ALPATOVKA

(Glas 14)

Somewhere up in the Urals there is a village called Alpatovka. It's just an old village with about two hundred houses. You wouldn't say there's anything special about it except its deep, dark forest - a scary kind of place... But well, after all, it's just like any of the forests that you typically find in the north of Russia or in the Urals. However, throughout the five hundred years of Alpatovka's existence, people have been disappearing in that forest.
Back in the age of Peter the Great, rumour has it, Prince Menshikov himself one day rode into the forest and lost half of his men there. The Czar had him badly beaten for that. As for the rest of Russian history, everyone will of course remember from their school textbooks what Salavat Yulaev said to Emelyan Pugachev: "O Emelyan! I have brought you five thousand Bashkirs!" That's what he said, isn't it? Well, you see, the truth is there had been in fact ten thousand Bashkirs, not five, but half of the troops happened to march through Alpatovka... And so the story goes, right up to our times.
During the Civil War, old timers recall, a whole battalion of Red Army partisans hid themselves in that forest while fighting back against the Whites... and never came out again. True, years later, after the Second World War, two weird old characters wearing Red Army caps and ragged jerkins emerged from the trees; they stood for a while on the edge of the forest, smoked a few pipes, and then went back in... But who the hell knows, maybe those two guys had nothing at all to do with the lost battalion. Maybe they were just two old men who happened to be wearing caps and jerkins.
In Alpatovka itself there isn't one complete family, that is, not a single family in which at least one person hasn't disappeared somewhere along the line. Families in Alpatovka tend to be large -- ten, fifteen members or more -- but as a rule, after a few years five or six are missing. People in Alpatovka are fairly relaxed about this. The forest kind of regulates the size of the village's population. The same goes for cows, chickens, geese and other animals. Of course, there is theft. One can't say there isn't. But although on the one hand things do seem to get stolen, on the other it's not as if they really are. It simply isn't proper in Alpatovka to notice theft.
Say, for example, a man had stolen a goose from another; well, even if the other had actually seen the goose being stolen, he would never say a word, and he would go over to the first man's house to dine with him on that very goose. People in Alpatovka don't like to make accusations. The victim of the theft would come to the thief's house and they would eat the goose together.
"Ah, ol' pal..." the victim would say. "One o' me geese's gone today, y'know."
"What?!" the thief would reply in amazement, ripping off large mouthfuls of flesh from the goose leg. "Went to the forest, I s'pose?"
"I s'pose so."
"Well, well..."
And so they would go on eating the goose together, both knowing perfectly well which goose this was and where it came from... But in Alpatovka, to make up any kind of explanation apart from the `forest' alibi is simply considered to be bad manners.
"You know what, Fyodorov's goat went to the forest the other day. And that was the end of it."
"You mean nobody found it?" the owner of the goose would ask.
"'Course not! What are you talking about? I'm telling you it went to the forest."
"Oh, well..."
And so they would go on chatting, even though just the day before they both stole Fyodorov's goat together; and even though the victim, Fyodorov himself, had witnessed the theft through a crack in the door of his outdoor toilet cabin. But that same evening, as if nothing had happened, Fyodorov would go along to dine on the goat with the two others and complain about that 'devil of a forest'.
True, in the case of people the forest was indeed partly involved in their occasional disappearance. From time to time somebody's wife would get murdered, or a troublesome son strangled. The body would be taken to the forest, and that was that. And the murderer would hurry to the local police officer to report the missing relative.
The police officer in Alpatovka was just the right sort of man for this job. He could read and write, and he was conscientious. He would carefully document every piece of evidence. Then he would walk up to the forest, stay there for a long time, take some measurements with a measuring tape; then he would fill in a protocol form, open a new file, and keep the file in his safe.
"So? What happened to my wife? Where is she?" the murderer would ask a year or two later.
"We'll find 'er, we'll find 'er, don't worry!" the police officer would answer encouragingly, and he would continue filling in forms and putting files in his safe.
As for the police officer himself, he had a passion for horses. Nearly half of the horses in the village were in his stables. But his greatest pride was a light-chestnut racer. Six months earlier Semakin, the blacksmith, had had exactly the same racer... but somehow it had disappeared.
"Off 'e went to the forest, and ne'er came back!" the blacksmith had complained to the police officer. "Ran away like a bad boy, shaking his mane under the starlight!", although the blacksmith had seen very well from behind his own barn how things had been in reality. It wasn't at night that the horse had disappeared, but early in the morning. And there had been no stars the day before because of the clouds.
"Y'should've been more careful with a horse like that, Mike, ol' pal. Should've treated 'im better!", the police officer would say to Semakin; and he would take him down to the stables to show him the light-chestnut racer and teach him how to treat him well, stroking the horse's mane and feeding him wheat from his hand.
One day misfortune befell the police officer himself. The safe containing all his files and documents disappeared, just on the day before a certain Commission of Inspectors was supposed to come from the city to inspect Alpatovka.
"This is no tragedy, of course", the police officer was saying, trying to reassure himself and the village men whom he had called up for interrogation. "But y'know, a metal safe running off to the forest all by i'self - that just ain't possible!"
"Well, officer, y'never know", the village men ventured. "On the one hand, true, it's a metal safe, like - it can't move, but on the other hand, y'know, all kinds of things can happen..."
"Yeah, 's like my ol' woman, she lay around in bed paralyzed for two years, and then suddenly last spring, off she went - just disappeared, without trace!"
"Oh yeah, I remember that story, I remember", said the officer scratching the top of his head. "Took me three days to investigate it. That devil of a forest swallowed her up, that's what it did! Just swallowed her up!"
"That's it, that's it, swallowed her up!" the village men cried, rejoicing at the appropriate turn of phrase. "So, y'see, maybe that safe of yours... maybe the forest... sort of... swallowed it up? Eh? What do y'think?"
"Maybe, maybe." The police officer kept walking up and down from one corner of the room to another. "But still, that city Commission, are they gonna believe that? I sure hope nothing bad happens to all of us because of that Commission."
"Aw now, come on, officer, what are you worrying about: a commission? They'll never get through to 'ere anyway, and if they do, they'll never get out of here. The forest is deep and dark. You know that, don't you?"
"Whether they believe it or not, don't worry, officer! All kinda things've disappeared in our forest -- squadrons, convoys... And you're talking about a commission? You gotta be kidding!"
After the men left, the police officer sat down at his desk and began to write a letter to the regional police headquarters questioning the need for the Commission of Inspectors to come at all. Glancing out of the window from time to time, he watched, smiling, how the neighbour's little boy shook down all the apples from his apple tree.

Eventually the Commission did get to Alpatovka, with no particular problems apart from the loss of a suitcase containing food preserves, which somehow sank itself down into the swamp one night. Upon their arrival the starving inspectors went straight to the village shop, deeply astonishing the lonely and bored salesman. The salesman was even more astonished by the ten-rouble note which the Chairman of the Commission extended to him, asking him to bring up "the tenner's worth of food". The salesman silently took the money, went away and never reappeared until closing time. Actually `closing time' didn't mean much in this case since the door didn't fit the frame, and there was no lock.
The inspectors decided not to waste any more time and, full of shame, picked some plums from the trees along the way. The owner of the plum trees saw all this perfectly well. Cutting through backyards he ran ahead of the newcomers, then came walking towards them and asked them if they would spare him a few plums. He inquired where they were going and offered to accompany them. As he walked on with them, and while the Chief Inspector shamefully looked down at his feet, he told them of how he himself had been trying to grow plums just like these, but that they had been disappearing lately because of some strange sort of `forest creatures' that would come out of the woods at night and steal away all his harvest.
"Welcome dear guests! Welcome!" cried the police officer in greeting to the visitors, riding a light-chestnut racer and dressed in parade uniform. After one failed attempt he managed to stop next to them, jumped off the horse like a sportsman, and introduced himself.
"And now let me invite you all to follow me down the main street."
The inspectors obeyed and started walking down the village street, admiring the police officer's uniform and wondering at the great number of medals he wore.
"This is a tradition we have, y'see," the police officer went on. "Whichever guests we have here in Alpatovka, we always begin by leading'em down the main street."
"Why is that?" asked the Chief Inspector, surprised.
"Openness. The traditional Alpatovka openness. To avoid all kinds of bad thoughts and mistrust. Let everybody know who has arrived, how many people, what for, and, well, all the rest of it, and then, if (God forbid, of course!) anything should happen to you, then everyone, even the tiniest little kid, will be there to help you. Eh? How's that?"
The inspectors smiled and nodded.
"And y'know, when there are no secrets, people are also more welcoming", the police officer continued, patting his horse's mane. "And there are fewer crimes, and it makes life better. Ain't that true, Semakin?", he cried out to a rather sad-looking man with a beard who was standing behind his garden gate and observing the procession. "Out here in the country, people get tested for what they really are, just like on a hike. The man who never says a word, who stays all closed up inside, is a lost man."
"And do many people get `lost' in that way?" a member of the delegation asked, amused.
"Very many indeed," said the police officer, and he tightened his reins to stop the horse. "Very many. I think I wrote you a letter about the forest, didn't I? Get a chance to read it before ye left? Well, there you are, y'see... But of course, y'know... it's us who think somebody's disappeared. We see that from our everyday life point of view. But in reality, God knows. Maybe it's the opposite, maybe that guy's found himself somehow. Maybe right now 'e's sitting out there in the forest, in a hut, cracking nuts... and as happy as can be. Living 'is little life on 'is own, to 'is heart's content. Maybe 'e just chose that destiny for 'imself."
"Of course, of course, anything can happen... Well, well...", said the Chief Inspector thoughtfully. "But, if you'll excuse me, officer, wouldn't a person like that give some kind of warning to the other villagers before leaving?"
"Usually, they do. If they have time, that is. `The forest is calling me, I'm going', they say. And before you know it, they're gone. By the way, you yerselves, on your way here, didn't you get that kind of feeling? Ye didn't? Strange. They say it attracts people like a magnet."
"No, no, quite honestly."
"Well, thank God for that. Because I'd promised to all Alpatovka that your Commission would come. Y'know, I'd made all those promises, and then I started thinkin' to myself: but what if they don't make it, what if they don't make it? But in the end you did make it... Hey look, here're some more of our people."
It was the salesman from the village shop and a certain Fyodorov, a stocky man with distinguished grey hair. They had been running to catch up with the procession and were both puffing and panting. Interrupting each other, they told the police officer how they had just been trying to catch a pig that was escaping to the forest from Potapov's shed. Potapov was well known in the village as the best pig breeder.
"It must've been bored sitting there in its shed all the time. Potapov wouldn't let it out for days on end. So it tore off two boards from the shed and ran to the forest."
The police officer gasped and shook his head.
"Dear oh dear, what can we do, what can we do? Thank God it's only a pig that's disappeared, and not Potapov himself. Where would we find another pig breeder like 'im?"
"By the way," said the salesman, lowering his eyes and kicking the ground with the end of his foot. "Would ye care to try some Alpatovka roast pork? See, it just so happens that Fyodorov and m'self here've decided to cook some dinner... Kinda coincidence... You shouldn't miss it."
"That's true, y'know, hungry belly has no ears," Fyodorov supported him, looking the Chief Inspector straight in the eye.
The visitors glanced at each other and looked at the police officer. For a minute the police officer wondered aloud whether to go and hunt for the pig immediately or to take care of his guests. He chose the second option, and told a loutish little boy who came running past, hiding a red rooster underneath his shirt, to go and look for the pig.
The guests had just arrived at the salesman's house and sat down for dinner, when Potapov appeared at the door, white as a sheet.
"Hullo fo'ks, d'ye know, looks like one o' my pigs's gone to the forest. Broke down two planks in the shed and ran away."
"Bad news, bad news," said the police officer, frowning and spreading a napkin over his chest. "But well, why don't you sit down and have some dinner! Your pig can't go too far, don't worry. Got 'is main features in mind?"
"Got'em."
"Fine, then! Just sit down and 'ave somethin to eat!"
And the police officer wrote down something on his notepad. Potapov gave a deep sigh and began to eat some pork, glancing every now and then at Fyodorov, at the salesman, and at the little ivory elephants which decorated the sideboard at the other end of the room.
The Chief Inspector took a stern look at all those sitting around the table and said, breaking the silence:
"I should expect it'll be a rather difficult job to find a pig if it has really run away to the forest?"
"Very difficult, of course. Who said it would be easy?" said the police officer with an ironic smile. "It's the forest, you know, not just a house. Full o' bushes, gullies, thickets... And that's only part of the problem. Just think - what if the pig suddenly got stuck up a tree?"
"What do you mean, up a tree?" said the youngest inspector, almost choking on his food. "What sort of pig would climb up a tree?!"
"I didn't say it would climb up a tree," said the police officer, putting away his notepad. "I said it might just get stuck up there. Remember your suitcase with the food - you didn't drown it in the swamp yerselves, did you? It just sank down by itself, right? Well, there you are, y'see... Now if a suitcase, being a thing without a living soul, suddenly sinks into the swamp by itself, why shouldn't a living pig suddenly find itself on top of a tree? Y'know, there it would go, quietly trotting along, and suddenly it would just get taken up there. And then you go try and find it in a place like that! You'd be lucky if it even made a sound... but what if it suddenly dropped silent? It might keep quiet, poor thing, maybe at the very moment when we'd be all out searching for it."
"Yeah, it's true", Fyodorov joined in, wiping his mouth with his hankie. "Anything can happen in that forest of ours. It's as if - you know - as if it were alive!", and he gazed in awe out of the window at the pine trees in the distance. "Hear that noise it's makin'? See how it's movin' its branches? I'd swear to God it's alive, I would! And the things it does... Things that not every human bein'd be able to do. It's understandable, in a way. It gets bored, you see, poor ol' thing. Us people, we live our lives, we work, we grow things, build houses for ourselves. But the forest, when ye think of it, it also wants to have things, poor devil. All kinds of things. See, the trick is to get the feelin' o' when the time's comin'. To feel, at the right time, when and what the ol' forest gonna swallow up. To feel it and understand it by yerself. To understand it, and to go out and give it to the forest on your own initiative. Yeah, tha's the kinda life I want to live!"
"It's true. Once I had a white grand piano," said the gardener, the owner of the plum trees, suddenly joining in after a long silence. "Damn beautiful piano! And how it played, how it played! You'd hear it right across the whole village! And suddenly one day I felt like the inspiration'd gone. I played on the white keys, an' somehow the music wasn't right. I tried the black keys, an' they weren't right either! And just at that time, the neighbours started to complain. They said to me, look 'ere, why don't you take your piano to the forest? Take it out there by yerself. The forest likes music. It'll always take your piano, no problem. I looked out the window and I understood. The trees were howlin' and movin' their branches. They were claimin' the piano. I felt really sad, but what could I do? So one day, off we went with the whole family and took the piano way, way out into the forest. And do you know what? It accepted it! The forest accepted my gift! Since then I've been to that place time and time again, and never once did I find the piano there. But you know what? You can still hear the music comin' in every now an' then. Listen, hear it now?!"
And indeed, the sound of piano music came floating in quite clearly to the ears of the guests.
"By the way, d'you remember, how many suitcases did you lose on your way here?" the gardener suddenly asked the visitors with great animation. "Only one? That's not much. That's really very little, y'know, for our forest! I tell ye, if I were you I'd go out an' leave a couple more there, just for politeness' sake, like. It's up to you, o' course, but if you ever come round to the idea, please let me know, will ye? I can show you a place out there. No devil in the world'll ever find it. And then, some time, in a few weeks or so, y'never know, y'might get more than compensated."
"What exactly would you mean by that?" the inspectors asked, and they stopped eating and began to count their suitcases.
"I mean just that. Y'know, you lose a suitcase, but then, say, you might find a bride in Alpatovka. Y'wouldn't say that's a bad deal, would ye?"
"Yeah, that's it. Why not?" said the police officer, supporting the gardener, and he winked to the youngest inspector. "The forest, you know, it doesn't just take things. It also gives 'em out. Understand? This forest makes presents."
"Look 'ere, see these trousers and jacket I'm wearing? I got them from the forest", added the salesman for no apparent reason. And to prove it, the host stood up and showed off his beautiful suit shining with spangles. "Here's how it all happened. First, the forest swallowed up my wallet, my ceiling lamp and some dishes. I worried and worried. I kept looking out of the window at that branchy old burglar of a forest. Then one day someone sent me a running boy. `Go to the forest', 'e said. `Just go straight there, don't turn around. Don't just sit here at home doin' nothin'.' And so I went to the forest. I walked on, lookin' at the bushes around me. An' y'know, all sorts of strange things were lying around there: an empty wallet, a watch without a dial... And the forest kept getting thicker and thicker. It's as if it attracted me, y'know, cheeky ol' thing. I said to myself, I said: why not go a little deeper? So I went on. And suddenly, what did I see? A pair of pants hanging on a tree! I went a little further, and found - a jacket! I put them on an' ran back as quick as I could, before the forest would change its mind. I ne'er ran so fast, I tell ye! And now, see, I'm dressed up all nice and smart! No-one else in the whole village has a suit like that!"
"Yeah, well, keep it down, will ye, and stop boastin'", said Potapov the pig breeder, interrupting him and looking sadly at his soiled frock-coat. "Or else y'might 'ave to give it back. And then everythin'd fall back into place, y'know."
"No, no! Things are quite alright as they are now. Aren't they?" said the salesman looking at the police officer.
"Maybe, maybe," said the police officer, still listening to the piano music. "Only, y'know, it's a real pity you didn't go a little further out into the forest that time. I really have the feelin' that if you'd gone right to the middle of it, you'd 've found a tail-coat," he said with a smile. "But well, never mind, never mind. As for the piano, I'd be hardly surprised if in a couple o' days someone else in the village received a piano just like that one. That is, o' course, if they haven't got it already."
"Me, me, I wouldn't mind!" cried the salesman. "My wife's a music graduate."
"Hey now, what're you talkin' about, y'haven't even got a wife. She went off to the forest three years ago, didn't she?" said Potapov, remembering.
"Yeah, well, she could come back, couldn't she? Maybe she's playing the piano just now. Keeping up 'er skills, y'know. She might've been walking in the forest, and then suddenly she saw a piano, she sat down, and now she's playing. Maybe she'll come back when the piano is back in this house. She'll come back, she will, when that beautiful piano is standing here again! Right here, in that corner!" And the salesman pointed to an empty corner in the room.
"Well, well." The Chief Inspector coughed, stood up to have a look at his suitcase, refused a glass of vodka which was being offered to him and sat down again. "And what about the authorities? You know, the authorities, the District officials... Do they come often this way, to have a look around?"
"They do, they do quite often," said the police officer, sadly looking at the murmuring trees. "But they don't all make it through to here. See, people get scattered about the forest. They can't seem to manage to concentrate on one pursuit. Some like mushrooms, some like to go berry-picking. Some even get stuck up in pine trees. Once in a while, one or two manage to get through. But what d'ye think they can do with themselves if they ain't got any suitcases? They're no good to anyone - except, p'raps, to the women! So they settle down here, they build a house. And after all, maybe that's the right thing to do. Ye can't understand everything here in one go, can ye, just coming over here and then leaving?"
"I say, do you think I might be able to meet any of those people? I mean, of those who did manage to get through?" the Chief Inspector insisted.
"'Course you can. You won't need to go too far, either. See Fyodorov here in front of you? He's an army general."
"General Fyodorov", Fyodorov introduced himself and held out his hand to the Chief Inspector.
"Shevchuk", said the Chief Inspector, looking at the General in amazement. "And may I ask what category, if that's no secret, of course?"
"Artillery", Fyodorov answered firmly. "What secrets can a man 'ave from 'is own people? Especially in Alpatovka."
"What d'ye mean, artillery?" said Potapov, deeply surprised. "What d'ye mean, artillery, when there's a space rocket lyin' in yer vegetable garden?"
"So what?" said Fyodorov, buttoning up his collar and scratching his grey hair. Maybe the forest swapped me a tank against a rocket. What business o' yours is that, anyway? Before there was a tank, now there's a rocket, that's all. And besides, just think with your own head: where the hell would I find enough fuel for a tank?"
"But somehow y'find enough fuel for the rocket, don't ye?"
"'Course we do", said the salesman, supporting Fyodorov. "I've got sufficient rocket fuel in my shop as anyone'd want. It's just that no-one e'er buys it except General Fyodorov, y'see."
"I should say you had better have a few groceries in that shop!" the Chief Inspector could not help exclaiming as he remembered his visit to the shop in the morning. "Your shop has a sign saying 'Groceries', you know."
"And what d'ye think it should've said: `Strategic Ammunition', or what? When the door doesn't shut and I can't find a lock? No, no, I'll leave it as it is - 'Groceries' - it'll be much safer that way, I'm sure."
They went on eating and drinking for most of the day. Then they sang songs about dear old Alpatovka. Fyodorov and the salesman, interrupting each other, told different versions about the origin of the village's population. The gardener kept counting over the suitcases. The police officer drew the visitors a map of the shortest route through the forest, in case they wanted to go back. And Potapov went walking back and forth across the room, rubbing his hands and, little by little, so that no-one would notice, pushing the sideboard towards the exit.
Suddenly, when it had grown dark, a loud neigh was heard from the street. It seemed to come from the light-chestnut racer that had been tied to the gate near the house. The police officer listened. But through the window everybody could already see Semakin galloping past the pine trees, leaning down on his favourite horse's neck and kicking him in the sides with all his might.
"Well, looks like it's about time for me to go," said the police officer, and he looked sadly at the guests, collected their passports in order to fill in the registration forms for their visit, and went out. The inspectors were given a separate room for the night, with a window looking onto the pine forest. By then the large Alpatovka moon had already started shining on the tops of the pine trees.
"There's something I don't like about having left our suitcases in the living room," said the Chief Inspector. He had some trouble falling asleep, and kept smoking and walking around the room. "And those passports -- we ought to have handed them in tomorrow morning instead. I can't imagine they're going to do our registration forms at night, are they?"
"Oh well, what difference does it make, whether at night or during the day?" said the youngest inspector, looking out of the window indifferently.
"Well, it certainly doesn't make any difference now," the others agreed, and they all began to fall asleep.
"Let's sleep. The night will bring counsel."
"Actually, uh... My dear friends," said the Chief Inspector, still not able to calm down, and he lit another cigarette. "I've been wondering all this time whether I should tell you... The fact is... Of course this is not going to sound very professional of me, but... Well, in short... Again, I shouldn't want you to understand me wrongly..." And with trembling hands, he pulled out of his pocket some small objects which made a dull clinking sound.
"Here, you see..."
Everyone saw the little ivory elephants that had been standing on the sideboard during the dinner.
"When I came out of the living room, I ... well, in short, I just swiped them off the sideboard. No-one noticed. But this is just for a deposit, my friends, just a deposit. And of course, it was hard to resist the temptation. Such a beautiful collection. But again, I beg you to understand me correctly. If anything should happen to our suitcases, at least I'd have this collection to -- er, you know... as a compensation, sort of thing. Please understand my position. I beg your pardon. That's it."
"Oh, come on, Inspector, don't apologize." The Deputy Chief, whom everyone thought had been sleeping, pulled out from under his pillow the police officer's leather briefcase, held it up for all the others to see, put it back under the pillow again and began to snore.
"It's true that the night brings counsel," said the younger inspector, still looking out of the window. "Good Heavens -- a white grand-piano! Now I think I understand, at last. I can see now where that music was coming from. That's where it came from! From the east side."
"What d'you mean, white? It's light-chestnut..." said someone in his sleep. But it was already long past midnight, and nobody felt like arguing anymore.

Translated by Natalia Stuart
Edited by Kathryn Sylvester