had come. 'Do not expect
any ransom from me,' said I. 'I haven't a farthing to my name--and I
have no relatives.'--Abdulka was amazed; he stared at me with his
solitary eye.-'Well,' says he, 'thou art the chief of heroes, Russian! Am I
to believe thee?'--'Believe me,' said I; 'I never lie' (and Mísha really
never did lie).--Abdulka looked at me again.-'And dost thou know how
to drink wine?'-'I do,' said I; 'as much as thou wilt give, so much will I
drink.'--Again Abdulka was astonished, and mentioned Allah. And then
he ordered his daughter, or some pretty maiden, whoever she
was,--anyhow, she had the gaze of a jackal,--to fetch a leathern bottle

of wine.--And I set to work.--'But thy sabre is spurious,' says he; 'here,
take this genuine one. And now thou and I are friends.'--And you have
lost your wager, gentlemen, so pay up."
A second legend concerning Mísha runs as follows. He was
passionately fond of cards; but as he had no money and did not pay his
gambling debts (although he was never a sharper), no one would any
longer sit down to play with him. So one day he began to importune a
brother officer, and insisted upon the latter's playing with him.
"But thou wilt be sure to lose, and thou wilt not pay."
"I will not pay in money, that's true--but I will shoot a hole through my
left hand with this pistol here!"
"But what profit is there for me in that?"
"No profit whatever--but it's a curious thing, nevertheless."
This conversation took place after a carouse, in the presence of
witnesses. Whether Mísha's proposal really did strike the officer as
curious or not,--at all events, he consented. The cards were brought, the
game began. Mísha was lucky; he won one hundred rubles. And
thereupon his opponent smote himself on the forehead.
"What a blockhead I am!" he cried.--"On what a bait was I caught! If
thou hadst lost, much thou wouldst have shot thyself through the
hand!--so it's just an assault on my pocket!"
"That's where thou art mistaken," retorted Mísha:--"I have won--but I'll
shoot the hole through my hand."
He seized his pistol, and bang! shot himself through the hand. The
bullet went clear through ... and a week later the wound was completely
healed!
On another occasion still, Mísha is riding along the road by night with
his comrades.... And they see yawning, right by the side of the road, a
narrow ravine in the nature of a cleft, dark, very dark,