Tales of grandfather Kladovik. “Peter’s ruble and the unfortunate boy Tikhon”

Author: Merkunov Andrey Nikolaevich

Late summer, Yegor Tyapnikov finally managed to get out to his favorite cop. Family life, apartment renovation, second child and two jobs: the main one – in the office of a construction company and a part-time job – engineering projects for cottages. All this not only took up time, but took it away in its inexorable and crazy rhythm. The most I had time for in terms of my favorite and passionate hobby was to watch a short report from my favorite video blogger in fits and starts before going to bed. Digging across the field, pitting, forest digging, coins, crosses, companions. And then a new day came, and a new working week, and so the summer flew by almost without rest. His wife Tatyana, wise and smart, has told her husband more than once: “Take a weekend off from freelancing, go to your cop, it hurts to look at you.” But you can’t leave so easily; it was a very good and important order, and therefore a monetary order. The customer, as usually happens, was weird, changed his wishes, said what he didn’t say, but at the same time regularly paid for each revision. And now the order was submitted, there was also a seasonal calm at the main work, and therefore it was possible to take the MD in the case out of the storage room, check the batteries in the pin, sharpen the shovel, and move towards your favorite area somewhere on the border of the Tula and Ryazan regions.

The village of Trinity, on the shore of a large lake, from which a small local river began its channel. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of such villages throughout Mother Russia. The landscape of the area seemed to have come out of the pictures of Palekh artists. Endless hills with copses, plowed fields and an ancient Russian village that stood for many hundreds of years on a high dominant point of the hill. In the very center of the village, a white stone church with a dilapidated bell tower was living out its life; once the ringing of its bells could be heard for dozens of miles around the area, but today there are only pigeons and a young birch tree sprouted from the brickwork. The church is active; on major holidays the priest comes from the city. The village itself is residential, although the entire population is pensioners and summer residents. But the store, village council and paramedic station are open.

The plowed field turned out to be covered with discs and walking on it was like walking on the beach, only there were not enough beach flip-flops, shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. Yegor was disappointed almost immediately upon leaving. The field was dug by predecessors. Someone walked around here thoroughly a couple of weeks ago. Strings of footprints, deep holes from the cop, sometimes measuring half a meter by half a meter. And colored trash carelessly tossed on top of each mound by the cop. “Well, how can such people be called comrades? Pigs, and even then, I don’t want to offend pigs,” — thought Yegor, looking at this bestiality. It was clear that the diggers had simple, amateur-level equipment, since they were digging all the large, deep iron.

Egor knew this field like the back of his hand; he had been coming here for several years. The field was good and always pleased with excellent finds, sometimes even paying off some fuel for the trip. The convergence of several ancient roads, an inn and, perhaps, somewhere here rich rural fairs took place in the distant past. The experience of seeing competitors walking across the field passed when I managed to pick up a couple of coins and a cross directly from the traces left by the competitors. Judging by the amount of colored garbage, it was clear that the predecessors dug only what they considered a 100% signal for themselves, not wanting to dig up garbage. Yegor walked to the place where he had once discovered the location of the inn and began to methodically work it out. The place was rather poor, and that’s understandable: the third year knocks it out. But I still came across some interesting swag.

At this time, Yegor’s attention was attracted by a magpie chattering incessantly. The bird sat in the branches of an old hundred-year-old willow on the shore of the lake and chirped as if someone was pulling its tail. It chirps and jumps from branch to branch. “And God be with her,” — Yegor thought and continued to tend the plot of land. But there were few finds and at some point I wanted to go somewhere else. Yegor looked around at familiar and long-trodden places, there he was – empty, there he was too, and there, like a tractor, the iron had been sawed into thousands of small pieces and scattered across the field. There was only a place left by the lake shore. I didn’t want to go there, because there was a full understanding that the number of vodka caps dug up would amount to dozens per square meter. Moreover, this magpie chirped as if it sensed something. “Or maybe this is a sign?” — thought Yegor. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness a thought flashed: “Oh, okay, I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as Yegor Tyapnikov approached the very tree on which the magpie was sitting, the bird fell silent, soared into the sky and flew away towards the village. As Yegor expected, there were such a number of vodka traffic jams on the shore of the lake that they can only be described with an obscene root in the word. Among the traffic jams I came across a couple of Soviet coins, and my heart almost sank. A good high-pitched signal, a round object of yellow metal with a simple pattern on the front side fell out of a dense lump of earth. Adrenaline rushed into the blood, his hands began to tremble, and Yegor instinctively rubbed the find on the edge of his glove. It was a pendant with a broken buttonhole, but how wonderful it was. The man turned the find over, and then he was greatly disappointed: on the back of the pendant there was a stamped price of 1 ruble. 20 k. Soviet jewelry, what an injustice, although such cases had happened to him before, well, not just such a pendant, but a copper chain with gilding.

“Eh!” — The digger sighed in annoyance and was about to walk away from this shore, when at the very first swing he caught a good scoring imperial signal. The device showed a depth almost as deep as a fiskar’s bayonet, so it was absolutely necessary to dig. Plugs do not bury themselves to such depths. Carefully, in four cuts on the sides, Egor took out a lump of earth and literally immediately saw how a large silver circle fell out of the very bottom of the lump. Coin!!! Of course it was a coin!!! Egor picked up the find, again mechanically pulled it to wipe it on his glove, but stopped in time, took out a swag bag with a wet rag, looked at it, then remembered that he was on the shore of the lake, and therefore went to the water’s edge to wash the find. Premonition and caution turned out to be useful. Emperor Peter I looked at Yegor from the coin.  A double-headed eagle and a circle inscription “Moscow ruble 1714”

A smartphone, an application for the price of coins and… and a price tag of 4.9 million rubles. Adrenaline, pressure, legs gave way, my eyes swam, I looked at the price tag again, compared the image and again checked that the photo of the coin from the auction was the same year as the date on HIS coin. And then Yegor decided to sit for a while, take a breath.

“Where did you come from like this?,” Yegor asked himself more, looking at the precious find.

And the magpie, which flew away from the tree under which the steering wheel lay in the ground, flew up to the church bell tower and, turning into the shadow, turned into a lanky man with a thin face, a sharp chin and a hooked nose. The peasant was dressed like a rural dandy from the times of Brezhnev’s stagnation. Striped pants, well-worn boots of a dirty gray color with two patches on the heels and worn heels, an alcoholic T-shirt and a jacket of a different style with trousers.

“So I’m wondering where such wealth came from here, in a place completely unsuitable for it?,” asked the lanky man, addressing politely and courteously the second man who emerged from a ghostly shadow right here in the bell tower. He is small in height, one and a half meters with a hat. The face is round, puffy with a week’s stubble, a potato nose, eyes set deep under thick gray eyebrows, a sly look with a grin, but without malice or guile. A shock of gray hair was hidden under a hat with earflaps, on the body was a washed-out padded jacket with the collar of a stretched knitted sweater, blue work pants and tarpaulin boots with a short top. If you meet someone like this in the forest, the first thing you will think is that, most likely, the criminal has left the zone to jump.

This was the same ancient and revered spirit at all times who was in charge of all the hidden treasures and treasures hidden in the earth. In different periods of history and among different peoples, he was called differently. Kudeyar, Grandfather Storekeeper, Storekeeper, Storekeeper, Earthly Grandfather and now the current generation of treasure hunters calls him Grandfather Khabar. The name was nothing, there were worse nicknames, the main thing was that he was revered, they believed in him and they made offerings to him. And he, by his own will, decided to grant or not the wealth that was once hidden in the earth. Grandfather Treasurer could lead the treasure hunter past many times, or, on the contrary, he could accidentally lead him to the treasure itself. Just like it was just now. If, in the opinion of the Storekeeper, a person is not worthy of the treasure, then he will never find it, even walking through it, or, looking at the treasure point-blank, he will not see the treasure. The Pantry’s two assistants are a lanky, drunken man, Soroka, who can turn into birds, animals or creeping things. Whenever he wants — a viper might jump out from under a person’s feet, the person would be frightened even half a step to the side, and there the treasure in a clay pot lay at the very roots of the oak tree. Or a dog will howl in the forest, a magpie will chirp, a drink will scream. But it happens that a person catches a deep signal with the device, digs and digs, but cannot find it. The signal goes deeper and deeper, and eventually the digger throws a hole a meter deep, most likely believing that this device is reacting to a hot stone. But in fact, it was Soroka who was drawing the treasure deeper and deeper. The treasure hunter will go further, and Soroka will carefully bury the hole, return the treasure to its place, and carefully sprinkle the soil on top with leaves or grass.

Immediately, a third shadow shot up from the ground near the foundation along the dilapidated brick wall of the bell tower, reaching the dilapidated belfry, it turned into a girl of about twelve. Dirty, with red hair tangled in burrs, a chubby freckled face and a lively, mischievous look in bottomless blue eyes. She was dressed like street children from the dashing nineties, who could be seen in flocks at railway stations or underground passages in Moscow. An oversized sweater with a hood with the embroidered word “BOSS”, jeans worn to holes, torn white sneakers and in his hands a plastic bag with an advertisement for one of the brands of cigarettes. The girl was deliberately chewing gum, blowing large bubbles halfway across her face. Her name was Shchekotukha, and in the Storehouse team she was responsible for petty pranks, hooligan antics, dirty tricks and gentle jokes. Previously, in past centuries, her favorite pastime was to throw pots of nails or barrels of scrap metal to treasure hunters, and she also threw up various kinds of signs or objects that drove a person even more crazy. For example, a fortune teller made a wish for a treasure hunter that he would find a treasure in a grove where three birch trees bow to two pines. So she will lead a person to such a clearing, and then sit and laugh at the person who will dig up the entire clearing in a week. But now everything has become more fun. She will collect corks from all over the field and scatter them on the digger’s path. A man goes, digs signal after signal, and there are only traffic jams and more traffic jams, and again traffic jams, but at the fortieth signal, Tickle will throw up an imperial chervonets and watch how the person behaves. The digger stands there, wondering whether to dig for a signal or not, then he gives up his hand in frustration and moves on, without even looking to see whether it’s a traffic jam or not. The tickle woman laughs and bursts into tears.

Magpie looked with interest at the package in the hands of Tickler.

– Well, I’ve already collected?

— Why collect anything, everything is where it needs to be,” Tickle opened the bag, stuck her hand in, rummaged around, rustling the plastic, and took out a bottle of vodka that a moment before had been lying buried on the edge of a plowed field three hundred kilometers from this place.

Soroka looked at the bottle incredulously, read the label, then with his usual gesture he twisted the funnel in the bottle, watching the swirling bubbles, and eventually ran his palm along the bottom.

– Oh, my gut feels that this is a fusel, a scorched fusel. People have no conscience at all. Probably, they chose the cheapest vodka on the shelf, on the principle that maybe it will do. Well, I’ll find them, oh, they’re a bitch today and they’ll dig up a kilogram of wire for each of them.

— “Don’t make any noise, you’re offended,” Tickle replied sarcastically. – We recently spoiled him with sambuca and whiskey, there was a time when he gratefully accepted the Three Axes port wine. Here you go, esthete,” the girl rummaged around in the bag again and took out a whole handful of small but ringing hundred-gram vials. Whiskey, cognac, gin, all different varieties and brands. On top I placed a large chocolate bar “Rowan berry with cognac”. The packaging was a little dirty with damp earth, but Soroka was no stranger to it. Tickle took out two handfuls of chocolates, lollipops and caramels for herself, with which she sat down on the edge of the belfry, dangling her legs carefree. Magpie and Tickle knew from experience that now Grandfather Storekeeper would start his story and tell them the story of this very ruble.

“What do you mean, where did the ruble come from there? If it came from there, it means that someone put it there,” Grandfather Kladovik answered the digger’s question with an old man’s hoarseness in his voice. Then he looked at his companions and began his usual story.

And it was like this. In the year 1876, this village was large and important in the economy of the entire county, famous carpenters and craftsmen lived here, they made good carts, the local carts were famous throughout the province, and even the dairy business began to gain profitable momentum. In fifteen years, according to the law, the peasants bought all the land from the master and began to make good money. They decided to chip in and build a new bell tower for the village church, build a bridge across the Netryuga River, and even organize their own village school. At that time, two thousand people lived in the village, not like today; with dogs, you can hardly count three hundred. And there lived a stately girl, Evdokia Kryuchkova, the daughter of the most famous carpenter in the entire area, Stepan Ivanovich. Their family was good, friendly, they lived according to all the rules of house building. Father, mother Maria, eldest daughter Evdokia and youngest son shot Tikhon. The boy grew up lively, energetic, climbed all the trees in the village by the age of seven, was known as a leader among village children of his age, and showed strong zeal for his father’s business and very good inclinations in skill.

Evdokia, too, by birth not far from the respected father in the village, left. Tall, broad-shouldered, her voice is such that in the evenings people can hear her singing from one end of the village to the other. A hard worker, she could correct a blank with a chisel, and embroider a shirt with colored threads so that in the city at a fair they asked to sell the body for good money. Her father’s friends began to take a closer look at Evdokia, at various celebrations, over a glass of intoxicating drinks, they looked at the young girl with narrowed eyes and said: “She’s a good girl, it wouldn’t hurt to find her a good groom.” And then they proposed as grooms, some their son, some their nephew, and some another relative. But Evdokia, even at the age of sixteen, strictly announced to her father that he would not accept matchmakers without her consent, and would drive everyone who came from the yard, even against the will of his father. She has her own will, and therefore she wants to choose for herself the one with whom she will be happy all her life.

Evdokia was good to everyone, but her pride sometimes outweighed all her qualities of benefactor. She openly laughed and made fun of her friends, whom God deprived of beauty and health, and joked rudely at the guys who dared to show her signs of attention. Of all the guys in the village, she looked for the most handsome and arrogant one, as proud as she was. Name was Ivan. His father Ivan and grandfather Ivan and great-grandfather up to the eighth generation were all Ivans. A handsome guy, Ivan, tall, fair-haired, with a curly shock of hair, slanting fathoms in his shoulders, was famous for his dashing prowess, and when the Trinity went to Pashkin’s meadow to fight wall to wall with the Pyatikhatsky, he always headed these gatherings. All the girls in the village were dry and secretly in love with Ivan. As soon as he walked along the main street on a sunny fine day, girls hung, sat, stood on the window sills, on benches and just like bags on the gates, having managed to hastily put on some of the best colorful scarves, some an apron, and some came out to show off their new red shoes.

Rumors and gossip circulated throughout the village, saying that Ivan had already spoiled more than one girl. He promised to marry, dragged him into the hayloft, and then forgot about his promise. The girls were in tears, they said that one even wanted to hang herself, or drown herself, or get burned in the bathhouse, but they never specified who exactly, that’s what they were rumors about. They said that his father married Ustinya Sudoplatov to an old man from a neighboring district because his daughter trusted Ivan and did not respect her maiden honor. Although it later turned out that evil tongues were lying about Ustinya. She successfully married a widower who was only twice her age. The husband had a mill and forty acres of his own land, a large house and a farm, but he had no children of his own, the first wife was sick and on the fourth attempt to give birth she gave her soul to God. However, the tongues of market women are razor-sharp and caustic.

Evdokia didn’t pay attention to these rumors, but to her girlfriends’ requests, saying that her husband would walk to the left like that, he wouldn’t miss a single skirt, Evdokia answered with iron in her voice: < /p>

— Just let him try, I’ll warn you the first time, the second time I’ll push him away with such a yoke that all desire will disappear to the death.

The girlfriends giggled at this answer, but no one doubted that Evdokia could use a yoke and not only a yoke in such a way that her own mother would not admit it. Here one guy tried to pester Evdokia in the most arrogant way. Show off your bravado and daring in front of your friends, like, this is how I can do it, look. He walked up to her, grabbed her by the waist and tried to kiss her, but she slapped him so hard in the face that he couldn’t stand on his feet, staggered and tumbled into the front garden across the backyard. Everyone who saw this burst into laughter for two hours, and then told it to those who didn’t see it, and again burst into long, drawn-out laughter until colic and hiccups.

It was summer, there was sweltering July heat, there had been no rain for several weeks, and the villagers began to fear the onset of another drought. The old women prayed frantically in the church, the men carried barrels of water to the gardens, and the children spent half the day at the lake, swimming and frolicking to their heart’s content. Those who were younger, without hesitation, swam naked, while the older ones went into the water in white underpants. The girls swam separately on the far side of the lake, where they could enter the water under the cover of thick reeds. Of course, there were often cases when curious boys tried to secretly get to the female part of the shore. But such attempts always ended in whipping with nettles for minors and severe beatings and hair pulling for older children.

Tikhon Kryuchkov, having bathed until his lips turned blue, climbed ashore and, remembering his father’s order that today he still needed to do housework, pulled on his trousers, put on his shirt, belted himself and ran along the path a short way to the village. On the outskirts of the village, where the willow thickets were closely adjacent to the outer vegetable gardens, sitting on a log from an old meter-long willow was Panteley Rogozhin, the same guy whom Tikhon’s sister Evdokia slapped across the front garden. The guy was clearly sitting here, waiting for Tikhon, because as soon as he approached, he waved his hand and said:

— Little one, come here, there’s something to do.

— What’s the matter? – Tikhon hesitated, immediately remembering that maybe something had been done wrong recently, that now he would have to answer. Pantelei had a painfully serious look.

— What’s the matter? – Panteley answered the boy. Then, in a business-like manner, with a narrowed eye and a half-whisper, he said:

– The thing is that it will cost a whole ruble. Do you want to earn a ruble?

Tikhon was surprised and thought: on the one hand, the ruble — It’s a lot of money, you can buy half a counter of candy in a store with a whole ruble, or, even better, you can use a hunting knife, because everyone will be jealous. But on the other hand, where could Pantelei get this ruble? An incomplete family, his mother and sister raised him alone, their father went to fish in the southern provinces and stayed there, starting a new family. They lived in extreme need, kind people often helped, who would donate used clothes, who would pour firewood from their cart for the winter, in general, they did not leave them in trouble, and as Panteley himself grew up a little, he began to work as a farm laborer, from the age of ten he worked as a shepherdess , then weeded the gardens, then washed the floors in the houses. So at first he worked for lunch himself, then he began to bring home bread, and occasionally lard or eggs, and as he grew older, he did not refuse any work at all, everyone in the village knew that if an assistant was needed in any task, then they should call Pantelei. Because of his poverty among his peers, he was not in the first ranks of the social hierarchy. They often joked evilly at him, but he didn’t give himself offense, he fought often and with some bitterness, but he was still a poor man, and therefore they looked at him as a second-class person.

And here, he wants to give you a ruble for some work. Tikhon doubted, and Panteley noticed this.

— You don’t believe that I have a ruble? Look. – Panteley bent down to the windings of the footcloths, put two fingers behind the edge of one turn of the footcloth and pulled out a large silver circle. Tikhon had seen silver rubles more than once, but this one was clearly larger in size than modern coins. The sight of a large silver coin dispelled all Tikhon’s doubts, but the feeling of danger still did not leave the boy. Why might a guy from the senior class suddenly need him?

Panteley looked at Tikhon with a gaze, assessing whether he could be trusted or not, and continued speaking in a quiet conspiratorial tone:

– So, look. The essence of our conversation must remain a complete secret. And if someone sees us here now, and someone will definitely see us, so, if they ask what we were chatting about, what we were talking about, then answer that I have someone in the garden and in the barn tonight climbed, nothing valuable was taken away, so I decided that the kids were being naughty. And I asked you about this topic. Have you heard, perhaps, someone boasting about their nightly adventures? You understand me ? – Tikhon nodded in agreement and tried to remember, in his head, to replay the story of night crawls: that’s what local kids called forays into other people’s barns or sheds. There was no stealing, but you could endure plenty of fear, and it was still some kind of entertainment.

— And this is what I have to do with you,” Panteley thought, choosing the right words. “I like your sister, and I want to make her, so to speak, an offer to date together.” Don’t think so, I have honest intentions, I’m ready to get married if she agrees. But first, I need to talk to her one on one, face to face, so I want you to be able to arrange this very meeting for us.

— Yes, she will not agree, — Tikhon answered childishly and straightforwardly, waving his hand. — Just smack her in the ear one more time and you’ll have the whole meeting, and she’ll give me a thrashing, maybe even hit me on the back with a twig. And she won’t want to date you at all, you… – Tikhon stopped short, almost uttering the offensive “unevenness.” But he quickly corrected it. — In general, she loves Ivan Kotenkov, she wants to marry him.

— We’ll see about that later. – Panteley responded to Tikhon’s confident statement. “I’ll talk to her, then we’ll see who she’ll marry.” In general, your job is simple, come and tell her that Ivan Kotenkov talked to you, asked about your sister and offered to tell her that today after sunset he will be waiting for her at the master’s barn. He wants to see each other, they say, and talk about very serious topics.

— So this is a lie! For this my sister will not only hit me with a twig, she will rip my ears off. – Tikhon painfully rubbed his right ear, remembering how recently, because he had poorly cleaned the house and ran away for a walk, his sister caught him and dragged him around the corners of the house for about ten minutes by his ear. – No, this is a bad business, I’m afraid to deceive my sister.

— So for this I pay you a ruble, a whole ruble. If you arrange a meeting for us, if everything goes as it should, and I’m sure it will go exactly as it should, be calm. No one will offend you even with a word, both I and she will be grateful to you all our lives. And I pay a whole ruble for the risk. So think for yourself, I can hire someone else to do this.

Tikhon thought about it, fidgeted, stepping from foot to foot, and this was not ostentatious confusion when he pretended in front of his father that he wanted more, a new shirt or a wooden horse. It was a really difficult choice: on the one hand, the fear of a strict sister who does not tolerate deception and disobedience, trained by years of upbringing, on the other hand — a sincere thirst for easy money such simple money. Why is this so complicated? He came and said that Ivan was waiting for her, and then if anything happened, he would be justified that he had mixed up the name. Tikhon looked at Pantelei, and at that very time he was playing along with his greed. He was fingering a silver ruble with the profile of a mustachioed emperor in his hand. At some point, a ray of sunlight refracted in the silver reflection of the coin and flashed straight into the boy’s eyes. And here greed and selfishness finally prevailed over fear and pangs of conscience.

— I agree, give me a ruble. – Tikhon waved his hand, posing as a dashing guy, ready to take risks for the sake of a worthy reward. Panteley handed the ruble to the boy, he wanted to take it, but at the last moment the guy pulled his hand back, pressing the ruble to himself, looked at Tikhon with a threatening look, and said:

— Look, if you try to deceive me, as if he said it, but in fact he didn’t say anything, I’ll find out about the deception and then you’ll be in a lot of trouble. I won’t do anything myself, I’ll just give the second ruble, which I promise you for a fair deal, to your enemy Sidorka Red, I know you have a long-standing enmity, he’ll watch for you in a dark, swampy alley.

Panteley Rogozhin again handed the silver ruble to the boy, who deftly and quickly grabbed the ruble and, moving away a couple of meters, frowning, answered:

– There’s no need to scare me Red. The last time he fought me was because I accidentally tripped and fell, and he beat me while I was lying down. When I grow up a little, I’ll give him something that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. And there is no need to doubt my word. If Tikhon Ustinov said he would do it, then he will do it, my word is law. – Tikhon heard the phrase about “the word is law” more than once from his father when concluding an agreement for the production of an order. Therefore, when pronouncing this phrase, I tried to repeat the intonation of my father. Performed by a ten-year-old boy, it looked somewhat feigned, but Panteley understood that the guy would break into pieces, but would fulfill the agreement.

As they had agreed, upon arriving home, Tikhon approached his sister and, so that the parents would not hear, told her that Ivan Kotenkov asked her to tell her that today after sunset he would be waiting for Evdokia at the master’s barn. Ivan said that he wanted to discuss some very important issue with her. Tikhon was quite surprised at how easily and without any doubt his sister believed in this deception. She just looked sarcastically towards the barn and said in such a flirting tone:

— We know their important questions. – She smiled and went on, working around the house, humming the tune of a cheerful song. Evdokia knew and was absolutely sure that this was exactly how Ivan Kotenkov would invite her on a first date. He himself would be embarrassed to approach or be afraid of outright refusal, but Evdokia would have done just that. But to inform through someone, through someone who will not immediately run to spread gossip around the village – this option was the most correct. Tikhon was most suitable for the role of a faithful messenger of good news, which is why Evdokia believed her brother so easily.

As it began to get dark, Evdokia rinsed off in the bathhouse, put on her favorite shirt, a smart skirt and lace-up boots, threw a calico scarf painted in bright colors over her shoulders and ran off to the evening festivities with her friends. In the summer, girls walked around the village in groups, sang cheerfully, laughed, clicked fried seeds and made eyes at the guys. The guys also gathered in groups, the craftsmen played the balalaikas, trying to outplay each other, the dancers cheerfully and fervently performed a squat dance, made noise, laughed, there was a case, they fought, listened to gossip and stories about various events, but before midnight everyone returned home, well, or Almost all. Couples in love scattered through dark alleys, where, sitting on a bench or the trunk of a fallen tree, they could cuddle, kiss and do other pranks within the framework of the morality and education of every lover to create.

While the summer weather was warm, Tikhon slept in a hut in the garden. And it was not hot and guarded the harvest. They had a large garden, with its edge leading to the shore of the lake, most of it was planted with potatoes, beds with cabbage, cucumbers, and pumpkins. There have been cases in the village, and not infrequently, of crops being stolen from gardens at night. It was difficult to understand who did this, one person or several. Each time after such thefts, the village mayor conducted investigations with searches of the least trustworthy citizens, but found nothing. At one time they hired grandfather Pavel as a watchman; he had lost his leg in the Crimean War; grandfather Pavel walked through the alleys at night with a mallet, but this did not save him from night raids by thieves. Therefore, people began to guard their gardens themselves, building huts in the middle and tying up yard dogs. The children spent the night in the huts with great pleasure, the measure turned out to be effective, the thefts stopped, and therefore Tikhon, from mid-summer, moved to spend the night in a hut in the garden. Calling this structure a hut would be a stretch. My father essentially made a small barn with a floor, closed walls and a thatched roof. A trestle bed, a small table and a mattress stuffed with straw.

Having received the ruble, Tikhon quickly realized that it needed to be safely hidden. You can’t carry it around with you, there are no pockets, you can’t walk around with it clenched into a fist, your parents will notice right away. Therefore, upon returning from the lake, the boy hid the ruble in the straw of the mattress. This place immediately seemed unreliable to him, and therefore, while working around the house, he kept going up to the fence to the garden and looking through the gate towards the hut to see if anyone was climbing there. There was no one, he calmed down, but after fifteen to twenty minutes, excitement and empathy covered him again, and he again ran to the gate and looked at the hut. And so on until dinner. And even sitting at the table with his parents, he continued to worry. His childhood fantasy depicted one story after another, that maybe a neighbor would come and steal the mattress. Or maybe friends will come running and tear the mattress, and there will be a ruble, or maybe… and even more options and options, one more absurd than the other, but to a ten-year-old boy they all seemed real. Therefore, he swallowed dinner almost without chewing. I took the sheepskin coat I had prepared just in case and ran to the garden. The mother was surprised at such a quick escape of her son; he didn’t even ask for the usual ration: a heap of bread with a large layer of butter, sprinkled with two tablespoons of sugar.

As soon as Tikhon flew into the hut, he wanted to check if the ruble was in place. My heart was pounding, my soul was sinking into my heels. What if it had already been stolen? He felt the mattress and found nothing. Then all his consciousness broke off, his head began to spin, in a panic he tore the mattress at the seam, in the part where he hid the silver ruble, and at that moment the coin jumped out, hit the board of the trestle bed, jumped over, fell to the floor, rolled along the board and jumped out into the garden, making a loud noise. Tikhon literally grabbed a ruble in one jump and quickly hid in the hut. Then slowly, trying not to attract attention, he looked out and looked around to see if anyone had seen him. It seems that not, and, having calmed down, the boy lay down on the trestle bed. As long as the sunlight allowed, he looked at the coin, thinking and wondering what he would spend it on. There were many options. This is a fishing line made of lye thread with sharp hooks. I wanted to buy some candy, but most of all I wanted a sharp folding knife with a bone handle. One could buy one for half a ruble, and the other half of the ruble could easily be spent on candy. But there will be one more ruble. And this doubling of capital stimulated the boy’s consumer fantasy even more.

So he fell asleep, tightly clutching the silver coin in his hand, and put his hand under his head, afraid even in his sleep to lose his magnificent and so large silver ruble from his hands. He slept nervously, tossing and turning. At the next moment, when the boy woke up, he realized that he needed to hide his ruble somewhere, otherwise he might lose it under the floor boards in his sleep. But where? The hut seemed an unreliable place. Mentally, he quickly ran through various places in the courtyard of the house. Never before could Tikhon have thought that hiding his ruble reliably and safely would be such a difficult task. As a result, I settled on the option — corner of the bathhouse. There stood an old wooden block on which chickens and geese were cut down. Since the bird was slaughtered at the end of October, hiding the ruble under this block seemed a very reliable option, and even bury it a little in the ground.

Tikhon got out of the hut, looked at the sky, according to the position of the Little Dipper, time was just passing towards midnight. The boy wandered around the garden, inadvertently causing the neighbor’s dog to bark, but no one responded to him. “Wow, what kind of watchmen they have, they could even take out the whole garden,” — thought Tikhon and at that moment noticed that a dim light was burning at the window of their bathhouse. The dim flicker of a covered candle and the shadow of a man walking around the bathhouse. “It’s not like my sister returned from the party,” — thought Tikhon, and then his boyish curiosity leapt up. Spy on your older sister in the bathhouse. There were quite a few such stories among older boys. What could be interesting there? I’ve been wanting to see it for a long time, but somehow a convenient opportunity never came up, so that no one would notice at night or from the outside. My legs somehow carried me faster towards the bathhouse.

Tikhon, coming closer, began to walk more slowly, so as not to give away his presence with an unnecessary rustle or other sound. When he approached the bathhouse, he saw the old deck and remembered exactly what purpose made him come here in the first place. The boy looked towards the treasured window, and the sounds of pouring water were heard from the bathhouse, and black smoke from the stove curled over the chimney. The light in the window was tempting, but the large coin in the child’s hand haunted him more than the pull of natural curiosity. Tikhon tilted the deck with difficulty, put his hand under it, dug a small hole, laid in a ruble and covered it with earth. The deck fell into place, and now he realized that nothing was holding him back anymore, and therefore, holding his breath and listening in the complete darkness of the night to his heart beating, the boy began to sneak to the window of the bathhouse. Imagine his disappointment when it turned out to be completely foggy. And it was impossible to see from the street what was happening inside. Tikhon tried to look for something, at least a silhouette, at least some movement, and at that moment a strong, tenacious hand grabbed him by the ear. Tikhon wanted to scream out of surprise and tension of fear, but the second hand squeezed his mouth, so he could only wheeze something limply. It was his sister Evdokia.

The boy didn’t even have time to squeak before his sister dragged him into the bathhouse, threw him on the floor and closed the massive wooden door with a hook.

— Scoundrel, fool, idiot, what have you done? Lord, what a sin. Horror, it would be better if you didn’t come up with this meeting. Why? Why did it turn out like that? Stupid.

Tikhon was ready that he would now get the full blow of something that would fall into Evdokia’s hand, although her hand was also not easy. But the beating did not happen; instead, the sister rushed like crazy from the bathhouse to the dressing room and back, either trying to light the dying stove, or trying to wash her skirt in the tub. Tikhon calmed down a little and only now realized that Evdokia was wearing her father’s shirt over her naked body. The shirt covered the body just above the knees, the hair was loose and wet, and the face had purple spots from anger. And then Tikhon realized that these were not just stains – it was blood. And from the firebox of the stove peeked out the sleeve of Evdokia’s favorite shirt, the same shirt that she herself decorated with the finest embroidery.

Here Evdokia turned her attention to Tikhon, stopped and at one moment calmed down, a certain plan of action quickly matured in her head, in a matter of moments she realized that this was the most reliable and reliable plan for further action. Evdokia approached her brother, who, expecting such an ordinary thrashing, covered his face with his palms, but unexpectedly for the guy there were no cuffs or beatings. Instead, his sister lifted him to his feet, shook him by the collar of his shirt, and with an absolutely crazy, but at the same time serious and conscious look, looked his brother straight in the eyes.

— Remember, none of this happened. Nothing at all, never. You didn’t tell me about any date, I didn’t go anywhere, you didn’t see me in the bathhouse, you slept all night in a hut. And you never talked to anyone at all. Remembered? Understood? This is all a terrible secret. – Evdokia once again shook her younger brother vigorously, and he, voluntarily or involuntarily, shook his head in agreement that he understood, understood and it is so. “And if suddenly you tell someone something about what happened today, then remember, I will do the same to you as I did to your friend Panteleius.” “And at that moment her eyes sparkled with some kind of inhuman light, and her face became terrible, which at one moment reminded Tikhon of the face of Satan on a mural in a church depicting hellish torment for sinners. The boy nodded his head even more, unable to utter at least one word. So, in complete shock and incomprehension of what was happening, he was rudely thrown out of the bathhouse onto the street. Out of fear and in a state of instinct, he rushed straight into the garden to his hut. He climbed onto the trestle bed, covered his head with a sheepskin coat, even though it was unbearably hot outside, he was shaking slightly. Only after an hour did he manage to calm down a little, thoughts were swarming in his childish head, options for what could happen were swirling in a dance of fantasy. And only in the very morning, with the first rays of dawn, he managed to doze off, although it was all a very anxious and nervous dream.

Tikhon woke up from a heart-rending female howl, the groan echoed throughout the village from edge to edge. It was at the same time a human voice, on the other hand it was difficult to understand that a person, a woman, could scream so loudly:

— Killed!!! Killed!!! Killed!!!

The voice came from the direction of the old barn. Gradually, the half-asleep village, which had been in its usual leisurely morning slumber, began to come to life and wake up. Women, one by one and in groups with children and husbands, excitedly and anxiously, with curiosity and apprehension, began to walk quickly towards the barn, very quickly a large crowd of fellow villagers gathered there.

“Forgive me, my dear, but it seems to me that you either decided to shorten the plot of this story a little?” Soroka, who was pretty tipsy, interrupted Grandfather Storekeeper’s story. Grandfather’s assistant was pretty pumped up with free alcohol and was clearly in a good state of intoxication. Two dozen empty bottles lay at his feet, and he was still half empty of the same bottle of vodka that he had initially rejected as counterfeit. “Colleague, why are you silent, or do you disagree with me?,” Magpie turned to Tickle. The girl diligently devoured chocolates, shaking off the dirt from them, and carefully putting the candy wrappers into the pockets of her sweater. Shekotukha, without ceasing to chew the viscous toffee with filling, shook her head and briefly said “uh-huh.” In this answer, it was not clear what this affirmative “uh-huh” could mean: either I agree or disagree.

Grandfather looked at Soroka with a reproachful look, basically nothing new, he, as usual, was drinking himself to capacity until lunch. — You snack more. “You still have to work with people,” the Storekeeper answered Soroka in the irreconcilable tone of a leader. Immediately Tickle rummaged through the bag and took out a pack of crackers, a jar of pate and half a stick of vacuum-packed sausage. All contents, as expected, were stained with earth.

— What, did I get some expired food from the landfill again? – Soroka asked in a drawn-out drunken voice, looking at the food.

— Nope. Everything is as it should be, according to the regulations, everything is ours. You know, I don’t set foot or hand in landfills, there’s a mafia there. With so many new treasure hunters, we don’t need to worry about offerings at all in the near future. – As proof, Tickle took out a Barbie doll in a bikini outfit from the bag. “Oh, this is definitely for you,” said the girl and, smiling sarcastically, handed the doll to Soroka.

– “You eat more,” said the Storekeeper and continued his story.

On that ill-fated evening, Evdokia, as before, walked with her friends until dusk, discussed guys, gossiped, sang songs, shared dreams and who was preparing what outfits for the autumn fair. With Evdokia’s usual stony calm and proud appearance that evening, no one noticed her emotional disturbance. Every now and then she glanced at the setting sun, then towards the old barn. And as soon as the sun touched the edge of the horizon, the girlfriends began to say goodbye and disperse. Strict orders from parents to go out only until sunset were carried out unquestioningly. Guys immediately approached some of the girls and offered to take them home. So life went on as usual.

Evdokia also went home, went into an alley, looked around: it seemed like no one was following her and it seemed like no one had seen her anymore. She quickly walked to the edge of the village, and there she turned along a well-trodden path through the bushes into a vacant lot, and through the vacant lot was the shortest path to the barn. The barn gates were closed, but not locked from the inside. A sure sign. According to an unspoken agreement – and all the young people in the village knew about this – if the barn gates are closed, it means it is occupied and there is no need to break in, so wait for your turn next time. Evdokia went to the gate, opened one of the gate doors and looked inside the barn. In the light of the growing Moon, only the general outlines of the room were visible, and who could or could not be there was not clear. The girl walked into the barn and closed the sagging gate behind her. It was dark inside, but she hoped that whoever made the date would somehow reveal himself. And so it happened.

Evdokia heard a rustling behind her, and a certain silhouette covered the exit from the barn.

– Ivan? – the girl asked quietly, not wanting to give away the excitement that she was now experiencing.

– Don’t swear, but this is not Ivan. – An equally quiet male voice was heard in response.

– Where is Ivan? – Evdokia was surprised.

– And he won’t be, it was I who persuaded your brother to invite you here under the guise of Ivan.

– You? This is who You are? – Evdokia quickly realized that she had been deceived, deceived very offensively, because it was her dream and her hope, and someone took advantage of it, and her anger began to grow, gradually filling her mind desire for action. The first thing to do is to quickly return home and rip Tikhon by the ear and flog him with a twig for this. “How dare he even deceive me, my older sister, who does he take me for? I’ll show him how to deceive his elders.”

– Wait, don’t get excited, let me explain everything. “The guy’s voice came from the barn gate; it was clear from the timbre that he was sorry and therefore really wanted to explain everything so that Evdokia could understand his action. “I had no other choice, otherwise you would never have agreed to even just talk to me, let alone like this in private.” And I have a most serious conversation with you. I come to you with the most honest intentions, I want everything with you and me to be of good will and in truth. That’s why I immediately say that I want to marry you, and if you give your consent, then in a month, as expected, I will send my matchmakers to your father.

– Marry? – Evdokia exclaimed in a proud tone. — You know, how many people like you came to me to get married? How many people I turned away from. And who are you that you allow yourself to deceive me like this into this obscene place? These are the rumors that will now spread about me in the village? – In fact, Evdokia was lying, no one had ever come to her to woo her, and no one ever even said a word to her about the wedding. All the promising suitors walked around, sighed languidly and were afraid to even speak. Evdokia’s tongue is sharp as a razor, she answered in such a way that her ears could roll up. And for a couple of weeks his peers joked about him as if he was defective.

— I don’t care how many guys came to you before me to woo, I know and am sure that you will be my wife and only mine. And I have money for a wedding, and for a separate house, and for a good farm, maybe I’ll even build my own mill, or, if you wish, we can go to the city and open our own shop or a whole store there. I have money for this.

Evdokia wondered who this guy was talking to her now so boldly and smartly. That he has money and is ready to get married. The girl came closer and saw the guy’s face. “Ugh,” Evdokia said in anger and disappointment with great contempt. — Yes, it’s you, Rogozhin Panteley. Oh, and I almost believed that the groom was rich. Ha ha! He has money! To whom to tell – you will laugh until you get colic. Rootless poverty, but he’s planning to marry me. Yes, you don’t have money for your own trousers, you work for food, you work as a laborer for the kulaks.

–  You say offensive words, you’ve never been so angry before, but I’m not deceiving you, I really have money, I found a treasure.

“You’re lying again,” Evdokia roughly pushed Pantelei away, went up to the gate and tried to open it, but something was holding the door: the guy managed to bolt it. Well, like a bolt: a broken stick, a wooden pitchfork, a spear with a third rod attached. The pitchforks themselves were broken on a knot in the handle, and therefore lay around in the barn for many years unnecessarily. So they got used to locking doors with brackets from the inside. Evdokia took out a pitchfork, pushed the doors and was about to walk away, when Panteley suddenly stopped her very rudely, pulling her by her left hand.

–  You don’t believe it, but look! – There was no trace left of the previous uncertainty and apology in the guy. He seemed to be transformed, realizing that this was his last chance for a successful outcome of the event that he had planned. It was as if the hunchback suddenly straightened up and became a tall guy. Panteley held out and placed a large silver ruble in Evdokia’s hand. At first the girl did not understand what it was, her first thought was “maybe some kind of foreign coin” – but then she saw the profile of Emperor Peter and a double-headed eagle. In the moonlight, the coin glowed in a special way, like some kind of magical object. The girl froze, all her former pride disappeared somewhere, giving way to curiosity and interest.

– And you have a lot of them? – Evdokia asked with interest.

“There are almost two thousand such rubles, and also three dozen chervonets.” Rest assured, this will be completely enough for everything I promised you now, and for everything else you want. I know that such ancient rubles can fetch more money than they are worth, a hundred times. About two years ago, Silantikha’s aunt found Emperor Paul’s silver ruble in a field near the old road. So the city merchant found out about this, he came and offered one hundred rubles in exchange, and she bargained for one hundred and twenty. And in my treasure, I think, there will be a lot of such expensive coins.

– So where did you find him? – Evdokia’s curiosity finally overpowered her anger, disappointment, and resentment. She continued to look at the large silver ruble and slowly but surely pictures of a rich and happy future began to gather in her head.

– And this is a secret, I’ll tell you how you will become a wife when we are one family.

— So maybe you’re lying? And you only have one coin, and you’re leading me around like a fool from an alley?

— I’ll show you the treasure itself tomorrow, it’s hidden in a safe place, no one will guess where, and as proof I’ll bring you three dozen ducats and leave it as a deposit for the wedding.

Grandfather Kladovik thought, interrupting the story: “I understand that here it is simply necessary to make a small digression from the main plot. Because it is necessary to tell where that treasure of Peter’s rubles and chervonets came from and how Panteley found it.”

During the time of the first Russian emperor, the village was the patrimony of Prince Vladykin. The master came to the village very rarely, all management was carried out by a clerk, and the economic part was carried out through an annual rent in silver. Loyal people from the master came and took the money, and so they lived, the peasants worked on the land, and the master fought with all his adversaries, earning military glory and honors from the emperor. And so, after the death of the emperor, when his associates almost brought the country to civil war, the master fled to his estate, rightly to wait out the troubled time. Here he settled in the clerk’s house and it must be said that his stay turned out to be very burdensome for the peasants of the village. The master drank like a horse at a watering hole. And as soon as he got drunk, his mind went away, and he began to fight in battles with the Turks. Either he will go on the attack, or he will hide in defense, or he will take the cavalry with hostility.

To reproachful but cautious remarks from the clerk, the master replied that he drinks not of his own free will, but to drown out the voices and visions of the ghosts he killed in battle and not only in battle. A variety of grave sins were recorded in his soul. And why should he atone for these sins until his death? Therefore, this is all because somehow in the Poltava region, when they were fighting with the Swedes, they destroyed one village. It was necessary to feed the army, and this village was the patrimony of a traitor who went over with Mazepa to the side of the Swedes. So our people burned this village with fornication and violence. So one black-browed Cossack woman cursed the prince with the most evil conspiracy. That now and from now on the souls of those whom he deprived of life will come to him at night. Prince Vladykin laughed, and after some time this began to happen. The dead will come at night and stand over him silently, with wounds on their bodies and tattered clothes covered in blood.

So the prince drank heavily and uncontrollably. Until one grandmother-witch told him that in order to lift the spell, he must build a new church. The prince took courage and thought: why not. There is no money for a full church yet, but let them start, and they will find it there. The master came to the house of the village priest. They sat down and discussed the matter over the samovar. The priest was delighted at the master’s desire, since the church in the village was really old, made of wood, and had been saved from fire twice. It’s high time to build a stone church, but for now you can start with the construction of a bell tower. The next day, a large chest with the master’s personal belongings was delivered to the priest’s house. Clothes and shoes. They said that the master wanted to distribute clothes to those in need. At the bottom of the large chest, the village priest found a smaller chest, with a mortise lock and a key on a string. The chest contained silver rubles in bulk and gold two-ruble coins in separate leather bags. The weight of the chest turned out to be almost four pounds.

The priest considered it unreliable to keep such wealth in the house, and therefore he carried it in parts to the bathhouse and buried everything there in the same chest. But only on the third day after this donation for the construction of the church, the master unexpectedly died. And he seemed to feel better and stopped drinking, woke up in the morning, the lady of the house brought him a glass of yogurt, he drank it in one gulp, wiped his lips, suddenly groaned and sat down on the bed. Evil tongues joked about this for a long time, saying that if he had not stopped drinking so abruptly, the master would have lived long into old age. This story even entered local folklore and circulated around the area for a long time.

This winter there was a severe typhus epidemic. Whole families of people died out, the priest went and held funeral services for them all, they dissuaded him, but he honestly said that this is service to God, and if God wills it, his illness will pass. Didn’t pass. Three days in a fever – and the priest passed away into another world. And no one else knew about the chest of money. Over the course of one hundred and fifty years, the house passed from one family to another, either the clerk lived here, or wealthy peasants. After all, the center of the village is a prominent and status place. The bathhouse burned down long ago, then there was a barn, then a cowshed, then again a bathhouse. And so, after the abolition of serfdom, this house was bought by a wealthy peasant, whose eldest son became a successful merchant in the county town and opened grocery and commodity shops there. Then he took over the food trade in his native village. He conducted his business dishonestly and undivinely, for which he was called a world-eater and a kulak. He constantly overweighted and shortchanged, but he made real capital by borrowing money. People come to him in need, they say, give him money, the breadwinner will return from the fishery, we will pay, and he gave, but not with money, but opened an entry in the debt book of his store. The seller only released damaged goods to such borrowers. If it’s bread, then it’s moldy, if it’s fish, then it’s rotten, if it’s cereal, then it’s raw and with a bug. “If you don’t want it, don’t take it,” — the merchant said to the indignant people. And there was no one else to take it from, so they went and took it. Most of the village did not shake hands with this merchant when they met, and he frankly didn’t care about it.

Somehow the world-eating merchant Panteley Rogozhin took a liking to him. The guy is hard-working, not a thieve, and he got hired for work in exchange for food and various kinds of cast-offs from things. The merchant liked these. Panteley began to work as a farm laborer for him from morning to night. There was a lot of work: either renovating the house, or setting up a flower garden, or putting up a gazebo in the garden, or planting a new garden, or meeting guests and accompanying them on a hunt. Well, the work was good enough and the pay wasn’t all that bad. In the presence of the merchant, his wife collected meager rations for Panteley. In the bundle are a couple of stale humps, sour pickles, and one egg. The merchant rejoiced at such homeliness of his mistress. But as soon as the guy left the yard, the merchant’s daughter caught up with him in the alley and handed him a second bundle, which contained butter, lard, cereals, and once a piece of fabric. So Pantelei worked as a laborer for decent pay.

And so, when the merchant brought two dozen apple seedlings from the city, Pantelei was given the order to plant a new garden in the backyard. He planted trees as ordered, in a checkerboard pattern. And then, on the seventh seedling, the iron shovel hit something and slid with a clang. Again stones or bricks, Pantelei thought, he moved the bayonet of the shovel a little to the side, continued digging, when suddenly silver rubles began to roll from the edge of the hole to the bottom in handfuls. They rolled, rolled, rattled with small ringing sounds. Having quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen this now, Panteley buried a hole and dug another one next to the one where the treasure was, planted a seedling and calmly continued to work. The owner, accepting work in the evening, was dissatisfied with the fact that he planted one tree crookedly, and therefore the next day he ordered it to be replanted in the right place. Panteley said he would do so. At night he entered the backyard, the dogs guarding the yard — two black healthy dogs — They didn’t even bark once when they smelled Pantelei. For more than two hours, carefully, without making the slightest sound, Panteley dug up the treasure. He put the coins in two wooden buckets that he brought with him, he worked slowly, with dexterity and by touch. When the coins ran out, he probed the soil several times and realized that he had pulled out everything he had. The guy carefully buried the hole, took two buckets and walked towards his house.

I didn’t have to think long about where to hide the treasure. Their house stood on the very edge of the village, the garden was cut through by a deep ravine. Because of this, everything in the garden grew very poorly. All the water from the soil went into the ravine, so the ground was always dry and rocky. Panteley buried two buckets of coins in the wall of the ravine. To hide the traces, I pulled down the edge on this side with my foot, looked from above – everything was as if it had happened before. After which I went home to sleep.

The next day and then he did not show it and did not tell anyone about his newfound wealth. Although a couple of times I had a strong desire to tell my mother everything. And also, get some coins and use them to buy everything you’ve ever wanted to buy since early childhood. But Panteley quickly drove these desires away, realizing that in such a matter as the sale of a treasure, it is necessary to take into account all possible dangerous moments.

Pantelei liked Evdokia since childhood. Then, every year at Christmas and Easter, the rich and wealthy peasants of the village gave gifts to the poor and needy. Evdokia’s parents were collecting several bundles of food. Lard, cereal, butter, a little sugar, and sometimes even candy for children. Then Evdokia was given the order and she, a little girl in felt boots, a sheepskin coat and a down scarf, carried these bundles on a sled to the homes of poor villagers. She was always greeted as an angel, as some kind of hope that not everything in life is so bad. Panteley remembered how he himself spent hours sitting by the window in a cold house and periodically ran out into the street, impatiently waiting for Evdokia to come. And then one year it was not she who came, but her younger brother. It was offensive and somewhat sad.

Therefore, when Panteley found the treasure, the very next day he decided that this was his fateful chance to make a life with the girl he loves. But the girl grew up and became a proud and restive girl. It’s not easy to approach her, so he decided that Tikhon would need to be involved in setting up the first date. For this purpose, Panteley dug up two coins from the treasure at night, and collapsed the edge of the ravine again. The guy’s plan was a success, and so he stood next to his beloved girl, and she looked attentively and attentively at one ruble from his treasure.

“What a miracle, a ruble from a treasure,” said Evdokia in an indifferent voice, showing with all her appearance that she was indifferent to everything that was happening. An inner voice suggested, don’t overact, don’t go too far, but it was already difficult to correct the nature. “Yes, if I want, I’ll marry a merchant’s son, he has two bags of such rubles for each room, and there are ten rooms in the house.” And anyway, what else am I doing here with you? I’ll go home, it’s late, I need to sleep.

“The merchant will love you? Yes, no one else in the whole world will love you as much as I do,” he said in a firm and confident voice, without any touch on the tabloid romance of Panteley and pulled Evdokia by the hand towards him. Before she had time to escape, he hugged her tightly with his strong arms, so much so that her chest almost cracked. The guy seized the moment and tried to kiss the girl. Of course, no one knew how to kiss, so they saw young people kissing through the window at weddings, so the first kiss turned out to be a blow on the lips.

Here Evdokia felt dizzy, no one had treated her like that before. Boldly and assertively, at that moment, the girl looked at Pantelei’s qualities in a completely different way and realized that with such a person it would really be possible to build her own family. His head was spinning, there was not enough air, Evdokia took a step back, trying to free himself at least a little from the passionate grip of the young man in love. At that moment, the heel of her boot stepped on a log lying against the wall, her leg slid forward, the other gave way, Panteley tried to hold Evdokia in his arms, but the fall was unexpected, and they fell together on the earthen floor of the barn.

The fall was very painful. Evdokia seriously hurt the back of her head, sparks with rainbow circles flew before her eyes, and something very warm poured onto her face and body. Her eyes were stuck, she rubbed them with her hands and froze: Panteley hung over her at a distance of half an outstretched arm. His head was held on a piece of wooden pitchfork. The entire time they were talking, Evdokia held the broken pitchfork in her hand and did not let go of it. Therefore, when Panteley pressed her to him, the pitchfork was clamped in his hand between two bodies. When Evdokia slipped, she mechanically waved her hand, fell, one end of the pitchfork rested on the ground, and the sharp spear stuck into Panteley’s chin. The branch of the spear easily pierced the soft tissues and struck the brain. Death was instantaneous.

Mad with fear and generally having little idea of ​​what was happening, Evdokia crawled out from under the guy’s body and rushed to run away to the lake, and then towards her garden. And Pantelei’s body remained standing on all fours with a spear in his head.

— Killed! Killed! Killed!!! – A heart-rending, desperate cry echoed through the village.

— No, it’s not fair,” Soroka said annoyed and with a tear in his right eye, again interrupting Grandfather Kladovik’s story. – I was definitely starting to like this guy, and I would have discovered not just one, but two, maybe three treasures for such a wonderful guy.

— Calm down, whine like a girl, or are you clowning around again? Don’t interrupt the story, not every treasure in our practice has such an interesting and multi-layered storyline.

And grandfather Kladovik continued.

Pantelei’s body was carried through the entire village on a cart, brought into the yard, and the distraught mother immediately declared that this was not her son. Her Panteley left for the city yesterday to work. Therefore, the body of the murdered man was placed in the barn on boards. By lunchtime, a zemstvo doctor and a police officer arrived from the district. The doctor examined the body of the deceased Pantelei, the police officer conducted an inspection of the crime scene, an investigation and an inquiry of witnesses. After lunch, an interesting detail emerged. Peasant Senyavin Pavel Ivanovich, who was the first to discover Pantelei’s body in the barn in the morning, came to the drink shop at two o’clock and bought a whole ruble worth of wine. At the same time, he paid with an old ruble with the image of Peter the Great. The policeman managed to intercept the peasant Sinyavin before he began drinking the purchased alcohol. Sinyavin admitted that he found the ruble with which he paid in the shop next to the body of the murdered man. The police officer confiscated the ruble as evidence. The owner of the liquor store immediately went to Sinyavin’s house to pick up the illegally purchased alcohol. But they only managed to take part of it.

The police officer, having drawn up reports and taken the ruble, left with the doctor, allowing Pantelei to be buried the next day. However, closer to morning, a messenger galloped into the house of the village head and handed over a letter from the police chief. “Do not bury the murdered person, place the crime scene under guard, and do not release all witnesses from the village. The district police officer will personally come to conduct the investigation.” The village head was discouraged, because the head of the county police himself would come to personally investigate this matter. He ordered to meet the high official at the highest level. His house was washed three times, the entire yard was cleaned, several types of dinner dishes were prepared, the best wine and liqueurs were delivered, a pig was killed and the bathhouse was flooded just in case.

Police chief Fyodor Karlovich Fitingof arrived in the village together with the police officer for lunch. He was a tall man with a strong build and, despite his venerable age, his uniform fit like a guards lancer during a parade. He deigned to have lunch with lean porridge and tea, and then asked to be taken to the crime scene. I asked the witnesses and the head several questions, separately questioned Sinyavin about where the ruble was found, looked at the traces, and asked in general what young people usually do in this barn. As a result, he asked to show what position the body was in when it was found. None of those present wanted to show the deceased, and only after much persuasion was it possible to attract the hero of the Crimean War, Grandfather Pavel, as an extra. After all, he often assured, when drunk, that death passed him by and did not look back. With difficulty on his one leg, Grandfather Pavel roughly showed how Pantelei’s corpse stood on all fours. The police officer asked to clarify whether the deceased’s legs were open or closed at the time of death. The people present were surprised by this question, but several witnesses immediately testified that the legs were spread at a distance of approximately one elbow.

Then police officer Fyodor Karlovich Fitingof, together with the police officer, moved to the house of the village mayor and there they conducted interrogations of those called according to a list of witnesses drawn up in advance. Among other peasants of the village, Stepan Ivanovich Kryuchkov was summoned for questioning along with his son Tikhon. Stepan Ivanovich was greatly surprised when a messenger came to their house and announced the need to arrive at the house of the village head with his son. Stepan asked the messenger what and how, to which the messenger replied that the district police officer was calling everyone who had contact with the deceased on the last day of his life. Stepan Ivanovich, before going to fetch the messenger, asked his son if he had communicated with Tikhon. Tikhon quickly replied that yes, he had communicated, but he told exactly the story that Panteley himself ordered him to tell. At some point, Tikhon doubted whether he should lie to his father and that he needed to tell him the whole truth, but then Evdokia entered the room, as if bringing clean clothes. The girl looked at Tikhon with a menacing, piercing gaze and, without making a single sound, moved her lips “I’ll kill.” Tikhon turned pale, then he began to shake, and he, pretending to be sick, asked if he could not go with his father, to which he received a categorical refusal.

About thirty people gathered in front of the house of the village mayor, about fifty more onlookers kept their distance, and after the next witness left the interrogation, the onlookers surrounded him and bombarded him with questions “What? How? And what? Yes, why? Why and what does he even need?»

Stepan Ivanovich came and told the head that he had arrived with his son. They were immediately called out of turn. In the large room of the house, closer to the windows, there was a massive oak table with carved legs. At the table, on a carved master’s chair, sat a county executive, and a police officer on a stool nearby. On the table were several sheets of written protocols, an inkwell, a decanter of cold water and two clay mugs. Stepan Ivanovich entered the room and, according to the old serf habit, bowed to the waist. He pointed to the gaping Tikhon with his hand on the back of his neck to bow in the same way.

Fyodor Karlovich asked Tikhon if he had communicated with Pantelei the day before yesterday. Tikhon confirmed that yes, he had communicated, but he himself thought: who could have seen them then? After all, Panteley was right that someone would definitely see them. Then Tikhon, in an even voice, in one breath, repeated the story that Panteley asked him if he knew who was climbing into other people’s gardens at night. And at that moment the police officer picked up a silver ruble from the table, exactly the same silver ruble that Panteley gave to Tikhon. He picked it up and, listening to the boy’s explanations, began to play with this ruble between his fingers. Tikhon’s soul instantly sank to his feet, but he continued to tell the memorized story without interruption, since over the past two days he had repeated this very story dozens of times. This cramming now helped him not to be discovered. The boy’s consciousness turned off, and everything else was just subconscious, automatic actions. My stomach was cramping with fear and I really wanted to go to the toilet. It’s good, at least the father, before entering the house, prudently sent the guy behind the barn to relieve himself in a small way. Tikhon didn’t want to, but his father insisted. And now it helped just as much as two-day cramming for the legend.

It was clear that the history Tikhon had memorized did not arouse any interest in the police officer; the police officer sitting next to him wrote down the testimony in general terms. Fyodor Karlovich asked a few more unimportant questions and finally asked if Tikhon had an older sister. The boy nodded his head to this question, searching for words, but the father answered instead, telling him his daughter’s name, how old she was and that on the night of the murder she was at home and in general she was a prudent girl and respected the orders of her parents. At that moment, the police officer yawned lazily, made some notes on the paper lying in front of him, and for the last time demonstratively played with the silver Peter the Great ruble in his fingers. Tikhon again began to lose consciousness at the sight of the ruble. He began to hallucinate, and he saw how Tsar Peter himself from the coin, smiling slyly into his mustache, began to say: “I will do the same to you as I did to your friend Pantelei.”

— “Somehow your boy has become quite pale,” Fyodor Karlovich said in a polite and even caring tone, addressing Tikhon’s father. – He doesn’t sneeze for an hour?

— Why, Your Honor. “He’s been healthy since childhood, he only suffered from colds,” answered Stepan Ivanovich, noting that his son really wasn’t feeling well.

— “I was probably nervous,” the police officer said in an equally amiable and courteous tone. – You can be free, just sign the paper and take your son out into the fresh air, this will help him.

Stepan Ivanovich put a standard cross on the paper, next to this cross the village head endorsed it with his signature, and the man, picking up his son, pulled him out of the house into the yard. Onlookers immediately surrounded him with questions, someone began to gasp and gasp, saying, to what extent the interrogation brought the boy, there is no face on him. Stepan Ivanovich pulled back all the compassionate ones, threatening with his fist, and then the people parted ways and began to wait for the next respondents. But, as it turned out, the police officer completed the investigation and ordered dinner to be served.

The policeman collected all the written papers in a common folder, got up from the table, looked outside the door of the room, making sure that no one could hear them, and asked the boss a question:

— Fyodor Karlovich, what should I write at the conclusion of the case?

— And write, my dear, that it was an accident. Apparently, the deceased made a date with an unidentified young lady. While he was waiting for her in the dark room of the barn, he tripped over a log and unsuccessfully fell on a piece of a pitchfork, which he had been holding in his hand until that moment.

The police officer thought and added philosophically: “And such accidents take place in our lives.” – Ivan Karlovich sensed the distrust in his subordinate’s face and pointed with a questioning glance at the door, so that the police officer could once again be convinced that no one was listening to them now. The subordinate answered in the affirmative.

– What can I say, it’s a boring, monotonous thing. The guy made a date, the girl came, something went wrong, and she decided to leave and opened the gate. As witnesses told us, these pitchforks were used specifically for locking the barn gates from the inside. The deceased tried to stop her. There were no signs of a fight or struggle at the scene. There are also no bruises or scratches on the victim’s body. This means that everything was amicable, without violence or coercion. The guy hugged the girl, they both tripped and fell, he didn’t fall very well. There was a similar case in my practice. The husband pestered his wife about this matter. He doesn’t care about her. He approached her, she threatened with a knife in response, he hugged her and threw her on the bed, as they fell, she accidentally stabbed him in the throat with a knife and…, — The police officer ran the edge of his hand across his throat, indicating the outcome of the husband’s harassment of his wife. — And what in the end is ? A woman to hard labor, a man to the ground, orphans. But in this case, everything is clear as day: the latter’s daughter was on a date with the deceased…

— Kryuchkova Stepan.

— Yes, yes, exactly him. Moreover, other witnesses testified that two months ago he tried to play tricks on her, but got hit in the face. Obtaining evidence of her guilt will not be difficult. We’ll ask you to show her the shirt she wore when she went out that evening and her shoes. Based on the shoes, we can prove that the footprints are still there, but the shirt is most likely already buried or burned in the stove. Well, then it’s up to the court, as the court decides. Yes, that’s just why this is needed. This is due to stupidity and great coincidence. Now, if only there was intent, but it’s just empty. When you showed me the materials of the case yesterday, it initially did not arouse my interest. Another thing is this ruble, if not for it, I would never have come here.

— And what could be so special about it? – The young police officer had long ago guessed that the boss in this whole story was only interested in the very ruble that he brought yesterday and presented along with the documents in the case of Pantelei’s murder. And today, during interrogations and conversations with witnesses, Fyodor Karlovich asked them more about where and how Panteley could have received this ruble. Maybe someone paid him for his work, maybe he stole it from someone or, more likely, found it as a result of his work. But from whom, where and when? Nobody knew.

— Ooo. such things can open doors to very high offices and facilitate extremely influential acquaintances. Do you know how many of our ministers are fond of collecting rare coins? No? That’s it. — It was not for nothing that the district police officer Fyodor Karlovich decided to remove Evdokia Kryuchkova from investigation. Moreover, he specifically did not invite her for interrogation with her brother. He didn’t need to solve the case, he needed the treasure, if there really was one. And if so, then the deceased, very likely, could tell his beloved about him. And now all that was left was to wait. If this is so, if Evdokia knows about the treasure and where it is hidden, then soon loyal people will inform him. They will report that someone wants to sell several rare coins from the times of Peter the Great. And then it will be possible to take him red-handed with treasure. In the meantime? In the meantime, Fyodor Karlovich understood that he was unlikely to be able to get recognition from this girl. So all that remained was to wait. If she knows where the treasure is, then he will soon have it, but if not, then there’s no point in wasting time on interrogations and heart-to-heart conversations, it’s empty.

At this time, the owner of the house, the village head, looked into the room.

– You should eat here, serve it, or maybe serve it in the garden on the summer veranda?

— Ignatius Polikarpovich, — The police officer addressed the head in the same friendly and amiable tone, conducive to trust. – But tell me, what do you think, where could the murdered man get this ruble from?

— Yes, the devil knows, maybe he found it somewhere. We don’t have such finds often, but they do happen. Some plowed the garden, some dismantled the old house, they put coins under the corners of the houses, but three years ago Silantiha, what was her name? I don’t remember. So she was working in the field, and there she found the ruble of Emperor Paul, she said that it was lying on top, washed by the rain.

— And where does she go?

— So, I went to the city and sold it.

— To?

— I can’t know, but if you want, I’ll find out right away.

— There is no urgent need, you will write me a report on this case within a month. According to our law, all memorable finds, be they treasures or other strange things found in the ground or under other circumstances, are supposed to be taken to the provincial archival registration commission for examination and inventory. And purchasing such items without the permission of the commission is a violation of the law. So, we’ll figure it out.

— So, about dinner, what do you order? Here or to the garden?

— “I won’t do anything,” the police officer answered his head. “You know, Kapitalina Evstafievna is expecting me at home for dinner, and God forbid if I eat somewhere on the side.” You know the scandal? – Fyodor Karlovich saw a plea in the eyes of the young constable, who lived on his very modest salary, and a little later added: “And, perhaps, pack us a basket for the road.”

— “It will be done,” answered the village head and left the room. The basket for the trip turned out to be a very heavy load. They put in about forty pounds of smoked meats, sausages and dried fish alone, no less, and they also put in bread wine and even a bottle of quite decent Georgian wine.

Pantelei was buried that same evening; due to the heat, the body turned black, bloated and smelled strongly. The whole world gathered for the funeral, the funeral service was carried out, they mourned, and the village continued to live its usual moderate life. And only the boy Tikhon, after fainting during interrogation, began to have nervous attacks, breakdowns and a general deterioration in health. He began to eat poorly, could hardly sleep, and woke up at night screaming for help. In response to questions and inquiries, he said confusedly that he was dreaming, as if demons were pulling him somewhere.

In fact, Tikhon could not drive away and get rid of the image of Pantelei’s deceased body, lying in a coffin at the funeral service at the church. And every time he met his sister’s gaze, her ominous phrase sounded in his head: “Remember, I will do the same to you as I did to your friend Pantelei.” The boy was afraid to go into the house when Evdokia was there, he could hardly fall asleep, and woke up from seeing her standing over him and holding a wooden pitchfork in her hands. Tikhon began to run away from home for the whole day closer to the lake, where he hid in the reeds and, holding his knees with his hands, slowly went crazy. The parents took the child to the city for a doctor’s examination. The doctor confirmed that the child was outwardly healthy, but he was not a specialist in mental disorders. He suggested going to the capital of the province.

Meanwhile, Tikhon was overcome by another paranoia. He became afraid that someone would find his coin. After all, if they find her, they will immediately understand that it was he who killed Pantelei or was there. They will immediately report it to the police officer, and he will send Tikhon to the gallows. And the boy imagined how his body was dangling on the gallows, and people were laughing and asking when the hanged man would be taken down, they wanted to take his rope for a talisman. Tikhon woke up early in the morning, while everyone was sleeping, got dressed, went, took out a ruble from under the old log and decided to hide it more reliably. He ran to the lake, where he liked to sit in the reeds all day long. He climbed up, sat down and began to dig a hole, dug out two palms and buried a coin. Then I thought that I might lose the place, I walked around, found a small cobblestone and covered the hole with a stone. After that, he somehow felt better, he stopped dreaming about the gallows, and over time even the visions of his sister with a pitchfork stopped coming. But the body was exhausted from stress and poor nutrition, and when a flu epidemic swept through the village in winter, Tikhon suffered a complication in the form of double pneumonia and died of fever on the third day after the baptism of the Lord.

The place where the coin was hidden became a favorite site for folk festivals, the stone was taken as an anchor for a boat, and so it drowned, and the coin lay in its hiding place for almost one hundred and fifty years, until the capital found it resident Egor Tyapnikov.

— “Good story,” said Soroka, shaking his head respectfully. — Indeed, no matter how many treasures we give away, not all of them have such an interesting libretto. And what is our lucky guy doing there now?

Magpie, pointedly without turning around, extended his hand towards Tickle. She also silently took out large marine binoculars from the bag. Soroka took the binoculars and began to look towards the happy owner of a good and very valuable find. At that time, Yegor Tyapnikov was chatting on WhatsApp with his wife and only his wife. He didn’t want to share such joy with anyone else. First, he sent her a photo of the coin and received an indifferent response in the form of “So ???,” then he sent her a link to the last auction for this coin. To which I received the question: “I understand everything correctly? 4.9?.” Egor replied: “Yes, that’s right.”

“Wow!!!” — the answer came and on two lines there were jubilant joyful emoticons, kisses and hearts.