drank.
When he finished, he exhaled, frowned, took a piece of bread, sniffed it, and put it on the table.
“Have a bite, Kozma, don’t be shy.”
“Go on, stuff your face!” the miller chortled.
And then the miller began to sing in a tremulous voice:
There was an old woman from Tula,
Said, “I’m off to the States to make moolah.”
“You stupid old cunt,” her old man did swear,
“They ain’t got no trains that go there.”
“Now you stop that!” The wife poked the miller.
He laughed tipsily.
Crouper stuck a piece of lard in his mouth, bit off some bread, and chewed rapidly. He’d just swallowed when the doctor asked him:
“What about the sled?”
“The steering rod? Pulled it out, nailed it back.”
“Does it work?”
“Yup.”
“Then let’s get going.”
“You’re going to travel? To Dolgoye?” The miller’s wife smiled grimly.
“They’re waiting for me.”
“Ah, go on … Let that rag pile go. The doctor can stay!” The miller shook his fist at Crouper.
“Hold on now!” Taisia Markovna pressed her husband to her bosom. “You can’t go off into the storm at night. You’ll lose the road straightaway.”
“S-s-straight! Away!” The miller shook his head.
“I absolutely must get to Dolgoye today,” the doctor asserted stubbornly.
The miller’s wife sighed deeply, rocking her husband like a baby:
“You’ll get across the grove, and the old village, but that’s where the fields start and there’s no mileposts either. You’ll get stuck in the field. You have to spend the night.”
“Can’t anyone show us the way? Your worker, for instance?”
“What?” The miller’s wife grinned. “You think he has cat eyes? He can’t see at night. And he’s not from around here.”
“He’s just the g-guy you want…” The miller dug his boots into his wife’s chest, climbed up to her neck, and stared at Crouper. “And you there, you just … take that!”
The miller gave Crouper the finger. Crouper was eating cabbage slaw and paid no attention to him.
“Stay till morning.” With her free hand the miller’s wife set a glass under the samovar tap and turned the spigot. Boiling water poured into the glass.
“They’re expecting me today.” The doctor stubbed out his cigarette.
“Even if you don’t get lost, you still won’t make it till morning time. Leave now and you’ll not go far.”
“Maybe we oughta stay, doctor, sir?” Crouper asked timidly.
“You jess get th’ell outta! Ya lost a horse at the market! You loser loafer!!” the miller shouted, kicking his feet against his wife’s bosom.
“Stay now, don’t be silly.” The miller’s wife poured strong brew from a Chinese teapot. “The storm will die down, and you’ll fly along.”
“And if it doesn’t?” The doctor looked at Crouper as though the weather depended on him.
“If’n it don’t, it’s a sight calmer in the light,” Crouper answered. Something stuck in his throat and he had a coughing fit.
“He lost the horse to passs-churs, lost traaa-ck-o-vvvit!” The miller refused to quiet down. “They oughta lock ye up fer horse-thieving!”
“Stay.” The miller’s wife set the glass of tea down in front of the doctor and began to pour some for Crouper.
“And the horses c’n rest a piece.”
“No snoozin’, not a wink … They’ll rest in peace, not rest a piece, thass whachur horses’ll do!” cackled the miller.
The miller’s wife laughed, her chest rose, and her husband rocked on it as though on a wave.
“Maybe we really should stay?” thought the doctor.
He looked around for a clock on the well-chinked wall, but didn’t see one; he was about to take his pocket watch out but suddenly saw small, glowing numbers hovering in the air over a metal circle lying on the sewing machine: 19:42.
“We could try to get there by midnight … But if we get lost, as she pointed out…,” the doctor thought.
He took a sip of tea.
“We could stay and leave at
When he finished, he exhaled, frowned, took a piece of bread, sniffed it, and put it on the table.
“Have a bite, Kozma, don’t be shy.”
“Go on, stuff your face!” the miller chortled.
And then the miller began to sing in a tremulous voice:
There was an old woman from Tula,
Said, “I’m off to the States to make moolah.”
“You stupid old cunt,” her old man did swear,
“They ain’t got no trains that go there.”
“Now you stop that!” The wife poked the miller.
He laughed tipsily.
Crouper stuck a piece of lard in his mouth, bit off some bread, and chewed rapidly. He’d just swallowed when the doctor asked him:
“What about the sled?”
“The steering rod? Pulled it out, nailed it back.”
“Does it work?”
“Yup.”
“Then let’s get going.”
“You’re going to travel? To Dolgoye?” The miller’s wife smiled grimly.
“They’re waiting for me.”
“Ah, go on … Let that rag pile go. The doctor can stay!” The miller shook his fist at Crouper.
“Hold on now!” Taisia Markovna pressed her husband to her bosom. “You can’t go off into the storm at night. You’ll lose the road straightaway.”
“S-s-straight! Away!” The miller shook his head.
“I absolutely must get to Dolgoye today,” the doctor asserted stubbornly.
The miller’s wife sighed deeply, rocking her husband like a baby:
“You’ll get across the grove, and the old village, but that’s where the fields start and there’s no mileposts either. You’ll get stuck in the field. You have to spend the night.”
“Can’t anyone show us the way? Your worker, for instance?”
“What?” The miller’s wife grinned. “You think he has cat eyes? He can’t see at night. And he’s not from around here.”
“He’s just the g-guy you want…” The miller dug his boots into his wife’s chest, climbed up to her neck, and stared at Crouper. “And you there, you just … take that!”
The miller gave Crouper the finger. Crouper was eating cabbage slaw and paid no attention to him.
“Stay till morning.” With her free hand the miller’s wife set a glass under the samovar tap and turned the spigot. Boiling water poured into the glass.
“They’re expecting me today.” The doctor stubbed out his cigarette.
“Even if you don’t get lost, you still won’t make it till morning time. Leave now and you’ll not go far.”
“Maybe we oughta stay, doctor, sir?” Crouper asked timidly.
“You jess get th’ell outta! Ya lost a horse at the market! You loser loafer!!” the miller shouted, kicking his feet against his wife’s bosom.
“Stay now, don’t be silly.” The miller’s wife poured strong brew from a Chinese teapot. “The storm will die down, and you’ll fly along.”
“And if it doesn’t?” The doctor looked at Crouper as though the weather depended on him.
“If’n it don’t, it’s a sight calmer in the light,” Crouper answered. Something stuck in his throat and he had a coughing fit.
“He lost the horse to passs-churs, lost traaa-ck-o-vvvit!” The miller refused to quiet down. “They oughta lock ye up fer horse-thieving!”
“Stay.” The miller’s wife set the glass of tea down in front of the doctor and began to pour some for Crouper.
“And the horses c’n rest a piece.”
“No snoozin’, not a wink … They’ll rest in peace, not rest a piece, thass whachur horses’ll do!” cackled the miller.
The miller’s wife laughed, her chest rose, and her husband rocked on it as though on a wave.
“Maybe we really should stay?” thought the doctor.
He looked around for a clock on the well-chinked wall, but didn’t see one; he was about to take his pocket watch out but suddenly saw small, glowing numbers hovering in the air over a metal circle lying on the sewing machine: 19:42.
“We could try to get there by midnight … But if we get lost, as she pointed out…,” the doctor thought.
He took a sip of tea.
“We could stay and leave at
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