Malchish-Kibalchish. Arkady Gaidar. Английский

TALE OF THE MILITARY SECRET, MALCHISH-KIBALCHISH AND HIS SOLEMN WORD

ARKADY GAIDAR

Long, long ago, right after the Big War ended, there lived a boy called Malchish-Kibalchish.
By then the Red Army had driven out the cursed bourgeouins’ White Troops and there was peace in the wide fields, in the green meadows where the rye grew, where the buckwheat flourished, where amidst dense orchards and raspberry bushes stood the little house in which lived Malchish, nicknamed Kibalchish, and his father and his brother, but without a mother.
The father worked, mowing hay; the brother worked, carting hay. And Malchish helped, first his father, then his brother, or simply played with other Malchishs and got into mischief.
Ahhhhh! How good life was! No whining bullets, no bursting shells, no burning villages. No need to get down on the floor to avoid bullets, no need to hide in the cellar from shells, no need to run into the forest to escape fires. No need to fear the bourgeouins.  No one to bow down to. All you had to do was live and work—a good life!
And then one day—it was close to evening—Malchish-Kibalchish went out onto the porch. He looked around: the sky was clear, the wind warm, and the sun about to set behind the Black Mountains. And everything would have been fine, but something was wrong. And Malchish thought he heard something booming, something pounding. It seemed to Malchish as if the wind smelled not of orchard flowers, not of honey from the meadows, but either of smoke from fires or of powder from exploding shells. He told his father, but his father gad come home tired.
"What're you talking about?" he said to Malchish. "That’s the sound of a thunderstorm on the other side of the Black Mountains. That’s the herdsmen’s fires smoking behind the Blue River—they’re tending their herds and cooking supper. You go to bed, Malchish, and sleep well.”
Malchish left the room. He went to bed. But he couldn't sleep, no matter how he tried.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of hoofs outside, then a knock at the window. Malchish-Kibalchish looked out and saw a rider by the window. The horse was raven-black, the man’s saber was shiny, his fur hat was gray, and the star on it was red.
"Hey! Get up!" the horseman shouted. "We’ve got trouble from where we least expected it. The cursed bourgeouins have attacked us from across the Black Mountains. It’s flying bullets, exploding shells once again. Our units are fighting the bourgeouins, and our fastest messengers have galloped off to get help from the Red Army, which is far off.”
His alarming announcement made, the horseman with the red star galloped off. And Malchish’s father snatched his rifle from the wall, threw his bag over his shoulder, and put on his ammunition belt.
"Well," he told his older son, "I planted the rye thick, you’ll clearly have a lot to harvest. Well," he told Malchish, "I've lived life under constant threat, and clearly you’ll have to live it peacefully in my stead, Malchish."
With these words he soundly kissed Malchish and went off. And he had little time to spare for kissing, because by now everyone could hear how shells were bursting beyond the meadows and the dawn sky was burning from the glow of smoking fires beyond the mountains.
A day went by, then another. Malchish went out onto the porch; no, no sign yet of the Red Army. Malchish climbed up onto the roof. He sat there al day. But there was nothing to see. Toward night he went to bed. Suddenly he heard hoofs again, a knock at the window. Malchish looked out: the same horseman was at the window. Only his horse was thin and tired, his saber bent and dark, his fur hat bullet-ridden, the star all torn, and his head bandaged.
"Get up!" shouted the horseman. "If it was a disaster before, it’s now total disaster. There’s a lot of bourgeouins, there are few of us. In the field bullets fly in clouds, and shells explode in our ranks by the thousand! Hey, get up and give us help!"
The older brother got up and said to Malchish:
"Good-bye, Malchish... You're on your own now. There’s cabbage soup in the pot, bread on the table, water in the spring, and your head on your shoulders.   Live as best you can and don't wait for me."
A day went by, then another. Malchish sat on the roof by the chimney and in the distance saw a horseman racing toward him.
The horseman galloped up, leaped from his horse, and said:
"Give me a drink of water, good Malchish. I’ve not drunk for three days, not slept foк three nights, and ridden three horses to death. The Red Army knows of our disaster. All the trumpets have sounded as loud as loud can be. All the drums have sounded as loud as loud can be. All the war banners have been unfurled as far as far can be. All the Red Army is eacing and galloping to help us. All we need, Malchish, is to hold out until tomorrow night.”
Malchish climbed down from the roof, brought him water to drink. The messenger drank his fill and cantered off.
Evening arrived, and Malchish went to bed. But Malchish couldn’t fall asleep—how could he possibly sleep?
Suddenly he heard footsteps on the street, rustling at the window. Malchish looked out and saw the same man standing at the window. The same, yet not the same. He had no horse—his horse had fallen. He had no sabre—his sabre had broken. He had no fur hat—his hat had blown off. And he staggered where he stood.
"Hey, get up!" he shouted for the last time. "We’ve got shells, but the gunners have had it. We’ve got rifles, but few fighting men. And help is near, but we’ve no strength. Hey, whoever’s left, get up!  All we need is to make it through the night and hold out a day!"
Malchish-Kibalchish looked down the street: the street was empty. The shutters weren’t banging, the gates weren’t creaking—there was no ne to get up. The fathers had all gone off and the brothers had all gone off—and no one was left.
All Malchish could see was an old man a hundred years old come out from behind a gate. The old man tried to lift a rifle, but he was so old he couldn't lift it. He tried to buckle on a saber, but he was so weak he couldn't buckle it. And the old man sat down on the ground, his head drooping and he swept…
And it pained Malchish to see him. Malchish-Kibalchish went out into the street and shouted loud—loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Hey, you boys, boys big and small! Are we boys just to go on playing with wooden swords and skipping rope? Our fathers have gone, our brothers have gone. Are we boys just going to sit around waiting for the bourgeouins to come and carry us off to their cursed bourgeouinland?"
When they heard these words, boys big and small raised a great shout! Some ran out the door, some climbed out the window, and other jumped over the fence. They came running out doors, climbing through windows, and leaping over fence.
They all wanted to go and help fight. Only the bad boy called Malchish-Plokhish wanted to go to the bourgeouinland [bourgeois-land]. But he was so cunning, this Plokhish, that he didn’t say anything; he only pulled up his breeches and ran off with the others, as though he intended to help.
And the boys fought through the dark night to the bright dawn. Only Plokhish did not fight, but walked about looking for some way to help the bourgeouins. And behind a small hill Plokhish saw a pile of boxes, and in the boxes were hidden black bombs, white shells, and yellow cartridges.
"Uh-uh," thought Plokhish. "This is just what I need."
Just then the Head Bourgeouin [bourgeois] asked his bourgeouins: "Well, bourgeouins, have you won the victory yet?"
"No," the bourgeouins replied. "We trounced the fathers and the brothers, and the victory was ours. But then Malchish Kibalchish came to help them, and we can't beat him for the life of us."
The Head Bourgeouin was startled, grew furious, and shouted in a threatening voice: “How’s it possible you can’t beat Malchish? Ah, you useless yellow-belly bourgeois-nellies! How’s it possible you can’t trounce a kid like that? Get back there fast, and don’t come back without victory!"
And the bourgeouins sat wondering what on earth they could do to defeat Malchish-Kibalchish. Suddenly they saw Malchish-Plokhish come crawling out of the bushes and making straight for them.
"Rejoice!" he shouted. "I, Plokhish, did it all myself. I chopped some logs, I got some hay, and set fire to all the boxes with the black bombs, the white shells, and the yellow cartridges. It’ll all go up any moment now!"
The bourgeouins were overjoyed at the news, they enrolled Malchish-Plokhish instantly in their bourgeouin ranks, and gave him a whole barrel of jam and a whole basket of cookies.
Malchish-Plokhish sat there, stuffing himself and rejoicing.
All of a sudden the boxes he’d lit exploded! And the bang sounded like a thousand thunderbolts striking in one spot, and a thousand flashes of lightening bursting from a single cloud.
"Treason!" cried Malchish-Kibalchish.
"Treason!" cried all his faithful boys.
Then out oа the smoke and fire poured the bourgeouin forces, and they overcame and seized Malchish-Kibalchish.
They put Malchish in heavy chains. They imprisoned Malchish in a stone tower. And they hurried off to ask what the Head Bourgeouin wanted to do with the captured Malchish.
The Head Bourgeouin thought long and hard, then he got an idea, and said:
"We’ll kill this Malchish. But first we’ll make him to tell us their Military Secret. You go to him, bourgeouins, and ask him: ‘How is it that forty Tsars and forty Kings fought the Red Army, fought and fought, but only got trounced? How is it, Malchish, that all the prisons are full, that all the penal colonies are packed, and all the police are in the streets, and all our armies are on the go, yet we have no peace during the light of day or the dark of night? How is it, Malchish, cursed Kibalchish, that in my High Bourgeouinland, and in the Plains Kingdom, and in the Snow Realm, and in the Sultry State, everywhere on the same day in early spring and on the same day in late fall, they sing the same songs, though in different languages, carry the same banners, though in different hands, make the same speeches, think the same thoughts, and do the same things? You ask him, bourgeouins, ‘Does the Red Army, Malchish, have a military secret?' And have him tell you the secret. ‘Do your workers have foreign aid?’ And let him tell you where that aid comes from. ‘Is there a secret passageway, Malchish, from your country to all the countries in the world, along which as soon as you call, our people here immediately respond; any time you burst into song, ours join in; anything you say, ours start to ponder?’”
The bourgeouins went off, but quickly returned:
"No, Head Bourgeouin, Malchish-Kibalchish did not reveal the Military Secret to us. He laughed right in our faces. ‘The strong Red Army does have a powerful secret,' he said. 'And no matter when you attack, you’ll not gain a victory.’ He said, ‘We have help beyond calculation, and however many people you throw in prison, you still won’t succeed, and you’ll have no peace during the light of day or the dark of night. There are profound secret passageways,” he said. ‘But however hard you look, you won’t find them. And even if you do find them, you won’t be able to block them, close them, cover them. And that’s al I’ll tell you, and you cursed bourgeouins will never figure it out yourselves.'"
The Head Bourgeouin frowned at this and said:
“Put this secretive Malchish-Kibalchish to the most terrible torture known to man, and get the Military Secret from him, for we’ll have neither life nor peace without this important Secret.”
The bourgeouins left and this time returned after a long while, shaking their heads. “No,” they said. “It didn’t work, chief Head Bourgeouin. He stood pale, did Malchish, but proud, and he didn’t tell us the Military Secret because he’d given his solemn word. And when we were leaving he got down and put his ear to the heavy stone of the cold floor, and, would you believe it, Head Bourgeouin, he smiled in such a way that all of us bourgeouins shuddered in fear, wondering if he’d heard our inevitable destruction marching along those secret passageways…”
“What kind of country is this?” exclaimed the Head Bourgeouin in amazement. “What an inexplicable country, where even Malchishs like this know the Military Secret and keep their solemn word so faithfully! Move quickly, bourgeouins, and kill this proud Malchish. Load the cannons, unsheathe your sabers, unfurl our bourgeouin banners, because I hear our signalmen sounding the alarm and our standard-bearers waving the flags. Looks like it’ll be no light skirmish, but a heavy battle.”
And Malchish-Kibalchish perished.
It was like a storm. Military guns rumbled like a peal of thunder. Exploding shells flashed like a streak of lightning. Men on horses swept in like the wind. And red banners sailed past like storm clouds. That’s how the Red Army attacked.
Just as streams flowing down a dusty mountain unite in turbulent, foamy torrents, so at the first violent sound of war uprisings started seething in Mountainous Bourgeouinland, and thousands of angry voices joined them in the Plains Kingdom, and the Snow Realm, and the Sultry State.
And the defeated Head Bourgeouin fled in fear, loudly cursing the country with its amazing people, its invincible Red Army, and its undiscovered Military Secret.
They buried Malchish-Kibalchish on the green knoll by the Blue River. And they placed a big red flag above his grave.

Steamships sailing by hail Malchish!
Pilots flying by hail Malchish!
Locomotives racing by hail Malchish!
And pioneers passing by salute him!

1935

An Anthology of Russian and Soviet Fairy Tales. 2005. DOC, PDF
http://www.ex.ua/11723524

Аркадий Гайдар. Сказка про военную тайну, Мальчиша-Кибальчиша и его твердое слово.
Перевод на английский. На английском. Перевод.