Nikolka: A Story by Evgeny Poselyanin

Everything was ready for the feast at the end of the Nativity Fast. The cake was browned, and the sight of its well-toasted and oil-soaked crust alone made your mouth water; a fat piece of mutton spread an enticing smell throughout the log hut; thick steam was coming from a pot of burning hot shchi (cabbage soup) that had just been taken out of the oven. Almost everything was tidy in the hut. An icon lamp was burning in the holy corner with a blackened large “Joy of All Who Sorrow” Icon with some new icons in paper rizas.

The skies were darkening and almost no light was coming through the windows. Mikhaila was preparing the wood sledge in the yard.¹ It was time to get ready for the Vigil. They were not going to ride to the parish, but to the large village of Trekhbratskoye, which lay about twelve versts (about eight miles) away from their village. There was the patronal feast there. Mikhaila’s second wife Marya,² a nimble, tall and ruddy-faced woman, was adroitly completing the cleaning of the hut. Taking fried meat and cake out of the oven and putting them on the table, she covered them and shouted to her stepson Nikolka,³ a boy of about seven, to take the cat out into the inner porch and not let it inside the hut so that it could not treat itself to the dainties. After finishing the preparations for tomorrow’s festal dinner, Marya began to dress up. She came from a well-to-do family in Trekhbratskoye and loved to show off her best attire, so she didn’t want to go out in ordinary clothes on a day like this. And when she put on a colorful sarafan⁴ with puffed silver buttons, tied a red silk headscarf around her head and threw on a long sheepskin coat (tulup) covered with thin blue cloth, she became even more majestic and more attractive.

Mikhailo entered the hut, letting in clouds of frosty air behind him, and began to dress for the feast too. Only Nikolka didn’t have anything new to wear. Nevertheless, he put on a washed shirt and pulled on his patched short sheepskin fur coat, standing in the corner and carefully straightening his creased peaked cap (on ordinary days he would put it on his head without caring about its appearance). Mikhailo stole a few glances at his young son. Perhaps he was sorry that Nikolka didn’t have any new clothes for the feast. He might also have thought that it would have been otherwise if Nikolka’s mother were alive. As for Nikolka, he wasn’t thinking about his mother or new clothes. He was tryig his best to stand as still as possible so as not to anger his stepmother in any way. He was very glad that they were taking him to Trekhbratskoye, and he wanted to get on the wood sledge as soon as possible where there would be nothing to scold him for.

They were planning to spend the night with Marya’s family in Trekhbratskoye and return home after the festive Liturgy. Nikolka was really looking forward to all this. Having prepared himself, Mikhailo wrapped himself up more tightly in a wide armyak⁵ over his short sheepskin fur coat and belted himself up more tightly. Marya settled her one-year-old baby on her breast, turned off the light, leaving only one icon lamp burning, and everyone went outside: Mikhailo and Marya found room for themselves in front, and Nikolka lay down comfortably in the back. And so they set off.

The well-fed and strong horse ran merrily. The snow, gripped by the severe frost, screeched under the runners, and the wood sledge slid along smoothly. Nikolka felt warm on a thick pile of straw and covered with his father’s old kaftan. He gazed for a long time: now at the skies twinkling with countless stars that continued to appear, now at the lights in the huts of the villages they passed by, now into the dark distance that approached the wood sledge from the sides, from the front, and from behind.

Then Nikolka dozed off from the smooth ride and the silence around them. Through slumber he felt that the sledge was entering the forest and that if he were alone there he would be scared, but with his family he felt even better there than in the field. On either side, huge pines and sparse deciduous trees hugged the narrow road, and the previous tranquility gave way to a continuous strange and mysterious whispering. God alone knows what Nikolka was thinking about. Maybe he was dreaming of summer when in this very forest (in glades and in the grass) flowers blossomed, berries ripened and mushrooms rose by hummocks; or maybe he was thinking of his native village and the Church resplendent with lights, with loud singing and festive people; or maybe he just wanted someone to caress him. That evening it was sweet for Nikolka to doze on the sledge, in the middle of the forest, to the lulling screeching of the runners.

Suddenly something prompted him to look back. Freeing his head from under the kaftan, he gazed at the road. Not very far from the sledge something scattered and black was running, and out of this blackness, jumping lights were glaring. Nikolka was terrified. He swiftly got up on his knees and looked over his father at the horse. The horse was trembling, with its ears up—it was moving them with fright.

“Why are you tossing and turning? What’s up?” his stepmother asked him, displeased. There was concern in her voice though.

Nikolka turned back again: the lights were getting closer. The noise of the approaching mass could already be heard clearly.

“Daddy, wolves!” Nikolka shouted.

Mikhailo saw everything. He sensed danger immediately after the horse had pricked its ears up. Knowing that there was nothing to be done, he only prayed to God to save them from imminent death. His only hope was that there weren’t many wolves or that someone else was riding behind them and they would fight back together. As he urged his horse along, Mikhailo looked back: a whole pack of wolves was chasing them. The horse was galloping with all its might, but the distance between the pack and the sledge was getting closer.

“Hold on,” Mikhailo commanded. “Everybody sit together! God is merciful—maybe we’ll escape!” And, rising himself a little, he started whipping the horse frantically until it was bleeding. With its head thrown high, the horse seemed to be floating over the ground. Clutching the baby to herself in mortal terror, Marya stared ahead; Mikhailo kept turning around. Nikolka was kneeling behind Marya, facing the wolves. He could already hear the beasts’ breathing. The boy realized that when the wolves caught up with them, they would seize him first. He wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming, or tossing about, but he froze.

“Nikolka, hold Nikolka!” Mikhaila shouted to Marya.

But Marya was sitting motionless. The wolves were closing in. The front wolf’s muzzle was already touching the sledge. A moment later it was running parallel to them. Soon the sledge would be in the middle of the pack. The horrifying lights of the wolves’ eyes were flashing from all sides, and the formidable beasts’ heavy breathing could be heard.

All of a sudden Marya rose and, still holding her baby with one hand, lifted Nikolka by the short sheepskin coat with a great force with the other hand and with a frantic scream flung him at the wolves.

“Daddy, daddy!” rang out in the air.

But the sledge flew on—the maddened horse carried it forward unstoppably. Whether Mikhailo’s mind was darkened, or he didn’t hear his son calling him, he kept whipping the now unruly horse. And there, behind them, the pack showed black against the white snow, surrounding the boy who had been thrown off the sledge.

When his stepmother flung Nikolka at the wolves, apart from the boundless horror that chilled him to the bone, he clearly realized, “I’ll be eaten by them.” And, closing his eyes, he was lying on the ground, not trying to get up. Meanwhile, everything was quiet. The fact that the wolves didn’t attack him right away made him feel even more scared. With an incredible effort, as if expecting to see his death with his own eyes, he brought himself to open his eyes. There were no wolves, and it was warm in the snow.

And suddenly something joyful, something he had never experienced in his life before, overwhelmed the boy. For some reason, it became clear to him that he was saved. Some power stood around him in the forest, amid the trees, streaming down from high heaven, caressing and animating him. This power had swept away the terrible pack of wolves and triumphantly filled the whole forest with benevolence and joy.

It was an ethereal power. It was darting over the ground and pouring comfort and joy around it. And wherever it approached, the mantle of snow shrouded whiter, the stars shone warmer and more welcoming from the skies, and everything greeted the descent of the wondrous Divine Infant with glee. The earth sensed this life-giving power. And before it the gray pines bowed their proud peaks, and under the mantle of snow the power did ineffable things. Living sap flowed up from the roots of trees, the snow was covered with green fresh grass, and flowers were blooming. A delicate snowdrop, a pure lily of the valley, a white chamomile, a blue forget-me-not, a violet full of fragrant moisture came up where frozen snow had been laying a minute before, and a thin cheerful little tinkle could be heard in the purple cups of the bluebells.… Swarms of light dragonflies with transparent wings and light butterflies circled over the blooming flowers around… Having lifted the instantly melted ice crust, bright brooks murmured, hurrying to reach the big rivers and the faraway warm sea by running… And wherever the power passed, there was triumphant everlasting life, with no death, no misfortune, and no sorrow… And this all-forgiving and victorious power marched over all this brightening and joy… Around it the soft flight of someone’s light wings could be heard, and there were echoes of the song that on the same night very many years before had been sung from Heaven to the poor and freed earth and first heard by several shepherds… In big cities those echoes were drowned out by the hustle and bustle, but in the forest its awakened nature listened to them, repeating them with the jolly murmuring of life, along with the village boy saved by that power.

And when it had passed, it became cold, tranquil and menacing in the forest again. There was no more murmuring spring, no more newly opening flowers, no more fluttering butterflies… Neither was the boy there… Only the tracks of the runners and the wolves’ paws were still visible in the snow, clear stars were blinking merrily from the skies, and old pines slowly began to talk incomprehensibly about what they had seen…

Having escaped from the wolves, Mikhailo and Marya found themselves in the most nightmarish situation. The dreadful empty place in the sledge where Nikolka had lain as they were leaving their home gaped menacingly and reproachfully before of them. They didn’t dare go back and rescue Nikolka. And it was frightful to ride forward and even think about the church. Their minds were in a mist, they did not exchange a single word and gloomily rode into the large village of Trekhbratskoye.

From afar, the tolling of the sonorous church bell could be heard in the frosty stillness of the night. Soon the church opened. It was located at a distance from the manor house on a high and prominent point. The space beside the church was buzzing with people who had not yet walked inside. Greetings and exchanged words, shouts at horses, the screeching of runners and footsteps on the snow were clearly audible in the air, which was frozen and motionless from the cold. The boys were dancing over the snow to get warm and blowing on their fingers; those who had come on foot sat down to rest on the ledge of the stone fence; those who were entering the church took off their hats on the porch with its high roof and made the sign of the cross. Through the wide glass doors, bright lights and a swaying crowd could be seen from inside.

Only Mikhailo and Marya went into the church without joy—with heavy hearts. In the village it had seemed to them that the fellow in the house of their relatives, to whom they handed over the horse, had been looking at them suspiciously. They could not answer anyone who greeted them; they did not dare look into anyone’s eyes; did not dare go ahead, and stopped not far from the door. The altar was right in front of them. Many candles were burning in front of local icons, and more and more were added to them, but they did not dare light a candle. Mikhailo was pining for his dear young son, and Marya was tormented by scalding remorse. She thought she saw another woman, Nikolka’s mother, and she was staring at her with her sad eyes, and in her ears Marya could hear a terrible whisper: “What have you done to him?”

The service was going on. The Six Psalms were read; then the royal doors opened; the clergy came out to the icon in the middle of the church and hymns of praise to the newborn Baby Christ were sung. Then they went to cense in the sanctuary, and the voices of the children from the village school began to repeat the words of the Magnification softly in unison.

At that moment Marya, who was staring ahead with wide opened eyes, pulled her husband: “Can you see?” she said, almost out of breath. “Nikolka’s soul is walking around the Church!”

“I see it,” Mikhailo replied.

Indeed, Nikolka was wearing an old short sheepskin coat and felt boots (valenki), holding an old peaked cap in his hands, apparently only for Mikhailo and Marya, walking around the church. He followed the priest into the altar, then came out and followed him through the church. And when the priest was not far from Mikhailo and Marya, Nikolka, who was still following him, looked in their direction and bowed low to them.

“Let’s go home. It is unbearable,” Marya whispered to her husband, and they left the church and rode back home another way.

Marya did not dare pray, but there was one thought in her mind: God is great and He could arrange it as if none of this had happened. With a contrite heart, realizing that she was the worst of the sinners, she entered the hut. The icon lamp was still burning in front of the “Joy of All Who Sorrow” Icon and the icons in paper rizas. Nikolka, safe and sound, was sleeping serenely on the bench beneath the icons in the short sheepskin fur coat, peaked cap and felt boots…

And all that night the great power of God walked all across the universe.