Staffrider Vol.6 No.2 1985 - DISA

The LifeandAdventuresof/MatthewPavlichenkoby Isaac BabelComrades, countrymen, my own dearbrethren! In the name of all mankindlearn the story of the Red General,Matthew Pavlichenko. He used to be aherdsman, that general did — theherdsman on the Lidino estate, workingfor Nikitinsky the master and lookingafter the master's pigs till life broughtstripes to his shoulder straps; and withthose stripes, Mat began to look afterthe horned cattle. And who knows, ifthis Mat of ours had been born inAustralia he might have risen toelephants, he'd have come to grazingelephants; only the trouble is, I don'tknow where they'd be found in ourStavropol district. I'll tell you straight,there isn't an animal bigger than thebuffalo in the whole of our wide region.And a poor lad wouldn't get no comfortout of buffaloes: it isn't any fun for aRussian fellow just getting a laugh outof buffaloes! Give us poor orphanssomething in the way of a horse forkeeps — a horse, so as its mind and ribscan work themselves out at the far endof the fields.And so I look after my horned cattle,with cows all around me, soaked in milkand stinking of it like a sliced udder.Young bulls walk around me — mousegreyyoung bulls. Open space around mein the fields, the grass rustling throughall the world, the sky above my headlike an accordion with lots of keyboards— and the skies in the Stavropol districtare very blue, boys. Well, I looked aftermy cattle like this, and as there wasnothing to do, I used to play with thewinds on reeds, till an old gaffer says tome:'Matthew,' says he, 'go and seeNastasya.''Why?' says I. 'Or maybe you'rekidding me.''Go,' he says, 'she wants you.'And so I goes.'Nastasya,' I says, and blush black inthe face. 'Nastasya,' I says; 'or maybeyou're kidding me.'She won't hear me out, though,but runs off from me and goes onrunning till she can run no more; andI runs along with her till we get to thecommon, dead-beat and red and puffed.7o xhy did youhang your nead, Matthew, orhang was it your some ne notion or otherthat was heavy on yourheart?'Matthew,' says Nastasya to me then,'three Sundays ago, when the springfishing was on and the fishermen weregoing down to the river, you too wentwith them, and hung your head. WhyIllustrated by Joanne Blochdid you hang your head, Matthew, orwas it some notion or other that washeavy on your heart? Tell me.'And I answer her'Nastasya,' I says, 'I've nothing totell you. My head isn't a rifle and thereain't no sight on it nor no backsightneither. As for my heart — you knowwhat it's like, Nastasya; there isn'tnothing in it, it's just milky, I dare say.It's terrible how I smell of milk.'But Nastasya, I see, is fair tickled atmy words.'I'll swear by the Cross,' she says, andbursts out laughing with all her mightover the whole steppe, just as if she wasbeating the drum, 'I'll swear by theCross that you make eyes at the youngladies.'And when we'd talked a lot ofnonsense for a while we soon gotmarried, and Nastasya and I startedliving together for all we was worth, andthat was a good deal. We was hot allnight; we was hot in winter, and allnight long we went naked, rubbing ourraw hides. We lived damn well, right ontill up comes the old 'un to me a secondtime.'Matthew,' he says, 'the masterfondled your wife here there andeverywhere, not long since. He'll get herall right, will the master.'And I:'No,' I says, 'if you'll excuse me, old'un. Or if he does I'll nail you to thespot.'So naturally the old chap makeshimself scarce. And I did twenty verstson foot that day, covered a good pieceof ground, and in the evening I got tothe Lidino estate, to my merry masterSTAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, 1985 9