Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 9

“Do you know, by any chance, Diana, where our Artem is? He was sulky yesterday, all worked up. For no reason really. What made him boil was my visit to that cave with Dmitro Borisovich. Yes, we went there, so what? But he flew into a temper, he did, he was real mad… Very foolish of him! But where did he go today, so early in the morning? I should have talked to him… But I can’t stand it when somebody’s pouting… Maybe he’s gone swimming. Hey, Diana, let’s race to the river! Who’s faster?”

The river was situated beyond the hillock. Lida raced downhill, waving her arms, jumping over high thistles, laughing irrepressibly. Diana, glad that the long-awaited fun had at last begun, seemed to have decided to demonstrate her sprinting ability. She leaped over the thistles, quick as lightning, in one jump getting ahead of the girl, hid for a moment in the grass only to spring out and try to catch the edge of Lida’s skirt in her teeth. The girl waved her arms, wriggled, and tried to run away, but Diana easily caught up with her, barking happily, and gently nipped at Lida’s hand. She would release it only to nip it again a moment later, enjoying the game immensely. This continued for several minutes, then Diana stopped abruptly and froze to the spot.

“What is it, Diana?”

Diana gave a short bark, in quite a different way than before. It was, no doubt, a signal to draw the girl’s attention to something.

“Oh, what’s happened, Diana? What’s there? Oh, yes, I see, those two men must be from our party. Where are they coming from?”

Two men, their dark silhouettes clearly outlined against the blue sky, came into view on a distant hillock. The one walking in front of the other made strange gestures as if he were moving the thistles apart to clear the way for the other. As they got closer, Lida saw it was Dmitro Borisovich. It even seemed to her that she could make out his pointed beard every time he turned to the other man. The archeologist turned round very frequently, practically every other step. And the man who was walking behind him was no doubt Artem…

“Aha, so, they must have made their peace!” she cried out, pleased.

But why is Artem walking with two left feet? Oh he’s carrying something, a sort of a suitcase or a chest, right in front of him at arms’ length. Is that the way to carry things, Artem? Oh, aren’t you funny! And look at the way he’s walking — very carefully, watching his step, selecting a place to secure a sure footing…

He stumbled, and Dmitro Borisovich rushed to him gesticulating violently. Then he took Artem’s load from him. They exchanged roles. Now Artem was at the head, and Dmitro Borisovich was carrying a suitcase or whatever it was in the same strange manner as Artem had been just a little while ago.

“What is it they are carrying, I wonder?” Lida said pensively. “The path they are walking along runs from the Sharp Mount. They are definitely heading home… But what is that strange thing they are carrying with such a great caution?”

Then a thought flashed through her mind which made her jump high into the air, and shout at the top of her voice:

“Artem! Artem! Where’re you going?”

At first Artem did not seem to hear her; then he looked back, caught sight of Lida and pointed in an indifferent gesture to the Sharp Mount.

“What? You’re coming from the mount?”

But they had already disappeared beyond the crest of the hillock. It would be futile to call after them now. But why didn’t Artem stop, wait for her, or give a more articulate answer? Was he still out of humor? So very foolish of him!

Lida looked at Diana; the dog was looking at the girl in expectation, but she did not feel like frolicking any longer.

“Hey, let’s run home, Diana! While they’re walking so slowly downhill, we’ll run and catch up with them!”

But Lida had miscalculated. Artem and Dmitro Borisovich reached the frame tent ahead of her. As she burst into the room, out of breath, she heard only the conclusion of the story Dmitro Borisovich, evidently much excited about something, had been telling:

“Now it’s here in front of you, Ivan Semenovich. The chest we found in the walled-off recess. In fact, I must admit it was not ‘we,’ it was Artem who found it all by himself. Why to blush, young man? It’s true, isn’t it? You’re the one who noticed it under the thick layers of dust! The credit for the discovery is all yours. Our Artem is very observant; he’s got very sharp eyes!”

A small chest was sitting on the table. All the papers and diagrams had been shoved aside to make room for it. Ivan Semenovich was examining it with absorbed interest from all angles. Artem was standing beside the table, flushed, with an elated and jubilant smile on his face. So that’s what they’d been carrying! And the chest had been found by Artem?… Lida approached the table cautiously. An ancient, greenish-black chest with some half-effaced ornaments on top, still liberally sprinkled with dust, crude… Lida surreptitiously gave Artem’s hand a tug, and said under her breath:

“Well done, Artem! Congratulations!”

Artem gave her a glance, wanted to say something at first, but then changed his mind and squeezed her hand lightly, his eyes flashing.

“Yes, it seems to be a genuinely ancient thing,” Ivan.Semenovich uttered pensively. “It must have been made quite a few years ago.”

“Oh, yes, quite a few, quite a few!” said Dmitro Borisovich as though rejoicing over the fact. Eyes half-closed, head raised dreamily, he ran his hand over his pointed beard.

“Yes, quite a few. I believe… at least two thousand… Oh, I must photograph this chest right away.”

“Hey, when are we going to open it up?” cried out Artem impatiently. But the archeologist cooled him down with a single glance from under his spectacles:

“There’ll be plenty of time for that!”

The picture-taking was given a much too solemn air and proceeded far too slowly. But at last Dmitro Borisovich put away his camera and heaved a sigh of relief:

“Well, now we can try to open it. But it must be done as carefully as possible. No, no, don’t help me, Artem! And… you know what? Do me a favor and step back. I must concentrate properly on the task, and you’re distracting me!”

Oh, how maddeningly slowly the archeologist did everything, as though teasing everyone with his sluggishness. One even got the impression he was opening it merely to satisfy the others’ curiosity. But Artem could clearly see the excitement on his face and hear how it affected his voice. Aha, dear Dmitro Borisovich could barely control his own impatience!

This Artem did not say aloud; he only smiled to himself at the thought, with the conversation in the cave immediately coming back to mind.

Meanwhile, Dmitro Borisovich issued orders:

“Not a single unnecessary movement! Artem, why are you standing there as if you had nothing to do? Come over here, spread out some clean paper — not a single tiny bit from here must be lost. Not the tiniest of bits, understand?”

“Again this tiny bit of knowledge, Dmitro Borisovich?”

“Yes, my dear young man, of knowledge. As a matter of fact, you should bear it in mind that now none of your taunts can affect me in any way. They fall on deaf ears. All right, move to the right, Artem. You’ll have a better view. Ivan Semenovich, we’ll begin now. We should probably make the first attempt from this side… from right here in fact!”

There were some marks on the chest, indicating that it had once been fitted with a lock. But apparently, it was not the lock that was now holding the lid shut: it must have stuck fast to the chest under the weight of centuries. Dmitro Borisovich, exercising great caution, tried to pry open the lid with gentle pressure on all sides. But it would not yield to his efforts. The archeologist heaved a sigh:

“I’m so afraid to use force, you know… It might be so fragile after two thousand years…”

Let me try it,” Ivan Semenovich said. “I think my hands are stronger… Oh, don’t look so alarmed! I’m not going to break it. You may rest assured, my dear friend, everything’ll be all right.”

“The problem is, Ivan Semenovich, it might just fall apart! I beg you to be most careful, most careful!”

Ivan Semenovich leaned over the chest. Then a light cracking sound was heard. It was enough to make the archeologist jump with horror and spring to the chest.

“Oh, my God! You’ve broken it!” he wailed as though it were he himself who was being mutilated.

“No, I haven’t. I told you everything would be all right, didn’t I?” Ivan Semenovich said reassuringly and stepped aside. The chest opened. Dmitro Borisovich began muttering, overwhelmed with excitement:

“Let me come closer, make way!… Don’t touch anything! I’ll do the rest!”

No one made even a slightest move to infringe on the sacred right of Dmitro Borisovich to be the first to examine the contents of the mysterious chest. All of them just craned their necks, moved by curiosity and the desire to see something exceptional at last. But no one really knew what to expect, no one except Artem, of course. The gold crown of a Scythian chieftain — that was what was in the chest!

“Stay where you are, stay where you are,” Dmitro Borisovich went on mumbling. “Don’t come any closer. One mustn’t… First of all the chest must be photographed the way it is now. The first one who has the right to look inside isn’t me, it’s my camera. Besides, the chest seems… it seems to be empty,” he added after he duly succumbed to the temptation to peep in.