English Original
Ivan was a timid little man, so timid that the villagers called him "pigeon" or mocked him with the title "Ivan the Terrible."
Every night, Ivan stopped at the tavern on the edge of the village graveyard. He never crossed the graveyard to reach his lonely shack on the other side, even though the path would save him many minutes—not even in broad daylight.
Late one winter's night, as bitter wind and snow beat against the tavern, the customers resumed their familiar mockery. Ivan's weak protests only encouraged them. The Cossack captain flung a cruel challenge at him: "You are a pigeon, Ivan. You'll walk around the graveyard in this cold, but you dare not cross it."
Ivan murmured, "The graveyard is nothing to cross, Captain. It is nothing but earth, like all the other earth."
The captain cried, "A challenge, then! Cross the graveyard tonight, Ivan, and I'll give you five rubles—five gold rubles!"
Perhaps it was the vodka, or the temptation of the gold. No one knew why, but Ivan suddenly agreed. The tavern echoed with disbelief. The captain winked at the men, unbuckled his sword, and gave it to Ivan. "When you reach the center of the graveyard, in front of the biggest tomb, stick this sword into the ground. If we find it there tomorrow morning, the five rubles are yours."
The men roared with laughter, toasting "To Ivan the Terrible!"
The wind howled as Ivan left the tavern. The cold was knife-sharp. He buttoned his long coat and crossed the dirt road, hearing the captain's final yell: "Five rubles, pigeon! If you live!"
Ivan pushed the graveyard gate open and walked fast, muttering, "Earth, just earth…" But the darkness was a massive dread. "Five gold rubles…" The wind was cruel, and the sword felt like ice in his hands. Shivering, he broke into a limping run.
He stopped at the large tomb. Kneeling, cold and terrified, he drove the sword through the crust into the hard ground with all his strength, down to the hilt. It was done.
Ivan started to rise from his knees but could not move. Something gripped him in an unyielding hold. He tugged, lurched, and pulled—gasping in panic, shaken by horrible fear. He cried out, then made senseless, gurgling noises.
They found Ivan the next morning, frozen to death on the ground in front of the central tomb. The look on his face was not that of a frozen man, but of one killed by some nameless horror.
And the captain's sword was in the ground where Ivan had pounded it—through the dragging folds of his long coat.
中文翻译
伊万是个胆小的小个子，胆小到村民们叫他“鸽子”，或是用“恐怖的伊万”这个称号来嘲弄他。
每晚，伊万都会在村子墓园边上的酒馆停留。他从未穿越墓园去往另一头自己孤零零的小屋，即便那条路能省下不少时间——即使在光天化日下也从未走过。
一个冬夜，凛冽的风雪拍打着酒馆，客人们又开始了惯常的嘲弄。伊万微弱的抗议只会让他们更起劲。哥萨克队长向他抛出了一个残忍的挑战：“你是只鸽子，伊万。这么冷的天你宁愿绕墓园走——也不敢穿过去。”
伊万低声说：“墓园没什么不能穿的，队长。那不过是泥土，和其他地方的泥土一样。”
队长喊道：“那就打个赌！伊万，今晚你穿过墓园，我就给你五卢布——五个金卢布！”
也许是伏特加的作用，也许是黄金的诱惑。没人知道原因，但伊万突然答应了。酒馆里充满了难以置信的回响。队长向众人使了个眼色，解下佩剑交给伊万。“当你走到墓园中心，在那座最大的墓碑前，把这把剑插进地里。如果明天早上我们发现剑在那儿，五卢布就归你。”
众人哄堂大笑，举杯敬“恐怖的伊万！”
伊万离开酒馆时狂风呼啸。寒冷如刀割。他扣好长大衣，穿过土路，听见队长最后的喊叫：“五卢布，鸽子！如果你能活下来的话！”
伊万推开墓园大门，快步走着，喃喃自语：“泥土，不过是泥土……”但黑暗是巨大的恐惧。“五个金卢布……”风冷酷无情，剑在他手中冰冷如铁。他颤抖着，一瘸一拐地跑了起来。
他在大墓碑前停下。他跪了下来，又冷又怕，用尽全力将剑刺穿冻土，直插至剑柄。事情办完了。
伊万想从跪姿站起来，却动弹不得。有什么东西死死抓住了他。他猛拉、踉跄、挣扎——在恐慌中喘息，被可怕的恐惧所震撼。他惊恐地叫喊，随后发出无意义的、汩汩的声响。
第二天早上，人们在墓园中央的墓碑前发现了伊万，他已冻僵身亡。他脸上的表情不像冻死的人，倒像是被某种无名的恐怖杀死了。
而队长的剑就插在地上，伊万将它钉下去时——刺穿了他长大衣拖曳的衣褶。