A day on the river


One day late in the autumn something woke me up at night. I listened: it rings, and I realized that it was nothing but a bell that was near the gate. I got up, got dressed. I lived alone in an empty house, in a village, three hundred kilometers from Moscow. No one could come to me at night, the whole village was asleep.

I opened the gate – no one else was behind it, but my friend the angler, the director of the Moscow theater.

“Two days from Moscow!” he said happily. – Polovit. What a night! And the air!

“How did you get there?”

– Great! replied the director. “I did not sleep at all on the boat.” Everything was worried. I’ll close my eyes and see: the dark water, the gray, quiet sky, the dawn is just breaking…

– Sleep?

– No, that you. I do not want to sleep at all. We’ll have a cup of tea, we’ll get together and in an hour we’ll move to Prorva.

– Of course, we will.

In an empty house it immediately became noisy.

We left the house in the dark. Rainwater in the tracks covered with a transparent ice. There was a smell of grass. An hour later we went to Prorva. Water! Now it was gray-green, autumnal, and somehow reminiscent of the sea. The river seemed completely lifeless. We chose a place closed from the west wind.

Strange feeling. I felt an acute sense of unusual rest and the approach of something mysterious. Obviously, this feeling was akin to that which we call happiness…


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A day on the river