It \\;is llic moment Petya lunl waited for:

The i;irl he IOM'II \v;itche<l liiin from tlie audience,

and tlie stage was liis alone.

BY YEVGENY ZAMYATINTran^hited by MIRRA GINSBURG

It all began with an utterly fantasticevent: The lion, that magnificent kingof the beasts, got stinking drunk. Hekept stumbling on all four paws and

keeling over on his side. It was a catastrophe.The lion attended Lenmgrad University

and at the same tnne worked as an extra atthe ballet theater. In today's perfunnance,he was to stand on a cliff, dressed in a lionskin, and wait to be struck by a spear thrownby the heroine. Then the dead lion would fallfrom the cliff onto a mattress backstage. Ev-erything had gone excellently during re-hearsals, but now, (jn the day of the premiere,a half hour before curtam time, the honplayed his swinish trick. There were no sub-stitute extras, and the show could not becanceled: It was to be attended by a People'sCommissar who had just arrived from Mos-cow. The director called an emergency meet-ing in his office.

There was a knock at the door, and thetheater fireman, Petya Zherebyakin, enteredthe room. The director shouted at him, "Well,what is It? What do you want? I have no timenow! Get the hell out!"

"I—Gjmrade Director—I mean, about thelion," said the fireman.

"Well, what about the lion?""I mean, as our lion is plastered, maybe I

could play the lion. Comrade Director, . . ."I don't know whether there are bears with

freckle and blue eye>, but if there are suchbears, then the hulking Zherebyakin, in hishuge, peasant boots, was much more like abear than a lion. Could he, by some miracle,be made into a lion? He swore he could; htswore that he had watched all the- rehearsalsfrom the wings and that back in hi-, soldierdays he had played in The Emperor Maximil-ian. And, just to spite the stage manager,who had permitted himself a crooked grin,the director ordered Zherebyakin to dress upinstantly and try for the part.

A few moments later the musicians on thestage began to play the lion's march. The lion,Petya Zherebyakin, stepped out in his lionskin as though he had been bom in the Lib-yan Desert instead of in a village in the prov-ince of Ryazan, But at the last moment,when he was supposed to fall from the cliff,he looked down—and stood petnfied,

"Fall, you devil! Go on, fall!" the stagemanager screamed at him furiously.

The hon obediently plopped down. He fellheavily on his back and lay there, unable toget up. Was there to be another catastropheat the very last moment?

He was helped up. He climbed out of theskin and stood there, clutching his back andsmiling in confusion. One of his upper teethwas missing, and this made his smile patheticand childlike.

Fortunately, there were no serious injuries.He asked for water, and the director ordereda glass of tea to be brought from his of!ice.After Petya Zherebyakin had drunk the tea.the director exhorted him, "All right, myfnend, you've called yourself a hon. Now,climb back into the skin! Go on, climb,brother, and quick. We're starting soon!"

Somebody obligingly offered Zherebyakinthe skin, but he refused to climb into it. Hedeclared that he must leave the theater for amoment, refusing to explain why and onlygrinning in embarrassment.

The director flew into a temper. He triedto order Zherebyakin to obey, reminding himthat he was a candidate for party member-ship, that he was a shock worker, but theshock-worker lion stubbornly persisted. Theyhad to give in. Beaming his gap-toothedsmile, Petya Zherebyakin rushed out of thetheater,

"Where the devil is he off to?" the directorasked everybody, turning red with rage."What's tbe secret?"

Nobody could enlighten the director. The

Illustrated by Bruce Johnson

only one who knew the answer was PetyaZherebyakin.

Now, while he is hurrying through the au-tumn rain, let us slip away for a moment tothe June night three months earlier when thesecret was bom. That night there was nonight, but only the long, northem day. In therosy glass of the canals, the upside-down trees,windows and columns of old imperial Peters-burg dozed lightly. And suddenly there wasthe faintest breeze, and the image of Peters-burg vanished. In its place was the newly re-named city of Leningrad, with the red fiagover the Winter Palace stirnng in the windand a militiaman with a rifle standing nearthe wrought-iron fence of the AlexandrovskyGarden.

The militiaman was surrounded by a bandof night workers. From behind their backs,Petya Zherebyakin could see only the militia-man's face, round and smooth like a Ryazanhoney apple. Something very strange wastaking place: The men were pawing at themilitiaman's hands and shoulders, and finallyone of the workers, stretching out his lips,tenderly smacked him on the cheek. The mili-tiaman tumed purple and furiously blew hiswhistle. The workers scattered. Petya Zhere-byakin remained alone face to face with themilitiaman—and then the militiaman changedjust as suddenly as the mirrored Petersburg,when it was ruffled by the wind. Zherebyakinsaw before him a girl in a militia unifomi andcap, the first militiawoman posted by theRevolution on Nevsky Prospect. Her blackeyebrows met angrily over her nose, andsparks flew from her eyes.

"Shame on you, comrade!" That was allshe said to Petya Zherebyakin, but how shesaid it!

He was unnerved and multered guiltily,"I swear to God, it wasn't me! I was justgoing home, . . ."

"You . , , A worker, too!" The militia-

73

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Nartit

Ctty 4, Sl9(e

III

J

THE LION_

woiiKiii l o o k e d Ell h i m , l i n t h o w !^he

II t l u ' i i ' h i id bi ' t ' i i il lriii)d<iiir in I h eZhorebyakin would hiive

into it, find that would havebeen a bk'ssiiiK. Bul he was forced towalk olT slowly, foclinK t'yi's on his backIhat burned him throuiih and throuRh.

The next ni^ht wiis asain a northernwhite nifiht. and a jiin comrade Zhc-rebynkin walked hnnif from his job atIhe thuater, and a^ain the militia-woman stood at her post by the gateof the Ak'xandrovsky darden, Zhe-rebyakin wanted to sliii by, but henoticed her looking at him and greetedher with guilty confusion. She nodded.Dawn (gleamed on Ihe mirror-blacksteel of her rille, and the steel seemedpink, Zherobyakin trembled beforethis pink rillc more than he hadtrembled before all the rilles that hadlired at him for five years on variousfronts.

Not until a week later did he dareaddress the militiawoman. It tumedout that she was also from the Ryazanprovince and still remembered thehnney apples of their native Ryazan.Sweet, with just a touch of bitterness,Tliere were no such apples here, . . ,

Every night, on his way home. Zhe-rebyakin stopi>ed at the Ale\androvskyGarden, The white nights had gone al-together mad, and the preen, rose andcopper sky never darkened for a second.In the garden, embracing couplessougbt the shade,as in the daytime.to escape beingseen.

It was on such anight that Zhere-byakin asked themilit iawoman,clum&ily, in bear-like fashion, "Andtell me. for ex-ample, are youmilitiawomen al-lowed to get mar-ried during theperformance otduty? I mean, notduring actual per-lormance, butgenerally—seeingas your service ismilitary-like . . ."

"\Vhy get married?" Katya themi l i t i awomanasked, leaning onher rifle. "Werenow like men Ifwe want to, welove lust thesame. . . , '

Her rille wasrose-colored Themi l i t i awomanraised her lace tothe feverishlyflaming sky, thenlooked off some-where past Zhere-byakin and added,"For example, ilthere was a manwho wrote poemsOr an actor, who'dcome out, and thewhoifi tbeateivould clap . . ,"

A loney apple,bittereweet. Petya

ZlitTcbyakin undersMxid lli;i' h-' li;idbc'tlcr go and never return again: Mewys (i[iinhc(l.

Uul iKi, he wasn't! There JHC miraclesnn carlli! When (he iiicrediblc (.'Vcnttook pliicf, and the lion, by the dia-

of the I/ird, got himselfIVtya Zhcrcbyakin harl a

mighty inwiiiration and rushed to Ihudirector's study, . , .

However, all Ihis was a matter of Ulpast. Now he was speeding ihrouKh theautumn rain to Cilinka Street, w here heknew the tnilitiawnman lived. Luckily,it was right around the corner fromthe theater, and, luckily, he foundKatya at home. At this moment, how-ever, she was not a militiawoman,but simply Katya, Her sleeves rolledup, she was laundering a white blousein a basin. There were dewdrops onher nose and forehead, and shehad never seemed more desirable thannow.

When Zherebyakin told her that hewas playing in the show that night andgave her a free pass, she did not believehim. Then she became interested. Thenfor some reason, she turned shy androlled down her sleeves. Then shelooked at him- -but how she looked! —and said that she would come, withoutfail.

The bell for the curtain shrilled inthe smoking room, the corridors, andthe foyer of the theater. The bald-headed People's Commissar squintedthrough his pince-nez from the ioge.

Or, Ih.' Htagc, behind the stilli:urlain, balltTinas •\mm\'nn\hihiH, with Ihe K' luri-ofing thejr wings as they lowtrr mwlvesinto Ihc water. And bf-hind the cliffnear the lion, the staKe manamand the director were frenzied wjth'inxir-ty

you're a shock wwker!don't mesa it up!" the

whispered inUj the lion's3 d\T':r-_r>T

'Ai ihp. riak of sounding like a Monday-morning quarteTback-

Tne ojrtain began to rise, and be-yond thp blazing line of Ifxjtli^u thehon saw tho dark hall, filled to the Ujpwith the white blurs of laces. Once,long ago, wben he had still been Zhe-rebyakin, he had climbed out of atrench, with shells explrtding aroundhim. At each explosion, he had jumpedand crossed himself by old peasanthabit; nevertheless, he had continuedto run forward. Now it seemed to himthat he could not take a single step.But the stage manager gave him apush, and he dragged himself wiihsuddenly alien hands and feet onto thecliff.

On the summit of the cliff, the lionraised his head and saw, quite near him,in the second-tier Ioge, the militia-w^oman, Katya; she was looking straightat him. The lion heart thumped loudlyonce, twice, and stopped. He shivered;his fate hung m the balance, and thespear was already flying at him.Wham I—and it struck his side. Nowhe must fall. But what if he made amistake and spoiled ever>-thing? He

' was more terri-fied than he hade\-er been in hislife, much moret b a n when heclimbed out of thetrench.

The audiencealready had no-ticed that some-thing was wron?on stage: Themortally H oundedlion was standingmotionless on thecliff, lookingdown. Those inthe front rowsheard the stagemanager 's des-perate whisper,•"Fall, you devil,fall!" And thencame somethingaltogether lantas-tic: The lion raisedhis right paw,rapidly crossedh i m s e l f , andd r o p p e d Iromthe clift like astone.

A moment olstunned silencefollowed, andthen like a deadly.burs t ing shell,wild laughter ex-ploded in the hallTears ot laughterran down thecheeks ot Katyathemilitiawoman

Backstage, o:\the mattress, thes t r i c k e n lionsobbed, biding hismuzz le in hisrviws L

74