THEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIES1THEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIESANTONCHEKHOVTHEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIES2THEWITCHITwasapproachingnightfall.Thesexton,SavelyGykin,waslyinginhishugebedinthehutadjoiningthechurch.Hewasnotasleep,thoughitwashishabittogotosleepatthesametimeasthehens.Hiscoarseredhairpeepedfromunderoneendofthegreasypatchworkquilt,madeupofcolouredrags,whilehisbigunwashedfeetstuckoutfromtheother.Hewaslistening.Hishutadjoinedthewallthatencircledthechurchandthesolitarywindowinitlookedoutupontheopencountry.Andouttherearegularbattlewasgoingon.Itwashardtosaywhowasbeingwipedoffthefaceoftheearth,andforthesakeofwhosedestructionnaturewasbeingchurnedupintosuchaferment;but,judgingfromtheunceasingmalignantroar,someonewasgettingitveryhot.Avictoriousforcewasinfullchaseoverthefields,stormingintheforestandonthechurchroof,batteringspitefullywithitsfistsuponthewindows,ragingandtearing,whilesomethingvanquishedwashowlingandwailing....Aplaintivelamentsobbedatthewindow,ontheroof,orinthestove.Itsoundednotlikeacallforhelp,butlikeacryofmisery,aconsciousnessthatitwastoolate,thattherewasnosalvation.Thesnowdriftswerecoveredwithathincoatingofice;tearsquiveredonthemandonthetrees;adarkslushofmudandmeltingsnowflowedalongtheroadsandpaths.Inshort,itwasthawing,butthroughthedarknighttheheavensfailedtoseeit,andflungflakesoffreshsnowuponthemeltingearthataterrificrate.Andthewindstaggeredlikeadrunkard.Itwouldnotletthesnowsettleontheground,andwhirleditroundinthedarknessatrandom.Savelylistenedtoallthisdinandfrowned.Thefactwasthatheknew,oratanyratesuspected,whatallthisracketoutsidethewindowwastendingtoandwhosehandiworkitwas."Iknow!"hemuttered,shakinghisfingermenacinglyunderthebedclothes;"Iknowallaboutit."Onastoolbythewindowsatthesexton'swife,RaissaNilovna.Atinlampstandingonanotherstool,asthoughtimidanddistrustfulofitspowers,shedadimandflickeringlightonherbroadshoulders,onthehandsome,tempting-lookingcontoursofherperson,andonherthickplait,THEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIES3whichreachedtothefloor.Shewasmakingsacksoutofcoarsehempenstuff.Herhandsmovednimbly,whileherwholebody,hereyes,hereyebrows,herfulllips,herwhiteneckwereasstillasthoughtheywereasleep,absorbedinthemonotonous,mechanicaltoil.Onlyfromtimetotimesheraisedherheadtorestherwearyneck,glancedforamomenttowardsthewindow,beyondwhichthesnowstormwasraging,andbentagainoverhersacking.Nodesire,nojoy,nogrief,nothingwasexpressedbyherhandsomefacewithitsturned-upnoseanditsdimples.Soabeautifulfountainexpressesnothingwhenitisnotplaying.Butatlastshehadfinishedasack.Sheflungitaside,and,stretchingluxuriously,restedhermotionless,lack-lustreeyesonthewindow.Thepaneswereswimmingwithdropsliketears,andwhitewithshort-livedsnowflakeswhichfellonthewindow,glancedatRaissa,andmelted...."Cometobed!"growledthesexton.Raissaremainedmute.Butsuddenlyhereyelashesflickeredandtherewasagleamofattentioninhereye.Savely,allthetimewatchingherexpressionfromunderthequilt,putouthisheadandasked:"Whatisit?""Nothing....Ifancysomeone'scoming,"sheansweredquietly.Thesextonflungthequiltoffwithhisarmsandlegs,kneltupinbed,andlookedblanklyathiswife.Thetimidlightofthelampilluminatedhishirsute,pock-markedcountenanceandglidedoverhisroughmattedhair."Doyouhear?"askedhiswife.Throughthemonotonousroarofthestormhecaughtascarcelyaudiblethinandjinglingmonotoneliketheshrillnoteofagnatwhenitwantstosettleonone'scheekandisangryatbeingprevented."It'sthepost,...