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 the full light of noon.
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 horrid challenge at their victim: "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. Perhaps it was the temptation of the gold. No one knew why, but Ivan moistened his lips and said suddenly, "Yes, Captain, I'll cross the graveyard."
The tavern echoed with disbelief. The captain winked, unbuckled his sword, and handed it to Ivan. "When you get to the center of the graveyard, in front of the biggest tomb, stick this sword into the ground. In the morning, if the sword is there, the five rubles are yours."
Ivan took the sword. The men drank a toast: "To Ivan the Terrible!" They roared with laughter.
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 voice yell after him, "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. He must have sobbed—a sound drowned by the wind. Cold and terrified, he kneeled and drove the sword through the crust into the hard ground. With all his strength, he pushed it down to the hilt. It was done.
Ivan started to rise from his knees. But he 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 on the ground in front of the tomb in the center of the graveyard. He was frozen to death. The look on his face was not that of a frozen man, but of a man 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男人，胆小到村民们叫他“鸽子”，或者用“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他孤独的小屋，即便那条路能为他节省许多时间——即使在正午的阳光下，他也从未走过。
一个冬日的深夜，当凛冽的风雪拍打着酒馆时，客人们又开始了他们惯常的嘲弄。伊万微弱的抗议只会让他们更起劲。哥萨克上尉向这个受害者抛出了一个可怕的挑战：“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：“穿过墓园没什么，上尉。那不过是泥土，和其他地方的泥土一样。”
上尉喊道：“那就挑战一下！今晚穿过墓园，伊万，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，但伊万舔了舔嘴唇，突然说道：“好的，上尉，我会穿过墓园。”
酒馆里回荡着难以置信的声音。上尉使了个眼色，解下佩剑，递给伊万。“当你走到墓园中心，最大的那座坟墓前时，把这把剑插进地里。明天早上，如果剑还在那里，五个卢布就是你的了。”
伊万接过剑。男人们举杯祝酒：“敬恐怖的伊万！”他们哄堂大笑。
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，听到上尉的声音在身后喊道：“五个卢布，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，只是泥土……”但黑暗是巨大的恐惧。“五个金卢布……”风冷酷无情，剑在他手中冰冷刺骨。他颤抖着，一瘸一拐地跑了起来。
他在那座大坟墓前停下。他一定啜泣了——声音被风淹没。他又冷又怕，跪下来，将剑刺穿冻土，插进坚硬的地里。他用尽全力，将剑一直按到剑柄。完成了。
伊万想从跪姿站起来。但他动弹不得。有什么东西牢牢地抓住了他。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，然后发出无意义的、咯咯的声响。
第二天早上，他们在墓园中心那座坟墓前的地上发现了伊万。他被冻死了。他脸上的表情不像一个冻死的人，而像被某种无名的恐怖杀死的人。
而上尉的剑就插在伊万将它砸入的地里——穿透了他长大衣拖曳的衣褶。