Mille pardons, Madame!
When the townspeople come to these lands for hunting and ask who can accompany them and show the sites, they are answered:
- That’s Bron’ka Pupkov…he is an expert in such things.You’ll be full of surprises with him. – And they smile in a strange way.
Bron’ka (Bronislav) Pupkov is a strong, well-built, blue-eyed and smiling man.He is about fifty, he was on the front, but his crippled hand – two fingers are absent – not because of the front: when he was a boy he hunted and once wanted to drink (winter times) and started to break ice near the bank.He held the gun for the barrel in a such way that two fingers were closing the muzzle.The lock of the Berdan rifle, which was on the safety device, broke away and one finger flied away absolutely and another one was dangling on the skin.Bron’ka tore it off by himself. He brought both fingers at home – index and long ones – buried them in the kitchen garden and even said such words:
- Dear fingers, sleep calmly till the morning.
He even wanted to set up a cross but father did allow him to do it.
Bron’ka made a lot of row during his lifetime, fighted, he was seriously bitten, stayed in bed,raised again and was driving on his noisy motorbike along the village.He didn’t bear grudge against anybody.
Bron’ka waited the hunters from a town like a holiday.And when they arrived he was ready for a week or even for a month of accompanying. He knew the local places better then his eight fingers, he was a clever and lucky hunter.
The townspeople were lavish with vodka, sometimes they gave money, but when they didn’t it made no difference.
- How long? – Bron’ka asked efficiently.
- During three days.
-Everything will be on the mark.You’ll have a rest and will calm your nerves.
Usually they were hunting for about three or four days or for a week. Everything was fine. The townspeople are good, Bron’ka didn’t allure to fight with them even when they were drunk. He liked to tell them different hunting tales.
In the very last day, when they were organizing a farewell party, Bron’ka started with his main story.
He waited this day with a great impatience and was taking a hold of himself with all his might…And when that desired day came, Bron’ka with a sinking heart was solemnly silent.
- Are you OK? – he was asked.
- So-so. – Bron’ka answered. – Were will we organize the farewell party?On the bank?
- It may be.
…closer to the evening they were choosing a comfortable place on the bank of a fine and swift river then the hunters were building a fire.While the fish soup was cooking, they were drinking the first jigger and were talking.
Bron’ka drank two aluminium cups and lit a cigarette.
-Did it happen you to be on the front? – he interested incidentally.Almost all men older than forty years old were on the front, but he asked the youth because he had to start his story.
-Is it because of the front? – they asked in their tern meaning his hurt hand.
-No.I was an aidman.Well….old times… - Bron’ka was keeping silent. – Have you ever heard about an attempt against Hitler?
- Yes, we have.
-It’s not what are you thinking about. When his own generals wanted to kill him?
-Exactly.
- No. Another one.
- What else? If it was one more attempt?
-Yes, it was. – Bron’ka put his jigger under a bottle. – Pour a bit, please. – he drank – it was, my dear friends. Kha! The bullet flied so close to his head. – Bron’ka showed a fingertip.
-When it was?
- On the 25th of July in 1943. – Bron’ka was thinking over as if he was recollecting something personal, distant and dear.
-Who shot?
Bron’ka didn’t hear this question ,he was just smoking and looking at the fire.
-Where was that attempt?
Bron’ka was silent.
The surprised men were exchanging glances.
-It was me who shot, - he said suddenly. His voice was low, for some time he was looking at the fire then he lifted up his eyes…And Bron’ka was looking as if he wanted to say : “Is it amazing? I’m surprised too”.He also smiled sadly.
Generally everyone was silent gazing on Bron’ka.He was smoking adding the small pieces of coal in the fire…Exactly that moment was the most exciting. Like a glass of pure alcohol started wandering in his blood.
-Are you serious?
-How do you think? In your opinion I don’t know what may happen in case of misrepresentation of the history? I know. I know, my dear friends.
-Come on, that’s nonsense…
-Where did they shoot?How?
-From the Browning. In such a way – press by a finger and – bang! – Bron’ka was looking seriously and sadly – he was upset that people are so mistrustful.He didn’t crack jokes and didn’t play the buffoon.
The incredulous men were at a loss.
-But why nobody knows about it?
-Hundred years will pass and then many things will be shrouded in mystery. Is it clear? You look as if you didn’t understand…The tragedy is that a lot of heroes are kept in cold storage.
-It looks like…
-Wait a moment!How was it?
Bron’ka knew that they’d like to listen to his story. They always wanted.
-But will you blab it?
Everyone was confused again.
-We won’t blab…
-Upon you word?
-But we won’t blab! Please, tell!
-No, upon you word? Do you know what kind of people in our village?...They’ll be blabbing…
-Everything will be all right! – the hunters were impatient. – Please, tell us!
-Pour, please. – Bron’ka put his jigger again. He looked absolutely sober. – So, as I’ve already said it was on the 25th of July in 1943. Kha! We were advancing. When they were advancing, there was more work for the aid men. That day I brought about twelve soldiers in the infirmary...I put one of the seriously hurt lieutenants in the ward…There was a general in this ward. The major general. His wound wasn’t very serious – the leg was hurt above the knee. Right then they were bandaging him. That general noticed me and said:
-Wait a moment, aid man, don’t go away.
I thought that he wanted me to help him move somewhere. I was waiting. It’s much interesting to live with the generals: the situation is clearly visible at once.
Everyone was listening attentively. The living fire was cracking and puffing away; the twilight was creeping from the forest covering the water, but the middle of the river – its rapids – was still shining and twinkling as if an enormous long fish was moving there playing its silvery body in the twilight.
-Well, they had bandaged the general…A doctor said to him: “You have to stay in bed!” – “Get lost!” – The general answered. Only we were afraid of the doctors but generals were not. So, I and the general got into a car and drove somewhere. He questioned me where I am from? Where was I working? How educated I am? I was explaining him everything in details: I’m by birth from there (I was born here) , I worked in the kolkhoz, but generally was fond of hunting. “It’s good, - the general said. – Do you shoot to the point?” I answered in the affirmative and added reasonably: I can blow out a candle using a gun. But what about my education it isn’t very good: since my childhood I spent a lot of time with my father in the taiga. The general said that in this business the absence of the education wasn’t a problem. He also said that if I’d blow one “harmful candle” which had fanned the world fire, the motherland wouldn’t forget me. It’s a subtle reference to a glaring fact. Is it clear?..But I hadn’t guessed yet.
So, we had arrived in a big dugout. The general turned everybody out asking me different questions. Whether have I relatives abroad? But how possible is it? We are native Siberians. ..The Cossacks were our ancestry; they were building a Biy-Katunsk fortress. It was during Peter the Great times. Almost all villagers are by origin from there.
-Why do you have such a name - Bronislav?
-The priest having a hangover named me so. Once I bit this old gelding for that when I conveyed him to GPU in 1933…
-Where is it? Where were you conveying him?
-To the town. We caught him but there was nobody to convey him. I was asked to do it because I had a grudge against him.
-But why? Rather nice name.
-A suitable surname is necessary for such a name. And I am Bronislav Pupkov. A roll call in the army was always accompanied with the laugh. We had Van’ka Pupkov and nothing.
-What happened then?
-Then..well…Where have I stopped?
-The general asked you…
-Yes. Well, he asked everything and then said: “The party and the government commit you, comrade Pupkov, a very important task.Here – at the front line – Hitler had arrived incognito. We have a chance to kill him. The general said that they had arrested one bastard which was sent here with a special mission. He discharged this mission, but got in an awkward situation himself.This man had to cross the front line here and hand very important documents to Hitler.Personally. But Hitler and his band know this person by sight”.
-How do you refer to it?
-…….Pour, please. Kha!I’ll explain: I was look like that bastard as two pears in a pod.Well, the enjoyable life started! – Bron’ka was reminiscing with such a pleasure, with such a secret excitement that the listeners unwittingly started to feel the same.They smiled. Gentle delight appeared. – I was settled in a separate room close to the hospital, and was provided with two orderlies… One of them had the status of the sergeant and I was just a private. Well, comrade sergeant, I said to him, just give me the jackboots.He did. It was an order – he could nothing to do, he had to obey me. I was being trained then. I was having a good training…
-What training?
-Special training. I can’t tell about it, I made a signed statement.When fifty years will pass then I’ll be able to tell about it.Now only…. – Bron’ka was moving his lips – he was counting.- …only twenty years have passed. But it goes without saying. The enjoyable life continued! I woke up and the breakfast was ready: the first course, the second course and the dessert. The orderly brought nasty port but I scared him off! So he brought alcohol, there were bags of it in the hospital. I diluted it as I liked, and gave port him. So a week had passed in the same way. I thought how long will it have been continuing.?At last the general sent for me. “How are you comrade Pupkov?” – he asked. I answered that I was ready for my mission. He wished me good luck.And added that they will be waiting for me in the capacity of the Hero of the Soviet Union. Just don’t miss your aim!I answered that if I’d miss I’d be a traitor and a public enemy!Or I’ll lie down near Hitler or you’ll receive a Hero of the Soviet Union Pupkov Bronislav Ivanovich. The matter was that our grand attack was being planned.In such a way, from flanks, the infantry was advancing and in front – the strong head-on impact by the tanks.
Bron’ka’s eyes were shining softly and twinkling like the small pieces of coal. He even forgot to put his jigger under the bottle. The pitches of the fire light were playing on his dryish face with the regular features – he was good-looking but nervous.
-I won’t tell you my friends how I crossed the front line and turned in Hitler’s bunker.Finally I turned out there! – Bron’ka stood up. – I turned out there!..I made the last step and found myself in a big ferroconcrete hall. The bright light was burning, a mass of the generals…I orientated myself frequently: where is Hitler? – Bron’ka was intense, his voice was trembling, first it sounded like whisper then it was squealing unpleasantly. His speech was irregular; from time to time he stopped speaking cutting himself short and swallowing salvia…
-My heart was there… near the throat. Where is Hitler?! I scrutinized his foxy face and planned beforehand where to shoot – in the moustache. I made a gesture: “Heil Hitler!”. There was a big packet in my hand, in that packet it was the Browning charged with the explosive and venenate bullets. A general came to me and stretched his hand for the packet as if he wanted to take it. I made a gentle gesture – mille pardons, Madame, it’s for Fuerer. I spoke clear German: Fuerer! – Bron’ka swallowed. – And then…he came.I was striken like by current…I recollected my distant motherland, my parents…I wasn’t married then… - Bron’ka kept silent a bit, he was about to cry , to howl, to tear a shirt on his chest.. – You know,it happen that you life is flying in your memory…It happened I measured noses with a bear…I felt the same. Kha! It’s unbearable! - Bron’ka was crying.
-Well? – anyone asked calmly.
-He was coming. The generals stood without moving…He was smiling. And then I tore the packet… Are you laughing, cad! Here for our sufferings!...For our sores!..For the Soviet people’s blood!...For the destroyed cities and villages!...For our wives and mother’s tears!... – Bron’ka was crying and holding his hand as if he was shooting. Everybody felt funny. – Were you laughing?! Then spit you cad’s blood!! – It was a heart-rending scream. Deathly silence…And the thick whisper sounded: - I shot… - Bron’ka’s head fell on his chest and he was crying for a long time gnashing his teeth and shaking his head.When he raised the head everyone could see his fearful eyes. Then he said with the horror:
-I’d missed.
All hunters were silent. Bron’ka’s condition was so powerful and amazing and it was impolite to say something.
-Pour, please, - asked Bron’ka softly but firmly. He drunk and came to the current. He was sitting alone, exhausted by his painful emotions. He was sighing and coughing and refused to eat the fish soup.
…Usually all villagers knew that Bron’ka again told the story about “an attempt”.
Dismal Bron’ka returned home ready for the insults and for insulting. His wife, an ugly and thick-lipped woman, immediately came down on him:
-Are you dragging yourself along like a bitten dog? Again?
-Get lost!.. – Bron’ka talked back inertly. – Got anything to eat?
-What will be suitable for you is to break your head by a steelyard! – his wife cried. – Look! I cannot get rid of people!...
-Therefore stay at home and don’t gad.
-No, I’ll go now!.. I’ll go to the Soviet of the village, let their send for you,fool, once more! Good heavens! They’ll condemn you some day! Because of the misrepresentation of the history…
-They don’t have such rights, it’s not the published works. Is it clear? Got anything to eat?
-They are laughing in your eyes and you are …like a blind man. An unwashed muzzle, a wild beast! … Have a heart! Or you lost it many years ago? Pah! Your shameless eyes! Navel!
Bron’ka looked at his wife sternly. And he said in a low voice but firmly:
-Mille pardons, Madame…Do you want to have a lot of problems?
Then his wife slammed the door and went to complain about her wild husband.
She spoke for nothing that Bron’ka was indifferent. He wasn’t. He was suffering, worrying and irritating… He was drinking at home for two days. From time to time Bron’ka sent his little son for vodka in the little shop.
-Listen nobody, - he said to his son in a guilty manner. – Just take a bottle and return home.
Indeed he was send for to the Soviet of the village, he was threatened and they were threatening to take measures… When Bron’ka was sober he was talking not looking at the chairman’s eyes, his speech was indistinct and angry:
-And that’s it!... Skip it! So what? …Big deal!
Then he drunk sitting on the porch for the purpose of getting tipsy, raised, rolled his sleeves and announced in a loud voice:
-Well, please!.. Who’s the first? I’ll be sorry if I injure you by chance. Mille pardons….!
But he was a really rare expert shot.