WITHOUT
LOVE
365
horses harnessed in file and, ducking down to look at the girths
and fetlocks, jumped up again at once and began
to
race round
like madmen, brandishing their flares and lighting up in turn
the trunks standing round the sleigh, the snow, the underbellies
and flanks of the horses and their muzzles which together formed
a slender garland, borne aloft, as it seemed, by the wind. The
moment of departure depended on the Tartars. Roundabout
the snow sang in the forest and raved in the open country, and
it seemed as though the surging sound of the night knew Tartar
and was arguing with Mininbay, who had climbed on to the roof
of the sleigh and, clutching at his hands, was telling
him
to
fasten down the trunks not in the way Gimazetdin was shouting,
nor in the way suggested by Galliula, who was hardly able to
keep
his
feet because of the storm and had gone quite hoarse....
The moment of departure depended on the Tartars. They could
hardly wait to take up their whips, whistle at the horses and
abandon themselves to the final devil-may-care
aida.
2
After this
no power on earth would hold the horses back. Like drunkards
to the bottle the Tartars were drawn irresistibly, more and more
eagerly with each passing minute, to the mournful whoops and
cajolery of their trade. Hence the feverish movements of their
frenzied alcoholic hands as they rushed to help their masters into
their heavy fur coats.
And now the flares sent a last farewell kiss to those who
were being left behind. Goltsev had already stumbled into the
depths of the sleigh and Kovalevsky, floundering in the tails of
his
three coats, climbed after him under the heavy traveling
rug. Unable to feel the floor through their broad felt boots, they
nestled down in the straw, the cushions and the sheepskins. A
flare appeared on the far side of the sleigh but suddenly bobbed
down out of sight.
The sleigh shuddered and heaved. It slithered forward,
lurched over and began to tum on its side. A low whistle came
2. A Tartar word meaning, roughly: "let's go!"
