The Fantastic Worlds of Yuri Vynnychuk Read online

  “He shouldn’t take it,” said the yardman in a tone in which you could sense the certain destiny of doubt. “I know that dog. That’s the druggist’s dog.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” somebody reiterated. “That’s a good doggie. I even tried to buy him once, and the druggist didn’t want to hear of it. He says: this dog is a dog for all dogs! O-ho...I know...”

  But this thrice-damned creature, this odious louse-like creation, that held the aspirations and honor of the town beneath its nose, sniffed what the stranger had tossed him with curiosity and greedily grabbed it with his teeth, gobbling it up. He even glanced at the unexpected provider of bread with enormous gratitude. Everyone who saw it gaped from terror. Anger rose in their hearts, which was only a droplet away from overflowing all over.

  “What a snake!” The yardman murmured through his teeth.

  “Gotta call the druggist. Let him give it a knock on the head for shaming us like this.”

  They sent a youngster to the druggist, who was having supper in the cafeteria where the stranger had gone. The druggist stepped out onto the street, wiping his greasy lips with a handkerchief.

  “Well, what’s happening there?”

  He was quickly told the whole horror of the situation, and then he, no joking, got so angry that he picked up a rock and tossed it at his own dog.

  “Get marching, you snake! Get out of my sight!”

  The older boys also began to hurl stones at the dog, running after and shouting:

  “Shoo from here! Shoo!”

  The yardman at that moment stepped up to the spot where the dog had been sitting before, and carefully examined whether anything was left, in order to indicate exactly what the stranger had thrown to the dog, but, unfortunately, he didn’t find anything in particular and spread his arms apart in disappointment.

  “Oh, I won’t forgive him!” The druggist raged. “I’ll poison him today.”

  “Or drown him!” Somebody suggested. “Better to drown him, he’ll suffer less, because they say it like this: it’s just a damn dog! A being without consciousness.”

  Then everyone, forgetting about the dog, became interested in what the tramp was doing in the cafeteria, and engaged a delegation of four men to go on reconnaissance, who were thankful for the opportunity to slosh down a tankard of ale without getting any flak from their wives.

  They noticed the stranger in the corner at a table. He was sitting alone, having set his hat on the windowsill and his walking stick against the wall. He was sitting and waiting for his lunch to be brought to him.

  The men sat nearby and ordered beer. The stranger asked for some kind of soup and meat, and when he saw that they had brought the men beer, he ordered some for himself, but he didn’t say what exactly, but just nodded his head in the direction of the tankards and said:

  “And something to drink, please!”

  His voice was soft and quiet. He was entirely too modest and timid. The men just shrugged their shoulders:

  “Is it worth it because of some sluggard to make such a mess in town?...”

  They decided they should drink up their beer peacefully and part their ways, each according to his business, leaving the stranger in peace, but then something happened that really intrigued and later riled them. Before they brought him lunch the waiter showed the stranger a little piece of paper with a bill and said:

  “Everybody pays up front here.”

  But the vagrant’s eyes grew wide and he wagged his head eerily:

  “I...you see...don’t have any money...I’m just really hungry...I haven’t eaten for three days...But I don’t have any money...”

  Then the waiter stuck out his lower lip indignantly and grunted:

  “Then there’s nothing to talk to you about. Get out! We don’t feed tramps!”

  The men shot glances at each other and without speaking decided that something was wrong here. They left their beer unfinished and started after the foreigner.

  The crowd that patiently waited on the other side of the street got fidgety and fixed their eyes on the men in fascination.

  “He didn’t have any money!” One of them announced.

  “Aha, he’s an ordinary tramp,” another seconded.

  “He says he hasn’t had a crumb in his mouth for three days!” Said a third.

  “They chased him out of here like a dog,” piped in a fourth.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” The yardman jumped up. “They should arrest him right away, cause he’s not just a tramp but a bandit.”

  “Maybe he got out of prison?” The thought flashed to one of the women.

  “That’s it exactly, just out of prison!” The yardman seconded. “A thief, or maybe worse—a murderer.”

  The railroad guard, who till now had been silent, announced in deep thought:

  “Mebbe this is the guy who hit my dead brother with a bottle across the head during a fight?!”

  The whole crowd focused on the guard with sympathetic looks, everyone grew terribly sad for his dead brother, and they all decided to call the police to arrest him...this molesting bandit.

  And he, the guilty party in the clamor and the unrest, entered somebody’s yard and asked for water, and asked if they could spare him some bread. Just think what insolence! To go into somebody else’s yard and ask for food! The owner, who had just come out of the house, said that there was water at the watering post in the street, and bread in the store, and there’s no reason for him to roam around here. Without saying a word the stranger turned around and left. And the owner later related that the stranger had even threatened him, but you can’t frighten him—he’s been through it all and doesn’t shy away.

  The tramp, stopping in the street, set off toward the watering post, but it was nailed shut with boards, and he couldn’t simultaneously pump with his left hand and put his right under the stream of water. The water pump was already quite old and pumped very little water, but, when he tried to pump it and then put his cupped hand under the flow, nothing came out, because by the time he reached it, the stream of water had disappeared and in his cupped hand only a few drops fell that he greedily lapped up. Finally he figured out a better way: taking off his hat, he set it down in the spot where the water was streaming, but then a cop arrived and put his hand on his shoulder. The tramp didn’t even have time to pick up his hat from the ground.

  Following the cop to the station a crowd of people grew, expecting an interesting ending to this adventure.

  They took two men as eyewitnesses. The cops set the stranger down at a table and began to interrogate him:

  “Who’re you and where’d you come from? Or even better, give me your documents, cause you’ll just lie.”

  The tramp blinked his eyes for a while.

  “Which documents? I didn’t take any documents? I’ve never even seen documents.”

  “He’s gotta be kidding!” One of the men slapped himself on the thigh.

  “Well, well, don’t make problems here!” One of the cops thundered. “Empty everything from your pockets.”

  On the table the tramp put a bit of rusty barbed wire, half a fistful of wheat and three nails.

  Those present exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Why are you carrying all this on you?” The cop asked. “Why do you need this wire and those nails?”

  “They nailed my arms with nails...And my feet...And the barbed wire my head...”

  “What? What are you blabbering? I’ll show you how to mess with me! Tell me fast, what’s your name?”

  “My name...my name is... Don’t you know my name?” The stranger answered in a really quiet, timid voice.

  “This stranger’s making fun of us.” One of the men shouted.

  “A real psycho!” A second one tossed in.

  “What do you take us for?!” The cop slapped the table. “We know your tricks!”

  “I’m just really hungry. Haven’t had anything in my mouth for three days. Please let me have something to eat...”

  “F
irst you have to tell us where you came from and why.”

  But the stranger was just silent.

  “Well?!” The cop bellowed.

  “Well?!” The eyewitnesses repeated.

  “I...I don’t know...I just came here and wanted to see...how you...I just came, and that’s all...”

  The voice of the stranger disarmed everyone present with its meekness and peacefulness, they could sense paternal solicitude in it, something warm and familiar. A strange sensation began to be born in the people’s hearts when they heard him.

  One of the men stepped over to the cop and whispered:

  “Listen, maybe he’s mentally ill? Let’s leave him in peace.”

  All three of them found this solution the best.

  “You can go.”

  The stranger, without hurrying, accepting everything as proper and customary, started to the exit. Near the doors he turned back and said:

  “The Lord save you.”

  Having heard what happened at the station, the crowd slowly began to disperse.

  “Just think, a crazy guy... Nothing of interest.” Disillusioned, everyone shook their heads, just the children didn’t leave the stranger and persistently followed him to the very outskirts of the city. The older children who lived there knew nothing about it and played quite peacefully. They tied the tail of a cat to a long rope and attached it to a tree. The cat screeched in despair and from fear, rolling himself up and unrolling, scampering about, but the cord was strong and didn’t rip. The children surrounded this spectacle and roared with laughter.

  Then suddenly they stopped laughing: a gangly man with a walking stick in his hand moved closer to them, and they gave way to him. The stranger untied the cat and then, without saying a word to the children, walked away slowly along the road.

  The children furiously began cursing, and those who had managed to get there from the center of town explained in brief who that man was, and then the entire crowd grabbed rocks and clumps of branches from the ground and rushed to cut his path off. They surrounded him and began to cast everything within reach at him. They were enraged, they wouldn’t forgive this tramp for his insolence.

  The stranger covered his face with his hands. Tiny streams of blood oozed between his fingers. The blood encouraged the children more. Someone tore the walking stick from the hands of the man and struck him across the head. It broke in two. You could hear a dry snap, and the man fell to his knees, trying to rest his head on his chest. He said something, but no one listened to the words. They tore his coat off, and he was left in just a clean white shirt and old pants, but soon the shirt turned black from the mud. Blood flowed from his head, his face, his shoulders and hands.

  He still gathered a little strength to lift himself from his knees and made his way to the picket fence. There, leaning sideways on the fence, covering his face with his hands, the stranger still tried to take a few steps. One of the boys, demonstrating his strength and dexterity, aimed with a brick so accurately that he hit him right on the forehead. And the man, gasping deeply, quietly sat down on the ground. His gangly body feebly stretched out under the picket fence and grew still. The children knelt in place, expecting the man to get up, but he didn’t move at all. Then they understood that he was dead, that they had killed him. And then they asked each other: “Why?” But couldn’t find an answer. One of them lifted the coat off the ground and covered the corpse of the unknown man with it . A younger boy, grabbing his head with his hands, vomited.

  Afterward fear seized the children, and they ran to their homes, stifling sobs in their chests and something else terrifying and painful that tore out from within. They clenched their teeth, guessing that maybe this would pass. But it didn’t pass, it curled in them like a coil of vipers, and hurt badly. The children didn’t know what it was, and that terrified them even more, because all of a sudden it seemed to all of them that they had seen THAT FACE somewhere, that they had known it from their earliest childhood. But where, where was it from?

  And each one spoke through clenched teeth:

  “No, it’s not him... It’s not true! He’s not like that!” But somewhere in their heart unconsciously there was born an enormous and foreboding:

  “It’s him, it’s him...”

  3. Fantastic and Alternative Worlds

  The Pulsing Beacon

  1

  “Yes, we like this house.”

  “You like it? I’m really happy. Just look at the view! This road leads to Kryva Dolyna, and beyond the valley, right away there are woods. Lots of berries and mushrooms. My husband and I, may he rest in peace, used to go... cause you see, it’s sad for me to live here alone. The house is too big. And my son says: sell it and move to our town. My son checked out prices. It’s not too expensive, eh? In town it’d be twice as expensive. You’ll live here peacefully. The people are really nice. It’s close to town. Soon it’ll get urbanized, they’ll extend the trolleybus line out here. But, I see, you have your own car... Just farms all around... It’s quiet, peaceful...”

  “And these rifles... Did your husband hunt?”

  “Ah, those... yes, yes, sometimes... duck hunting...”

  “You mean there’s nothing in the woods?” “The woods... yeah, cause... but...”

  “Just the wild rabbits.”

  “Rabbits? What’re you saying? Never in your life! Who told you about the rabbits? There aren’t any rabbits here. Those are all rumors. You can be sure. What rabbits? From where?”

  “Why are you so upset? I was just asking.”

  “I wasn’t upset. It just seemed like that to you. But there aren’t any rabbits here. He used to go duck hunting... Hey, maybe you’d like some tea?”

  “No, thanks. Time for us to go.”

  “What have you decided?”

  “We’ll take it.”

  On the hills that looked like black trees, the farm owners stood and watched as we were led to our new home. Above them bloated gray clouds floated, and among the clouds the black roses of ravens bloomed. Their sad look didn’t portend anything good; we looked on in silence without moving. After some time one of them descended the hill and offered his help. He was an old but muscular man. His name was Kostyo.

  In the late evening when we finished settling in on our property, and after my wife went to bed with the little one, Kostyo stayed with me for tea.

  “You lived in the city?” He asked, making himself comfortable in the corner between two puffy credenzas. And without waiting for an answer he added: “Even this isn’t a village. Just ain’t no road. You call this a road? It’s a swamp. Without boats you’d never get through when there’s slush. And there, in general, it’s not too bad... Oh dang it.”

  “Why are you swearing?”

  “Don’t you know?” And he squinted his eyes.

  “What was I supposed to know?”

  “About Kryva Dolyna. Let it be crooked for eternity. Oh-oh-oh, this is heavenly retribution... There’s no way out for them or any law.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Whaddya think, about the rabbits.”

  “About the rabbits?”

  “Uhuh.”

  “Valykhnovska said that there aren’t any rabbits here.”

  “E-he, that’s a clever dame. She said that to sell it. Don’t you know how it works?”

  “I don’t understand. Unless, is it bad where the rabbits are?”

  “Spit... Nye-nye, you gotta spit anyway to keep it from coming true. This isn’t a joke... A whole slew of rabbits here. Just like sparrows. In the gardens and orchards they jump like crazy. They’ll eat up whatever you plant. Whether you shoot at them or not it doesn’t matter—you won’t hit ‘em... They’re so quick... So ultimately nobody shoots at them... You won’t believe it that anybody who tries to shoot can ever get away with it... If not now, then down the road, the rabbit’s revenge get ‘em anyway. I remember during the war a Kraut lived in my house. An officer—from the intilligintsia... If he didn’t polish h
is boots he wouldn’t go outside. “Danke sehr. Give me mehr.” True, once he nailed me so hard with a stick whip—I had stripes like this all over my back! Once he decided to go rabbit hunting... And by then a couple Krauts had already gotten killed hunting... Everybody told him something was amiss with those rabbits. And he responded: “Galician Hasen?” And left. And what do you think? He stumbled on a branch and the carbine fired at him.”

  “What did the rabbits have to do with it?”

  “Well, you see, it seems like nothing, but... You should go to Kalenyk. He knows better. I settled here just before the war, and he was born on the farm. He remembers the time when the gentlefolk used to go hunting. They went mostly after wild boar, but sometimes to get a rabbit. And what do you think? One shot himself, another—his friend, and a third—flipped over into the ravine... I’ll tell you, they’re clever—when they go after the gardens it’s at night. Even the dogs are afraid of them.”

  “Come on!”

  “Uhuh... Once in the middle of the night I heard a dog howling and howling. Well, I threw on my leather jacket and went out... And the rabbits were sweeping up the cabbage so fast that you could hear crackling sounds. The dog got tangled beneath the boards in the yard and whimpered. I yelled to him: “Brovka! go get ‘em!” But he didn’t even stir. He just shivered and whimpered.”

  “You couldn’t chase them yourself?”

  “Hey, am I stupid? Old Matsiy somehow leapt out with a pitchfork. What do you guess? One of the rabbits jumped so hard into him that he flew up like ballet dancer and broke his leg.”

  “Some kind of devilry.”

  “Aye, that’s the truth. Only the devil knows what it is. You can imagine—they tore up a greyhound.”

  “Now you’re...”

  “I swear they tore it up! Ask anybody you want. Vikhtiuk had a greyhound. A good greyhound. Once it disappeared. Well, Vikhtiuk goes looking for it. He found it in the valley torn to shreds. There obviously was an incredible fight, cause everything was torn up all around, as if some boys had gone at it. And tufts of hair—a dog’s and a rabbit’s. and you say…”